#return of my no context moodboards

[frostwork]

Penacony

What I expected:

What I got:

[jasntodds]

Summary:

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader Summary: ❝Thesus: Stop. Give me your hand. I am your friend. Herakles: I fear to stain your clothes with blood. Thesus: Stain them. I don't care.❞ It's been a month and a half since Crane's reign of terror was stopped, leaving Gotham to finally return to normal. But, what is normal? After everything Jason and you have been through, it seems normal might be some unobtainable dream state. But that's not going to stop either of you from trying and maybe, you'll get lucky in the end. At the end of it, the two of you have suffered enough, right? Right? Warnings: Angst, Fluff, smut, mentions of being tortured, mentions of being held captive, mentions of abuse (comic!Canon), violence, mentions of death, various injuries, bruises, blood, hurt/comfort, some anxiety, ptsd, hints of depression, mentions of Batman villains being Batman villains, nightmares, some paranoia, discussions about previous homelessness, drug mentions, gore, a bomb, jason has a bomb in his helmet (comic!canon), I'm changing the timeline to season 4 a little bit because i can lol, possibly character death (lol), murder?, i am a defender of Jason’s white streak of hair in the comics A/N: I am so excited to finally be on the last book lmao I have had so many plots taking over my brain for months just to get here and I am so happy to finally share them lol The title is a reference to Penance by Holding Absence which I always recommend them lol You don’t have to read books 1 & 2 to read this one, but you might want some extra context. If you don’t want to read all of that, you can just ask me and I’ll tell you what you need to know to read this book!! tag list | playlist | full masterlist ↳ status: Ongoing updates: Wednesdays

Chapters:

Chapter 1 - Things Are Different Now Chapter 2 - Setup Chapter 3 - Project Starfire Chapter 4 - When The Dust Settles Chapter 5 - Wilt Chapter 6 - New Robins Chapter 7 - Autopsy Scar Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Book 1 Masterlist Book 2 Masterlist

Fic Inspired Works:

Jason Todd moodboard Playlist Post Chapter 2 moodboard

[angstylittleguy]

The Sink Incident

Bennett and Dalton are hanging out alone when Dalton has a shrinking spell. Good thing Bennett noticed what was happening.

tw: almost drowning

character context: Dalton is a size-shifter whose height is affected by his emotions. Bennett frequently gets stuck in time loops and the only way to get the loop to end is for him to survive the day.

word count: 1.3k

-> In Which Everything Goes Wonderfully Wrong masterpost link: Here

-> character introductions and moodboards: Here

“Yo, Dalton,” Bennett called from his spot on the couch. “Are you coming back or what?”

The pair had been watching a movie and eating ice cream, celebrating the end of final exams for both college students. It had been the most stressful week of Bennett’s life and he really needed time to just lay back and do nothing. He originally planned to have Rory and Dalton come over to his dorm to hang out, but his roommate, Josiah, was still not done with his exams and needed the space to study. Rory couldn’t come, either. She said she had a migraine and would rather die than leave her room. 

With Dalton being the only one of the group also finished with exams, he had invited Bennett to come over to his apartment. It had been just the two of them for a couple hours, but a few minutes ago Dalton had taken their empty bowls to the sink to be cleaned and had yet to return.

Bennett turned around on the couch to face the kitchen. “Dalton?”

He paused, listening for a response. Had he left the room?  There was a rattling from the kitchen that caught his attention, but Bennett thought nothing of it. 

“Dalton, dude, where’d you go?” More silence. “You’re missing the movie!”

There was a distinct noise coming from the kitchen that Bennett couldn’t place. He stood from the couch, stretching his arms over his head after having been lazing around for the past few hours.

The rattling from the kitchen grew more intense, and Bennett headed over to investigate with caution. Dalton’s phone was left by the sink, the drain plugged and filled with warm water. The rattling was coming from the dishes that were soaking in the water. 

Bennett’s eyes widened, putting two and two together. “Oh, shit. Dalton?”

Without a moment of hesitation, Bennett plunged his hands into the dirty dish water. He carefully removed the dishes in an effort to find wherever Dalton had managed to get trapped, and blindly slid his hands around in the water to see if he could feel Dalton’s body. 

“Oh, god, please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.”

Eventually, Bennett’s hands found him, and he pulled Dalton out of the water and placed him carefully on the counter. He was small, only a couple of inches tall. He felt weightless in Bennett’s hands. So unbelievably fragile. Dalton immediately started hacking up water, turning over to cough it out of his lungs.

“Shit—are you okay?”

Dalton continued to cough, trembling as his arms shook to support his weight in an upright position. Bennett’s hands hovered uselessly over him, not sure what to do. 

“Dalton, buddy, oh my God. Talk to me. What do you need?” 

Dalton, instead of responding, just waved his arm up at Bennett as if shooing away his worries. He still did not turn around to look up at him, his breathing rapid as if he couldn’t catch his breath.

Bennett started opening drawers in the kitchen until he found a clean hand towel, and he carefully draped it over Dalton’s shoulders. Bennett watched as he wrapped it further around himself before he lowered himself to his knees to be more eye level with him. 

“You sure you’re alright, man?” Bennett cautiously asked, the concern in his voice still prominent.

Dalton nodded, his brown hair flat against his head. “I’m okay,” his quiet voice finally answered. “Just shaken up.”

Bennett couldn’t help the relieved sigh he released at hearing his friend’s voice. “Dude, I thought you had drowned.” 

“Sorry…”

There was an awkward bout of silence between them. 

Bennett had questions. What happened to trigger Dalton’s ability? How did he manage to fall into the sink? Instead of asking. however, he traced a careful finger along Dalton’s back, hoping to offer some comfort. 

Dalton flinched at the unexpected touch, sitting up straighter. 

“Do you have a change of clothes I can grab for you?” Bennett asked, “so you don’t have to sit in your wet ones?”

Dalton adjusted the towel wrapped around him, eyes trained on the sink to his left and trying to ignore the booming voice of his friend behind him. The wet fabric of his soaked clothing clung to his skin uncomfortably, but Dalton shook his head. “I usually don’t have to worry about clothes.”

Bennett wanted nothing to more than to make a joke about that, but he felt it wasn’t appropriate right now. He wished Rory were here, so he could whisper his joke to her, yes, but also because she was better at handling situations like this. Bennett seemed to always mess up when he was around Dalton. He didn’t know how to handle him when he was small. He didn’t know how to help.

Bennett stared at Dalton’s miniscule form, wrapped in the hand towel and shivering. He loomed over him, despite being knelt by the kitchen counter to avoid doing just that. 

“Dalton…” Bennett muttered, thrumming his fingers on the counter subconsciously. “What can I do to help you?”

Dalton still hadn’t looked at him. The realization was like a punch in the gut for Bennett, but he couldn’t blame him. He wouldn’t want to look up at someone bigger than a house either. The idea was terrifying. Still, it hurt that Bennett was the one who was causing this fear. 

Dalton shrugged his shoulders. The silence was so loud.

“Can I ask what happened?” Bennett questioned, eyes glancing over to Dalton’s phone. He could check himself; he had an inkling that the cause of Dalton’s distress had come from something he had seen. But Bennett figured it would be better for the both of them if Dalton just told him.

“I, uh, my final project just got graded,” Dalton answered. “Sat on the counter, saw the grade, got small, fell in the sink.”

Bennett grimaced. “You didn’t do too good?”

Dalton shook his head sadly.

“I—I’m sure it won’t affect your grade that much! And that number doesn’t define how good you are as an artist! It’s just a number at the end of the day.”

Dalton, for the first time, turned around to look at Bennett. His eyes were red with tears, his lips pressed into a thin line as if he were fighting back a sob. “You don’t understand,” Dalton said, voice strained. “My professor called my art lazy. And simple. She said she could tell I didn’t try my best and that I should be disappointed in myself for wasting my time as well as hers.”

Bennett knew that Dalton had tried his hardest on that piece. He had been working on it for over a month, staying up late at the studio nearly every night. To say his art was lazy was more than a slap to the face.

“Dude, I’m so sorry. She’s just an asshole.”

“An asshole that controls my grade.”

Dalton buried his face in his hands, the hand towel falling from his shoulders. He shivered.

Bennett gently placed the towel back over his shoulders before resting his hand palm up in front of Dalton. “Let’s go get you warmed up,” he suggested quietly. “And then we’ll figure this out.”

Dalton looked from the hand back up to Bennett’s brown eyes before sighing. He climbed onto his hand.

[spiderrmax]

as a thank you for 300 milestones, i have decided to celebrate this milestone with you guys! without you, i wouldn't be returning to this blog everyday. i am grateful for all that you do and getting notifications of likes, comments, and asks always brighten my day!! i hope you enjoy! the event will start today july 4th and i will stop accepting asks july 12th, in order to give me the following weekend to finish up responding to any asks. you may send as many prompts as you would like, but my only request is you send them in different asks so they don't get lost! any requests in my inbox currently will most likely not be updated until after this event & i am not going to be accepting any other requests that do not come from this event!

for those who need it: navigation, masterlist

💐 — give me a few facts about yourself and ill ship you with one of the mainstream south park characters!

⭐️— send in a character accompanied with your favorite trope & ill make you a moodboard!

🐝 — send in a character & a small prompt/scenario and ill generate fake texts based on your ask!

🌼 — send in a character with a prompt from this list & i'll write a short drabble

🍯 — send in a character with a prompt from the 50 wordless ways to say i love you & ill write a short drabble!

🪞 — i'll share a sentence or two from a wip, with a little context

🎉 — this is for anything else you wish to send. play kiss marry kill, would you rather, etc. or simply talk to me! i absolutely love responding to asks

for those who don't want this event clogging their feed, everything will be tagged with max's 300 celebration! thanks again for all of your support & i'm super excited for this

[animezinglife]

Gifts of the Sea

Acelia had never expected to be a High Lord's mate.

Genre: Fluff/General/Romance Post-canon, Tarquin x OC one-shot featuring the backstory between Tarquin and Acelia. This is a companion piece to Late Nights in Summer (recommended reading to provide context). Please do not re-post this anywhere. Special thanks to @lucienarcheron, @zenkindoflove, @crazy-ache, @teddyhoneybear, and all else who've offered such sweet support of my Elucien fics. I hope you don't mind me trying something new! Gifts of the Sea is now featured in the Summer One-Shots Collection on AO3! Click here to read. A bonus moodboard can be found here.

Acelia hadn’t missed the look in Elain Archeron’s eyes when the female had spoken about her mate. To call it enamored would’ve been an understatement: she’d been practically glowing every time she spoke of Lucien, and neither she nor Cresseida had missed it. 

The more Elain drank, the more amusing she had become.

Neither Acelia nor the princess had had any reservations about returning her to him in her state: Lucien was a good male, and she would’ve known it even if Tarquin had never confided his trust in the male with her. Though she knew her mate didn’t have a perfect track record when it came to trust, he had strong instincts when it came to character.

Any lessons he’d had left to learn where his easy confidence in others had once been concerned, Feyre Archeron had taught him otherwise.

Acelia respected the balance her mate ruled the Summer Court with: he believed in giving trust and chances, yet knew when to be firm and what boundaries needed to be set. He was far from an iron-fist ruler, instead a casual and respected High Lord who wore his youth as plainly as his kindness. 

She loved that about him. 

She might even appreciate it more if not for her own roaring headache. Unlike her new friend, Acelia was accustomed to Summer drinks, but still coming off the rush of her mating ceremony, she’d still had a bit too much.

She rested a hand against her head as Tarquin sat beside her on the chaise and handed her a goblet of water. She took it, swirling its contents and taking a deep breath of the cool, salty air. 

Acelia had never expected to be a High Lord’s mate; had never anticipated she might one day lounge on a palace balcony overlooking the ocean nursing an alcohol-induced headache. She breathed in deeply and took a small sip before downing the goblet’s contents and letting out a relaxed sigh. Silently, Tarquin took it from her and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She turned slightly and kissed his hand, taking in his familiar, comforting scent of salt and citrus.

She had been born in Summer, too: shared many of the same characteristics of the court’s High Fae as her mate and Cresseida did. Though unlike them, she’d been born to a humble family: a fisherman father and a mother who ran their small market shop. She’d begun helping them with both as soon as she’d been old enough, assuming she’d one day sail the seas herself or run the shop alongside her mother.

Being a High Lord’s mate–loving and marrying him–had never been in the picture.

Acelia smirked slightly: her parents still didn’t know what to make of the ordeal either and had no idea what to even do with their new income. They’d opted to stay in their village but visited often, and while they’d insisted they didn’t need a more lavish shop, she was glad they’d at least invested in a newer, sturdier fishing boat, and that her father had even been able to hire some help. Most of all, she was glad they’d finally begun to indulge in vacations and rest.

Tarquin’s voice interrupted her thoughts, his voice as soft as the mist from the sea. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I’ve been hit by a storm,” she replied, unable to resist smiling back as his lips curved into a smile. “I’m upright and coherent, at least.”

“I’m surprised you’re drunk at all.” He paused, his brow furrowing slightly. “My cousin didn’t pressure you, did she? I know she enjoys her fun.”

“Not at all.” It had been a running joke between them that despite her small stature, Acelia could hold her drink as well as any male. It often surprised others how well given how rarely she touched alcohol compared to most Fae–drinks in Summer didn’t run cheap, and Acelia had never quite shaken her frugal ways no matter how generous Tarquin was. “I really like them. Elain seems quite different than how you described her sister.” 

Tarquin’s blue eyes softened as he seemed to drift into thought. For a moment, he was quiet. “Feyre was in a difficult situation, and she wasn’t sure if she could trust me or not.”

“That didn’t stop you from trusting her.”

“No.” Tarquin smirked slightly, taking her emptied goblet and setting it aside. “But I’m glad to leave that mess behind us. Even if I’ll always have extra security when she and Rhysand visit. Just in case.”

“I’d question your judgment if you didn’t.” Acelia’s heart fluttered as his smirk turned to a smile: her favorite one of his, all softness and a subtle shyness she would almost call boyish. She felt their bond flowing through them like a current, pulling them to each other in a way that she imagined would be futile to resist. She had never imagined the Mother, the Cauldron, or whatever forces determined such fates would gift her such a thing: mating bonds were the sort of romantic fantasies she’d read about in books as a child or sung about in old sailors’ shanties. 

Such things certainly were not the fates of daughters of a village fisherman; of the keeper of a small, run-down shop. 

And yet she’d sensed it when the High Lord had visited their village; had spoken with every fisherman, every blacksmith, every sailor, and every shopkeeper. She had seen the way her mother had clutched her chest when Tarquin had spoken to her, as if aware of the same, unexplainable force Acelia had been feeling.

At the time, she’d assumed she’d merely been overwhelmed in the presence of a High Lord. 

But Tarquin had looked back as he’d been leaving the shop, his brow furrowed and eyes searching for an answer neither of them yet knew.

He had written to her. Their conversations had lengthened through letters, though there had only been so much a High Lord could say through such means. Acelia had found herself spilling aspects of herself she’d never shared with anyone: of her love of the sea, of the old myths and legends that filled her mind and heart as a child, and of her hopes to one day see Adriata with her own eyes. Somehow, she swore she could feel his quiet, shaking laugh when she'd shared the time a pirate had tried to rob her family's shop, and in her panic, she'd hit him over the head with a bucket and knocked him out cold.

To her surprise, Tarquin had shared with her, too: had spoken to her of his love of the sea at night when all was quiet; of the myths and legends that had scared him as a boy, and of his deepest fears that he might never be worthy of the role he’d found himself in. When he had visited their village again, she’d had the sneaking suspicion he’d had an ulterior motive despite his routine of speaking with every villager.

His eyes had lingered on her a bit too long, and that afternoon she had found herself sailing out with the High Lord of Summer in her father’s old, weathered fishing boat. He had been remarkably easy to talk to; his smile warm and his eyes making her heart race in ways it never had.

Acelia still had never expected the letter to come inviting her to visit the city, or how he phrased it so carefully.

I do not ask this of you as a high lord.

I hope we may always speak as friends.

She had arrived in Adriata only weeks later to a whirlwind: a flurry of introductions by a mutually excited and suspicious Cresseida, a humble if not somewhat comical introduction of Varian, whose hair had been partially singed off in what had only been described to her as, "an incident with the Illyrian bastards."

And all the while, Acelia had fallen in love with the city; its people. The people of Adriata, a peculiar mix of Fae and human refugees still lingering from the war with Hybern, lived vastly different lives than what she’d ever known. Yet there was a warmth to them, and a compassion and caring she’d both seen and felt in Tarquin that had begun to draw her to him.

In ways she hadn’t been sure would qualify as friendly.

She still hadn’t known what to call it the first time he’d kissed her. That had been during her third visit after a full year of communication through letters and Tarquin’s visits. She was sure she was beginning to love him–he was the sort of male who proved easy to love. Though Acelia had thought she’d loved males before: a young apprentice from her village when she’d been the tender age of forty, and another a sailor from the islands that dotted Summer’s seas.

It hadn’t been until she’d unceremoniously fallen into the water off the strange, standing board with sails that Tarquin and Varian had been trying to teach her to use that she’d understood. Tarquin had dived off his own board after her, his strong arms circling her waist as they’d drifted together beneath the surface. Acelia had taken in his beautiful features: his dark skin, white hair that flowed around him, and the eyes that seemed to see more of her than she’d ever known possible.

She wasn’t even sure which of them had closed the distance: only that his kiss had awakened something in them both that had lay dormant from the moment they’d met. Her eyes had snapped open to find him watching her in every bit as much shock, and when they’d finally resurfaced and felt the sun and salty air on them again, Acelia had understood.

Mates.

The word echoed in her mind even now as Tarquin took her hand in his, leaning her in and placing a kiss against her white braids. She took in the hands that held each other: the shell, pearl, and sapphire ring that glimmered on her finger and folded her body against his, taking in his scent and the sound of his heartbeat. He held her close, his steady breathing as soothing and familiar to her as the waves below.

It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d been in the village or here with him now: he was her gift, and she was home.

[theoverlyenthusiasticwriter]

Fenrys x Azriel Masterlist

So, for context, in all of these headcannons, Fenrys accidentally fell into Velaris while working for Maeve (pre-Aelin) and while Rhys was still under the mountain. He doesn't speak the language, so Mor uses her magic as kind of an automatic translator that doesn't work on writing or music.

*These are not in order. Some of them may also occur after Fenrys leaves Velaris and finds his way back fifty years later*

Read more on Ao3

Migraine

Fenrys knows something's wrong, and he's not about to let Azriel suffer without help.

Better?

Fenrys Moonbeam was accidentally teleported to Velaris fifty years ago. Finally, he has the chance to return, with his lover in tow, only Velaris has a few more characters than he remembers.

Speak my language

Fenrys explores the restraints of the magic Mor uses to translate everything for him in Velaris.

Howl

This is the moment that Azriel and Fenrys fall in love with each other. Well, maybe not the moment, but the realization.

Woof

They're falling for each other. They both know it. There's no going back now. On the evening of Fenrys' birthday in Prythian, Azriel takes him out to a secret spot.

*****

Extras:

Moodboard

Thoughts

[twisting-echo]

SonallyNShadamy4Ever has returned... Again!

(Please click on pictures for better quality!)

SonallyNShadamy4Ever, later known as Sonally4LifeReborn, now going by FinalBossSonally has returned and is harassing me and others once again.

I don't even have words right now. My stomach honestly feels sick from dread. Once I start feeling better, this parasite shows up and ruins my day. The comment he left on my Alice Tsukagami x Brad Hawk moodboard made me emotionally relapse. This guy is taunting me about my bisexual identity and that I ship Roupaz. I've reported this guy many times, and he keeps coming back and harassing me and others. But let's get this over with.

"Let's be real." (Considering that biology was one of my favorite subjects and still is.)

Incest and asexual reproduction are not the same. Asexual reproduction involves a single parent, resulting in offspring that are genetically identical to each other and to the parent. Incest refers to sexual activity or marriage between close blood relatives, such as siblings, parents, or cousins. Incest involves sexual reproduction; it is not equivalent to asexual reproduction. Incest does not lead to genetically identical offspring; instead, it introduces genetic diversity (albeit with potential risks such as recessive genetic disorders).

So basically, asexual reproduction produces clones, while incest involves sexual reproduction with close relatives. The two processes serve different purposes and have distinct genetic outcomes.

Yes, it is confirmed that Knuckles and Julie Su are distant relatives.

When distant relatives, such as cousins, enter into a romantic relationship, it does not necessarily constitute incest. While forming a relationship with distant relatives is not inherently incestuous, it’s essential to consider both the genetic risks and the legal and cultural context.

There is a difference between being a distant relative and a direct relative. Direct relatives are closely related and share a higher percentage of genetic material; distant relatives have more distant connections within the family tree.

Knuckles and Julie Su are extremely distant cousins—their shared ancestor was several generations ago; they didn’t meet until they were older; and they didn’t learn about their relation until even later.

I don't ship Knuckles and Julie Su because I'm an "incest lover." I liked their relationship because of their interactions with each other and because I thought they made a cute couple. I liked them way before it was revealed that they were distant relatives. That came out way later. I can't control that. I honestly wish that they could've left that part out of the canon entirely. But what can I honestly do about it? It's canon; thanks, Ken Penders.

FinalBossSonally didn't “innocently inquire” about my Sonic the Hedgehog ship memes; he interrogated me about them, demanding to know why I ship them, forcing his own ships on me, and insisting that he was “simply correcting my shipping tastes.”

This guy literally told me—a bisexual woman, that he was “disgusted” by the fact that Roupaz almost became canon, by the fact that they’re an interspecies relationship, and by the fact that Rouge is bisexual. But Sonelise is A-OK because it’s “straight.”

He claims that he's not homophobic/biphobic, but I have cold, hard proof that he is.

Here he is insulting Kanohi-Zeo for having LGBT headcanons for STH characters and openly admitting that he HATES LGBTQ+. He also ropes in that being a "lesbian" is on the same level as being a pedophile, or something that is illegal. And then he continues to complain as to why they didn't make Knuckles a "female-leaning bisexual," so at least he could be attracted to females because Knuckles' species needs straight male echidnas to repopulate. And then he finishes by calling Kanohi-Zeo disgusting for having these headcanons. If that's not homophobic, then I don't know what is. Aside from it being offensively uneducated stupidity, of course.

So, I didn't respond to his toxic, childish comment, and I blocked him, again.

And as for FinalBossSonally being "my master," FinalBossSonally, you are not the master of anyone; you are a stalking, batshit, psycho, toxic, homophobic, parasite with some serious mental issues. Go touch grass and get some help. I'll be here, having fun in my bisexual hell with my friends~

This link below is the post about my first encounter with SonallyNShadamy4Ever and the full contents of my callout post.

This link below is the post about my second encounter with SonallyNShadamy4Ever as Sonally4LifeReborn and the full contents of that.

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Chapter 40: Hopes

We’ve made it to 40 chapters! I can’t believe all the love and support Heat has received. For the special occasion, I made a moodboard in honor of what’s being affectionately dubbed ‘Narcos: Puerto Rico’ ☺️

And now, for the big showdown you’ve all been waiting for~!

