#trope: poverty food

[v0w0v---x2]

delicious cream of Grease and hamburger bun soup = life

[sunboki]

— THE ALCHEMIST. a Lee Minho fiction

Lee Minho x f. reader

TROPE. historical! au, set in 1940’s Korea, alchemist! au, friends to lovers, fluff, angst

WARNINGS. abusive behavior toward women, impoverished communities, overall sexist beliefs of the time, reader dresses as a man, mentions of death & disease, smoking (not reader or minho), war conflict, making out??

WORD COUNT. 9.6k words

AUG'S NOTES. although it was a bit out of the blue, i had such a great time writing and shaping this universe, thank you to all the love and support thus far<3 also, huge thanks to @comet-falls for instilling the peaky blinders/historical! minho vision in my head with how incredible tooth and claw was, i truly owe it to you :)

SYNOPSIS. Cities stricken with poverty, the lack of male presence in your home while surviving in a male-dominated society leaves meager food on the table and a piling debt. Left no choice but to make a risky decision, you decide that, if biology wanted to fail you, you’d simply try another approach.

alternatively :

In which deception introduces you into an entirely new reality, and The Alchemist.

It’s one thing surviving with the knowledge you can change something, whatever it may be that’s wrong. 

It’s another when that problem isn’t merely changeable, but biological. 

Your problem? You’re a woman. 

Not as easy to fix, right?

.

.

.

With your father lost in the war, fruitlessly straining to support a family of girls, the household is left helpless.

Representation is nonexistent, and merely walking outside frets harassment and laughter struck in your face at the mention of working. 

A woman, working? Hilarious. 

Or, apparently to the men in pubs it certainly is.

Some things you can’t change, yes, but there are always alternatives. And as for now, you’re helplessly searching high and low for that alternative, whatever it may be. 

Selling yourself is possible, though the inability to remain connected to your family eliminates that option. 

When you get so desperate, there’s no incentive in guarding your pride. Because being called derogatory names isn’t as bad as losing them, the people you call home.

October welcomes little warmth, biting your fingertips and sending a tremor of chills cascading down your spine. Minimal sunlight peers through dense clouds, shrouding the atmosphere in a depressing haze. 

You’re on your way to the apothecary, but not to purchase anything. The pennies in your pocket won’t amount to anything in the face of medicinal prices, which happens to be one of your many alternatives. 

Since day one, you’ve had a rock to rely on.

Medicine. 

Lack of money meant improper living conditions, entailing sickness. 

Constantly.

Whether it was your mother, your younger sister, yourself, an infection of some sort occupied your respiratory system, wreaking havoc for wallets and mental health altogether. 

Purchasing necessary medication became impossible the further you drowned in your debt, to the point drastic measures needed to be taken in order to prevent death from infesting itself in the household as well.

Then came the question. If you couldn’t purchase the medicine itself, why not collect the ingredients?

Alternatives.

Behind the apothecary you discovered mint hedges that, if mixed with wormwood and balm, could aid in curing Sun-ja’s current sickness, colic. 

Although, you’d have to be swift in your efforts, ensuring the shop owner didn’t notice your presence.

Too many times had you nearly been caught, risking a good beating from the red-haired, burly man regarded as Mr. Myeong.

Fiery red hair complimented an equally unruly personality you aimed not to cross by. Ever.

Yet, unlike Mr. Myeong, his wife was the polar opposite, an ideal magnet. She was petite and soft-spoken, but out of her appealing traits, you found her resilience to be most attractive.

Mrs. Myeong is stubborn. She’s strong in what she believes, sporting an unquestionably vocal opinion that can’t be quenched.

The woman is, likely, the only woman capable of sealing her husband’s mouth shut.  

Hidden between thorn ridden weeds sits your desired leaves, abundant in supply.

You clutch your satchel closer, plucking as quickly as possible whilst crouched to the ground, maneuvering through tickling grasses and itchy reeds. 

Your mission remains successful, until the wretched sound of a doorknob rips your head upward, the red-haired man in question standing nonplussed, arms crossed. 

He wears a cocked brow, examining what you’re desperately trying to veil away.

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Stealing, are we?” Black boot clad frame thumping closer, you immediately prepare to run, hair standing on end like an agitated feline.

Instead, his huge hand swoops down to grab your collar, other evidently ready to land a harsh slap to your face.

Instinctively cringing, you brace for the stinging impact.

That is, before a saccharine, lullaby-worthy voice rings from the cracked doorway, belonging to none other than Mrs. Myeong.

“Honey! Have you seen the new envelope that came in?” 

Heels clicking whilst padding over cobblestone to where you two stand, her husband fixates you with a stern, threatening glare. 

Finally dropping your frame to the ground, you slump forward, pulse pounding loud enough you fear your chest may implode. 