🚨**There’s a big reveal in this chapter!**🚨

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC | Javi x Querida

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

Rating: Mature/Explicit 🔞

Word Count: 20,000+

Summary: The confrontation months in the making is foisted upon you. Will there be anything left to salvage after?

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex, including explicit depictions oral (f receiving) and of unprotected sex. Mentions of diet and food habits, exercise routines, angst, past trauma, resentful anger, physical acting out and emotional turmoil. Allusions to toxic behavior, negative coping mechanisms, recurring relationship tropes, sexual frustration and judgment. Harsh!OFC, Remorseful!Javi, Needy!Javi, and Angry!OFC. **OFC name reveal** In the vein of Narcos being a bilingual show, and Javier Peña being fluent, I felt it was apropos to include Spanglish and Spanish throughout.

Heat Masterlist

Previous chapter - Chapter 39: Longing

Chapter 40: Hopes

Needless to say, your morning is highjacked by the news of Javier's portentous return, and you end up spending what little time you have before the big meeting briefing Devon on everything.

As you disclose to him what conflict of interest you have in dealing with the newly appointed DEA SAC, the usually congenial, kilowatt-smile having, six-foot-four teddy bear of a man looks the most serious you've ever seen him.

"Um…no disrespect, but everyone in the embassy heard about you two, and it sort of got around far beyond there, so I think the conflict of interest might be the least of your worries," Devon tells you and fidgets nervously in his seat.

With a forlorn sigh, you nod, and retort, "Which is why I'll need some time to think about what this will mean professionally for my post here. That's why I'm hoping in the interim, you could be the liaison with the DEA during any occasions where we'd have to interface directly with the SAC—"

"I don't think he likes me very much, though," he apprehensively grumbles, expression etching with tension at the prospect of having to be in Javier Peña's crosshairs.

Primly, you fold your hands over the desk, and muse, "Trust me, Devon. Javier Peña has no issue with you, or Noreen. Frankly, he'd be a hypocrite, and by that same token…so would I."

Frowning, Devon shakes his head. "I don't believe that. No one does. But he's intense and he unnerves me," is his honest retort, and you smile so brightly at that, that he hedges, "I mean, I'll do whatever you need me to!"

"I know you will. And he'll be on his best behavior with you. I'm sure of it," you tell him, thinking to yourself: Because if he isn't, I'll boil him alive—

"Good. I'll go and get everything ready for us then," Devon remarks before getting up and hustling to his meeting prep.

Sighing, you decide you need to break your coffee fast to get through the day, so you go downstairs to the on-site cafeteria to get some brewed courage to forge on.

You don't expect to walk out towards the main corridor and almost jump at the boisterous call of your name.

Turning, you scoff and shake your head amusedly when you spot the two swaggering partners coming over to greet you.

"Well, well, well – Nic Lopez and Shay Duffy. What're you two degenerates doing here?" you ironically chime as you smile at each and put your hand on your hip when you quirk your brow irreverently at them.

"Still a ball-buster, eh?" Agent Duffy snickers as he gives you a platonic kiss on the cheek hello.

"Of course," you singsong as you kiss Agent Lopez on the cheek, quipping, "Nice to see you two can't quit each other."

"Trust me, I've tried," Duffy jibes, earning a friendly punch on the shoulder from Lopez.

"Well, I'm glad you guys will keep busy here," you remark and sip your coffee.

"That's what we hear," Lopez remarks before checking his watch. "Shit, we gotta go report in. It was great seeing you again—"

"Yeah, and we'll be sure to report in to tech duty soon, sass-master!" Duffy cuts in brashly before shaking Lopez on the shoulder to tow him away comically. "See yah around!"

You chuckle and wave them off before resuming your return to your department's floor.

Meanwhile, Javi is rushing through his morning routine in the new space, pulling on his tie and working it around his shirt collar as he shoves his sock-clad feet into the nice and polished leather loafers that matched his dark brown belt. The bedroom was cluttered with his moving boxes and luggage, so he maneuvered around the chaos to sprint out to the living room and grab his wallet from the coffee table.

The sound of a car horn blaring out front in his narrow open-air marquesina had him growling as he rushed to grab his keys and other contraband he needed to pocket onto his person before snagging his light gray blazer and shrugging it on as he hustles to the front door.

Laying on the horn for good measure, Steve barks out of the open driver's window, "We're gonna be late, Jav!"

"Fucking hell, I'm locking up!" he shouts over his shoulder as he figures out the keys for the deadbolt locks to his front door and pats his person to make sure he didn't forget anything. "Keys, phone, wallet…shit. Hold on, I forgot my badge!"

Groaning, Steve drags his palm down his features impatiently while Javier unlocks the door and hurries back into the house. "Idiot. He's a completely flustered idiot…"

A few minutes later, and Javi is rushing around to the passenger's side and jumping in.

"So, this meeting'll be all the department heads, and their assistants. I haven't got an ASAC yet, and yours doesn't come in until Monday, so it'll be you and me reppin' today," Steve is telling him as he drives out of the neighborhood a few minutes later after he lets Javi get unflustered.

Javier is thankful for the distraction of hearing all the procedural crap that'll be taking up his first day. It stops his mind from panicking on what will happen when he sees you for the first time since he'd made a fucking ass out of himself on your doorstep.

"—It's standard protocol for each of us to have a driver. We'll be meeting 'em after the inter-agency thing. They're both newly-minted rookies from the Hato Rey barracks. While they haven't seen much action as cops, they know the island like the back of their hand, so one less hassle – trying to figure out our ways around," Steve is telling him as he makes it through the metropolitan traffic and onto La Avenida Chardón where the U.S. Courthouse and Federal building are.

It's an impressive campus from the avenue. Security is tight, but not as imposing as it'd been at the embassy in Colombia, and there was a mix of civilians, local and federal officials milling through the different buildings that flanked each other on the sprawling flat terrain. The U.S. courthouse was the bigger of the buildings, standing front and center. The FBI and ATF had their offices on floors near the top of the building. On the left of the courthouse was the newer Federal building that housed DOS and DOJ operations offices. It looked like a gleaming bar thanks to all the windows and the bright early afternoon sun glinting off the glass.

After a stop at the security office, Javier got his credentials for accessing the campus and several restricted areas of the building, and Steve murmured the lay of the land as they headed through the sleek lobby towards the interior corridors. For now, the DEA would be operating on the second to last floor of the building until their field office near San Patricio Plaza was ready for them.

Once they were in the elevator, Steve turned to Javier, and with a gesture towards the button to the last floor up, he'd given him a look that communicated, 'This is the floor she's on.'

His heart skipped a beat despite himself.

As they were getting off the elevator onto their floor, Steve was telling Javi about the other agency heads he'd already met.

"—ATF is cool. The guy has a lot of experience working dual-ops. FBI guy is another story," he mutters as they get to their department's entry. "Oh, and yes – everyone knows."

Javi doesn't even need to ask.

Spencer had all but crowed interestedly about how it was pretty common knowledge the last time he'd met with him, and told him not to be shy about using it to his advantage if he had to. It had made Javi's skin crawl, and if that's how he'd felt, he could only imagine how you felt about it.

After settling into his office, Javi and Steve met with most of the staff in the conference room. Everyone seemed eager, but experienced, so he felt at ease about that.

But when he and Steve finally went up to the big conference space where the inter-agency meeting would take place, he could feel all the looks sear into him.

Everyone in the room made it a point to introduce themselves, though, and the smug smiles and compliments did nothing to soften the recrimination that hung in the air.

However, when it was a minute until the meeting was due to start, Devon, Ellis, his deputy Kelsey, and you, walked in, and the tension in the air shifted.

After all, everyone else in that room knew what happened to Bill Stechner, and were not about to make an enemy out of you.

Watching you as you're politely greeting the officials sitting nearest you and Ellis, Javi holds his breath in anticipation of your gaze scanning across the long conference table to land on him.

You never look his way. Instead, you sit on the far end with Ellis, while Devon and Kelsey sit in the seats along the wall to take notes.

Once the CED comes in and kicks off the meeting, you are stoic and poised while introductions are made around the table. When it's Javier's turn to be introduced, you busily review something in your leather organizer. And when it's time for your introduction, you politely smile to the chief before nodding along to his comment about working seamlessly at an operational level throughout all departments.

You can feel Javier's gaze on you.

It boils your blood to be this close to him after so long, and not be able to jump up on the conference table and run at him in order to drop kick him into the carpet.

Still, even with your wrath seething on a slow burn, you'd appraised his appearance quickly when you'd entered the room.

His hair was longer than you'd seen it last, wisps begging for a finger-combing at his temples and at his sideburns. His clean-shaven face looked a lot more chiseled now, too, moustache perfectly trimmed as always, and shoulders broad as ever, but torso exuding even more definition under the better-fitting light gray suit blazer than you remember. Even his posture looked different, while his eyes were still those deep chocolate pools that gleamed chestnut under the sunny afternoon rays coming in from the windows. His collar was wrinkle-free, gold-and-blue jacquard tie straight and neat over his crisp shirt placket. You couldn't help noticing how even the top button of his collar was done, making it obvious how much effort he was putting into his appearance.

The last thing you wanted to do was sit there, itemizing all the ways he looked so fucking good, however.

So, annoyed, you'd kept your gaze from crossing his side of the conference room.

Mercifully, though, the meeting was more about pomp and circumstance this time around rather than real status updates, so once the chief thanks everyone, you're collecting your organizer and making a beeline for the door.

Glowering, Javier can't help feel disappointed. What did you expect, though?! She is in no way going to give you the time of day here…

"Agent Peña, Agent Murphy. You probably don't remember me, but—"

Snapping out of his internal admonishment, Javi acknowledges your deputy with a curt nod and drawls, "Sure I do." When the tall younger man blinks nervously, Javi outstretches his hand for a firm shake. It seems to relieve any awkwardness the other man had instantly, so Javi introduces, "Steve, this is Devon Williams. He used to work at the embassy in Bogotá too."

"Oh, that's great. Nice to meet you," Steve remarks as he shakes Devon's hand next.

"A pleasure," Devon remarks before detailing, "So, I know both your ASACs aren't in yet, so in the meantime, I wanted to let you both know I can set up any status reports you may need, and will be your point person on anything dealing with DIO's division."

As Javi and Steve chat with Devon – who also introduces them both to the deputy of the Telecommunications department, Kelsey Tate, you and Ellis were making a break for the elevator when the hot-shot FBI Special Agent in Charge called out to you from the wide corridor the conference room led out to.

"Shit, want me to wait?" Ellis whispers to you as the elevator doors slide open.

"No, it's fine," you sigh before quickly confirming, "So, pick me up at my place around 6 tonight?"

"Sure thing! See yah then," he chimes as he gets in the elevator, then presses a button to the floor his next meeting is on before drawling, "Good luck."

Politely and prim, you turn to wait for Anthony Bozzi to come over to you. The man was built like a strapping boxer, confidence hung like a winner's wreath around his strong shoulders, and his roguish features always had a bullish etch to them. They were chiseled and framed by his dark neatly-shaped beard. His thick hair was tamed back with gel, and his swaggering gait always gave you a Don Johnson vibe.

"What can I do for you, Agent Bozzi?" you chime professionally as he swaggers up and shoves his hands into his crisp-pleated black slacks.

"Ah, c'mon. Call me Tony," he huffs in his steely baritone with a charming smile before grousing, "I just wanted to thank you for getting Brenda sorted on that stuff."

"Oh, no need. I'm happy to help," you tell him, sensing this was just a ploy to strike up a conversation with you, so you begin to excuse yourself with, "Anyway, I won't keep you—"

"Actually, I wanted to ask you one more thing. Pardon my being nosy, and all," he cuts in, and at his prefacing, you begin to wonder if he'll have the audacity to say out loud what everyone in the building already knows. "But is it true your father is a Vice Admiral in the Navy?"

Totally having expected a different question, you sober and nod. With a wry smile, you confirm, "That's true."

While he goes on to tell you about how his own father had served in the Navy, you don't know that Javier is watching on from down the corridor.

"You should've called her, man."

Glaring over at Steve, who'd loped up next to him to impart that musing drawl, Javi mutters, "Who's that asshole again?"

Shaking his head amusedly, Steve retorts matter-of-factly, "That's Tony Bozzi, the Special Agent in Charge for the FBI. Don't let his friendly charm fool you. I hear he's a cutthroat motherfuck—"

"See you fellas at the party tonight!" the chief calls out as he swivels around them and gives a bossy salute as he goes.

"Party?" Javi mumbles and quirks a brow at Steve.

"Oh, yeah. Forgot to mention there's a 'Get to know each other and don't be hostile' happy hour thing at one of the nicer hotels later tonight," Steve responds, going on to suggest they drive over together.

But Javier's already stopped listening as he looks back at the elevator foyer that you'd been standing at to find you've already left.

Luckily for your temper, the rest of your day is so busy that you have no chance to seethe about Javier.

Devon told you how nice he and Steve were during your end of week debrief, so your rancor subsides, slightly.

By the time you're parking in your condo building's secure lot, you are wishing you could skip the happy hour, but know it'll only bring more unneeded attention. Taking the elevator instead of the stairs, you walk down to your corner, north-facing unit's door and unlock it tiredly.

You really love your apartment.

It has become your haven after all these months, and you find yourself lingering in the open-floor-plan space of your living room and kitchen as you divest of your purse while you click the answering machine to recite through any missed messages. The machine robotically announces the first message, and the time it was received.

"—Mija, I'm back from D.C. I'd like to see you. Maybe you can come over for dinner one of these nights? Give me a call back, as soon as you can."

Your father's voice makes you groan as you march down the hall to strip out of your work clothes and get ready for a quick shower. As you're tossing your blouse into the hamper, the machine announces the next message.

"—Nena, me and the girls are going to La Placita de Santurce tomorrow night. Wanted to see if you were up for going! Llámame."

Making a mental note to call Zoraida back in the morning, you're about to hop in the shower when you hear the machine announce there was one more message.

There's only dead air, as if the caller was mustering the courage to leave a message, before abruptly hanging up. The machine droned its end of message tone.

Huh, that's weird. You continue to undress, and once you're in the shower, your mind wonders, What if that was Javi calling?

Instantly livid, you rushed through the routine. By the time you reined in your temper, you wondered if it even could've been him. After all, you're pretty sure you'd only given Steve your cell phone number.

Discarding further thought about the matter, you went to your closet and picked out the outfit you'd been thinking about wearing. At first, you'd thought it might've not been appropriate for the happy hour, but after today? Oh, you'd make sure to look your best.

Meanwhile, as you got dolled up, Javier was pacing the corridor outside of the ritzy hotel ballroom.

The impulsive longing had him craving a double whiskey and a pack of cigarettes, but he'd be damned if he derailed months of gains for the fleeting taste of either numbing his senses.

No, he wanted desperately to be on his game when he finally managed to talk to you.

"Dude, you look like a creep, stalking up and down the hallway like this," Steve grouses at him when he comes back from the bar.

Grunting, he rubbed at the tension point between his brows as he muttered, "I feel like a fucking creep for being here…"

Frowning, Steve clapped his hand on his shoulder and nudged him along to enter the ballroom. "Listen, man. I don't think this is the best time or place for you to approach her," his partner is counseling as he directs Javi to the table he'd spotted as being the perfect exit out the terrace and swanky poolside bar. "Maybe just send her flowers or something?"

Javier can't help but snort gruffly as he drops into his seat, reminded of the last time he'd tried that maneuver. "Yeah, I don't think that'll work," he husks dryly as he sits back in his chair and stares around the glitzy room.

There's hors d'oeuvres set out along two banquet tables, appetizer nibbles consisting of an assortment of Puerto Rican fritters, and a bar on each side of the room that was serving only beer and wine. Clearly meant to be a networking happy hour, the room was filled with plenty of Federal building officials, as well as staff and executives from the Puerto Rico Federal Affairs Administration.

Twenty minutes into the thing, and after several meet and greets, Javier was anxious. Had he made a mistake by coming? Should he have just gotten your address somehow, gone there, and begged to talk to you before coming here? Should he wait and go there afterward? He didn't know what would be the best option, and the more he fretted, the more reticent he got.

While Steve struck up conversation with one of the ATF guys, Javi fanned his gaze over to where he'd noticed a couple of high-ranking officers from the Puerto Rican police force shaking hands with the CED and the FBI SAC he'd seen talking to you earlier. When he let his stare wander over to the entry to the ballroom from the hall, his eyes landed on you exchanging hellos with some of the officials from the public relations division.

His breath caught in his chest at seeing you in the killer white dress and patent leather nude pumps, hair full of volume and undulating in lovely waves that framed your face and cascaded down your back. Your rouged lips pulled into a chaste smile when you shook hands with what looked to be a comandante of the National Guard, and your lashes were curled in a way that it made your expressive eyes all the sultrier. It was all too much. He felt like he'd been hit by lighting and was now running several degrees hotter than normal.

And yeah, the fact he recognized that sinfully sexy Kathleen Turner-inspired dress from that damn movie only made his pulse race in his veins while heat pooled in his gut. Fuck…she's stunning.

He couldn't help fawn from afar. Not with how statuesque you looked in the timelessly sexy dress. The white of the delicate linen fabric accentuating your radiant complexion, the ivory satin buttons and the belt cinching your waist was a classy look, while the risqué-but-chic slit up the hem of the left thigh had several gazes lingering in your direction.

Of course, as usual, you seemed oblivious to it.

"Alright, kid. Just so you know, loverboy is sitting over by the terrace doors," Ellis is whispering into your ear now after he noticed Javier and Steve were present as he escorted you down to a table more towards the front of the room. "Whenever you're ready, say the word, and we're outta here."

Sighing, you sit and place your slim purse on the table so you can lean back in your chair and sip the sparkling wine you got from the nearest bar. "No, worst-case, I'll just grab a cab home—"

"Hey, signorina!"

You both turn to acknowledge Tony Bozzi as he appears to your right with a vodka soda in his hand as he takes a seat closest to you at the table-cloth-clad circular table.

"Agent Bozzi. Having a nice night?" you greet as he leans over to shake Ellis' hand.

"Hey, bud, would you tell her to just call me Tony?" he quips to Ellis.

"She's a stickler for keeping it professional, what can I say?" Ellis counters affably as he drinks his ginger ale.

"Booo, I'll just have to make her break her rules, then," Tony razzes before winking at you.

You peg him for being a brash guy who is putting on a more congenial veneer for your benefit, and you're not sure if that's because he's looking to be a get-over, a social climber, or something else.

While you all chit-chat about the people in the room, Javier caves at his need for liquid courage.

He goes out to the bar outside, and admires the melodic ebb and flow of the ocean just beyond the hotel's property while he's served a double whiskey, neat. Sure, it's helping quell his jealousy at seeing the barrel-chested, dark-haired and bearded man eye you like he was waiting for an in. But really, it's the burn of the alcohol incinerating his morose feelings that helps him not dwell on having to likely steal your affections away from some other guy and win your love again.

"There you are, Peña!"

Javi turns to see Ronald Mercer, the Chief Executive Director, approaching him.

"Evening, sir," he acknowledges before shaking hands with the man. "This is a much nicer setup than anything thrown at the embassy."

"I'm happy to hear. The Puerto Rican's are great hosts. Always friendly – and up for throwing nice parties," the man chuckles. "Listen, it's a big get to have you here. I was hoping you'd bear with me and let me introduce you to some of the officials from the Governor's administration? They're really keen on meeting the man who'll help them with their Mano Dura initiative."

Javier internally groans, but agrees to be the pet narco slayer – to be paraded to the officials, who fawn over what he did in Colombia and gush about being at his service if he were to need any help from the governor's office. He's heard it all before, of course, but he's charming and deferential, all while hoping he can maybe find a way over to where you're at, chatting with the people at your table.

But when the chief arranges an impromptu photo-op with the photographers that showed up from El Nuevo Día, Javi finds out too late in all the bustling about of the attendees in the room that he'd also corralled the other heads of departments to get in for one of the photos.

In the commotion of being roped over to the front of the ballroom, you didn't realize you would end up being just a couple of people away from standing next to Javier.

"Damas y caballeros," the photographer called out as he pantomimed for everyone to get in tighter for the shot. Swallowing all your acrimony so it wouldn't show in your stoic features, you stood tall and gave your best Mona Lisa smile while the man counted down before taking the photo. "Muy bien, y gracias a todos."

It was as your eyes readjusted after the camera's flash that you then smelled his spicy, warm musk as he sidled past the two officials who were chatting now while everyone else dispersed to return to the social networking around the room.

Before Javier could tap your shoulder, you walked off back to the table you'd been sitting at most of the night. Swearing under his breath, he was about to follow, when Steve signaled for him.

Once he crosses back to where his partner is, he gets pulled aside. "Hey, Connie just called me. She needs help getting the kids to bed," he tells him contritely. "You gonna be ok?"

"Yeah. I'll take a cab back to my place. Thanks," he assures Steve and pats him on the shoulder as they both head for the hall.

Agreeing to meet at Steve's the following afternoon so he could take Javi around the metropolitan area and point out places he'd already been briefed on, he gives him a hearty pat on the back and thanks him for all the help today.

Once he's seen Steve off from the impressive lobby of the hotel, he takes a beat to collect himself in the cool, air-conditioned space. Should he just give up? Call it a night and try again at some other point?

Frustrated, he scrubs his hand across his chin testily as he deliberates his options.

Figuring he at least needed to do another round in the room before he could leave when no one was looking, Javier turns to stroll back the way he came, when he looks over at the outdoor entry leading to the hotel's pool area and notices a silhouette of a white dress off in the distance, standing at the poolside bar.

Breathing a sigh of relief after being able to sneak away before Bozzi could try to circle back for another tedious conversation, you lean into the counter and smile pleasantly at the bartender while the soft breeze from the ocean caresses your dress and hair. Once he nods in acknowledgement, you gesture to a particular bottle of rum.

"Una Cuba libre, por favor," you're ordering, already retrieving the needed bills from your purse while the bartender makes your drink.

"Put it on my tab, please," a smooth baritone at your side instructs to the bartender in Spanish.

Your heart skips before your brain's able to fume at his fucking audacity.

Javier knows he's taking a risk. However, it seemed to be the best opportunity to approach you, thanks to the poolside bar being empty. So, he'd sidled up to the bar, downwind but next to you. Gaze guarded as he watched you order, and pining even more thanks to the sound of your melodious voice speaking Spanish. Not to mention from how the scent of your perfume on your warm skin heats his own blood. It's now or never.

But, before he is able to muster the words out loud to you – the ones that have been searing a hole in his chest for months, you snatch your purse up from the bar top, slap the bills you'd retrieved to pay for the drink down on the counter, and curtly order, "Please accept payment for the drink I ordered and nothing else."

Confused, the bartender tentatively places your drink down with a slow nod as you give him a pinched smile and snag the drink before turning to stalk away back to the ballroom.

Well, that went well. Annoyed with himself, he closes out his tab and stalks down to the terrace to enter the ballroom just in time to see you across the room back at your table.

Feeling exasperated, you chug your drink, daintily place it on the table, and give Ellis a clipped gesture indicating you were ready to leave.

"Shit, ok," Ellis croaks as he nods, and was on his feet by the time you rounded the table to exit via the hallway entry. He manages to gain on you when you turn towards the carport vestibule, and asks, "You sure you wanna leave like this, kid?"

"Like what?" you snap as you both exit the automatic sliding doors and head out towards the parking lot of the hotel.

"Like you're about to nuke a small city?" he tries to joke, but at your shoulders winding back imperiously, he amends, "Maybe it'd be better to just hash it out—"

"I have nothing to say to him."

"Ok, but maybe it would be good to hear him out so he can get it out of his system?"

"I don't care to," you hiss contumely at him, and Ellis' brows shoot up to his hairline, so you grumble, "Drop it, Ellis."

"C'mon, girlie. This isn't good for anybody—"

"I don't want to hear it, let alone deal with any of it—"

"Celina."

Pausing in your furious stride, you turn sidelong to stare guardedly at Javier.

With steel in his gait, Javi approached the short distance from the hotel's parking lot side entry, looking intent to speak to you while no one else is around out in the secluded lot from the main avenue beyond.

Having clearly seen you leave, he'd followed after as inconspicuously as possible, and had decided to gain on you both in the hopes that he could catch you before you left, but at seeing how speedily Ellis was trying to keep in step with your brisk stride, something in him had overridden his caution and spurred him to make his stand, here and now.

So, he unflinchingly walked over to you both until he was in front of you in the parking aisle nearest the barriers that overlooked the dark beach and ocean shore beyond.

His brown eyes were plaintive, and the overhead glare from the nearest lamppost cast him in a stark light.

Your eyes were blazing, expression a marble mask, but by the rigid set of your posture, he knew you were boiling over with barely-contained rancor.

Still, he just had to tell you.

"I know you're angry. I totally understand why you feel that way, and you have every right to be. I know there was so much left unsaid – not all of it great, but I need you to know that I meant everything I said to you that night," he rushes out in an impassioned baritone, hands at his sides clenching and unclenching nervously as he adds, "There hasn't been a day that's gone by where I haven't thought of you. That I haven't regretted how things were left between us. All I ever wanted was to make you happy – to protect you, but I failed and was too stupid to see I was just ruining what we had instead. I want to try to fix things – to win your trust back and prove to you that everything we planned was real. I still want everything with you, Celina. I love you—"

You slap him with all your furious might across his face.

The smack reverberates in the quiet, ocean-adjacent parking lot, and while your hand stings, it's not enough to chasten your pain as it has you unleashing in a vehement, exacting torrent, "You fucking manipulative bastard! How dare you say a fucking word to me after everything you've done, you son of a bitch?! 'I love you'?! You have the audacity to say such bullshit to me, after I haven't heard a fucking word from you in months?! It wasn't enough that you tore everything apart then?! What, you make it your mission to fucking drop back into my life out of the blue to make me feel like an insane, stupid idiot for ever believing a goddamned thing that ever came out of your fucking mouth?!"

Javier is stunned, the imprint of your palm scalding at his right cheek, eyes wide and woeful as he stands there, rendered mute.

You'd sensed Ellis flinch next to you with every venom-laced word you'd lobbed, and when you feel him gently touch your shoulder, you recoil away, withering gaze still fixed on your target and only becoming a wrathful glare now as you level Javier with, "Don't you ever come up to me again with any more of your puterías, you maldito mentiroso malparido!"

Then, clearly incensed and needing to get away before you hit true critical mass in your ire, you turn away and bark at Ellis, "I'm taking a taxi," before stalking away from them both.

In a state of shock and dismay, they watch you storm out of the parking lot to the bustling street traffic, where you flag a cabby down before getting into the backseat of the taxi to be driven away.

Completely nonplussed, Ellis turns back to look at Javi.

He sees a man torn asunder – utterly devastated by having hurt you so deeply than from having incurred your furious wrath.

"Shit…I, uh...you need a ride?" he finds himself asking while he fidgets in place.

When Javier just looks shellshocked and stares down at his feet, as if at a loss for what to do with himself, Ellis sighs as he taps his arm with the back of his hand before gesturing for him to follow as he rambles, "Alright, my car's over there. Just come with me before anybody comes out to see what the hell happened, or worse, that fucking Bozzi guy comes looking for her for a third damn time today."

Dazed, Javier follows, face flushed from suppressed emotion and pulse racing as his hearing gets fuzzy from how flustered, and utterly downtrodden he is, all at once.

It's an awkward drive out of the tourist district, to say the least.

Once Ellis manages to get Javi to tell him his address, and he is cruising on the highway for a quiet beat, though, he decides to throw the man a lifeline.

"Listen…she waited for you," he parcels out, careful with not speaking too much for you. At the stiff way Javier's shoulders press back into the seat, he sighs, confiding, "She never told me all the details. I was already gone by the time she decided to leave the embassy, but I heard her tell Anita she'd gone to your apartment, and when she found out you'd left, she held out hope that you'd come back. But, when you didn't…well, by then, she couldn't stay there, knowing what she knew."

His breath is ragged as he lets it out in a huff while he absorbs that.

Another heavy silence passes between them as Ellis drives on to take the exit into the downtown route shortest to get to Javier's gated neighborhood. He doesn't expect for the conversation to resume, and is about to reach for the volume dial on the radio to at least alleviate the tension with some music from the local classic rock station.

"I went back."

Hand returning to the wheel, Ellis glances over at Javier when he drags his palm down his face before cupping it over his mouth.

Shaking his head, he drops his hand listlessly in his lap, exhales, and unburdens himself with, "I went back, but she'd already moved out of her apartment – had quit and left the embassy, and it wasn't until I got back stateside that…anyway, I didn't know where she was, and no one I spoke to had her current contact info. It wasn't until a box with all my shit from her place got delivered that I knew for sure she was done with me…"

"She wasn't."

He turns to gawk at Ellis, who looks begrudgingly put out.

"Don't look at me that way, man!" he gripes as he turns off onto the avenue into the more residential area. "You think a woman would be that pissed if she didn't still care?"

Javi feels the ache behind his sternum subside as hope fills him up. Then he remembers how Steve had mentioned getting those missed calls back around the time you would've been leaving Colombia.

As if he can hear his loud thoughts, Ellis grouses, "She's a strong, fearsome one, and nothing made her angrier more than hearing what happened to you, and knowing that creep Stechner had been involved?" He grunts and scowls, pausing long enough for Javi to tell him the security code to engage the automatic gate to retract open since the guardhouse was vacant. Once he's driven through and let Javi gesture for the route he should take, he huffs a gruff sound. "Anyway…she wasn't done with you, and there was no way she wasn't going to eviscerate that guy for what he'd done," he pauses to shoot a sharp glare at Javi after he drives through the main entry to his neighborhood before turning down the block he'd indicated. Bitingly, he sneers, "Which, by the way, I'm super ticked off I had to find out via gossip what happened to her in Medellín."

Javier glowers. "She didn't want anyone to know—"

"I get her motives. Still…the fact that fucking prick had anything to do with it?! That he'd been harassing her the whole time? Did you know—?"

"I didn't until after. She had to talk me down from ripping that fucker's head off," he growls wrathfully.

Ellis grunts in agreement of the sentiment.

"Yeah, well…she always plays the long game."

At the flippant aside from the other man who was pulling onto the street his house was on, Javi's mind recalled something you'd said that had been a potential clue of that very assertion.

"…I have no qualms about making sure certain hostile forces get their comeuppance very soon…"

Astonished, he goes silent the rest of the drive that remained.

Meanwhile, you'd made it home much sooner, thanks to your condo building being just a relatively short drive from the tourist district of El Condado, and as soon as you paid the cab driver and exited the car, you'd keyed into the pedestrian gate and stomped your way through the frond-shaded-tropical-flower-festooned courtyard to enter the front lobby of the building. The night attendant greeted you pleasantly and informed you that your mailbox was full, so even in a snit, you'd thanked him, gone to your mailbox cubby, and unlocked it to retrieve the assorted bundle.

You were so angry still, though, that you took the long way up to your apartment, even though your muscles were still sore from the workout that morning, and your feet were killing you from the tall heels.

Ascending the stairs to the fourth story, you walked around from the south-facing side to traverse around the open-air walkway over to your doorway. The balmy night air sifting through the space did little to cool your ire – hand shaking as you opened your apartment door from the adrenalin rush of having blown your stack.

Once in your apartment, you locked the door, turned on the lamp by the side table where you drop your keys and mail onto, and stalk haughtily to your couch, where you sit and kick off your heels before cupping your hands to your forehead and lean forward to try breathing through your rage. So much for fucking de-stressing!

Your temples are throbbing, but after a few cleansing breaths, you manage to rein in your tempestuous anger and open your eyes to cast a tired glance about the perfectly cozy and appointed space before it lands on the little sideboard near the balcony doors, where you stored your booze away once you'd started your diet and alcohol fast.

Just as you get up from the sofa and begin to tiptoe along the cool tile floor towards it, your house phone starts ringing. Exhaling a groan, you turn and sprint to the narrow console table against the wall by the door where the cordless phone and answering machine sit.

Checking the caller ID, you grunt and answer the phone.

"Well, go ahead…tell me how immature and out of line I was," you grumble as you start to pace the space between your living room sofa and the console table.

"I'm not! I just wanted to make sure you got home alright," Ellis gripes, and you exhale, shoulders slumping as you hum.

"I'm sorry," you mutter, free hand absently combing through your hair as you keep pacing. "I just—I couldn't believe—ugh, never mind," is your growl before you center yourself and ask, "Were you able to get home right after without any more hassle?"

"Um…not right after, no. Actually heading to the house now," Ellis draws out, which makes you halt in your pacing. "I, uh, drove the poor bastard home…"

Outrage fizzles up quickly in you. "What?! Why?"

"Because! I felt bad for the guy, and he looked fucking miserable – the saddest, most heartbroken I've ever seen him, and I just couldn't skip away to my car and leave him in the parking lot looking like he was going to hop the barriers and walk into the ocean—"

The visual he's conjured is so pointed and harrowing that you feel a little lump catch in your throat.

"And anyway…I still think you two need to hash things out."

"Ellis," you grouse haughtily. "There's nothing to work out. N-Not…not after how I handled things tonight."

Your friend grunts neutrally before volunteering, "He was really broken up, kid."

Frowning, you idly wander the living room in a meandering loop as you murmur, "Not too broken up to have prevented it coming to this in the first place…"

There's a tense silence before Ellis sighs dramatically.

"He went back. But, by the time he got there, you'd already left."

Feeling like all your acrimony was doused and swept away with cold shock, you freeze and whisper, "He did…?"

"He poured his guts out, girlie. Really, I believe he didn't mean for things to have turned out the way they had. You guys just missed each other, like, literally – maybe by a couple of weeks—"

"Oh," you exhale in a reedy murmur, getting overcome.

Ellis seems to sense it, so, he aloofly informs, "Well, I dropped him off at DD-5 on Los Robles in that Floral Park neighborhood. Bet he'll be there, licking his wounds, maybe even crying himself into a whiskey bottle…"

Forlorn, you feel your heart ache at the thought.

Javier was not fairing any better, when he thought about how upset he'd made you.

After Ellis dropped him off, he'd shed his blazer and tie before dejectedly organizing the clutter of boxes in his bedroom to be against the wall and out of the way, at the very least.

He wasn't sure he should bother unpacking them.

The doubts that clawed their ways free had him questioning every decision, leaving him spiraling while he aimlessly walked through his two-bedroom, one-bath bungalow picking up after himself from the whirlwind rush he'd left in his wake that morning. The pitter-patter sound of the light drizzle that kicked up with the drop of a gusty breeze was thrumming against the metal crank windows as he wandered about.

The sound was quite soothing, helping him distract his mind from the roiling mess of his tempestuous thoughts.

Gingerly touching his cheek after tossing clothes into the hamper, he finds it's still tender, but not as hot as it'd been after your slap.

His mind flashes to how furious you were, and a pang wells in his chest before he can stop it.

It's replaced by the twinge in his stomach that has him huffing and kicking off his shoes into the open sliding door closet before he lopes glumly out of his room.

Having skipped partaking on any of the nibbles at the hotel, he wandered to the galley-style kitchen with the bar top counter that looked out at the empty dining room space and the living room beyond, in search for something to hold him over until the morning. While he went, he took the whiskey bottle out from the top cabinet next to the fridge and placed it aside on the counter before retrieving one of the bevel glass tumblers from another cabinet.

He was opening the pantry cupboard he'd hastily shoved the groceries he'd purchased the night before, grabbing a bag of plantain chips from the shelf, when he heard a knock on his front door.

Immediately going on high-alert, Javi left everything on the counter and approached the door cautiously. After peering out the vertical-stacked square block sidelight and seeing a familiar silhouette, he idly scrubbed his palm over his mouth tensely.

Unlocking the two deadbolts, he opens the door, and confirms it's you.

You turn towards the door and meekly stand there just sheltered out of the drizzling rain thanks to the concrete awning covering the front entrance stoop. He can tell you're warring with internal conflict by how creased your eyes are, and how your hand wrings around the strap of your purse hung on your shoulder.

After hanging up with Ellis, you'd felt so guilty that you'd rushed to put your heels back on, grabbed your day-to-day purse, and replaced all your important items into it from the slim one, grabbed your condo and car keys, then breezed back out the door. You didn't even take umbrage at the fact he strategically fed you Javi's address, even threw in the security code for the gate, because he knew you so well. No, you were glad for it, and used the drive over to regain your emotional grounding point and stamp down the upheaval of before.

As soon as you'd pulled up to the curb in front of the blue-and-white-painted cement house with the open-air carport garage and wrap-around backyard-and-side brick fence on the corner, you'd stared at the front door and warred with your emotions, however.

It had already started drizzling, so intrepidly, you decided you needed to get it over with before the heavier rain shower rolled through. At least that was the excuse to get out of the car and march up his front walkway to the door.

Javier's shocked, albeit cautious expression makes you frown, so you steel yourself and just get on with it.

"Look, I…I overreacted tonight. That was completely inappropriate, and I had no right to behave like that," you rush out in a firm tone, body language easing in rigidity when you see his shoulders relax and his tense features soften. "I'm—I'm sorry. I should've handled it better, and there is no justification for taking my anger out on you like that—"

"You don't have to apologize," Javi husks ardently before adjusting his weight onto his opposite foot in order to gesture with a nod of his head in invitation as he rumbles, "It's starting to rain. Would you like to come in?"

You hesitate, looking back as indeed the drizzle becomes a rainfall that doesn't look like will let up for a while.

Pressing your lips together, you idly comb your hair behind your ear before hedging, "I didn't come here to intrude, Javier—"

"You're not," he assures steadfastly, cautious about not being too pushy that it'll trigger you into wanting to leave, so he murmurs, "I appreciate that you came all this way. So…it'd mean a lot if we could just talk? I, uh, I'd like to try and, I don't know…"

At him grasping for the right thing to refer to it by, you sigh and coax reservedly, "To hash things out?"

Javi nods, relieved. "Yes—Yeah, exactly," he retorts in a raspy baritone before stepping aside and holding the door open for you.

Deciding to just stow your reluctance towards even being there – feeling the way you do – you accept his invite by walking in and wandering through the entry and into the main space. It's a sparsely decorated house designed in the current minimalistic, modern style that had become the rage in the early 1990s in the metropolitan area of the island. The kitchen was to your right, and the living room was straight ahead while a short hall to your left led to the laundry room and marquesina entry.

"Sorry, I don't have any rum. I just grabbed stuff from a colmado nearby last night," Javi is remarking as you take yourself to the living room and sit on the wide-cushioned gray sofa. "I, uh, know you're not a big whiskey drinker—"

"It's ok. I've actually been on a diet; a liquor cleanse," you volunteer as you place your purse on the light wood grain coffee table with the block legs. When Javi dithers by the bar top counter, you snicker and assure, "I've already broken my liquor fast for the night, so just a glass of water is fine."

He nods and quickly goes to grab the glass tumbler he'd left on the counter before getting the water pitcher from the fridge. Once he's got that and a glass of whiskey for himself, he comes over and hands the water to you.

Your fingers brush briefly as he sits in the retro-looking swivel chair adjacent you on the sofa. "Not very good at sticking to that stuff, I guess," he jibes in response, referring to you both ending up at the bar earlier, and when you pause in taking a sip of water to give him a sharp look, he clears his throat and corrects, "I mean, I've been cutting back, too. Just hard to stick to it…" when your gaze softens and you nod before taking a sip from the glass, he adds, "I quit smoking."

Surprised, you cup the glass in both hands, resting them over your tucked knees. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Haven't broken down and had a cigarette since before Christmas," he remarks before taking a sip of his whiskey.

You nod, smile reserved as you place the glass down so you can cross your legs, pretending you're not teeming with frenetic nerves.

Javi knows it. He knows your guard is all the way up, and you can't just turn that part of yourself off. Not when you're trying to protect yourself and keep any perceived threat locked away from the fragile parts you can't keep compartmentalized and detached from.

So, after swallowing the rest of the whiskey in his glass, he sets it on the table while it burns down into his gut and gives him the courage needed to step into the lion's den.

"Celina…I don't know what to say. Where to even start," Javi rushes out, leaning forward to pleadingly look you in the eyes. "Everything that happened – I never meant for you to get caught up in it. I—it fucking kills me that I hurt you. That you were stuck to deal with the fallout…thinking I just left and stayed gone. I'm sorry," he pauses when his voice begins to tremble, but at the way your eyes crinkle at the corners, he forges on, "I should've called. Should have told you I was coming back. I made so many mistakes, but the biggest one was not having the courage to tell you—"

"Javier."

He pauses then, brown eyes focusing intently on you when you sit forward and brace your hands to your forehead in a hassled manner, like you're desperately trying to collect yourself and not fly off the handle.

A tense few seconds of silence pass, and just when you let out a heavy exhale, he expects you to finally lose your temper – to really let him have it. He ends up being surprised when you sigh and sit back to look at him.

"I can't lie to you. I was blindsided, and furious with you—with what you did and how you did it. I questioned everything you ever said…got upset with myself for ever believing anything you'd promised. But when I found out what really was going on? I felt lost," you're telling him, voice cracking before you divert your gaze away towards one of the windows across the way. When you feel like the tangle of emotion has dissipated, you continue in a hushed tone, "Everything that mattered – my work, my career at the embassy, all the hopes I had for my life. It all just fell apart. I felt like everything was a lie."

Javier watches your lashes flutter as you fight back the welling of tears, and is thunderstruck when you look over at him now with all the emotion in your wide, watery eyes when you wring your hands together and devastate him with the last thing that he'd ever expect you to say.

"It…It was the most scared I'd ever felt, and I felt so lost, and then I felt so guilty, because I realized that was how you must've felt."

Heat rises to your face as the emotion overcomes you, making you flustered and wanting to be far away from him – to not let him see you at the verge of falling apart.

"Querida—" Javi begins to croak hoarsely, but before he can move over to comfort you, you've grabbed your purse from the table and rushed to your feet to try and make a hasty exit.

"I'm sorry. I have to go—" you're in the middle of flustering out in a tremulous breath, when Javi gains on you and herds you away from the door to instead be tucked against him.

You flinch, recoiling away to stare up at him when he embraces you with his hand at the small of your back while he cups your cheek to swipe away the errant tear that escaped your eye.

"Please, mi amor. Don't go," he susurrates, heart aching when your breath stutters and more tears fall to roll down your cheeks. "I don't want you to ever feel guilty. Just—we can start over. Everything we wanted is still possible. I meant everything I said. I want it all, with you—"

Brow furrowing stubbornly, you wipe at your cheeks as you push away from him while you cut in, "What're you doing here, Javier?!" Anger welling up in your chest when he gives you a confused pout, you snap, "Why are you even here?!"

He realizes what you mean – what you're truly asking, which is, 'Why did you come to Puerto Rico?'

Staring at you intensely, he decides to go for broke while warring with the impulse to just wrap you up in his arms.

"I came here for you."

Astonished, you stare at him like your incredulous mind is trying to decipher his true motives – to detect the lie.

So, with an assertive tone, Javi declares, "I went back to Colombia. You'd already left – had moved out of your place, and no one had heard from you since you'd left your cousin's, and they didn't have a way to get in contact with you. Fucking months went by, then Steve gets the job here, sees you're working at the Federal building. The moment he told me…the moment I knew? I made the call to take the job here the next day."

When you still, purse clutched in your hand as you stare in stunned disbelief, Javi slips his palms around your hips to hold you close. "I came here to be with you, Celina. I don't give a fuck about the job. If you want, I'll quit tomorrow," he grouses, tone becoming velvet over steel as he adds emphatically, "I'll do whatever you want, go wherever you want – do whatever you need me to do to prove you can trust me. All that matters to me, is you."

Speechless, you stare into his soulful, dark chocolate eyes in the lowlight of the entry by his front door.

The weight of it all steals your breath, and before you've stopped it, the walls within you come crashing down.

Dropping your purse to the floor, you toss your arms around his shoulders and kiss him.

Love-struck, Javi groans a yearning sound as he pulls you into him and kisses you with sheer hunger, mouth claiming yours while his hands grip you against him to pin you to the wall so he can hike your dress up and you can wrap your legs around his waist.

Feeling the urgent press of his arousal seeking the heat between your thighs after so long has you shivering and mewling, heat rising to the apples of your cheeks as Javi trails possessive kisses from your mouth down to your jaw before grazing his hot mouth against your pulse.

"Wanted this. Wanted to pick you up and feel you against me," he growls as he worships a scintillating path down your neck to the swell of your breasts that're pushed together from how desperately you're clinging to his shoulders. "You had to wear this sexy fucking dress—"

"Javi," you gasp when he grinds his clothed erection against your core, which makes your pulse throb in your clit and arousal drench your panties.

"Fuck, I need to taste you, baby," he husks as he adjusts you back onto your wobbly tippytoes in the heels before he fondles a needy path down your curves and drops onto his knees before you.

"W-Wait, Javi," you stammer in a panting whine when his hands eagerly slip up your thighs to push your dress up so he can reach the waistband of your panties and pull them down your hips. When he halts in the task and stares up at you with those puppy eyes, you fluster, "I—It's been a while for me."

He looks surprised, which for some reason instigates a scalding wave of annoyance that has you snippily scoffing and snapping, "What?! You might've spent all fall and winter fucking your way through all the girls back in Laredo, but I haven't been with anyone! Not that I'm obligated to say if I've been with anyone else. Knowing you, though? You probably screwed your new office assistant here too already, huh?"

Javi snorts contrarily at the accusations before running his hand testily through his hair, gripping the tufting curls at his crown with a snarl. "Not in the least, querida. I haven't been with anyone," is his impassive grumble. When you don't seem convinced and your pursed lips sneer dubiously at him, he drawls, "Nope. All I've done is jerk off like a fiend. Probably have the lady at the drugstore back home thinking I'm a fucking creep with how much tissue and KY Jelly I go through—"

You snicker and stifle a giggle into the back of your hand as you deride, "Ay, por favor, like you didn't do that while we were together anyway. Even if it bothered me, there's no point in fibbing—"

He gives you a narrow stare as he grouses, "I'm not. And fine, I'm always hard up, but I'm serious. All I want is you, and it wouldn't matter if you're seeing someone else—"

"Oh yeah, you wouldn't care?" is your challenging question, adding, "You really wouldn't be bothered if I've been with another guy? If I was seeing someone? Your track record would say otherwise—"

Hands firmly sculpting back up your dress to pointedly press your hips against the wall, Javi pins you in place with his smoldering stare as he starts to tug your panties down while he rumbles hotly in response, "Yeah, well, I wouldn't care if you were with every asshole I saw leering at you today. Hell, even if you were with that prick with the beard. Because right now, all I care about is that you're with me now, and all I wanna do right now, is eat this pussy until you come on my tongue."