Mrs. Myeong, though wearing a taut expression, ushers him off, delivering a curt nod your way, intentional brows furrowed in place. 

‘Thank you’ You wish to say, but hold your tongue, watching them disappear inside.

Another time.

Walking home was rather uneventful (much to your delight), left to enjoy the crisp, cool air sifting through your lungs in steady rhythm, the lazy billows of cigar smoke dwindling from gaping doorways.

Calm. 

Nothing calm ever lasts long.

Stashing the house key back into your decrepit leather draw bag, your footsteps still upon entering, struck terror-filled.

Your mother, strawn across the floor, hacks amongst her rampant coughs, body convulsing in desperate shivers, skin drenched a ghastly blue.

Sprinting to her side, you kneel down, rolling the woman over to find her face utterly battered, new black eye beginning to swell, cheek bruised a mawkish purple against hollowed cheekbones. 

Sharks.

To your left Sun-ja hides in the corner, rags for a blanket pulled to her chest, shielded between the wall and a tipped cabinet. 

Over and over they’ve begun visiting, to the point your mother became recognizable by her continuous black eye, her torn clothing and stooped posture. 

Exhausted, she was exhausted. 

Yet, she took the beatings. The torturous punches. Jarring slaps, traumatic insults, tarnishing. Your mother took it so you wouldn’t, so you and Sun-ja could live.

And it’s at that moment you make up your mind, discover this occasion’s alternative. 

“Cut it off.” 

“Cut.. Cut it off?” Hyunjin gapes, fingers stalling their descent down a strand of your hair. 

You smile, grimacing the longer consideration poises.

No point in thinking too much.

“Yep. Give me the most boy-ish haircut you can.” You emphasize, gesturing toward his scissors expectantly. 

Hyunjin, your personally appointed hairstylist, doesn’t seem too convinced. He’s debating, expertly reading your features.

Currently, you’re holed up in his room, a miniature apartment located near the furthest section of town, close to the coast.

In wee hours of morning you boarded the train here, inhaling salty, ocean-smelling breeze. Back in your old residence you met him, your neighbor Hwang Hyunjin. It’s a miracle you still stayed in contact, bond aging like the finest of wines over countless years. 

Enough to where you trusted him to help you enact this alternative of yours. 

Starting with a haircut.

The man stares at you through the mirror, dark, inky hair matting the longer he runs his hands through it. 

Thoughtfully trying to figure out your reasoning, he evidently catches on the moment you witness his eyes roll, releasing a heaving sigh.

“You cannot be serious.”

A torrential truth keeps you from responding, gaze directed at your feet. 

“Y/n,” He uttered, eyes filling with a concern you avoid meeting, avoid regarding in a whole. “You don’t have to do this, the war is going to end soon and your father will come ba—“

“He’s dead.”

Silence engulfs the room.

Collecting yourself, you scorn his frown.

“He’s dead and gone. Now I need to protect them, provide for them.“ 

You deny the shakiness of your voice.

“So, Hyunjin. Cut off my hair.”

Accordingly, he does without another word. Snip by snip, tress by tress falling below, scattering the tile floor in endless strands.

By the time you see yourself, it’s hard to recognize the person in the reflection. Never had you considered your hair a viable source of identity, but now that it’s so sparse, the effect is eminent. 

Failing to see yourself in your own reflection beckons a different kind of sadness. For the person you’ve introduced yourself as reigns no more. She’s been replaced.

Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, embrace just as comforting as you remembered. His hand reaches to caress your cropped hair, rocking back and forth on his heels, chin resting on your head. 

“Be careful, okay?”

Nodding into his shoulder, you wipe salty streaks from your cheeks. 

Hurts.

“And if you need a place to take shelter, I’ll be here.”

Steadying in his hug again, you pull back, cherishing his kindness with a chaste kiss to the cheek. 

“Thank you, really.”

Shaking his head at your gratitude, urging you out and lingering by the doorway till your figure retreats in the distance.

Next stop, Mrs. Myeong. 

If anyone has any idea how to source the clothing you’re needing, your best chance would be thanks to her. 

An hour later you arrive in familiar avenues, creeping out of sight into the apothecary in hopes the woman you’re looking for is working the counter. 

Much to your pleasure, after a few unsuccessful attempts do you grasp her attention, edging forward under the guise of a regular hoping to converse. 

“I need your help.”

Initially, she carries that sternness, wordlessly lifting your hooded head a bit to notice the latest adjustment. Shock written over her face, Mrs. Myeong drags you along with her, closing the door to a back room.   

“My child, what is going on?” She whispers, tone urgent. You can’t help but feel fond of the affectionate nickname.

“I need male clothing and,” You hesitate, teeth nipping at your bottom lip. “something to bind my chest with.”

Similar to Hyunjin, she steps back, assessing the situation at hand. Spending a brief few seconds roaming your figure, the woman works hastily toward fetching a petticoat, meticulously fitting each article atop your stock-still frame.

“You’re conceited,” she grumbles. “And foolish.” Carefully peeling off your upper-wear, she’s managed to cut a piece of thick cloth to use as a make-shift binder, assembling the fabric over your breast. 

The experience, although strange, wasn’t as painful as anticipated.

“But be careful, and stay in contact.”

Your response is hushed.

“Breathe in,” The older woman instructs, securing her creation with a threaded pin before moving onto other aspects, like a proper coat and pants. 

Mr. Myeong’s trousers, though having to be sewn to fit, make do, and you’re reminded to return tomorrow for shoes. Otherwise, the attire is completed, paired with a curved hat to finish. 

Sure, the entire male concept is foreign, but given time, you’ll gradually acclimate.

Oh, right. 

Your alternative?

Since medicine is what you know, you’ll stick with that. Difference being medicine is a men’s occupation, and so, if you can’t be a female working in the field, why not become male? 

Well, somewhat become male.

It’s a risky wager, easily placing your life on the line in the process. 

For your mother and Sun-ja, however, it’s your turn to take the beating. Your turn to endure.

Observation is a virtue. It can save and preserve, heed to oncoming danger, and simultaneously (and discreetly) supply useful information.

Today, seated on a bench in Daegu Station, your first observation is the abundance of people scurrying like mice.

Some tall, some short. Distinct moles, eyes. Upturned and downturned lips. Mustaches, beards. Much to see.

Your legs cross and uncross, Mr. Myeong’s oversized heeled shoes beginning to sink at your ankles. Hat strung low enough to peer out without attracting attention, your gaze is magnetically drawn to a magazine held on the adjacent side of the train tracks, title on display.   

Prized Alchemist Lee Minho suspected of being the lone survivor of the Red Plagu—

Ignorant to your surroundings, your senses posed numb to the incoming train, blocking off the last few words of the title from view the moment it soars past—nearly sweeping the fedora off your head. 

By the time the last few train cars passed, the man honing said magazine had disappeared, and you were left wondering if the experience was merely a figment of your imagination.  

Although, you did have one lead. A name.

Lee Minho. 

Where you’d find him remained unknown, deciding to rely on a magazine parlor first and foremost for more intel.  

To no surprise, nearly every magazine rack lay lined with haughty opinions regarding the war and its evident cruelty.

Many onlookers of both Americans, Koreans, and foreigners alike chatter amongst themselves about their own take between gossiping hands and fumes of tobacco.

In this town, located far off in the business district by a ship port, people are everywhere.

Wives of sailors, families of soldiers off at war. Women honing gleaning parasols and ivory gloves reaching to their elbows.

Languages you’ve never heard before utter their enunciated syllables, vocabulary petulant with accent—all shrouded in dismay.   

Roaming the store endlessly to no avail, you prepare to adventure back through dusty streets and battered wooden stall-shops before a peculiar name pauses your footsteps. 

His name, The Alchemist, Lee Minho.

“Bring ‘em home I tell ‘ya,” An aged man by the deepened grooves of his face, hollow cheekbones and bunched wrinkles grumbles.

A fat cigar hangs loosely from thin lips, pale baker boy cap adorning a bald head. 

Some sentences estranged, you identify his sentences as French, heavy in dialect, throaty and broad.

And although your fluency stay patchy, exposure from French immigrants who’ve relocated near home allow minimal understanding as to what they’re talking about.

“Say, did you hear that Lee Minho chap was a Red Plague?” His counterpart offered past his own leering cigar, foot tapping incessantly.

The other hacks his bewilderment, feeble fist pounding on an equally feeble chest.

“The Alchemist?” 

The man’s astonishment returned with a nod, you lean closer, pretending to be consumed in an article. 

“Said he was only nineteen when it happened. Shipped ‘em off only for disease to kill them all. One survived, now people are speculatin’ it’s him.”

Either of them sigh out long drags.

“Well I’ll be damned.” Is all the other huffs in disbelief, and upon recognizing the conversation approaching an end, you stir to action, willing your voice to deepen an octave.

Attempting to appeal in your broken French, you stall the two, cautiously claiming you’re in need of his whereabouts for an esteemed business transaction to which, through confused stares, you’re given loose directions.

Loose, but feasible.

80 Kent Avenue, dark blue doors.

Directions that, according to the sudden blank of streetlights, would have to wait until tomorrow. As for now, the world beckoned you to rest, and any progress would prove futile and rather impossible in the dark.