An excited shiver courses through you as if you were a tuning fork that had just been struck. It buzzes into your core and sets cloying desire to tingle into the clutch of your now tingling cunt, making all sass and snark scatter in your mind as you watch him peel your panties down your legs before he helps you remove the sullied garment, then takes your heels off for you.

"This fucking dress," Javi gravels in a thick husk, almost reverently as he pushes the hem up to expose your thighs before he presses worshipful kisses along the smooth expanse of skin. "I've fantasized about you in this dress for months—"

"R-Really?" you simper, but end up hiccupping a breathy sound when he finally makes it to your mound and nuzzles into you.

He feels arousal throb beseechingly through him at the heavenly perfume of your womanhood he's been missing for months, the panties he'd swiped being a poor substitute to the real thing. The heat and headiness of nosing the soft curls of your mons and feeling your warm skin diffuses a wave of comfort and want through him, making him hum covetously.

"I rented that movie a while back. Ever since, I pictured you in this dress, letting me do this," Javi tells you unabashedly as he shifts your leg over his shoulder so he can lick a luscious swipe up through your folds.

"Oh my god!"

The airy whine you let out is as rich as your divine scent, and just as sweet as tasting your wet pussy after so long.

You arch against the wall at a particularly lascivious lick that preceded him flicking the tip of his tongue in that libidinous way that melts your nerve endings down with pleasure. Alight from it, you mewl, "Javi!"when he presses his lips over your clit and groans, making you tingle and writhe as your toes curl from how amazing he's making you feel.

Hearing you say his name like this is a triumph. It's so overawing after so long without your grace and passion. He's painfully hard, cock throbbing with how worked up he's getting just from going down on you – convinced that if you so much as begged in that needy whine you let slip from your lips when you're close, that he might come in his pants.

When he draws circles over your clit with velvety undulations of his tongue, you keen and buck against his mouth, chasing bliss you've been starved of while Javi revels in having you again.

He feels your thighs quiver in his grip as you rock your pussy to ride the zeal of his mouth, completely enraptured by his ravenous desire.

So enraptured, in fact, that he's surprised when you mewl a reedy cry of pleasure and card your fingers desperately into his hair, tugging on the strands at his crown when he sucks on your clit and drives you into an incandescent orgasm.

He manages to keep you from folding over him when your legs give out, and when you exhale a ragged little flustered sound, he hums a soothing rumble as he licks your climax like it is rare honey that he doesn't want to miss a drop of. Then, he nuzzles a path up your body and affectionately crowds you so you can cling to his frame while you lull your head back along the wall as you regain your bearings.

Your eyes flutter when he admiringly brushes his fingertips along your flushed cheek before tucking some strands of hair from where they're clinging to the perspiration at your temple. And when the lustful haze clears from your vision, you see how handsome and pleased he is as he scrubs the back of his hand across his moustache all the way down to his chin while he gazes at you with something fiercely self-satisfied glinting in his dark brown eyes.

Javi is surprised when your brows knit together just before you grab the front of his shirt and yank him down to meet your possessive kiss. Floored, he goes to pin you against the wall, but instead you assertively redirect him backwards as you begin to tug at his shirt buttons.

"Mmph, querida—" he grunts in between the torrid making out while you maneuver him to backpedal to the living room.

When he backs into the side of the sofa, you silence his protest by shoving him backwards onto the cushy surface, thanks to the momentum of his knees catching on the plush curve of the armrest helping him topple with a grunt.

You clamber over it as well in order to hurriedly straddle his lap and hastily unbutton his shirt while you resume kissing him with passionate desire.

The tangy and whiskey flavor of his mouth has your head spinning as you tug his shirt open before kissing luscious fire down his neck and chest. As you do so, you let your eager hands wander down to his belt next. As they descend, you marvel at the differences in touching his torso now from the last time.

Javier's pectorals are firm and chiseled under your plush lips, and his torso was far more defined than you remember – abs etched and tummy taut so impressively that it was clear he hadn't been idle all the time back on the ranch. And when he hastily yanked his arms free from the shirt to shed the constrictive tightness of the fabric at his back being pinched into the couch, you internally swooned. The definition of his arms and the span of his shoulders had caught your eye earlier in the day, but to see him sans the suit now confirmed all your suspicions. There's no doubt…he's been working out.

You wanted to see the rest of him, so you kiss along his jaw as you swiftly unbuckled his belt and unfastened his light gray trousers.

His breath hitched when your touch skimmed over his clothed erection, making him squirm and arch under you as he simultaneously rushed to undo the sturdy, albeit delicate-feeling buttons at the front of your dress. You hum in approval and nuzzle that spot just under his jaw that makes him weak with need as you shift to straddle him while freeing his erection from its white cotton confines.

Jolting from the direct contact of your nimble touch over his throbbing cock, Javier stammers, "F-Fuck," and grips your waist.

You lean back to see he's unbuttoned the dress all the way down to where the belted waist stops and blocks further progress until it's undone, so you deftly shimmy your arms out of the sleeves and adjust the cant of your hips while you rush to unclasp the front closure of your nude-toned bra.

Enraptured by your toned physique and supple skin, Javi ends up staring at your perky tits and peaked nipples just as you straddle yourself right over his crotch and lean back down to kiss him torridly.

His scent is masculine and warm, with a hint of musk that clings to his skin, making you yearn to press your nose into his neck. Breathing him in after so long has you grazing your teeth over his pulse before suckling a possessive kiss into his skin.

Javi groans out, and it's so starved, that you undulate your hips over him before burying a hand into the back of his hair to guide him to meet your lips, kissing him with ravenous delight.

Oh fuck, fuck-fuck-fuck— he's gritting out in his head at how amazingly soft and warm you feel against his bare skin, getting flustered when you plant your palms over his broad chest and deepen the kiss with a lustful grind of your pussy against his hard-on. Truly, it's taking all of his control to not get overwhelmed and worked up while also staying grounded in the lustful desperation of being consumed in the tempestuous desire scintillating between you both.

You're unaware of how wound up he is, being completely out of practice in spotting the tells, and frankly too preoccupied with how good it feels to rub against his cock while your tongue licks against his in the torrid kiss.

Oh, dammit—forgot, I'm not on the pill! The worry flashes across your mind, and you groan frustratedly at it as you suckle on Javi's bottom lip before reluctantly breaking the kiss.

Panting against his jaw, you're just about to ask him if he has a condom, when Javi's breath hitches and his grip on your waist tightens, and you finally notice how taut his pectorals are under your hands.

The groan you'd made was practically a starved whine to his aroused senses, and combined with how you pulled on his bottom lip? It made a spike of pleasure snap months of pent-up desire loose, and before he could rein it back, feeling the heat of your pussy rut flush against his cock had him overloading with hyper-sensational arousal. He couldn't stop it.

With a choked, harsh grunt, Javi ground out, "Oh fuck—!" before he stiffened under you and his hips arched involuntarily up, breath catching in his throat as he writhes against the uncontrollable jerks of his body blitzing out against his will.

You still against him and stifle a gasp at the feeling of warm fluid surging against your mound and inner thighs.

Javier's skin burns with a mortified flush that radiates up his neck and scalds his face as he clenches his jaw and swears wordlessly in flustered, embarrassed frustration.

Incredulous, you lean up from being prone over him and stare with disarmed awe down at him, as you murmur, "Did you just…come?"

The way he practically turns red in the face as he bashfully cups his hand over his eyes in shame while the other caresses nervously along the length of your thigh is all the answer you need, but Javi scrapes his thoughts together enough to grouse, "Jesus fucking Christ…"

It makes quite the sight for you. Muscles tense and sculpted, skin flushed hot with his embarrassment, full lips parted and panting raggedly, and his hand trembling on your thigh now. Well, I'll be damned…

"Huh. I guess you weren't lying, after all."

The saucy, silky drawl of your teasing statement was accompanied by you tracing the defined contour of his oblique to the flat of his taut abdomen in a soothing glide of your fingertips, while you also patted the hand that he has on your thigh placatingly as you sigh, "You could've given me a heads up—"

Gruffly, he lets out a surly scoff before exhaling and dragging his palm from his eyes up to his forehead and through his hair testily.

The sight of you naked from the waist up, with your hair tousled, and giving him a look that was sultry and provocative – albeit endearingly amused, was enough to make want simmer hotly through him all over again.

"Couldn't get in a word edgewise, not with the way you were kissing me—" is his surly grumble he trails off on when you cock your eyebrow sardonically at him.

The way he's scowling up at you now instigates you to goad him. "No need to be so ornery," is your faux-admonishing lilt as you showily sit up on your knees and remain straddling him while you busily tuck him back into his underwear and zip his trousers shut, then lift your sexy dress' skirt in order to flaunt the damp, sticky stains of his cum seeping into the light material before remarking, "Oh, well. You shouldn't have started something you couldn't finish – well, finish together, anyway—"

Smoldering from your teasing, Javi suddenly sits up and manhandles you against him before clambering off the sofa.

You yelp in surprise as you hastily wrap your legs around his waist and hook your grip to the back of his neck as he effortlessly carries you out of the living room to turn down a back hallway that leads to his bedside-lamp-lit bedroom.

"Who said we're finished?" he growls as he stalks into the large room, just before he tosses you onto his plush bed.

You let out an airy giggle as you land, but the way he looks at you while he rushes to get his clothes off makes a deviant thrill tickle down into your core and leaves you buzzing from the hot wave of arousal that tingles warmly into your pulsing cunt.

Javier sees your breath quicken from your excitement, so while he strips his undergarments off, he orders in a low octave, "I'm not finished with you, querida, so take that fucking dress off. Now."

Something depravedly gleeful curls free from you as you sit up and shake your head defiantly, giving him an exacting look, before you counter, "Come take it off of me."

That primal desire to dominate you burns a streak up through him at your words, so with his agile reflexes, he grabs your ankle and yanks you down the bed. You gasp out in excitement as he brusquely tugs the belt of your dress loose before working each of the asymmetrical placket's buttons undone with deft fingers, all while possessively kissing your breasts.

Neither of you care how sticky you are from the earlier snafu, and frankly, you're aching so bad for Javi to be inside you now that any and all thoughts from before are gone from your mind as you arch into his mouth when he sucks hard on your nipple.

He groans from your hands burying greedily into his hair while he moves to suckle on the other studded nub and discards your dress blindly to the floor behind him before he picks you up and climbs onto the bed with you.

"Nnngth!" you whimper when he nips lightly on your pebbled flesh before he lays you down on the bed and settles eagerly between your thighs.

The smoldering, molten look in his eyes as he gazes down at you in your nude glory makes you needy and bold, so you lean up to hook your hand to the back of his neck in order to tug him down to meet your yearning kiss and pull him to be on top of you. Feeling his broad frame and warm muscles press into you is rapturous, sheer bliss in of itself, and you relish how good it makes you feel.

Javi revels in it too, enjoying your supple form and passionate kiss as his hands fondle and caress your curves covetously.

When he slips his touch between your bodies to dip two fingers inside your wet pussy, you gasp into his mouth and arch, knees impulsively hiking up to clutch at his hips. The feeling is new but familiar all at once, thanks to how long you've been without him, and when his thick digits curl and brush that erogenous spot you can never reach with your own, you grip your fingers into his back and whimper for more.

The way your cheeks flush and your mouth falls open on a moan while your eyes flutter shut at him grinding the pad of his thumb over your hypersensitive bundle of pleasure is too much for him to linger in just touching you now. So, he recedes his fingers and quickly uses your arousal to slicken his ramrod erection before dragging the head of his cock through your drenched folds.

Feeling it notch at your dimpled entrance while his big hands scoop under you in order to hold you into alignment has your breath flitting out of you while you gaze lusciously up at him. His eyes are dark pools of coffee that glean an earthy cocoa from the shade-less table lamp that casts a yellow illumination in his bedroom, and for the first time in too long, you reach your fingertips to caress affectionately across his brow before you skim them up to his forehead to brush his long wisping curls back from his sweaty skin.

Javi lets out a soothed exhale as he bows his face to nuzzle you lovingly, and you savor it while you loop your arms around him to clutch at his back just before he thrusts into your clenching heat.

"Mmmph!" you whine, feeling your muscles protest and strain from the thick of him filling you in one fell swoop.

At your leg hiking up with a jerk from how hard you arched, Javi shifts to hook his arm under it while he slips his other hand to cradle the small of your back so he can adjust how deep the next thrust goes. He swears gruffly at how warm and tight you are when he sheaths to the hilt into you, groaning into your neck when your nails nip into his lower back.

"Feel so good…missed feeling you," Javi husks in a gravelly timbre before suckling kisses into your neck and up your jaw. "Gonna take it slow, preciosa."

You exhale a little mewl and grip your hands at his lats when he starts rocking slow and deep into you.

The way your silken walls flutter around his cock has him setting a toe-curling pace soon enough, though, and his mouth trailing delectable fire across your senses as he kisses you with hungry desperation has you enraptured.

The tempest of passion being spun up in you burns pleasure through you, making you moan, "Javi, p-please—need it," when he starts quickening his pace and letting the ferocity of his need amplify the pounding of his thrusts.

At your moan, he grunts possessively and shifts so he can hold you against the bed and really fuck you hard now.

The debauched sound of warm colliding flesh weaves around the squelching of him slamming through your drenched cunt and the buildup of your moans falling into rhythm now. Javi can feel how your thighs are beginning to tense and the way your walls are fluttering tighter around him, so he starts rutting against you every time he slams home, which causes his pubic bone to grind into your clit with just the perfect amount of pressure that wreaks pleasure through you.

"Ahh, Javi!" you cry out and writhe under him, hands clutching at his back just beneath his shoulder blades while your body bowls up into his as you fall apart from the blazing orgasm, gushing your climax so hard that Javi groans in accomplishment above you.

Watching you come enchants him, truly. He missed basking in your climax – how your features glow from exertion and bliss as he prolongs your pleasure. It's like an elixir for his parched soul, being able to drink in how beatific you become from his sinful triumph in making you reach rapture.

It makes him feel worthy once again.

You're a sweaty and warm panting heap when you come down from the aftershocks, eyes heavy as they stare up at the undulating ceiling fan you hadn't noticed before while Javi nuzzles into the crook of your neck and breathes in your heady perfume.

Once your pulse has calmed, your throbbing flesh feels how rock-hard he still is inside you.

Realizing this is what he meant about taking it slow, you kiss his shoulder before limberly hiking your legs up and pivoting to roll you both until you're able to straddle his hips while he stretches out under you with a flustered look on his handsome face.

"Cari��o—" Javi begins to rumble when you roll your hips and undulate to grind down on his cock salaciously before squeezing your floor muscles around it. His hands grip your thighs as he arches and moans, "Dios mío, b-baby. Mmmph!"

His cock throbs inside of you as you start to ride him, and it feels so amazing that Javi's hands desperately snap up to hold onto your waist as you hum alluringly and rut down on him before clenching your sheath tight again.

The way he moans makes you feel alight and wound up now, so you hold onto his wrists and really start fucking yourself on his perfect shaft, feeling spun up by the power of dominating him and knowing how much he needs you to make him come.

"I want it, Javi. Give it to me," is your throaty purr as you plant your palms over his broad chest and squeeze his pectorals, earning a tight growl from him just before you order, "You're gonna come inside me this time, beautiful boy—"

"Oh Jesus Christ!" he groans, raunchily overcome by how fucking hot this is and how sexy you are, and how desired you make him feel.

However, he's unable to accept shooting his load again without making you come one more time.

So, he surprises you by shifting up to wrap his arms around you possessively before pivoting so that he's balanced up on his knees while his hands hold you to set a desperate, unabashed pace of fucking you. All you can do is blindly reach back to hold onto the top of his headboard for leverage as you rock roughly into him, other hand clinging to the back of his shoulder and neck as you both work each other into an incandescent passion, moaning and gasping, falling into the abandon of getting lost in coupling with fierce desire now.

Nothing matters but his pleasure. Nothing matters but your pleasure. The feeling of his hands caressing you like he's a sculptor working with clay. The feeling of your body undulating like a sinewy haven he's sinking deeper and deeper into.

All that matters is how you make each other feel right here and now.

And when you both reach the zenith of it all, you're flung off the precipice into soul-shattering delight together, climaxing and giving yourselves over to the wracking throes of achieving bliss with each other once more.

You wordlessly cry out as you come, and Javi husks a groan with you, bowing his head into your chest when he shudders and squeezes you close as he fucks his cum deep enough that you feel the decadent bloom of his seed filling you in the seat of your womb. The rapturous delight fills you both up, and you nuzzle kisses into his temple and cheek before he affectionately hums. He tilts his face up to rub his cheek against yours before his full, adoring lips kiss yours languidly while you both come down from the blissful high.

Javi leans back exhaustedly onto his haunches and pants raggedly when you loop your arms clumsily around his shoulders and slacken relaxedly in his embrace with a dreamy sigh.

Before he runs the risk of collapsing in a heavy heap on top of you, Javi lays you on the now rumpled bedding before kissing dotingly along your heated features, grunting approvingly when you hum softly and distractedly comb your fingers through the back of his sweaty hair.

Shifting up once he feels the last of his energy begin to fizzle out, Javi groans when he pulls out and watches your comingled climaxes honeying your now tender flesh before pearly rivulets weep free from your pussy. You shiver at the sensation and squeeze your warm, slick thighs together while you stretch out tiredly now just as he flops onto his back next to you.

There's a comfortable lull, where only the sound of the fan rotating at a low ambient hum while it undulates the cool night air in the room across your heated skin reins, whilst you both catch your breaths and lie in post-coital bliss.

Then, Javier breathes in a cleansing inhale before huffing it out in a sated exhale.

"Fuck…I could really go for a cigarette right now."

For whatever reason, his pleased and cool mutter bursts the bubble.

Completely unaware, though, Javi leers sidelong at your bodacious form, cataloguing how tighter your tummy and more toned your arms are when you suddenly pull yourself up to sit with your knees tucked up against your chest.

Christ on the cross…you did it again. Just got right back into bed with him, is your recriminating sneer at yourself as you stare about his large bedroom.

Adjusting to lounge on his hip, propped up by his elbow, Javi gazes warmly at you, admiring how the yellow lamp light makes your dewy skin glow before he realizes your features are guarded – eyes faraway.

"Querida," he murmurs as he sidles closer and kisses your bare shoulder, which stirs you out of your self-reproachful thoughts to blink and glance meekly over at him now. Thinking you're getting skittish because of how raunchy you both are now after the salacious sex, he quickly mutters, "Be right back," before rushing off the bed to the bathroom entry adjacent his side of the bed. The sound of the sink running, then the wringing of a towel precedes him coming back into the room in his nude glory before he flops back down onto the bed with you.

However, before he can cozy up to you with it, you snatch the washcloth from him, scamper to the foot of the bed, sweep up your discarded dress and then scurry into his bathroom, before clicking the door shut.

Bemused, Javi is slow to realize what's happening. Shit. Shit-shit-shit!

Hurrying to grab a pair of sweatpants from his suitcase, he pulls them on as he hastily rushes out of the bedroom to intercept you as you make your exit out of the bathroom's hallway door.

You've just turned the corner and rushed to the living room while you swiftly buckled the satin belt of your dress when you hear his footfalls, so you retrieve your bra and speedily yank it on to fasten it shut before you shove your arms into the sleeves and rapidly work the buttons up the placket shut as you sprint to the entry to get your panties, heels, and purse left discarded on the terrazzo floor.

"Celina, wait!"

Javi's gained on you before you were able to get to the front door.

Shrugging away when he tries to herd you back to the living room with him, you sigh, "Javier, I have to go—"

"C'mon, don't leave like this," he coaxes as he loops his arms around your waist and gives you a plaintive look. When you relent and just fidget from one foot to the other, diverting your gaze from his, he assures, "You can tell me exactly everything you want to say. Yell at me. Curse me out and tell me exactly how fucking stupid I was. I know I was, but if you need to get anything off your chest, you can. I want to hear you—want you to feel heard. Anything you need, I'll do it. I want to earn your trust back, corazón. You don't have to go—"

"I can't do this again, Javier."

Frowning, he lets you wriggle from his embrace so you can yank your panties on and shimmy them up under your dress before you slip your heels onto your feet.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here. Shouldn't have kissed you or gotten so carried away—" you're muttering as you adjust your dress, when your rambling lamentation skids to a halt from how he puts his hand over the one you'd been scooping up your purse with from where you'd set it on the adjacent bar top counter.

"This is not like last time," Javier vehemently declares, eyes molten with his conviction when you stare up with disarmed surprise at him. "I know I've fucked up enough times now that you'd be justified in never forgiving me, but I need you to know how much what we had mattered to me. How it still matters to me. You're everything I want, so…I'll wait as long as I have to, until you're ready," he professes, other hand coming up to caress your cheek as he begins to husk, "Celina, I love—"

Your eyes sharpen as you shake your head and take a step back, dismissing, "No, please, don't. I don't wanna hear that, Javier. I-I can't hear any of that right now." I can't fall back into this and get stuck in the vicious cycle again—

At seeing how your words wound him and earn a woeful frown to etch his features, your heart aches, and you can't help scoff at yourself before amending, "I just need time to think about everything."

Javi exhales, reluctant, but nods in appeasement before insisting, "Ok, but you don't have to run off from me, you know—"

"Javier. I got the news you were not only back at the DEA, but assigned as the Special Agent in-Charge here all at the same time, then had to go into a meeting with you looking fresh as a fucking daisy and I couldn't run up and punch you like I wanted to. Then, you followed me around that godforsaken stupid event like a persistent puppy, accosted me in the parking lot with your proclamations, and just fucked me silly after throwing me in a whirlwind about what happened almost half a year ago! I think I'm entitled to run off and regroup on how I feel," is your imperious harangue, hands snapping to your hips as you impatiently glare at his stunned, dopey look before you deadpan exactingly, "Fair?"

Jesus, when she puts it like that…

"Yeah, that's fair," he concedes and crosses his brawny arms over his chest, then grumbles glibly, "You skipped the part about slapping the shit out of me—"

"Yeah, well, I apologized for that, you jodón," is your snarky sneer as you eye him stubbornly while you watch that sly smile tug across his full lips, making it clear he'd just been goading you. With a huff, you dismissively grab your purse now, and turn to amble off to the door as you gripe, "Ugh, you're fucking incorrigible—"

His hand gets to the door handle before yours, but this time, it's to chivalrously open it for you.

"I can't help it. Not when you look so sexy when you're sassing me," Javi drawls in that velvety timbre that makes heat zing through your sore muscles.