Luckily, a run-down Inn gifted good few hours of shut-eye before dawn peered through the windowsills and you were begrudgingly forced to your feet. 

Fitting the binder snug across your body and fastening your trench coat through minuscule belt loops, you’re taught with much haste the stark difference of men’s prestige entitlement. 

First access to everything, the ability to have their way with a woman whether she willingly obliges or not, and just about ten billion other things someone of your hidden status couldn’t fathom.

A man’s world is a world only possible through disguise. Yours just happens to be a last resort.

Charming the mistress at the front desk was unexpectedly effortless, not to mention how easily she spilled the details as to where Kent Avenue would be located.

Another noticeable attribute of your new appearance, no one asked as to where you were going nor your intentions, they merely dipped their heads and wished you off.

Adjustments.

Adjustments that, if you’d been born different, would be normal.

Kent Avenue lay twisted in shadows. The surrounding area brims in barely flickering labels and creaking doorways leading to who knows where. Quaint isn’t the word for it. More ancient, all-knowing. 

This place has been here for centuries with many stories to tell, most just haven’t heard them yet.

Significantly dark blue doors make the Alchemist’s residence easily noticeable, starkly contrasting with wooded architecture. Massive doorknobs engraved with lions, windows shielded by moth-eaten curtains. Grand, in its own form.

You swore each door stood eight feet tall, the left in particular left slightly ajar.

Wait, ajar?

Doing a double take to ensure your vision wasn’t playing tricks on you, you inch forward, widening the dark gap exponentially until all you faced was a black abyss—apart from the miniature lamp beaming yellow light in a far corner.

Carefully tiptoeing into said black abyss, the further you explore, the greater the visibility increases. Leather cushioned furniture, clean, polished desks. The desk the lone lamp rests upon is a chestnut wooden, ink feathers residing in the upper corner.

Somehow, the matter grants envy, resentment grating your nerves. This man lives comfortably while other’s are beaten for possessing nothing. Maybe it’s a petty, unnecessary thought; and maybe you’re foolish, but all odds are against you, your disposition seems righteous.

Getting too lost in your head turned out foolish as well.

“What’s this?” A voice behind you whispers, voice ghosting chills tickling your neck at an alarming pace. 

Whipping around, eyes struck wide in shock, the person responsible for the remark comes into view, his stature opposing the tone muttered in your ear seconds ago.     

Not a plump business man like you imagined, not adorning a spectacle, no pipe in sight. Instead, one lone button right below the chest fits snug white sleeves cuffed by his elbows, black vest hugging a slim torso.

Conniving, cat-like eyes analyze your expressions while dark brown hair parts to the side, loose strands covering his right eyebrow. And when he reaches up to brush a few frayed tresses to the side you note sleek gloves covering long, pale fingers. 

If anything, this man is more similar to a Vampire.

“Trespassing, are we?”

Collect yourself. This is your opportunity.

Swiftly brushing off your clothes, you clear your throat.

“I have an offer.”

“An offer?” A smile belonging to that of a Cheshire cat adorns his lips, one leg propping itself over the other, fingers intertwining in front of him.

Ensuring your voice is clear and concise (while keeping the deeper, male-ish tone), you state your claim, despising how utterly debilitating it feels being caught under his observative stare. 

Like he sees through you.

“I would be a valuable asset to your studies in alchemy. I know about herbs and their uses better than anyone else, and where they’re located.”

Sure, the bargain might’ve sounded arrogant, but you were technically cosplaying as a man when most men of your time couldn’t shut up about themselves, arrogance was the least of your problems. 

Gnawing at his cheek as you spoke, he pauses a moment, then laughs.

Amused. 

Dark lashes dust above equally dark eyes, nearly black as they study you.

“You want to be my apprentice? Is that it?”

You remain close-lipped.

“I’ll tell you one thing, kid. This world is all about money,” He raises a cane from where he reclined, using the end to tip your chin up and meet his eyes. 

“No?” 

To which you simply stare back at him, refusing to avert eye-contact. 

“I’m sure that’s what you’re here for anyways.” Rising from his place, he sighs heartily. “But see, I’m a greedy man, not a good man.” 

Abruptly, his countenance falls flat. 

“And my job isn’t fun, so you’re out of luck.” 

Immediately, you’re frantic, trying your hardest to ignore his obvious statement to leave. The last thing you need is to run out of luck, run out of options.

And so, you hastily wrack your mind for a solution, an excuse, whatever keeps you in this dimly lit room.

“You- You were part of the Red Plague, weren’t you?” Spitting out words from the depths of your racing mind, The Alchemist stops, fixing you with an unreadable look.

Red Plague as in, the group of young men enlisted during the war that all died of a deadly disease but one. One who, many speculate is the man before you.

Breathe in.