Wryly, you roll your eyes, and are about to just walk out, but then you pause, turn to him, and kiss him on the cheek. "Goodnight, Peña," is your silky murmur, enjoying how his expression softens with a doting smile.

"You too, Reinosa," is his warm chuckle.

Snickering, you turn to exit out to the cool night air and strut down the wet walkway, but pause halfway when Javi calls out, "Hey." You turn and raise your brows curiously, so he smirks and purrs, "Since you're in that dress, you gotta say the line." The girlish scoff you let out is irreverent and punctuates the amused way you roll your eyes, so Javi needles, "C'mon. You just gotta."

Unable to help yourself, you put your hand at your hip and give his broad, muscular frame a once over before you toss your tousled hair sultrily. Then, with a bat of your lashes, you do your best Kathleen Turner impression as you smile and drawl, "You're not too smart, are yah? I like that in a man."

Javi grins so broadly that his boyish dimple appears in his cheek, and you shake your head amusedly before resuming walking to your car.

"Fuck me," Javi wistfully hums to himself as he watches you get in and smile at him from the driver's side window before you turn the car on and drive away.

He ends up locking up and going to bed hungry but satisfied as he stretches out in the nude under the ceiling fan, surrounded in the sheets and bedding that smell of you.

He sleeps so soundly in the sex-laced scent of his bed that he's startled groggily awake by the pounding knocks coming from the door that leads out to his open-air carport. Rolling clumsily to the side of the bed with the digital clock perched on the nightstand, he blearily sees it is almost 11am.

"Ah, shit…" he grumbles as he forces himself to sit up and crawl over to get his sweatpants on. A few minutes and more impatient knocks later, Javi lumbers tiredly to the door and unlocks it. "Alright, fuck. Lay off," he snaps as he opens the door for Steve before turning to stalk back and towards the kitchen. "I know, I know – I overslept. Just let me set the coffee to brew, then I'll go get ready—"

"Holy shit, Jav," is Steve's deriding scoff as he enters his partner's abode and sees the signs that he had company last night: The two crystal tumblers left on the living room's coffee table, glinting guiltily in the early afternoon sun coming from the window. "You don't have anyone back there, do you—?!"

"No," Javi snaps as he fills the coffee pot with water from the sink.

"Uh-huh," Steve deadpans as he surveys the scene, hands in his jean pockets and shoulders rolling back under his light blue polo shirt. "Guess you had fun at the party, then?"

Muttering under his breath, Javi sets the coffee maker to brew and walks around the counter to stride past Steve en route to the back hallway. "Quit fishin', hillbilly—"

"Just hurry up and shower the sex funk off yourself so we can go! I promised Connie we'd all go to Old San Juan for dinner tonight," Steve calls out after him as he lopes over to the sofa, but before he goes to sit on it, he cautiously eyes the cushions before shouting, "Did you already screw on the couch?"

"Fuck off, Steve!" is the response he gets before a bathroom door is slammed shut down the hall.

Deciding to play it safe, Steve sits in the opposite side chair and picks up the TV remote to check the weather forecast while he waits.

You, however, are relitigating the entire previous day's sequence of events as you lounge grumpily in your bubble bath, after having slept peacefully once you got home, and woke up feeling guilty about how good you felt when you shouldn't be already emotionally moving into the 'we're totally back together and going to make it work' phase.

Submerging under the suds, you hold your breath and let your mind clear. No more thinking about it.

Bobbing back up with a sigh, you lean back against the tub and continue to soak while you sulk.

…You didn't use any protection…

The anxious pang makes your pulse race for a few beats before you take a cleansing breath in, then let it out slowly through your mouth.

Once the warm water cools and the bubbles become frothy suds, you get out of the tub and get ready for your day.

The weekend comes and goes, and so does most of the work week without much fuss. In that time, you're busy overseeing a massive digital onboarding effort at the federal level while Javier hit the ground running on overseeing things – including one of the first coordinated task force raids.

It was a big operation that would involve hitting several puntos, or drug points, around the metropolitan area.

Steve had given him the lay of the land – shepherding Javi to all the notorious spots gangs operated out of, to where they'd likely distributed to local dealers from. Most of the targets were located in public housing divisions run by the local state, often located just a stone's throw away from the affluent sections of the capital and bustling tourist areas.

Reluctantly on Monday, Javi had met again with the rookie who'd been assigned driver duty for him. He didn't like the idea of not driving himself, but figured he had to deal with it in the interim.

The young cop was eager and jovial, always bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when he picked up Javier and escorted him to and from. Today was no different.

"Buen día, Agent Peña!" is the cheerful greeting he gets when he climbs into the unmarked Ford SUV police vehicle.

"'Morning," he greets, favorite aviators on and coffee thermos already going to his lips as he settles in. After taking a long sip, he placatingly makes conversation by asking, "Have any plans for the weekend?"

"Ah, yes! Me and my brothers are going to Vega Baja to la, eh, the beach?" the young officer parcels out in his rough English, dark expressive brows furrowing when he waffled on the right word.

"Kike, you can just stick to Spanish if it's easier," Javi assures in Spanish, smirking when the rookie pouts.

Unlike his usual custom of being flippant and sarcastic towards his peers, and straight up standoffish and aloof with his subordinates, Javier didn't have it in his heart to quash the exuberant, albeit excitable energy from the scrappy-yet-jovial rookie. Sure, his enthusiasm had been a bit disarming the first time they'd met – "Hello Agent Peña! I am Enrique Torres, but my friends call me Kike. Eso es Ki like 'Key' y Ke como 'Keh', so Keykeh!" – but the more the kid persisted with his fastidiously congenial greetings and intrepid efforts to engage Javier in conversation, the more he wore him down into friendliness.

"No, sir! I want to get my English better," Kike insists, nodding curtly as he drives. "But thank you, sir."

"Alright. So Vega Baja has nice beaches, then?"

"Yes, sir! Very nice. All Puerto Rico has great beaches, but we go to Vega Baja for the food too," the brown eyed man with the dark curly-hair explains as he navigates the traffic expertly, not even batting an eye at drivers who cut in and out of lanes without putting a turn signal on or really following the norms of the road. "There is a great kiosko we go to for frituras en La Boca you should try!"

Javi lets out a humored grunt before asking, "Where would you go if you wanted to take someone out?"

"Ah, depends on how nice you want," Kike muses, navigating towards the entry to their destination. "If you want to dance? Plenty of clubs in Isla Verde. A nice dinner? Anywhere in Hato Rey or El Condado."

Javi sets his thermos in the cup holder within the center console so he can pull out the map from the glove compartment and visually assess all the areas he's mentioning. "What about somewhere nice that's right on the beach?" is his query as he traces the map with his finger along the metropolitan area's coastline.

"You got a hot date, Agent Peña?" Kike cheers in his goading tenor, brows bouncing conspiratorially at Javier in such a way that he snorts and shakes his head at the kid. "Bueno, there are nice places in Dorado, but not really right on the beach. Most places on the beach are chinchorros—"

"What's a 'chinchorro'?" Javi asks, internally bewildered once again by another colloquial term he's never heard of. He'd had to learn so many terms, sayings, turns of phrase, and coded slang in Colombia, but a lot of it luckily resembled things he'd grown up hearing amongst his Mexican and Tejano friends. But there was a lot of Puerto Rican-isms he'd never heard of before, and selfishly, he wanted to be friendly with Kike so he'd have a go-to translator for all of it. Among other very useful reasons he'd found for keeping the kid around.

"Eh, it's like, como se dice…a shack? No, like a kiosko that is rustic and not very fancy, you know? Those are on the beach, and most people go to drink and eat for a little bit. A pitstop?" Kike strings together, and when Javi just gives him a deadpan stare, he huffs and says in Spanish, "It's where you'd go on the weekend to shoot the shit with friends over appetizers, have drinks, dance, and head back on the road to try the next spot. There are a ton of spots like that in Loíza. Some are made of cement and have balconies or terraces that overlook the beach, though."

Nodding, Javi wonders whether you'd ever want to go with him.

When Kike finally pulls up to the barracks, he parks and joins Javier on the impromptu training exercise he was about to watch the Comandante of the municipality oversee.

As he approaches the area of the barracks where field drills are run, he spots Duffy and Lopez already there, talking to one of the sergeants.

"Agent Peña, this guy is connected," Kike whispers to him as they approach. "Brother-in-law works in La Fortaleza."

Nodding, Javi approaches the group, getting prepared for quite a stressful day.

You, on the other hand, are just getting out of the shower after coming back from your early morning jog. Going into your bedroom to retrieve an outfit for the day, you let your mind reflect on the whirlwind of a week that had kept you preoccupied from thinking about what happened with Javier.

Tugging on your sleek navy trousers and tucking in the silky indigo blouse, you go to the dresser mirror and let down your hair from the bun in order to brush it out while you think. He's behaved. Hasn't dropped in or cajoled you into talking. Things here are not the same as the embassy, so it wouldn't be as taboo for people to know about us…if we wanted people to know, anyway. Well, know that we're back together...

Ellis had peppered you with questions when you'd gone over for dinner at his and Anita's place Saturday night, having let Zoraida know you would be having a lowkey night rather than going out with her and the girls, but you'd simply told him you needed time to process everything. That you had to reflect and recalibrate your thoughts towards the entire situation.

Sagely nodding, Ellis had hummed along, as if totally agreeing with you. And then he'd pulled out that morning's newspaper – which was already folded and tucked to the article that used a photo taken the night before – with a smug smile before drawling, "Well, this is definitely worth putting in a scrapbook, girlie."

The group shot was in black and white, but you could practically feel your umbrage all over again as you saw just how close you and Javi were standing from each other. He looked so freaking handsome though, so the outrage fizzled before it could really take hold.

Later that night, you'd been in your nightgown, sitting on your bed reading the article and trying not to let your gaze wander back to Javi in the photo, when your cell phone had rung on the nightstand next to you.

"—Ketsele! I just read your email. I'm packing a bag now and am on my way—"

"N-No, don't do that, Sasha! Everything is fine. I'm so sorry. I-I just needed to vent," you'd sat up and crisscrossed your legs as you explained, "When Ellis told me, I was so furious, that I needed to just write my rage out—"

"Ok, well, please tell me you stuck to just venting…?" Sasha had fished, voice a drawn-out question teeming with concern.

"…Not really," you'd sighed, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth before divulging the entire sequence of events to him. Once you'd exhaled and slid down into your pillows huffily, you'd grumbled, "All right, let me have it…"

A terse pause had been your answer, until Sasha had dramatically sighed, "You love him."

It wasn't something you could deny. So, you didn't. And after discussing all your concerns, he'd told you quite earnestly, "Well, when I come back down to visit, if you haven't murdered him out of sheer exasperation already, I'll make sure to let him know I will make him disappear if he fucking hurts you again—"

"Oh stop," you chuckle dismissively before redirecting the conversation by inquiring how things were going with him, asking about Marc, and asking about how his father was doing.

Afterwards, you felt a little better.

Nevertheless, you still had so much swirling around in your mind, one none more pressing than a concern that you'd too quickly disregarded while blinded by your lust.

However, it hadn't been until the next day, when you were picking up a few things at the local El Amal to stock up on some pharmacy essentials, that you'd wandered down the feminine hygiene aisle and paused at the at-home pregnancy test section. Grabbing a few and tossing them into your basket, you recited a mantra to yourself from the time you left the drugstore to when you were pacing the length of the hallway, waiting for the time to elapse so you could check the results.

It's been months since you've menstruated, and it's unlikely anything would happen if you're not ovulating. This is just to be sure, and you're just being cautious.

It didn't ring true until you returned to the bathroom vanity, checked the test and saw that there was no blue line in the square window of the applicator. Not pregnant.

You'd breathed a sigh of relief, and stored the other two test kits in the towel closet's top shelf with the travel toiletry case and hand towels.

You're probably not able to get pregnant anyway, is your dour thought as you dab the spritz of perfume between your wrists and stare vacantly at yourself in the mirror now. Snapping out of your melancholic daze, you force yourself back into the closet to grab your black kitten heel pumps when three swift knocks sound loudly down the hall from your front door.

Perplexed, you check the time on the clock at your nightstand before rushing on bare tippy toes down to the door. You look through the peephole and let out the tense breath you'd been holding before you unlock the deadbolts.

When you open the door, your father stands tall and imposing while dressed fairly casual in his gray slacks and white guayabera. His leather shoes are polished and match his dark brown belt, and although he's not in uniform, his posture is still regal as if he were.

"Well, nice to see you're in one piece, niñita," he grumbles haughtily as his gaze hones in on you fighting the impulse to roll your eyes at him. "You never answered my message—"

"Pá, come in," you sigh as you stand on your tippy toes to kiss him on the cheek before ushering him through the threshold. "I won't even ask how you got in the complex without a key or security code—"

He surveys how nice and tidy your apartment is from the previous time that he'd visited as he states, "Oh, when you first moved in, I bribed the superintendent to give me the gate security code for the pedestrian entry."

Shaking your head, you close the door and eye him cynically. "Why am I not surprised…" is your deriding deadpan.

"Hm, this place has come far. You moved a few things around," he's remarking as he lopes around the open-concept space to look out at all the pretty potted plants on the balcony, glancing at the Laguna del Condado that makes up the greater part of your condo's northern view.

"Yes. The landlady took her dining room set up to Fort Lauderdale, so I moved the table and chairs that used to be here to where the dining table had been. I like it better. Lucked out with getting this place, and with nice furniture to boot," you're remarking as he strolls back over and hums a musing sound. "I'm sorry about not calling back. I've just been busy. I meant to call earlier this week, but it turned hectic," is your excuse now once he's glanced appraisingly down the hall towards the bedrooms and single bath, as if expecting a secret to reveal itself. He grunts neutrally in response to you, and strolls through the open space of your entry towards the tall kitchen counter. "I have some time before work. Would you like something to eat? Some coffee?"

Perking up a bit, he leans on the countertop. "Sure, if you're having something," he replies in his cool baritone, smiling when you waltz around into the kitchen to retrieve a clean cup before filling it with dark coffee from the cafetera. His eyes soften as he remarks, "That looks familiar."

Snickering, you place his cup on the counter before topping your mug from earlier with fresh café. "I prefer it over the newer machines. And it's better for brewing just a couple cups worth," is your retort as you set 'Buela's old coffee kettle to the back of the stove before you get a small pan out from the cupboard. As you seamlessly retrieve butter and two eggs from the fridge, you ask him over your shoulder, "How was your trip?"

He sits on one of the padded stools on the dining side of the counter top. As he does so, he notices the folded newspaper issue Ellis gave you left at the side of it, but glances over at your back after he's picked up the coffee cup while he answers smoothly, "It was fine. Nothing worth boring you with. I'd rather ask about you."

Humming, you crack the eggs into the now buttered and sizzling pan before discarding the shells into the trash and retrieving the salt, pepper, and cumin from the spice rack adjacent to the stove. "Oh? You really want to hear about 'all that computer crap' I do?" is your sarcastic musing as you sprinkle the salt and pepper onto the eggs before glancing over your shoulder when he grunts an unamused huff at you.

"I can always count on you remembering the littlest slight—" he begins to remark before noticing you're uncapping the cumin and now dusting just a smidge over the eggs. Expression relaxing into a charmed smile, he rumbles, "You remembered."

Tending to the eggs with a spatula, you turn sidelong and squint wryly at him. "Of course. I remember everything, just like someone else I know," is your chimed musing. "You're the only weirdo who likes cumin on his eggs," you teasingly snicker as you grab a plate in preparation to slide the entire serving onto it.

"No, you have the other half," he insists, so you serve only one egg and pass it over to him before placing the other on a similar plate. "Weirdo y que weirdo…" he grumbles comically as he takes a long drink of his coffee.

Chuckling, you gesture towards the small dining table in front of the balcony doors and suggest, "Go sit, those chairs are more comfortable. I'll bring the cubiertos."

A few minutes later, and you're both sitting at the small square glass table with the cushioned seated, wrought-iron dining chairs.

The moment should've been pleasant – a nice respite between similar people who are so much alike, that they rarely have moments where their similarities don't repel each other. But you sense he has an ulterior motive for dropping by, and he knows you're biding your time until he reveals it.

"This is delicious, tesoro."

"Thanks."

"I thought only a weirdo like me liked it with cumin, though," he jokes dryly before sipping his coffee.

"Unfortunately, I inherited your weirdo-ness, it seems," you drawl simply, then finish your last bite.

He chuckles before dabbing his mouth with his napkin, dark trim moustache impeccable as he gives you a wan smile now.

"So, I saw your picture in El Nuevo Día the other morning."

You pristinely dab your napkin at the corners of your lips while you hum in acknowledgement.

"You looked very nice. Albeit, a little preoccupied," he fishes inconspicuously, piercing gaze honing in on your expression now as you hum noncommittally. "I heard from one of the cabinet officials in the governor's office that the feds have sent down lots of new heads of agencies to take on the Mano Dura initiative," is his tactically questioning assertation. "Even implemented a last-minute shakeup in the DEA leadership down here—"

And there it is.

"Yes, they decided to have two SACs for the Caribbean division," you reply conversationally as you sit back in your chair and finish your coffee before placing the empty mug down with a clank on the glass table, drawling, "But you already knew that."

Grunting evenly, your father crosses his arms and stares you down now.

"Should I be concerned that this agent – Peña – was resurrected from the DEA self-sabotage trench he threw himself in, to come down here, after everything?"

His assertive question is teeming with displeasure, but he's trying to keep reserved; to appear unruffled, but the accusatory edge still bleeds through to you.

Giving him an aloof smile, you query, "Let me guess: You invited the official out for a round of golf so you could interrogate him? I hope you didn't forfeit your handicap for the intel—"

"I don't like your frivolous tone, Celina," your father mutters in a mild baritone as his arms tighten with impatience across his barrel chest. When you defiantly stare at him, he exhales his terse energy, then amends his tone by evenly explaining, "I did not ask too many questions then, because I wanted to respect your privacy, and knew how important to you it must've been for you to reach out to me for help in the first place. But that doesn't mean I didn't have him looked into—"

"Pá," you draw warningly, eyes narrowing now as you slap your napkin down on your empty plate. "You had no right—"

Assertively, your father leans forward and braces his big hands around the corners of the table in order to quell his temper as he grounds out firmly, "You are my only child. And no matter how much you don't believe it, I love you with all my heart. Your happiness and safety are important to me, and the fact both were compromised by that man—"

"Is absolutely inaccurate! And even if it was, it's none of your concern," you exclaim forcefully and push your chair back in order to swiftly snatch the dishes and utensils up so you can busily march them back to the kitchen to place them in the sink with a clatter. "You cannot use sentiment to guilt me into telling you any more than what I've chosen to confide with you!" is your berating remark as you turn back to see that he's followed after you and is now glowering at you from the front of the tall kitchen counter, which pits you both literally on opposite sides.

He sees how angry you're getting, so he sets his jaw and shakes his head ruefully before quelling his impatience, and pressing, "Mija, I'm really trying here. But this?" he emphasizes when he picks up the newspaper and holds up the section it's already folded into, which displays the photograph from the ballroom – where you and Javi are just shy of being near one another – before continuing, "It concerns me. I don't want you ending up collateral damage—"

"You mean you don't want my name out there reflecting negatively back on you," is your bitter charge as you cross your arms and stubbornly stare him down.

You're surprised when the wind goes out of his sails at your accusation.

He tosses the newspaper onto the counter and stares openly at you before contending, "Celina. I was wrong for having said that to you before. I let my anger get the better of me, and was callous. But I do not want history to repeat itself. We lost so much time…I lost too much time for letting my disdain for what happened cloud what really mattered."

Fighting the tremble of your lip as he stirs deep emotions to rise up in you from how earnest he's being, you walk around the kitchen counter and go to him, surprising him when you loop your arms around to hug him with genuine feeling.

"Javier is not responsible for what happened to me. All he ever did was go out of his way for me – protected and respected me like no one else ever has. I—" you pause your hushed assertion when your voice cracks, and once you've cleared the lump from your throat, you assure, "He isn't someone you need to be concerned about, so please don't go after him."

Your father exhales noisily as he holds you tight and kisses the top of your head.

"Is he here for you?"

"Dad. Please, just…don't worry, alright?"

Sighing, he decides to let the topic go…for now.

"I should get going," is his grumble as he steps back and kisses you on the cheek before heading to the front door. "I'll be on the island for a bit, so maybe you can come to the house for dinner? I could have the chef make whatever you'd like—"

"So Camille is around, then?" you mutter as you accompany him, raising your brows acerbically when he pauses at the open door. "I'd rather just come over when she's not around—"

He grunts in disapproval, but answers, "We can coordinate something around when she goes to visit her sister, perhaps."

Appeased, you smile and hug him goodbye as you retort, "Ok, then maybe I can do a Colombian night? Cook everything I miss and that you like?"

"Pandebonos, even?" your father asks, and perks up when you nod smugly. "Your abuela made them the best."

Agreeing, you smile when he kisses your cheek again, and promises to call to let you know a day that will work out.

Before your father is able to stride away towards the elevator that's around the bend in the open-aired corridor, you call out, "Pá." When he turns to look back at you inquisitively, you smile and tell him, "Te quiero."

Stern countenance softening with affection, he answers, "Te quiero mucho, tesoro," before continuing on his way.

You feel better once you've rushed back into the apartment to finish getting ready for work, and find yourself letting hope fill you up.

Everything you'd been keeping at bay seems less of a burden now, and as you drive to work, you allow yourself to be open to not having all the answers yet. Because even though you're ambivalent still, you are willing to let grudges go and feel your way through things. To drop your walls a little and allow yourself some grace.

Unaware of the whirlwind you were about the get swept into, or how much your life will change yet again from the series of tumultuous events to come, you set out on your day with a hopeful new outlook towards what's coming your way.

________________

Read Chapter 41: Enchantment

Spanish-English Glossary:

Marquesina = Open air garage or carport

Mija = Short for mi hija, aka my daughter; my girl

Nena = Girl

Llámame = Call me

El Nuevo Día = One of the main newspapers in Puerto Rico

Damas y caballeros = Ladies and gentlemen

Muy bien, y gracias a todos = Very good, and thank you all

Una Cuba libre, por favor = A rum and coke, please

Puterías = Bullshit

Maldito mentiroso malparido = Damn liar motherfucker; equivalent to 'You fucking lying bastard'

Colmado = Small grocery store; corner store

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

Mi amor = My love

Ay, por favo = Oh, please

Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious

Cariño = Darling/sweetheart

Dios mío = My god

Corazón = Heart; pet name to signify how deeply you love someone

Jodón = pain in the ass [male]

Buen día = Good morning; Good day

Eso es = That is

Y Ke como = And Ke as in

Bueno = Well

Como se dice = How do you say

Comandante = Commandant; Commander

La Fortaleza = The Puerto Rican Governor's office and mansion; aka 'The Puerto Rican White House'

Niñita = Little girl

Pá = Short for 'Papá' which means father, or poppa

Weirdo y que weirdo = Equivalent to muttering acerbically 'Calling me a weirdo'

Cubiertos = Napkins and utensils

Tesoro = Treasure; darling

'Buela = short for 'abuela', aka grandmother

Te quiero = I love you

Te quiero mucho, tesoro = I love you very much, darling

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

[khruschevshoe]

Jim and their Captain Oluwande Jimenez

Some days I'm tired of trying, honey

But you're like a thousand miles from me

I'm wrapped and worn come and find me

Don't send me flowers or a letter

Cause only your arms can make me better

And I know I can be hard to carry

And I've got some beasts I need to bury

But you've got the antidote for me

Honey, make me healthy

-Flannel Graph, Honey, Make Me Healthy

Jim steps right over the half-dead corpse of the sea god and leaps for Olu. Their teeth bash together, their kiss awkward and harsh and desperate, but Jim's love is here, warming their chest, soft and hot and welcoming against the sharp blade that has become their very existence.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," Jim confesses their sin, their doubt, "I thought you were dead."

But Olu, their sweet Oluwande, doesn't falter, his smile brighter than the sun, the greatest blessing that Jim has had in months, in their whole life, probably. "Glad I could prove you wrong."

"I am never leaving you again, you hear me?" Jim's promise is a vicious, honest one. "They can bash my head in again and I'll crawl after you, killing any and every man I have to get back to you."

Despite the venom in Jim's words, the absolutely raw honesty in their voice, Olu doesn't falter. Doesn't even blink. "And I'll find you, across everything," Olu promises in return, just as honest, just as tender as Jim's blades.

-aletterinthenameofsanity, lived my whole life before the first light

My number one ship in all of OFMD. They seized control of my heart in Season 1 (even more than EdStede), and I was devastated when their AMAZING setup in the finale of Season 1 (Jim finally giving up their revenge quest for peace and happiness and having it ripped out of their fingers after mere hours) kind of went nowhere in Season 2. Thankfully, this series really explores the dynamic between them really well- even grows and develops it more in the context of a greater OT3- and gives me what I wanted out of the show. (Also, this song might be my favorite pairing I've done in this moodboard series so far.)

@polikate @yuenity @possumsmushroom @angxlwiings @bricksbloggyplace @ruecrown

[invinciblerodent]

1) Will your OC get married and with who? 2) Will they have any children? What are their names?

OC Ask Game!

I think I’m gonna go on for a long (long, long, LONG) time about Iona, and mention the others kind of as a footnote, because I think Iona’s answers to these are just… the ones that are most interesting to me, lol

(fair warning looking back, this got PROFOUNDLY away from me- the TL; DR of it is that for Iona marriage is "yes, eventually" and kids are "no, never", for Arvid marriage is a "yes, of course, sure" and kids are "well if you want it", and for Petyr both are "hah! no. nope. no.")

So, this whole “what now” issue in Iona’s case, it’s… all a bit muddled.

As a little background to it, in 3e, it’s said that courtships between elves often take a very long time, sometimes decades, before a commitment is reached- which is understandable, especially considering that elves are also said to seldom fall out of love with one another, and don’t typically remarry after the death of one spouse. A commitment that’s meant to span a lifetime of centuries (whether the life of one has a natural endpoint or not is irrelevant), it makes sense that they’d take it seriously, and not jump into soul-bonds willy-nilly. (An albatross is definitely going onto her moodboard now, lol.)

I think both Iona and Astarion would still be kind of... feeling themselves out, by the end of the game, and neither of them would be drawn to the thought of “blissful mutual domesticity” just yet.

I mean, on top of being a quite young elf, she’s spent a good 80% of her life among humans: her experience with life is colored by the perceptions of a people who are constantly trying to outrun the rushing of a clock that might as well be standing still for her. So exploring what time even means to her, that’d be a very exciting prospect. While Astarion, he was even younger than she is now when he had the “elven” part of his identity taken away from him, only to be made into someone that’s seen as a tool first, monster second, and person a distant third. He’s eager to re-learn personhood and live again, so they’re both sort of… (re-?)discovering themselves and their “feyness” together, and in each other. 

My little idea is that after the Brain’s defeat, they’re going to spend one or two decades on solo adventuring: primarily looking for a way to allow him to walk in the sun again, but that… proves itself to be something of a wild goose chase. The travel itself is annoyingly cumbersome (either they have to shelter during the day and cover no ground, or he has to be polymorphed and be both unable to communicate and practically defenseless [can’t risk fighting, if his form is dismissed he’s dead]). But also, there are just… too many disappointments. Too many dead ends. Too many times they’ve gotten too close only to find out that they were either late, or misled, or just plain wrong about something.

I think he’d grow frustrated with it first, and grow reckless: strain against his limits, start pushing his luck with the Sun, start making dangerous mistakes, and it’d be her who’d start gently encouraging (cajoling, bargaining, eventually pleading with-) him that maybe they should return to the Gate. To regroup, try to find other avenues, head off in a different direction. And while he'd know she's right, agreeing… it'd still feel like he’s admitting defeat.

Of course, he’d try to put on an unbothered face, but she would still obviously be able to tell that he’s upset: primarily with himself, but also a little bit with… everything. Of feeling both free and trapped, both bursting with the desire to DO something, but also being… powerless.

Which (stay with me, we're a third of the way!) is the context in which the thought of kids and “marital bliss” would rear its ugly head.

Because I headcanon that vampire spawn are naturally sterile. (I know full vampires can sire mortal offspring, but since spawn can’t create new vampires via bite and the bite is almost always a penetration-allegory, I like to think that translates to them being just… unable to reproduce, period.) And elves in general already have far lower fertility rates, so even if he wasn’t sterile because of the vampirism but just maybe less fertile than usual, the chances of conception between the two of them would still be infinitesimally small.

And I mean, the topic really wouldn’t come up naturally, so I think Astarion would likely think that she’d eventually want children. I mean, he knows very well that she had been previously married to a human- humans usually want kids, so it’d be a natural assumption that she’d be on the same page as her ex-husband, and the fact that she doesn’t have kids now wouldn't be for a lack of wanting. (It is. It is for a lack of wanting. But both of them being ~excellent~ [pejorative] at communicating, he definitely wouldn’t ask- if only for fear of the answer he thinks he'd get.)

So it'd kind of… eat at him, for a while, the thought that at some point, she might grow to resent him. There'd be a small, niggling part of his mind that'd worry that at some point, the limitations would all prove too much, and she’d grow frustrated, tired of always having to work with and around his… shall we say, conditions. Beyond his partial reliance on her pain and literal body for sustenance, the physical differences between them, and the messiness of healing (the times he startles awake screaming, the times he can’t bear even the thought of being touched, the times he’s frustrated with himself and takes it out on her), this is just one more thing.

He can’t take her out for a nice day in the city. He can’t warm her body at night, wine and dine her (or just share a meal like a regular person), or love her as brazenly as he did starting out, out on the street for all to see because… well, he can’t go out into the streets. Can’t even travel with her during the day, not without taking the shape of a stupid animal that can’t communicate with her, joke with her, or even delight her with the looks he had thought for so long were the only thing he was good for.

Though secure in her love of him, he’s not stupid, or an idealist who’d think that love alone is enough for a happily ever after. While enjoying the time while it lasts, naturally there’d be sort of a running tally in his head of all the ways their lives chafe against one another.

Watching her face grow paler and paler as she’s deprived of the sun and has her blood drained, he’d never quite stop wondering at what point is the scale going to tip, at what point she’d finally realize that she had bet on the wrong undead horse by choosing to love the vampire who asks her to sacrifice so much, and not only doesn’t want to, but isn’t even able to give her what (he thinks) she wants.

Which, she doesn’t want it, of course. She has not even one maternal bone in her body.

Iona is well aware that she would make a terrible mother, and she absolutely does not want to be one. So it wouldn’t even occur to her that this would be something on his mind on top of all else. When he’d be having his little personal crisis about this, she’d be busy trying to make the impossible happen and circumventing the need to find a way to give him back the Sun by inventing one herself. That’d be why she'd lock herself into her study alone for longer and longer periods of time, why she sometimes wouldn’t come out for days, why she'd sometimes steer the conversation away from certain things- she wouldn’t want to give him false hope in a project that’d quickly prove so far beyond her abilities.

But, she'd still obviously recognize his occasional bouts of melancholy- I mean, it’s very unusual for someone to look at another so fondly and happily one moment, and then get quiet and forlorn the next. That distance she'd see behind his eyes sometimes when she'd tell him she loves him, that’d be rather worrying to anyone.

It’ll take a while for this particular cat to work its way out of the bag, but it would happen eventually, of course.

In reality, none of that would bother her.

She delights in being the sole person deciding what, when, and how she wants to eat. She loves the coolness of his touch- it soothes the heat of the draconic blood running through her veins better than any balm. Sure, going to markets and doing all that domestic pish can be fun, but... well, she’s always been an indoorsy person. Being bitten is no burden (she wouldn’t offer if it was), and there being no risk of a pregnancy, even after the tadpole’s death? At the risk of sounding crass, that’s an incredible perk, with no downsides. Feeling him find his pleasure while buried deep inside her, with no pang of fear or worry? It’s absurd how perfect that is, how happy she is with the fact that with the man she loves, that fear of being impregnated against her will can be put completely to rest.

And the rest, the messiness, the less “pretty” parts of it all, the evenings spent soothing his pain that’s either real or real only to him, that’s… just what happens if you love someone. Sure, she worries of course, but even when it’s inconvenient, when it’s ugly, when the old scars feel like they’re on fire and she can’t even being to think of a way to help… she still loves him just the same.

So no, no children necessary. It’s not in the cards for them, and even if it was, I don’t think either of them would really want it, or be good at it.

... She’d probably like to overwrite the memories of her first marriage (and speak the word “husband” without rancor) though, but only eventually.

And I like to think that that’ll have to happen with an item I’m tentatively calling “Taran Tal’hondnor” (The Gift of True Love), and it’s an enchanted ring that she will finally be able to create after many years of study, and even more miserably failed attempts at creating an enchantment that’ll let a vampire walk in the sun.

I like to imagine her proposing to him, on her own terms this time, with one such gift.

Because she loves him to the point of invention.

Quickly on the others, Arvid… might like fatherhood, if he were so inclined. He’s a very caring, kind, nurturing person, and if he were to be in that position, he would probably be a very good dad. He’s generally in a nurturing role already, and Gale being in a teaching role, they could prove to be excellent parents, if that were what they wanted.

But they… probably wouldn’t want that. Gale being the age that he is (“canon” says 35, I see ~38-40, minor difference) and a human, yet saying that he’s “not ready”, I personally interpret that as a rather telling thing. His past of having spent such a long time in a "monogamous" (I'm fairly sure that part's one-sided, no time to go into that now) relationship with a goddess who had no intention of having kids with him, and his present willingness to be with an illithid who can’t, that to me is implying that it’s not something that’d be that important to him. Like I personally see that as him not actively preferring to have kids if it’s up to him (he likes peace, and quiet, and downtime, and a nice glass of wine with a quietly romantic evening meal- very much the quintessential childless millennial, 100% part of the appeal to me lol), but he’d be happily willing to do it if his partner wanted it themselves.

But in my world, his husband (I like how I skated by the first part of the question, I mean they already ARE married lol)… doesn’t really have such strong feelings about it either. So, since two "maybes" don’t make a "yes" (and for this kind of thing, you need two enthusiastic "yes"-es for it to no longer be a no), it’s a "no".

But I think their marriage is going to be very happy and fulfilling to both of them nevertheless. <3

And since I don't yet have any kissy-shots of them (☹️), have an "are you seeing this shit" silent exchange for these two <3

Honestly? I would sooner give a baby to a pack of feral wolves and hope for the best than have Petyr become a father. He'd absolutely be the kind of dad whose kids become DnD characters. He's someone's tragically emotionally distant boomer dad just waiting to happen. (I mean, come on. My guy felt inadequate once, and coped with it by fucking off to the woods for 20 years? Yeah, sure, father of the year.)

And Shadowheart, she basically didn't have parents growing up, she has a TON of cult indoctrination to process and unlearn as an adult, and -let's be real- likely has no fucking clue how motherhood would even really work. Like the woman whom she used to call "mother" pretty much straight-up tortured her. C'mon now.

I like to think that, though they are the only two in my lineup who are physically able to have kids by accident, they (with their 8 and 10 INT scores respectively) would still be smart enough to smell that particular disaster before they'd barrel into it head first, and either actively decide not to have kids, or put it off so far into the future as for it to be meaningless. Maybe the discussion can be tabled in a few decades' time, but since by then their home will be surrounded by, god, so many animals to take care of (including a barely not feral, adult owlbear) (and their mutual boyfriend who sometimes shows up for like a month to fuck nasty on every available surface of the house and surrounding wilds), I doubt it'll result in a resounding "yes".

In the same vein of things, if a big, beautiful, traditional wedding is something that she wants (which I... kinda doubt would be super important to her), she definitely bet on the wrong horse, because this guy is not one for pomp and circumstance.

I like to imagine that after their departure from the Gate (and their bidding of not exactly "farewell", but "see you later" to Halsin), he'll just... take her "home" to his little shack in his corner of the forest, and then, sitting under the canopy of his favorite woods, enjoying the balmy evening breeze and the undisturbed night sky with his favorite person, he'll look up at the moon, take her hand, and silently, in his head, give his thanks to the Moonmaiden for this peace.

And... that'll be it. From that point forward, it'll be easy to fall into a kind of sweet, quiet domesticity that is essentially a marriage in all but name.

I definitely like- and relate to the idea of them foregoing the "2.5 kids, white picket fence" idea of a happily ever after not out of a conscious rejection, but rather just by... being themselves. Together.

[darkfeath3r]

After 4 years of not writing, I thought of an idea for a Sonic fanfic. I immediately became obsessed with this idea. Actually, I'm pretty sure Sonic himself broke into my house and hijacked my brain because I couldn't stop thinking about it. So I wrote it.

Before I get into the summary for this fanfic, I feel like I have to explain the context. So there were two Sonic games part of the storybook series, but there were only these were the only two games in that series. I always thought that was a shame because I enjoyed those games and wanted more. My fanfic is my own take of what the next storybook game would be.

My story incorporates various Grimm's fairy tales including: Beauty and the Beast, The Princess and the Frog, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, and The Story of the Youth Who Went Forth to Learn What Fear Was.

Now for the summary: While on the way to a chili dog festival, Sonic falls off the Tornado and lands in an alternate fantasy world on the brink of war. Can Sonic save this world from tearing itself apart and return home in one piece?

The image below is a moodboard I created for my fic.

I'm releasing a chapter every week. There's 4 chapters so far. Check it out!

[hauntedppgpaints]

Hadestown anon here. Your moodboard was so good. I don’t have words for how much I wanted to squee when I saw it. I think I gasped aloud. Thank you for making it.

For the au, (since you seemed interested), I don’t really have anything beyond vibes that I occasionally rotate when I wanna be insane about hockey and Hadestown, but I have spent a bunch of time thinking about the who our couples are.

I’m a pens fan so obviously Orpheus and Eurydice are Sid and Geno. Orpheus is Geno and Sid is Eurydice. Geno is the poet of the two. The emotional one. The dreamer. Eurydice, especially as she’s portrayed in the musical, is the pragmatist. She’s the planner. The realist. Orpheus has to win her over. Sid loves to be won over by Geno. Then there’s the visual parallels of Geno following Sid onto the ice and Orpheus following after Eurydice in Wait for Me. Also the feeling of wrongness from Doubt Comes In with Geno leading Sid out of hell is delicious. Then there’s the way Eurydice joins the chorus which mirror’s Sid’s desire to just be one of the guys.

Having given that context, there’s gotta be a Hades and Persephone that contrasts them. Within the narrative of Hadestown, Orpheus and Persephone share parallels and so do Eurydice and Hades, therefore the couple that parallels SidGeno the most is MarioJagr. Hades is a factory town owner in the days of “I sold my soul to the company store.” Pittsburgh is a steel town and Mario was its prince plus he owned the Penguins the way that Hades owns all of Hadestown. Jagr is quite literally Mario’s one that got away, as the banner raising this year made perfectly clear. Then there’s some fun parallels that as one of the European players, in spring he leaves town and in fall he returns to play hockey in the winter. Also. If Mario is Hades and Sid Eurydice that continues the trend of Hey Little Songbird being creepy af and vibes with all the Mario/rookie!Sid rpf fics I pretend I didn’t read.

I have vague thoughts about who Hermes or the Fates are (Gonch possibly and the French Canadian trio of FlowerTangerDuper) but it’s still at the early rotation stages of au planning.

ME RN

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 16)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 9,337

Summary: In the aftermath of chapter 15, Javier returns to Laredo, reuniting with Horacio once and for all. Whilst they make up for lost time, questions about their future arise now they're at a crossroads, and after the phone call they had been waiting years for. Meanwhile, Chucho once again has some words of wisdom for his son.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Discussions of canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort (with the emphasis very much on the comfort), romantic sex, religious themes and symbolism (including in a sexual context), PTSD symptoms including dreams/nightmares and insomnia, discussions of grief and parental loss, smoking, swearing, drinking.

Notes: Well, I did it, guys...Operation Happy Ending is officially happening after all this time and I am emotional 😭😩 Chapter 17 is going to be in a similar vein to this chapter, as 16/17 were originally supposed to be one chapter. But, you know me, I can't shut up about these two 😂 Chapter 17 is largely done, it just needs some more tweaking/editing but should hopefully be posted soon!

Thank you as always to those still reading/commenting/making moodboards/tagging me in inspo posts or just sending me lovely messages. It genuinely warms my heart ❤️

Oh and I’ve added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested. 

Whilst obviously I do not own Narcos or its characters, please do not copy, re-post, or plagiarize this fic in any capacity on this or other platforms. If you wish to create any fan works inspired by it, please provide a credit or send me a message if in doubt.

Chapter 16: Like a Prayer

The taxi pulled up in front of the closed steel gates, its engine left running whilst Javier retrieved his bag from the trunk and paid the driver. Once the car was out of sight, the tranquillity of the Laredo countryside re-emerged, a stark contrast to the chaos he had left behind.

Following a brief phone call, he was expected but had insisted on making his own way back. He wasn’t ready just yet for the small talk that a long drive would no doubt have prompted, more from his Pops than Horacio. Horacio posed an entirely different problem if they had reunited in public.

There was no greeting from the dogs this time, but as soon as he opened the door to the farmhouse, Javier was hit by the distinctive aroma of epazote.

Chucho was standing over the stove stirring a bubbling clay pot, but abandoned his station to greet his son.

“Pops.” Javier dropped his bag by the door and went in for a hug.

“Javi.” Chucho patted him on the back a couple of times, pleasantly surprised at Javier’s reluctance to let go straight away as was the usual custom. “Welcome home, Mijo.”

When Javier eventually pulled away, he inhaled with concentration etched into his brow. “Frijoles de la Olla?”

“Of course. I’m making enchiladas later to go with it, but yesterday’s leftovers are in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks, I’m good for now.”

“Flights go okay?”

“Yeah. Although, I wouldn’t recommend the chairs in Houston for getting any shut-eye.”

“And how about you?”

Of course, Chucho was going to ask. Javier had been expecting it, even though he had no answer prepared. “I’m fine.” He could see from the look in his dad’s eye he hadn’t hit a convincing tone. “Well, er, y’know. Better than I was.” Now that was closer to the truth.

Chucho merely nodded in response before returning to the stove, not wanting to push it further. Between everything he had seen in the press, his conversations with Horacio, and filling in the blanks, he knew enough without needing to hear the specifics.

“You can say I told you so if you want.” Javier wasn’t sure where that came from. There was nothing in Chucho’s demeanour to warrant being defensive. He hadn’t pried or pushed or passed judgement. He hadn’t even asked what happened or why. And yet part of Javier would have preferred if his Pops had given him both barrels.

“I could, but what good would that do, hmm? I’m guessing you’re already punishing yourself enough as it is. I’m just relieved you’re home and safe. And I know I’m not the only one.”

“Where—”

“He’s been spending a lot of time in the fallow field; by the windmill. He’s up there now with Luna. Sol and Leo are with the ranch hands, but they should be finishing up for the day soon.”

“Right, thanks. I’ll take one of the trucks. See you for dinner?”

“I’ll leave some for you both to warm up.” There was a glint in Chucho’s eye as he tried to stifle what looked suspiciously like the beginnings of a smirk.

Chucho’s shrewdness never faltered, no matter how much time passed. A fact that Javier, now rather warm-faced, concluded was both a blessing and a curse. He grabbed a couple of items from the farmhouse and climbed into the faded blue truck parked up in the nearest garage, butterflies taking flight as it hit him. He really was going home now.

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Horacio was hammering the last post on the lower perimeter fence when he heard an engine in the distance. He had needed to keep busy since Javier’s phone call, a nervous energy buzzing through him as he waited. Waiting was all he’d done lately, yet the last few hours were somehow the worst.

The bluebonnets from the spring were gone, but the weather was mild and more comfortable for physical labour than in the height of summer. Still, Horacio had become accustomed to wearing his Stetson when working outdoors, especially as he left his sunglasses somewhere back at Carlos Holguín and had never gotten around to replacing them.

Give or take a few days, it was a year since they had arrived here, and the months before Javier left for Colombia felt like a distant dream. As the beaten-up blue truck came into view on the crest of the hill, Horacio would have been forgiven for thinking he was about to wake up at any second.

Luna, who had been dozing a few minutes ago, was now barking at the incoming vehicle. Although the noise switched from a warning to a greeting once Javier killed the engine and got out.

Horacio waited patiently for Luna to receive her obligatory head pats and ear rubs, using the extra time to take in Javier’s appearance. The hair at the nape of his neck had grown to the perfect rugged length for Horacio to run fingers through, and untidy yet inviting stubble dusted his chin. His eyes were covered by aviators, but Horacio could see the exhaustion in the rest of his face and posture. However, the smile he gave Luna as he greeted her was different, looser, and more relaxed. Usually, the tension in his jaw was visible, like a vice clamping his mouth in place. But that was no more.

Once Luna was satisfied, Javier stopped and looked up at Horacio, neither moving nor speaking.

Javier took his aviators off and put them in the pocket of his pink shirt, which sat beneath a brown corduroy jacket. He needed to see Horacio unfiltered, and fuck, was that the right decision. His eyes roamed up and down, admiring the fact Horacio was dressed much like he had been that night in the guesthouse kitchen. Only with a few additions Javier certainly wasn’t complaining about.

“Hey,” Javier offered, his throat still husky from travelling.

“Hey yourself.”

They held each other’s gaze again, eyes swimming with a myriad of emotions that probably wouldn’t be unpacked for days, weeks, or months. But none of that mattered for now. Because this was it. They may have taken the long route and been thrown off course multiple times, but they had finally made it here.

It was a thought that seemed to occur to them simultaneously as they rushed forwards, closing the gap within several feet. Arms circled each other in a tight embrace, and lips fused together until they were forced to pull apart to catch their breaths.

“Nice hat, cowboy,” Javier teased, the brim of it jutting against him as he peppered kisses across Horacio’s nose and cheeks.

“You can borrow it if you want. What’s mine is yours, remember.” Horacio made to take it off, but Javier batted his hand away.

“Uh-uh, keep it on. It suits you.”

Their lips met again, reacquainting themselves with each other’s taste and scent as they clung together like they were one another’s life raft. And in so many ways, they were.