“I may not know much about you, but I know what it’s like to want to save somebody.”

Breathe out.

Now it was his turn to stand there, and for a second you swore you saw a flash of sympathy cross his face.

You wet your lips. “I’ll run your errands and wash your clothing, I’ll clean this place spotless. Plus, it’s not like I’m a woman asking for a job, so please, give me a chance.” 

Slowly, The Alchemist raises a brow, laugh disbelieving.

“Since when did being a woman have anything to do with this?” 

Huh?

How.. odd.

If anything, the majority would wholeheartedly agree, likely hiring you on the spot with how impalpable such a jest seemed.

He would’ve laughed, maybe slapped your back. Would’ve wrapped an arm around your shoulders, proclaimed you his friend.

Yet, you almost feel flattered. Flattered in a strange, unrealistic manner. 

Basking in a deplorable quietness, The Alchemist sighs, combing a gloved hand through silken strands. 

“I have a spare room around that corner.” He points, leather gloves narrowly highlighted by orange lighting.  “Make yourself useful, hm?”

And like that, even if it was a long shot, you landed it. More specifically, landed a job. 

How preposterous. 

How exciting. 

Yet, it began hesitantly. As if he was initially testing your usefulness. Sending you on runs to the nearby gardens, having you make sure a concoction didn’t derange itself while he fetched better flasks. Easy things.

However, you didn’t complain. A boring job was better than no job, and as long as a few coins were emptied into your pocket afterward, you’d continue to work without whining.  

Burdock, oregano. Motherwort that would erupt billows of chemically-infused air when added to oils or sugars.  

Then you noticed The Alchemist. His quirks, his  characteristics. 

He shifts between a long trench coat or tight vests, his hair is always styled a certain way, though some days, when he just wakes up, he has this tiny bird nest of hair atop his head, it’s charming. 

He yawns a lot. 

He wears heeled shoes, maybe from his shorter height, maybe preference. 

And rather peculiarly, the longer you stay in his lair, the greater you notice the many scars littering his forearms, collarbones. Miniature cuts and imprints left on porcelain skin. 

Those observations, conjoined with his reactions, make for a truly interesting character. 

Reactions being his dislike toward loud noises, the matter in which his shoulders scrunch at a loud clap outside, eyes blown wide, fearful. 

The longer you stay in his lair, the more you notice him, nonetheless his fears. Whether suspicion clarifies anything in specific, there’s no denying he’s a man of war. 

Lee Minho has secrets, and as badly as your nosiness itches to uncover them, you, as you had promised earlier, will keep your lips sealed. 

And it makes you wonder, what’s life like on your side of the street? What throng of unfairness left you awash, left you both suffering? 

You wonder about your oppositions and similarities in different points of each other’s lives. Minutes, decades before you ever met.

Certain stones shall stay unturned, but you hope, maybe one day, those questions will be answered.  

Interestingly enough, he never asked about your name; not even when you gingerly introduced yourself as your last name, a rather awkward fit.

Likewise, you don’t complain. There’s only two of you in the house after all.

A week in, you’re finally introduced to something new. 

The Alchemist plans to have you tag along with him to Port Nova, a docking station located on the outskirts of Busan.

Business thrives in ship ports, the sole source of connectivity for a growing country like Korea. Each day, millions of shipments come in from countries you can’t name, so you’re not surprised in the slightest he’s headed there for a transaction. 

You are surprised he decided to have you tag along.

Even more so that, as you hop off the transit, hurriedly tailing his left, he veers off a sharp turn, approaching a worn Burlesque Club, glittering sign halfway dangling from its perch on a scarlet red awning. 

English letters spell out Nova Burlesque, a few missing letters left astray to the side, electrical bulbs spasming with sporadic lighting on the dusty ground below.

In the daylight, the place appears ordinary, blending in with its crumbling, desolate surroundings. 

Although, you have no doubt this place utterly delights in the eve, pink-neon inviting enough to lure unaware foreigners upon first arrival. 

“Mr. Lee,” You utter, returned with a short scoff from the man who insisted you refer to him by his name, Minho. 

“Where are we going?”

It’s hesitant, unsure of whether to intervene, but Minho only smirks, whispering a not-very-assuring “You’ll see” you begrudgingly go along with. 

Inside is the last of what you anticipated. 

Oh dear.

You’ve only been to minimal Burlesque Clubs, but the ornery perspective of faux jewelry, a glittery, hallucinatory stage, and the constant rendition of Why Don’t You Do Right whirling on scratchy records isn’t present here. 

Alternatively, there’s stools scattered around a marginally illuminated clearing, some upturned, others occupied by burly men with equally burly beards. 

And in the middle, a boxing ring is situated. The stench of sweat and blood soaks the air in a metallic, pungent aroma.