They soon moved to the back of the truck, which Javier had parked closer to the row of trees skirting the ranch boundary with the river bank beyond. They weren’t expecting anyone to come by this way, but it gave them extra privacy, just in case.

Not that they had got any further than wrapping themselves around each other, fully clothed, whilst resuming the kisses from earlier. There was a luxury in taking their time, savouring the rush each swipe of a tongue or gentle nip gave them after so long with no physical contact.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this,” Javier murmured against Horacio’s mouth once they had simmered down.

“I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Javier pressed his forehead to Horacio’s and let himself breathe, slow and steady. “I should never have fucking left.”

Horacio hushed him, fingers stroking through his hair. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

Javier leaned into Horacio’s touch with a contented purr, the breeze a mere whisp in their hair every now and then and the trees above providing just enough shade. Neither spoke much, the silence comfortable and almost meditative. The perfect sleeping conditions, Javier thought as his muscles relaxed one by one. It was only now he noticed just how tight and sore they were. No wonder he had fallen victim to so many tension headaches.

The adrenaline that was vital to his survival back in Colombia had gradually drained away from his body, leaving behind a weary, aching shell. He curled closer against Horacio’s chest, arms encasing him and a soothing rhythm he never took for granted pulsing in his ear. Steady, grounding, home.

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Somewhere between Javier's dozing and waking, the light had faded, and the temperature had dropped, leaving behind a clear sky and a sea of stars. He hadn't meant to fall asleep for so long, but it was the first time in months he felt safe enough to let his guard down. And Horacio made the perfect pillow, apparently.

Horacio, meanwhile, had stayed awake, cradling Javier’s head against him, his fingers caressing unruly strands of hair. Perhaps it was Luna’s influence, but he saw it as his duty to keep watch over Javier, to reassure him the danger was over. To let his body and mind rest. Horacio might not have been able to protect Javier from whatever nightmare had unfolded in his absence, but he was here now.

It probably wasn’t as late as it seemed. But light pollution away from civilisation was scarce, giving the illusion it could be the dead of night any time after sunset. It was enough to lull Luna asleep across the front seats after Javier fed her the leftovers he had pilfered from the farmhouse fridge.

Whilst Horacio checked on her, he noticed a familiar item on the passenger seat next to Javier’s travel bag. “Handy this just happened to be in here.” He held up the offending item, knowing full well it was the same blanket Chucho had draped over him in the farmhouse.

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating.”

“Well, driving out here with the means to keep warm suggests premeditation.” Horacio dusted off his most convincing authoritative tone but still had to fight the curl of his lips when he caught Javier’s eye.

“I can think of better ways to keep warm, to be honest.” Javier nuzzled himself against Horacio’s neck as they lay back down, now nestled beneath the blanket.

Horacio chased the scrape of Javier’s moustache, shuddering at the contact despite the extra layer of warmth they shared. “Shouldn’t we be heading back for dinner soon?”

“I don’t think Pops was expecting to see us for a while. He was gonna leave us some enchiladas to reheat.”

“Oh, well, in that case…” Horacio shifted to face Javier, their lips and limbs drawn together like magnets. Not urgent, yet fervid and thorough, like they were making up for lost time. So much time wasted when they should have been doing this.

Zips and buckles clinked under the blanket whilst shirts were shed above it, their breaths fogging fleetingly in the space between them now that the air was brisk.

As Javier rolled onto his back, Horacio followed, landing on top of him. However, the burst of movement made Javier wince before he scrabbled beneath him to locate the source of discomfort.

His hand re-emerged, holding his police badge like a loaded grenade. “I signed my gun back in on my last day, but I was supposed to give this to Messina. Never got the chance with everything else going on.” He ran his thumb over the blue and gold lettering, stifling a cynical laugh at how the word justice had lost all meaning. “I’ll post it back to DC tomorrow.”

“If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

“Aren’t you gonna ask why I did it?”

“Did what?”

There was no holding a scoff back this time. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Horacio hadn’t expected this conversation to come so soon, assuming Javier wouldn’t want to talk about it. And Horacio wasn’t going to ask. But he slid off Javier, retrieving his jeans from the side of the truck where they had landed by chance. He didn’t put them back on but searched through the pockets until he found what he was looking for.

He wasn’t such a heavy smoker these days, but when it was just the two of them like this, it wasn’t a habit to be broken but an intimate ritual to uphold.

They slotted back under the blanket now that they were undressed and exposed to the elements. Javier accepted both the cigarette and the light Horacio held out for him. He took a much-needed drag and closed his eyes as he exhaled, his last smoke at the airport whilst waiting for a taxi a distant memory now.

They passed the cigarette back and forth several times until Horacio broke the silence. “If I had a good reason or something to lose, it’s what I would have done too. But…Javier, you really don’t have to do this now.”

“I know, but I want to. I think I need to.”

Horacio caught the pleading look in Javier’s eye, but it wasn’t just that. There was something else there, something he had seen flashes of before. The last time was here the previous Christmas, in the hay barn and by the fireplace. The first time, or at least the first time he noticed, was in Javier’s apartment the night Horacio returned from Madrid.

Horacio raised himself on his left elbow whilst his right hand stroked along Javier’s chilled skin.

“Did you ever meet Bill Stechner?”

Horacio expelled a sharp sneer, sending a trail of vapour up into the sky. “Unfortunately. Back in my SOA days in Panama and Fort Benning. When he was known as Mr Green. He was mostly an instructor for the Nicaraguan students. But he never missed a chance to lecture everyone on his favourite subject.”

He rolled his eyes at the memories of being stuck in a stuffy box of a room listening to Stechner drone on about the Cuban revolution. And that it was a civic duty to weed out communists at every turn.

“I bet that was…enlightening.”

This wasn’t the first time they had discussed their parallel histories involving the School of the Americas. In fact, it was one of their earliest icebreakers when Javier arrived in Colombia. Horacio attended multiple training courses courtesy of the SOA, at home and overseas. However, his path never crossed with Javier, who was required to complete the counternarcotics courses when he took the DEA transfer several years later.

During one of their first shared stakeouts, they talked of how they were looked down upon by the all-American soldiers for being police rather than military, and for being bilingual. They talked about how many of the classes were little more than propaganda and an excuse to further imperialism. A view that Horacio hadn’t expected from the latest gringo recruit to be thrown his way.

But then Javier always was an anomaly. Never in a million years did Horacio expect a DEA agent to become the most trustworthy person in his life. Let alone that it would be a longstanding friend and colleague who would be the one to betray him instead.

“Oh, it was.” The sarcasm dripped thickly off Horacio’s words, as he realised that the only real upside to the experience was the connections it gave him to senior members of the Colombian military. A relationship that would later come in handy both professionally and personally. “Why do you ask, anyway?”

Javier worked his jaw back and forth, gearing up for what was about to come. He took one last drag on their cigarette and explained everything. Even when his instincts told him to leave details out, he ignored his mind’s protest and continued anyway. Whilst Tolú was akin to a confession being extracted from him under duress, this was unprompted, freeing, purging.

Horacio said very little as he listened, the tension mounting in his jaw and the tightness gripping his chest more ferociously with each detail Javier revealed. Despite their surroundings, heat rose from his cheeks to his forehead and behind his pupils. A dense pressure hammered into his skull, threatening to overwhelm him if he gave it the release it was looking for. “I should have been there. I should have stopped those fuckers.” He closed his eyes to quell the sting, his voice shaking even as he attempted to tether it.

“Hey, come on.” Javier took hold of Horacio’s hand and gently squeezed. “There’s nothing you could’ve done that wouldn’t have got you killed. Or court-martialled.”

Not strictly true, Horacio thought. If he had been there and just happened to end up alone with Stechner, they could have gone for one of those helicopter rides Stechner was overly keen to promote. The ones used to intimidate captives that were usually one-way trips, unlike Gato, who had finally broken the pattern. But Horacio was confident he could make an exception for Stechner in the circumstances, so maybe it was for the best he wasn’t there after all. Although he made a mental note to buy Steve a drink – or several – the next time he saw him.

“I know,” Horacio conceded in the end. “I just hate to think of you dealing with it alone.”

“No chance with Steve and Trujillo around. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Someone needs to take care of you.” Easy banter was intended, but the rawness of Horacio’s voice and the delicate way he kissed Javier’s hand as though it was made of glass told another story.

Javier instinctively brushed his thumb over Horacio’s lips, allowing Horacio to capture it. “I know I should’ve told you everything. I’m sorry I shut you out whenever I called. I’m so sorry for all of this.”

Horacio hushed against Javier’s thumb. “Stop, it’s okay.” Another kiss, another brush of Javier’s thumb catching on Horacio’s bottom lip, followed by a more thorough kiss. “I know. It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay. You deserved the truth then. And…you deserve it now.” Javier withdrew his thumb and moved closer until they lay face to face, nose to nose and heart to heart.

Javier wanted to do this as soon as he got here, but he couldn’t whilst he was still so clandestine. Whilst he was still carrying so much baggage. But as he had laid everything out in the open now, there was no reason to keep it in any longer.

He took a deep breath, his palm cupping Horacio’s cheek. “I love you. So fucking much, Horacio.” He moored his forehead against Horacio's, eyes closed to halt the glassy sheen misting his pupils. But it was no use. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t say it sooner.”

Horacio caught the hitch in Javier’s breath, and attempts to swallow the lump in his throat were fruitless. “Better late than never,” he managed to get out eventually with a choked-up laugh that Javier matched. “I love you too, Javier. More than anything or anyone.”

It didn’t matter that the temperature had dropped further or that their clothes were tossed in all directions. The heat between them swelled and burned fiercely in their chests, spreading like molten lava through their limbs, all the way to their fingers and toes. A heat that had endured and grown over the years, shifting and transforming in ways they could never have expected. A heat that cut straight to the core, breaking them open and laying them bare. Forcing them to surrender, to sacrifice their mission rather than their lives, to give it all up for each other.

Horacio resumed his place atop Javier, once he had retrieved the strategically placed lube from the travel bag on the front seat.

“You really did think of everything, didn’t you?” Horacio rasped, his hand wrapped around their lengths whilst Javier’s slicked fingers probed and stretched in return.

“I wasn’t waiting ‘til we got back to the guesthouse.”

“And yet we’ve been here for hours.”

Javier added an extra finger and was met with the quivering gasp he was looking for. “Just think of it as extended foreplay.”

“So, you were trying to seduce me, then?”

“Like I need to try.”

Horacio kept his fist around them, swapping steady strokes for shallow, teasing thrusts. “Tell me what you do need, Javier.”

For several glorious seconds, Javier’s only response was to arch his back and make the most of any friction he could get. But it wasn’t enough. Not even close. “I need you to fuck me ‘til I can’t think straight.”

With that, Horacio re-adjusted, sinking down inch by inch and groan by groan. There he held still, basking in being filled with a throbbing heat and feeling Javier’s shaky breaths beneath him.

Javier’s hands shot up to Horacio’s hips, but Horacio lifted them back and above Javier’s head, pinning him against the truck in one fell swoop. And still, he didn’t move up or down or from side to side; he simply anchored Javier in place.

Time slowed to an agonising pace for Javier as the release they both needed was within touching distance. So near, yet so far as he was balanced on the precipice. It was so close he could taste it on Horacio’s lips and fevered skin. He could smell it in the warm breath they shared and the lingering scent of Horacio’s aftershave mixed with fresh grass. But the longer this went on, the less patience he had. He wanted to chase it, run to it, let it consume and devour him, allow his mind to be reduced to a blank slate.

But he couldn’t. Each time he attempted to buck his hips upwards, the muscle in Horacio’s thighs responded and secured Javier down even tighter. The fingers laced between his own gripped harder, their palms fused together, one indistinguishable from the other.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. Just let go.”

Javier didn’t know if it was the words themselves or the man whispering them into the crook of his neck between scattered kisses. But it was the vocal permission he needed. The catalyst to still his hips and allow the fight to go out of his hands and arms.

With each passing second, Javier was rewarded with Horacio clenching and unclenching around his cock in almost imperceptible spasms. It was just enough to light the fire in Javier’s belly, the flames licking enticingly at his synapses before they were gone again.

It was the most exquisite agony Javier had ever experienced, and the urge to rebel bubbled under the surface of his skin. But he resisted. He didn’t want to disappoint Horacio. He needed Horacio to know he trusted him to the hilt. That he gave Horacio permission to take control. That he wanted him to.

No sooner had Horacio squeezed around Javier than he stopped once more, gauging when to ease off from the speed of Javier’s breathing. Or the way his bottom lip pouted as a sigh or a moan rumbled up from his throat. And sometimes, not moving was for Horacio's own benefit, the sight of Javier so pliant and at his mercy too tempting to resist.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Horacio praised as he leaned forwards. He captured Javier’s mouth, the change in angle causing sudden movement that had them swallowing each other’s whines.

Javier was torn between lapping up Horacio’s words of affirmation and needing him closer in any way possible; he didn’t care how. Before he could stop himself, he pushed upwards, breaking free of Horacio’s hold, but only to bring him into his lap. He was expecting some resistance, but Horacio went willingly, seemingly sharing the same visceral need for more skin-on-skin contact.

With cool metal pressed between their chests, they gripped at each other’s backs and shoulders for balance, Horacio’s legs wrapped around Javier and their foreheads connected.

It could have been minutes or hours they held each other, Horacio bringing them to the edge and back again and again. And Javier let him, never once bucking upwards or pleading for more. Trusting Horacio to give him what he needed, to take care of him and relieve the burden of all decisions and actions.

Javier’s hands mapped Horacio’s bare skin, noticing the extra muscle in his arms gifted to him this past year on the ranch. His fingers paused over Horacio’s right shoulder, skirting over the blemished scar and down to the centre of his chest. Javier held his palm in place until he felt a rhythmic thrum dancing in time with his own pulse.

In return, Horacio brought one hand to Javier’s chest, clutching at the chain around his neck, needing to feel the defined edges of the cross to ground himself. To remind him that this was real and not another vivid dream he would wake from to find he was alone.

“I want you to keep it,” Horacio whispered, the fragile timbre of his voice cutting through the laboured breaths he was trying to keep in check.

“What? But you said—”

“It’s yours, Javier.” I’m yours. “It was always yours.” I was always yours.

No words could form on Javier’s tongue. A small part of him still wanted to protest that he didn’t deserve it. That it had too much sentimental value to Horacio and that Horacio’s father would disapprove from beyond the grave. But those irrational doubts were overridden by the knowledge that this wasn’t just Horacio giving him a family heirloom. He was giving him his heart, a gift not easily or carelessly given where Horacio was concerned. So, Javier did the only thing he could; he accepted it.

His mouth covered any part of Horacio he could reach. It was his way of saying thank you, I accept, and I’m yours in return. A message received loud and clear by Horacio.

Their faces nudged against each other, lips, noses and chins scraping over coarse bristles, their wanton panting signifying it couldn’t last much longer.

But instead of increasing his motion, Horacio completely stilled. He kept them clasped as close together as possible, his length bobbing against Javier’s abdomen in sync with their breaths. The concept of time had no meaning; all they knew was the heat of each other, the simple logic of their bodies joining as one after too much time being forced apart.

Javier’s head lolled back, overwhelmed by the intensity and novelty of being surrounded so thoroughly by Horacio. His eyelids fluttered open as he looked to the heavens above. Maybe he was delirious, but the night sky had never looked brighter in all the years he had gazed up at it. It was as though he was seeing it for the first time again, only now with new clarity. A long overdue acceptance. A realisation that it wasn’t his to command and never had been. That his present and future weren’t written in the stars, but they were right here, in front of him. On top of him, under his skin, in his heart and soul, and on the verge of ecstasy.

With heads resting together and fingernails sunk into flesh, their intertwined form spasmed and trembled. Relentless torrents of white-hot pleasure surged through every nerve ending in their bodies until they almost blacked out. A release that wasn't just needed now, or even for the last year, but far beyond that. One they feared to even dream of in case they tempted fate or pushed their luck. But now it really was over. And they were safe, together, home.

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Sunlight was beginning to creep in through the gaps in the curtains when they stirred, slow and feline movements beneath the covers where they lay tangled.

Neither wanted to be the first to break the spell but nature called, and Javier unravelled himself from Horacio with a grumble.

Horacio watched Javier make his way to the bathroom with a hand cradling the base of his neck. His head tilted from side to side to shake out years, if not decades, of knots and tension.

Once Javier returned, he continued to stretch his arms and neck with a grimace.

“Did I injure you last night?”

“No, it’s been like this for months. Although…last night probably didn’t help.”

“Well, I’m not sorry about that.”

Javier climbed back into bed and hovered just above Horacio’s lips. “Neither am I.” The gap was closed as they shared a kiss as unhurried and lazy as their morning.

“I can help now, though.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that, then?”

“Lie on your front, and I’ll show you.”

That was a proposition Javier couldn’t refuse, so he shuffled onto his stomach, his arms wrapped around the pillow his head rested on.

Horacio took his turn in the bathroom and came back with a bottle in his hand.

Javier tried to read the label, but it was no use from this angle. The mattress dipped behind him, and he was greeted with warm thighs braced on either side of his body.

The lid from the mysterious bottle unscrewed. “This might feel a little cold at first.”

As the oil drizzled across Javier’s back, he tensed at the icy contact. “No fucking kidding.”

Horacio leaned forwards for a second and smirked against Javier’s neck. “Just lay back and relax. I’ve got you.” Much like the night before, his words glided into Javier’s ear with a smoothness that matched his ministrations.

The sweet scent of almonds drifted through the bedroom, filling Javier’s senses and encouraging him to close his eyes. “Where did you get this stuff anyway?”

“I was running some errands in town yesterday. Thought you might need this when you got back.”

“So, I guess I’m not the only one who thought of everything.”

Javier lay his head on the pillow and let Horacio work in silence, bar the odd contented hum or sigh as thumbs pressed deeper and circled over trigger points. The more Horacio worked, the looser and lighter Javier’s body became, his lips gently parting as his jaw muscles finally took a break. He tended to forget just how much tension he carried there, the ache suddenly palpable as he unclenched his teeth and relaxed his face into the pillow.

By the time Horacio was finished, Javier was boneless yet sore. But he could rotate his neck further than he had been able to in a while, and the dull throb that had become a permanent fixture at his temples was no more.

Somewhere in his blissed-out state, Javier was manoeuvred into the shower. The heat gradually eased his aches and pains as Horacio washed away the massage oil with deft, soapy hands.

Horacio's thoughts floated to the aftermath of Diana Turbay and their first weekend together after Madrid. He felt compelled to replicate the level of care Javier took of him, not to erase what had happened because what was done was done. But as an expression of gratitude for the lengths Javier was prepared to go to. To protect Horacio. To protect them. It was an acknowledgement that Javier was just as prepared to walk away from his duties as Horacio if the price was too high. If the price was each other.

Once the soap was rinsed off, Horacio’s caretaking didn’t stop there. This time, he was on his knees, with Javier’s arms braced against the cool tiles and his ass cupped in Horacio’s hands. He worshipped ravenously with his mouth, tongue, and fingers, squeezing Javier’s cheeks further apart each time Javier whimpered, squirmed, or backed up against him. He didn’t care about the deluge of water cascading down on him; the only goal Javier’s pleasure, which he chased further by turning Javier around.

Fingers pulled and gripped wet strands of hair as Horacio mouthed at the sensitive flesh of Javier's inner thighs, burying his nose in dark curls, feasting with aplomb. As though this was his real mission and what he was put on earth to do. And Javier took it all eagerly.

It was over too soon, Horacio swallowing all Javier had to give until his writhing ceased, any remnants of tension ebbing away like an outgoing tide. The warmth of the water was replaced by the warmth of shared body heat and soft towels, by breakfast in bed and the luxury of time.

When they finally emerged from the guesthouse later that morning, Javier borrowed Chucho's typewriter. He drafted and re-drafted his resignation letter several times before slotting it into a manila envelope along with his badge. He drove downtown to the nearest post office, needing it gone now his mind was made up. Now there was no going back.

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It was two days into December when the news came. Javier and Horacio were lounging on the porch swing at the back of the guesthouse when Chucho’s voice called across the courtyard. There was a phone call for them.

“Steve?”

“It’s over, Javi. He’s dead.”

Even though Javier heard and understood Steve’s words perfectly, it was as though he was processing them on a delay. He held the receiver against his forehead as he took a much-needed deep breath.

Arms slotted around him from behind, followed by a chin resting on his shoulder and warm breath skimming across his neck. The chest now pressed against him heaved a sigh of relief so hard it reverberated through Javier's body.

“Javi, can you still hear me?”

Javier’s free hand gripped Horacio’s as he brought the receiver back up to his ear. “Yeah, sorry. Loud and clear. Thanks for calling. You okay?”

“Me? Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” The exhaustion was evident in Steve’s voice, and Javier could tell he was distracted by whatever chaos was happening around him. “Shit’s just been crazy lately. I don’t know what fuckin’ day it even is, to be honest.”

“So, business as usual, then.”

“Well, what d’you expect when my partner runs off into the sunset?”

“Sorry about that.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Wish you coulda been here though, Javi.”

Javier took longer than usual to swallow and had to clear his throat before he was able to respond. “I know, man. Me too.”

“Listen, I gotta head back to start packing. There’s an early flight to Miami tomorrow morning I’m hoping to make, but we’ll talk properly soon. Before I go, though…put Carrillo on a sec.”

Javier passed the phone behind him, shrugging his shoulders in response to Horacio’s quizzical look.

“Colonel?”

“Trujillo?”

“I got a shot, Colonel. And I took it.”

Now it was Horacio’s turn to compose himself, his hand grasping at Javier’s even harder than it already was. “Never in doubt.” He hoped Trujillo could hear his smile down the line, even if he couldn’t see it. “You did Colombia proud, Trujillo. Never forget that.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Colonel. So, thank you. For everything.”

“And thank you for doing what the rest of us couldn’t.”

It was jarring for Horacio to be addressed by his rank again. Almost like someone calling him by the wrong name, despite the fact he’d worn that one with pride for a long time. But a title was just that; he knew it deep down, even though he would probably have to keep reminding himself for a while.

Their conversation was brief, with few words necessary and even fewer words able to convey how they felt after all these years. It was far easier to joke about the drink Horacio definitely owed Trujillo now.

Once Trujillo and Steve said their goodbyes and the phone was placed back in its cradle, they tightened their embrace but didn’t move, silently letting the news work its way through their bodies. It was as though someone had twisted a pressure valve in their heads that had been locked for years, triggering a chain reaction that left them dizzy and needing to sit down again. 

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

They returned to the porch swing, Horacio reclining against Javier’s chest as they celebrated with a small glass of one of Chucho’s most expensive whiskeys. Not only was the whiskey Chucho’s suggestion, he already had measures poured for them by the time they got off the phone.

“I knew he could do it.”

“If it wasn’t gonna be you, it was gonna be Trujillo.”

“I’m glad it was him. He’s got his whole career ahead of him. He can do whatever he wants now.”

“So can we, Horacio.”

“I think it’s more a case of us knowing what we don’t want.”