A brisk realization crosses your mind, a conclusion of a sort.

Play a fool’s game, earn a fool’s reward.

Only you, Hyunjin, and Ms. Myeong know the lengths you’re willing to go to secure your family's well-being, and now, at odds you can’t compromise, you have to do everything in your power to maintain your act.

This is a test.

Sifting behind you, he murmurs a hushed: “Cover your ears.” That you begrudgingly oblige to, cupping either hand over your ears as Minho clutches his leather holster, concealed within the confines of a frequently worn coat.

In a split second, a gunshot is fired to the ceiling, the bullet's shell casing dropping atop the welt of his pointed shoe.

Stunned silence ensues.

Arm still extending the revolver in the air, you haphazardly remove your hands, dragging the hat further over your face as more eyes focus on the both of you. 

“I’m looking for Reiner and Manfred.”

The longer the tension rises, the further you grow self conscious.

“Already?” A man bellows from inside the ring, breaking the awestruck spell whilst gripping his opponent by the collar, fist poised and ready to strike. 

Unusually, they seem to know each other.

Minho merely exhales a loud sigh through his nose, practically two times smaller than his apparent acquaintance. 

Said acquaintances grumbles. 

“Leave it to our champion to interrupt the show.” 

And with that, he hooks the contender in the jaw, sending him pummeling down to the tarnished mat where hoards either cheer or groan, hustling money left and right over the victor.

Champion of the show? You’re adding that to your collection of never ending questions that’ll likely stay unanswered.

From the crowd arises two men. The victor from the ring and another from the crowd, dressed lavishly opposed to his white tank top-wearing counterpart. 

Reiner and Manfred, you assume. 

Serving as a mere shadow in The Alchemist’s wake, the four of you hustle outside, met with a nonplussed Minho and two, mildly confused (and enormously tall) men. 

Foreigners, certainly.

“..Care to introduce the pipsqueak?” Reiner presumably more talkative, piques, beady eyes scouring your figure enough to where you scorn the beads of sweat collecting upon your temple. 

Pipsqueak my foot. 

You stave down the retort, inhabiting Minho’s shadow as the three discuss matters of a hospital transaction. Almost like you weren’t there at all, as it’s always been.

If it weren’t for the technicalities, you would’ve interjected, made your presence known. Except, other than herbal instances, you’re a novice in the business department. You’ll leave that up to your current mentor to arrange.

Again, lips sealed.

Minho, ignorant to the previous victor’s question, continues to sign legal documents supplied by the calmer individual, Manfred. You internally thank the gesture.

Well, before Reiner’s sordid gaze becomes too stifling to brush off.

“I’m Mr. Lee’s apprentice, L/N. Nice to meet you,” You initiate, fearlessly reaching out a hand he heartily shakes, features graced with amusement, massive hand practically engulfing yours. 

Pardoning a gruff “Likewise”, he nearly sends you flying from the timbre of his voice alone.

“Say,” Reiner mutters, finally completing the last of the package transfers. “Don’t you think this one seems a bit feminine?”

Your jaw ticks, nervousness shrouding your being like an unrelenting fog. Minho’s fingers close around your elbow, pulling you closer, brows knit.

“Perhaps you need your eyes checked, Reiner,” He offers, tone nonchalant opposed to the vice-like grip latched to your arm.

Heftily chortling, the man only pats your back, causing your entire body to surge forward upon impact.

“Well regardless, it’s a cute little thing ain’t it?”

Manfred simply grunts his acknowledgment while you bite your tongue, coveting your retaliation when he referred to you as “it”.

No use growing angered. The feeling is futile.

Luckily, your irritable arrangement comes to a hasty close, more than gleeful to have an understandably annoyed Minho steer you from Port Nova onto a short train back to Kent Avenue, to your newly established home.

A home, but not really a home. Semi-permanent, unofficial.

Either way, you wouldn’t complain. Despite the constant efforts in diminishing your past identity, you didn’t feel as conscious when around Minho. 

Safer.

As if, in an alternative reality, you could tell him. Your truths, your burdens.

No. You won’t jeopardize this opportunity. You can’t.

At least, not yet.

“I’ll be back Mr. Lee!” You shout, wielding a briefcase bag to your person, nudging the ghoulish door open using your hip.

As usual, you’re headed off on a restocking trip.

Except on this occasion, the restocking consists of hunting down a peculiar herb: Chinese Chrysanthemum. It’s an appealing plant with fluorescent leaves and a constant need for sunlight. 

It’s no surprise he’s sent you to fetch such goods. After two months, you soared in and out of the residence routinely, scouring Korea while Minho hunched over a wildly diverse array of vials and flasks, glasses propped on his slightly hooked nose, hands firmly resting on a wooden exam table.

Studious. He is very studious. 

However, a catch diverts itself from eye view. A catch you hadn’t considered until your two feet stepped from squealing train tracks.

Somehow, although unusually intentional, you wound up in a rather peculiar area. An area you never imagined paying a visit to in your wildest dreams.

In the midst of economic outrage and warring circumstances, you’re standing in one of Korea’s most unstable, informal districts. A place that, according to your overhearing ear, was where your precious Chrysanthemum lodged.

This district had an infamous name. 

The Den.

A fitting name in actuality, where a person didn’t realize they were stuck till it was too late, unable to see where they’re going, living in belief there’s an incentive to the finish line in a race run in circles. 

Also, a place the Sharks who torment your family report to.

You can hear your heart thrumming in your ears, nearly ricocheting out of your chest with its horrid cacophony. 

Calm down. 

Calm down. Think of the goal. 

All you have to do is find a flower. 

Grounding yourself, you pinpoint some viable resources. 

Fertile soil, maybe even sandy, likely in the inner portion of The Den.

Plus, you’re dressed as a man, you might as well act outrageously boisterous.

But you’re not, you’re afraid. Perhaps not external, but inside, your lungs feel as if they’re being violently crushed, sinking deeper in an unsteady submersible to the very bottom of the ocean. And for a second, you truly contemplate going back, telling Minho you’re incapable of the task.

Yet, what would you say? You’re haunted by a vision that hasn’t happened? Fearful for a future event with no guarantee? If you had ever done something so horrid, they would’ve found you ages ago.

This time, you’re in their domain, invading what’s theirs as they’ve done to you. 

Greater. You aren’t who you used to be, in more ways than one.

Genuinely, what is there to lose?

That’s it. You’ll complete the mission and return. No run-ins, no fear barricading your job.

In and out.

Initially, you scout out your surroundings, regarding the faint sound of voices funneling in the distance, the smell of mixtures you hate being able to identify, far off machinery croaking before smoke spurs from rusted screws and bolts.

Amongst the chatter of street vendors and the many, notorious gang members patrolling in and out of abandoned shops, you roam avidly, keeping as low a profile as possible.

Number one priority is to not be noticed. Drawing attention to yourself is a one way ticket to failure, and the last thing you need is to arrive back to Minho empty-handed.

However, through the blinding clouds of smoke billowing from exhaust pipes, a specific building, shrouded in the shadows of charcoal residue, douses your peripheral.

A Greenhouse. 

Bingo.

Quickly looking around, you shrink low to the ground, racing forward to carefully creak open glass double doors and slip inside. 

It feels as if you’re enclosed in a furnace. Mere seconds in and sweat already begins gathering upon your temples.

Though that becomes the least of your concerns after assessing what lies inside. 

Hundreds, maybe even thousands of flowers and herbs. Rare species, some critically endangered, just sitting here.

It’s strange. 

Why would, in the case such an abundance existed, not be used? Why hadn’t this Greenhouse been raptured from the inside out for such valuable items? 

It’s not until a commotion stirs ahead of you that you understand the answer to the question. 

With about five plucked Chinese Chrysanthemums expertly sealed into their coordinating bags, a piercing hiss followed by multiple shouts and hollers cause you to shrink back, gazing around haphazardly.

A hiss?

From your perspective nearly kissing the dirt, your vision allows a minuscule glimpse of multiple backs turned, boisterously amused men gathering around something in the front of the Greenhouse.

You feel the need to know more.

Inching forward tip-toe by tip-toe, amidst the roaring crowd, you spare a look between the sea of legs to find an utterly deplorable sight.

A cat. 

No, not just a cat, cat fighting. They’re watching cats maul each other for the fun of it. As if they aren’t living creatures, but toys for their entertainment. 

And perhaps it’s a foolish decision, perhaps laughable being worried, being angered, but you are and you refuse to leave knowing you could’ve done something to help them.

Hastily scouring the floors, a can of Spam discarded below Foxglove stems proves useful enough, tossing it as far as possible where it whacks against the glass wall, immediately averting their attention. 

This is your chance. 

As dark clouds and incoming rain thunder outside, you don’t waste the opportunity, sprinting forward while the men make toward the direction of the sound and hoisting the first cat you see into your arms. 

Sprinting past narrow pathways and dimly lit streets, you force your eardrums numb to the threats they call after you, mind trained on one thing besides getting as far as possible from here.

To Minho to Minho to Minho.

A hand grabbing your shoulder causes you to shriek, swiftly dragged off where you swear your last breaths will be taken, the feline in your arms scrambling with panic.

“What are you doing?” Your captor furiously whispers, hidden in the low lighting of an apparent alleyway.

Wait. You recognize that voice. 

“Hyunjin?”