Javier huffed and tilted his head. “True. But it’s a start. I know I want to sit here with you until the sun goes down. I know I want to have a nice dinner and fuck your brains out tonight.” He nibbled playfully at Horacio’s neck until Horacio leaned further back with a suggestive grunt of approval at Javier’s plans. “I know I want to spend Christmas here again.”

“And then what?”

“Haven’t thought further ahead than that, to be honest.”

“Do you want to stay here in the long term?”

“I…don’t know. Pops isn’t getting any younger. Although, don’t tell him I said that. But I don’t think he’s done with this place yet. You seem to have taken to ranch life, by the way. Better than I ever did. I think you might be Pops’ favourite now.”

Horacio rolled his eyes and scooted his foot along the floor in retaliation to Javier’s teasing, causing the swing to lightly sway. “It wasn’t so bad. It was good to keep busy and feel useful again. To have a routine. Maybe one day, if you were serious about sticking around here.”

“People would talk. About us.”

“I’ve lived here for a year, Javier. I’m sure they already talk.”

“True. Everyone knows everyone around here. It’s one of the reasons I left in the first place. I know we’ll have to face the music one day, but…not yet.”

“I’m not sure I’m ready to face Colombia yet, either.”

“Won’t the CNP expect to hear from you soon?”

“Yes. Protocol dictates I’d have to attend a medical review to rule whether I’m fit to return to duty. But that won’t be necessary.”

Taking a leaf out of Javier’s book, Horacio already had his resignation letter drafted, including a request for compensation for an injury sustained in the line of duty. He had approved plenty of similar requests from his men, so he knew the drill and was confident his claim would be successful.

“What about your family back home? Won’t they want to see you?”

“Eventually. I know I can’t avoid them forever.” Or avoid telling them about Javier, more like. “I just need some time first. Even if it’s only a few months. Or a year, I don’t know. I don’t care as long as it’s just you and me. No offence to your father.”

“None taken. He gives us our space, but I know it’s not the same. I want it to just be us for a while too.” Javier tilted Horacio’s chin upwards and kissed him, slow and tender.

Horacio responded in kind, temporarily distracted from what he planned to say next. He licked his lips; to steel himself and savour the heady combination of Javier and whiskey. "When I was in Madrid, I imagined us living there one day."

“Are you suggesting what I think you are?”

“Maybe. But only if it was something you wanted too.”

Javier looked out across the plains, vivid memories of his late-night conversation with Steve sitting on the same porch swing springing to mind.

“I was always so desperate to get out of Laredo. Thought leaving was the answer to all my problems. But running away just created new ones instead.”

“Tell me about it.”

Javier realised he’d put his foot in it too late. “Shit, sorry. And hey, come on, that was different, and you know it. No one was trying to kill me when I left here. Well, Lorraine probably wanted to for a while.”

“No, it’s fine. But although it felt like running away to me, like I was letting people down, like I was a coward…” Horacio trailed off, caught unawares by the traces of self-flagellation that remained. “I knew I had to do it. Maybe you need to do this too. Maybe it’s what we both need.”

“It wouldn’t always be like this.”

“Like what?”

“Us being like…this. We’ve only shared the guesthouse for a few weeks at a time. We didn’t live together in Colombia. It’d be a big step.”

“Yes, it would. But it wouldn’t be until next year. And Madrid wouldn’t have to be forever, either.”

“Never said it was a bad thing.” Javier’s eyes locked onto Horacio’s as palm met cheek. “I want to build a home with you, Horacio. Wherever that happens to be. My future is your future.”

Their lips met again, Horacio’s hand finding its way into Javier’s hair as they sunk into it, only pulling apart when necessary.

“Madrid it is, then?”

“Madrid it is.”

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

The days following Escobar’s death were something of a blur. If they switched the TV or radio on or picked up a newspaper, there was one story. Funnily enough, neither Javier nor Horacio required a blow-by-blow account of any of it. People Chucho hadn’t heard from in years suddenly called or conveniently stopped by the ranch. A couple of plucky journalists attempted the same tactic but got no further than the front gate.

One of the journalists had got wind of Judy Moncada’s 15 minutes of fame in the Miami Herald and wanted Javier to go on record. The article was published a few days after Javier left Colombia; however, it took longer to appear in the Laredo press. Luckily for Javier, his local ‘hero’ status meant few people bought it. Judy was nothing more than a desperate, washed-up criminal in their eyes. But there was a strange, conflicted part of Javier that would always be grateful to her despite everything.

Phone calls to Miami and Medellín revealed Steve and Trujillo had similar weeks. Not only did Steve have to answer questions about Escobar’s final moments, but he also had to defend his former partner. And fend off accusations from less respectable publications that he was in on it all too.

Meanwhile, Trujillo was Colombia’s new hero. He already had an offer of a promotion from Captain to Major bestowed upon him, which had Horacio smiling into the receiver again when he heard the news.

The only escape they had from the media circus was getting stuck into the jobs that needed doing on the ranch. Which was business as usual from Horacio’s point of view, but it was more of an adjustment for Javier.

But he figured he should at least try, which was why he found himself up to his eyes in paperwork alongside Chucho.

They sat at the kitchen table surrounded by neat piles of forms and invoices, stacks of files and bookkeeping records. To an outsider, it might have looked like disorganised chaos. But Chucho had been doing this for so long, and he knew where every scrap of paper and figure was recorded should he ever need to refer to them. The trouble was, Javier didn’t.

He had been leafing through a folder full of livestock inventories for the last 10 minutes, unable to find the previous month’s figures and rapidly losing patience. “You do know you can employ someone to do all of this for you.”

“I do. But even Miguel is allowed time off. Plus, I like to keep an eye on everything each month. It comes with the territory when you own a business. And I’d have thought you’d be used to boring paperwork by now.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I am," Javier mumbled as he searched through the folder until Chucho put him out of his misery, locating the missing inventory in less than a minute.

“Let’s get you some more coffee.” Chucho got up to pour two fresh cups but kept his gaze on Javier. His son seemed to be lingering even when he wasn’t being particularly helpful and would clearly rather be doing anything other than this. Which usually meant only one thing.

"Thanks." Javier accepted his refreshed cup and took a long sip to try and stimulate his senses.

“So, Madrid.” There was no point beating around the bush any longer. And there was only so much of Javier in this mood Chucho could take.

“Erm yeah. Well, in the New Year, anyway. It’s not a permanent arrangement, but we both need a change of scenery. And Horacio liked living there, so…”

“You don’t need to ask for my permission or approval, Mijo.”

“I wasn’t.” Except that’s exactly what he was doing, and of course, his dad could see right through him. “It’s just…I, er, didn’t know if you wanted us to stick around. For the ranch, I mean.”

Just as Chucho had suspected, then. “You and Horacio will always have a home here, but I don’t expect you to stay put all your lives. You’ve closed the book on a painful chapter now that monster is dead. You need to give yourselves time to heal and open a new one together. In peace, out of the spotlight and the media’s glare. And on neutral ground. Pass me the rest of those.”

Chucho gestured casually towards the remaining files piled on the table as if he hadn’t just imparted the exact words of wisdom Javier needed to hear.

Javier transferred the files across the table, a question now burning on the tip of his tongue. One he hadn’t dared to ask until now. “So, did you see that article?”

“Yes, I saw it. Didn’t think much of it, though.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Only you know the truth about what happened over there, but I know the truth about you, Mijo. Even when you think I don’t.”

“It wasn’t all lies, Dad. It didn’t go down like that, but…it still happened and I was involved.”

“I’m sure you were, but it wasn’t the presence of lies I was talking about. It was the absence of truth. Your truth. And when it comes to protecting the ones you love, it might not be easy or free of consequence, but it’s the simplest choice of all. And you made it.”

It was the second time in the last year that Javier’s vision had blurred whilst in this kitchen, thanks to his father, although he fought back the tears more effectively this time. Just. How his Pops always had the right words up his sleeve when Javier was so often monosyllabic, he had no clue. Maybe it was something that would come to him in old age.

“I know I’m not as young as I once was,” Chucho continued, almost like he had heard Javier’s last thought, “but I’m not done with this place just yet. And it’ll still be here waiting when that day does come. I know you’ve never taken your share, but—”

“Pops, no. I’m not taking it.”

“I’ve always set the money aside for you in case you changed your mind.” Chucho finished his sentence, ignoring Javier’s usual protest. And he wasn’t going to stop there, either. “It would give you chance to get back on your feet. Take your time to figure out what you both want. Just think about it, Javi. That’s all I ask.”

Javier had never liked taking money from his father. Not least because the medical bills had already done enough of that in his Mamá’s last few months. As soon as he received his first police paycheck, he insisted Chucho kept everything from the ranch.

But as his attention left the paperwork and fell on the view of the guesthouse through the kitchen window, even Javier had to admit it would be stupid not to re-consider.

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

In the first few weeks after Javier’s return, he and Horacio established a nocturnal routine in which they were both awake at an ungodly hour. Sometimes it was bad dreams rearing their heads again. Often, it was Javier being unable to sleep and his absence from the bed disturbing Horacio.

This time, however, it was Javier’s turn to wake alone in the darkness, blinking several times to clear the sleep from his eyes. He assumed Horacio was in the living room or kitchen. But as he adjusted to his surroundings, pale moonlight cast a silhouette at the foot of the bed.

“What’re you doing?” Javier croaked, his voice still thick with slumber. Although as he sat up, Horacio’s outline became sharper.

Horacio was kneeling on the floor, hands clasped together on the bed, and his head bowed. Until now, that was. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I haven’t seen you do that in years.” There was no judgement in Javier’s tone; it was merely a statement of fact. Now that he thought about it, the last time he had witnessed Horacio praying was in Cartagena.

“I stopped for a while; I don’t know why, really.”

“What made you start again?”

Horacio expelled a light huff. “Your father, actually.”

“Pops?” Now, Javier was intrigued, and he sat up further to give Horacio his full attention.

“He showed me the box for your mother’s altar. She was beautiful.”

“She was.” A hoarse, strained sound came out of Javier’s mouth, strangely caught off guard by his own emotions even after all this time.

“We had a home altar when I was growing up, but that was for prayer and worship. It wasn’t specifically about remembering my father. Looking back, we didn’t talk about him much at all. We all grieved in secret. I used to wait until no one was around to look through photo albums. Or sneak into my parents’ room to see my Papá’s uniform. My Mamá left it hung up for about a year.”

He didn’t like to touch it too much, not wanting to dilute any traces of his father still left on the fabric. But over time, he couldn’t help but notice it smelt more like his Mamá’s perfume than anything else.

“Pops builds an ofrenda every Día de Muertos, but he used to keep it up for weeks. Just in case he’d say because she was always running late.” He snorted, thinking about how typical it was that of all the traits he could have inherited, it had to be that one. “How was he this year?”

“Quiet. He visited the cemetery but said he was getting too old for big crowds.” Although Horacio suspected it was Chucho’s kind way of allowing him to avoid being left alone on the ranch for the best part of two days and nights. Or alternatively, being eaten alive by gossip mongers without Javier there to deflect any of the attention.

Still, Horacio was lucky enough to catch glimpses of the local festivities whilst running errands on Chucho’s behalf. It was the least he could do, given his suspicions. Downtown Laredo was adorned with decorations of every colour, and Horacio had never seen it so busy. Rows of papel picado were hung across streets bustling with preparations. Food stalls stood alongside artists offering prints and calavera face painting. Florists sold marigolds with queues around the block, and bakers tempted passers-by with pan de muerto fresh from the oven. If circumstances had been different, he would have happily stuck around for the full celebrations.

“But he cooked the same amount of food as last Christmas, so that kept the ranch staff and your neighbours fed for the week.”

“Sounds about right. Did he get the buñuelos?”

“Of course.”

“They are fucking good, to be fair. I loved that diner when I was a kid. We drove passed it on the way from San Antonio when you first got here. Haven’t been for years.”

“You looked happy in the photo taken there.”

“I was. We were.”

“I saw your father praying in front of it, on the ofrenda. That night I prayed too. To be closer to Papá, I suppose, I don’t know. I’ve been dreaming about him for months, almost like the dreams were telling me to reconnect somehow.”

“Makes sense. Does it help?”

“It’s early days, but I think so. It helped when you weren’t here. When I didn’t know if you were safe or…”

“When you were in Madrid, just after the attacks on the CNP, I knelt with Trujillo and…I prayed with him. For him, for them, for your return. And when I was on my way to 9th Street, and I didn’t know if you’d – if you were –” He cut himself off to swallow down the lump resting at the base of his throat. “I hadn’t prayed since I was a kid. Too many bad memories and so much fucking shame everywhere. I was already drowning in enough of that. Didn’t need any more. But for you…it just felt…right.”

Horacio looked up at Javier, cursing the gloom of the bedroom but knowing without it, he might not have heard that confession in the first place.

It wasn’t enough, though, and he rose off his knees to climb across the bed, but Javier was already moving to the floor.

They met next to the bed, the rug cushioning their knees as Horacio cupped Javier’s face and brought their lips together.

Javier caught their palms between their chests, enveloping Horacio's fingers with his own. Their gaze landed on their linked hands and travelled upwards until chestnut met charcoal, the moonlight reflecting a new, unspoken question across their pupils.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Javier let go for a second and lifted his hands to the nape of his neck, lowering the chain he often slept in. He re-fastened the clasp before placing his hands back where they were, only this time, the silver chain and cross were secured between them.

Now they were on their knees, streaks of light illuminated their forms, and they could see each other more clearly. Their breathing was uneven, the nervous energy between them undeniable as they took another first step together.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Javier confessed in a low whisper.

“It’s okay. Try some deep breaths first.” Leading by example, Horacio drew several slow inhales and exhales, and Javier followed suit. “And try clear your mind. Let it go wherever it takes you. I’ve got you.”

Javier couldn’t pretend he was a natural. And it took a few attempts to stop his mind from wandering or feeling waves of self-consciousness lapping at his feet, but after several minutes, it was as though a fog had cleared.

With their eyes closed and heads bowed, foreheads touching, they gave themselves over to a different higher power. Taking comfort and guidance in each other, in the memories of those they had loved and lost. They reclaimed a ritual steeped in guilt, shame, and sin for too many years. A ritual that had encouraged them to beg for forgiveness where it wasn’t required. No longer seeking absolution, their union was a sacrament of its own. They each other’s church, the cross a symbol of their commitment and devotion.

Their lips met in a silent amen, their hands now free to worship bare skin with praise and reverence as though they were praying the Rosary. Javier’s mouth kissed over fading scar tissue; he the priest and Horacio the altar. Each cry of pleasure was a hymn or psalm only they knew, their bodies the bread and their blood the wine as they found sanctuary in their shared embrace. Taking communion afterwards as a nicotine flame passed between them. One sacred act followed by another until they fell asleep, still recovering and healing from all that had gone before, but more at peace than they had been in years.

[ecle-c-tic]

hellooooo i'm feeling particularly inspired so I thought I'd do a lil event! I'm back to school now so this event will be spread out until after Thanksgiving! (like maybe until the 23 october?)

as many of you know i'm a big reader, so i thought it might be fun if we had a tiny little event about books! (we will return to the regular programing of movies and music very soon!)

I'm on the homestretch of my reading challenge (96/125!) and to keep myself motivated alongside my school work I thought I might get some final recommendations from you all. so, without further ado:

📚📖📚📖📚📖📚📖📚📖📚📖📚📖📚📖📚📖📚📖📚📖📚

--

first! here are some important rules:

no limit to the number of requests or asks! no anons but everyone is welcome to participate!

**I am allowed to refuse certain authors or books if i'm not vaguely familiar with them or if they make me uncomfortable (coho, jkr, etc.)

I will be slow on these due to how time consuming my uni courses are/have been but my goal is to get everything done and finished before Halloween!

--

bookish celebration;

📚 ~ blog header based on your favourite book quote (if the context or theme isn't obvious please include it)

📙 ~ moodboard based on book/character/universe etc. (please include a short description just in case i'm not aware)

🔖~ tell me about one of your favourite books

☕ ~ send me this emoji and i'll assign your vibes to an author or book that I feel match you (mutuals only <3)

📖 ~ give me a few details (or an oddly specific prompt) and I'll recommend a book to you

🍂 ~ give me a number between 1 and 96 and I'll give you a short review of the corresponding book from my book challenge this year!

✒ ~ and a number between 1 and 96 for my favourite quote from the corresponding book!

💌~ Send me a trope or genre and I'll rate it! (fic tropes are fine too!!

--

request your books here!

--

hehe you're being tagged bc of this post:

@lady-ofmischief @whatmarisays @thislookinyoureyes @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen @trinikins

[branded-perceptions]

Our global tendency of focusing more on

🌛🛐 social signalling, group-identities, mythos stories, social rewards, mind🌛 constructs and reputations

than introspective logic dialectics of most basic shared causal realities relation🌞 to all our quite similar life force needs is like a

🎶WHITE FLAG - DIDO

towards how during last millennia the interplay of our by contrasting worldwide old world order elites and Pythagorean Illuminati (📚ISBN: 9781447886891) influenced the motivational sense-making bricks' emotional navigations we build our minds with as we as children "fall" into our life and social context

towards the out of that via our technologies of interconnectivity evolved globalisation of what we perceive as common sense

(🎵I KNOW YOU THINK THAT I SHOULD'T STILL LOVE YOU)

directs🧠👅🧠 our shared common wealth

(🎵OR TELL YOU THAT)

whose socially constructed motivational incentives are detached from our most basic sympathy of seeing ourselves reflected not in any mind constructs but in all other humans' most basic life joys and to that tied causal needs

(🎵BUT IF I DIDN'T SAY IT, WELL, I'D STILL HAVE FELT IT)

that we try to manage via how we make sense about the simultaneously from that distracting and for that needed social constructs

(🎵WHERE'S THE SENSE IN THAT?)

whose over-complexifying cult structure habits

(🎵I PROMISE I'M NOT TRYING TO MAKE YOUR LIFE HARDER OR RETURN TO WHERE WE WERE)

have been exported via all the vainly bra(i)nde(a)d western entertainment culture's entrepreneurSHIP, worSHIP, championSHIP, craftmanSHIP, internSHIP, citizenSHIP, dictatorSHIP and companionSHIP

(🎵BUT I WILL GO DOWN WITH THIS SHIP)

whose conceptualised ideal & habit apathy towards shared objective life needs can be balanced via ironic processes

(🎵AND I WON'T PUT MY HANDS UP AND SURRENDER)

guided towards a from group-identities and 🔍"construct dependency Susanne R Cook-Greuter" more free and agile dialectic for the wellbeing of all our homes' out of such motivationally "positively" misguided sense-making dynamics (🔍vaynermedia opens offices abroad) worldwide growing chronic diseases

(🎵THERE WILL BE NO WHITE FLAG ABOVE MY DOOR)

that me, myself & I via my 🔍"big ben watchtower bell" ego🥜 functions' reality testing have prepared a for many of global cultures' attention booty🍑

[of via shared repressions upon social constructs🎅 projected🧭❤️🧭 (🔍brand love) motivational psychological ID🍌💦]

unknown and interesting shortlist superego "heaven"🤥😷😇 of via fourths industrial revolution systematically feasible & enjoyably tasty👅 alternatives for global food industries propagated core incredients' causal care for our shared presence

(🎵I'M IN LOVE AND ALWAYS WILL BE)

that still is "positively" exploited by remnants of our colonial mindsets

(🎵I KNOW I LEFT TOO MUCH MESS AND DESTRUCTION TO COME BACK AGAIN)

that paved the globally entwined way to where we are now

(🎵AND I CAUSED NOTHING BUT TROUBLE, I UNDERSTAND IF YOU CAN'T TALK TO ME AGAIN)

of interconnected shared introspective understanding of by history storytelled lessions that reflect the spectrum of insantities of in us all innate group dynamics that we need to protect ourselves with localised boundaries

(🎵AND IF YOU LIVE BY THE RULES OF 'IT'S OVER' THEN I'M SURE THAT THAT MAKES SENSE)

whose sense-making organisation even on all our diverse local levels in all diverse forms embody the here via @branded.perceptions described very same socio-psychological core dynamics' hardSHIP of via entertaining ironic rebounds of vain western culture more easy understandable globally exported in-group trend "s-HIP"

(🎵BUT I WILL GO DOWN WITH THIS SHIP)

whose attention, exchanged definition of value and reward streams🐟🐟🐟 can be guided more consciously if we like #anotherSel🐟moodboard more habitually via goofy irony strive to transcend any subjective socially like during global "corona nation" (coronation) constructed psychotic mythos towards a via these ironic processes t-easingly dialectically entertainingly intelectually evolving thereby more decentraliseable collective superego🤥😷😇 via resulting social incentives motivating🧭❤️🧭 our hands' actions

(🎵AND I WON'T PUT MY HANDS UP AND SURRENDER)

mutual respect for our by PRESENCE of "opposing" global military and law enforcement focus on globally shared most basic life needs' boundaries and diverse cultural preferences we within boundaries of human rights have to respect in each other

(🎵THERE WILL BE NO WHITE FLAG ABOVE MY DOOR)

via most basic life joys whose goofy eye "vision" spark about our innate irony of our "diverse" and "opposing" mental and social constructs all tend to see ourselves reflected in via the in us all innate but often repressed motivation to orient direction of our lives to help others not just because of "competitive" social constructs, social rewards or warmongering group-think but because of that unexplainable dynamic

(🎵I'M IN LOVE AND ALWAYS WILL BE)

as an geopolitical s-pace of shared introspection

(🎵AND WHEN WE MEET)

naturally gravitating towards

(🎵WHICH I'M SURE WE WILL)

the desire to enjoy not just the moment

(🎵ALL THAT WAS THERE)

but nourish the moments of others that live after we pass

(🎵WILL BE THERE STILL)

via our inevitably dying sense-making constructs of our self-justifying over complexifying minds

(🎵I'LL LET IT PASS)

that as seen during last 2 millennia in almost all types of societies periodically (Strauss-Howe) via inevitable social construct dependent group-dynamics🏟👏👏👏 distort & inflate👽 (🔍care the lost principle mark passio) direction🧠👅🧠 of any type of motivational mental and literal @taste.lifeee

(🎵AND HOLD MY TONGUE)

as described by the irony of story of "holy grail" of our daily dish and its socially signalled dissonance👽 with the bra(i)nde(a)d "golden" appearance status "wealth" of only in our minds existing social constructs that

similar like in any topic of any group-dynamic tend to via resulting sadomasochistic (🔍the burnout society) causal life needs' in-group alienation (alien👽 nation) and out-group derogation

threaten our most basic personal boundaries and daily life needs:

🎵AND YOU WILL THINK THAT I'VE MOVED ON

[ollie603]

Initial storyboard

I created a rough sketch of my first storyboard. This will serve as a basis to build from as I develop new techniques and become more comfortable using After Effects:

I want to put a heavy emphasis on Illustration (as I enjoy making it) however also want typography to play a heavy part of the work. My plan is to create an imagery based board mood (what I've made here) and then return to the storyboarding after the next class to see what I can learn which may benefit my typographical skills. I wanted motion to play a heavy role in my video, which is why Illustration plays a heavy role. I think my next step in terms for developing this moodboard further is to look at motion design projects that pertain to my context.