How does he recognize you?

Just then does a breeze swipe past your head, sending chills trickling down your rain-soaked neck. 

Your hat is gone. Must’ve fell off while you were running. 

“Wh.. what are you doing?” Slipping from his grasp after the men’s hushed conversation becomes inaudible, you regard the man with an incredulous stare.

“Answer my question first,” He reprimands, and as the cat resounds a pained meow do you assess the dire nature of the situation.

You need to get this cat to Minho, and fast. 

“Can’t- Can’t talk right now I’ve got to go—“

“Wait!”

Though, as your footsteps breach the security of the alley, the placating cry of crows mock your left, hurried footsteps belonging to those occupying the Greenhouse heading toward you in rampant haste.

Hyunjin’s hand holding your wrist, you grace a tight-lipped smile his way. 

 “Let’s not see each other like this again, okay?”

He returns a miniature grin, teeming with mischief.

“Agreed.”

Upon letting go, you race off, attempting to speedily navigate back to the train station whilst torrents of streaming droplets cascade down your face. 

“Good luck!” 

“Thanks, I’ll need it!” You respond back, voice permeated against the rain, eyes frantically searching for a place to evade. 

Finally, a crowd appears, swarming amongst diners and flickering street lights.

Your perfect hideaway. 

Swimming through the hive of people, you catapult yourself into the nearest phone booth in sight, fumbling through deep pockets before cashing a coin into the metal slot and jarring your index over slippery metal numbers.

Praying the combination is correct as you hold the wired telephone to your ear, you’re consumed with utmost relief upon hearing The Alchemist’s voice answer on the other side of the crackling line.

Amidst roaring rainfall drowning the booth, you differentiate shouting a ways off, likely belonging to the men from earlier. 

“Mr- Mr. Lee?”

“Yes? Where are you?”

“Are you.. Are you allergic to cats?”

Never in your life did you think you would be so overjoyed seeing blue doors. 

Clambering inside—the rather upset cat in your arms hissing their dismay—you’re overwhelmed with an unexplainable happiness seeing Minho’s face peer from the guest room. 

Relief.

“L/N wha..” 

Words dying in his throat as he gives you a speechless once over, your urge to hug him dissipates instantly, beckoning a new set of garments upon realizing how utterly drenched your precious disguise is.

Simultaneously shoving the cat his way before rushing to your room, you thankfully strip of your fretfully cold attire, welcomed in the comforting embrace of clean clothing.

A mere five minutes later you exit, greeted by Minho’s stockstill frame. Hand half-raised, evidently about to knock.

You forcefully clear your throat, praying the momentary awkward tension is alleviated.

Luckily, The Alchemist takes it upon himself to break the spell, eyes dancing across the floorboards in order to avoid your own.

“Well, she’s stable. Her vitals are fine, nothing too critical apart from a few cuts here and there. Just shaken up.”

Your stare of astonishment earns a confused tip of his head.

“That fast?”

Said (apparently female) cat rubbing her body along your calf with an obviously delighted purr, you appear nearly concussed, crouching down to pat the soft, striped fur lining her back.

Minho snorts.

“What can I say, I get work done.”

Maybe he is a vampire after all.

Mirroring your crouch, he watches your interaction, similarly feline-like inspection unnoticed till glancing up.

And for a swift moment, you swear he saw through you. Lips parted, eyes scrutinizing. Piecing together the building blocks to a wavering structure you’d strived so hard to build, to protect.

No. You’re overthinking. He couldn’t possibly know.

You failed to notice the forlorn look on his face, one that ushers to ask if you’re okay, fetch a hot beverage to warm your evidently cold hands.

“Might I ask how you ended up bringing this one home?”

Leave it to him to take the title as your greatest ally and worst enemy at the same time.

Ah. Right.

“Y’know I was about to get to that-” 

You pause, deriding the high pitch of your voice into something more appropriate. He cocks a brow.

“As I was saying, it wasn’t my intention to bring her back, but the place she was trapped at, the place with the men- the plants..”

According to his expression, you’ve grown two heads.

…

“Go on.”

“Look, the place I found the Chrysanthemum was having cat fights. Do you remember hearing about the dog fights in Gangwon? It’s the same thing. We can’t just sit still while they’re torturing innocent animals.”

“I don’t know what you got yourself into, but I’m an Alchemist, not a hero,” He sighs, and your hand stalls its petting, face falling while the cat in your lap flicks her tail back and forth expectantly.

He has a point. You got yourself into this, you went into the Greenhouse. It’s not his duty to clean up after your messes, but perhaps you can convince him, even by a small margin.

Play a fools game, earn a fools reward.

You’ll mop the floor of your own mess.

“Minho, please. Just this once and I won’t rope you into anything ever again, okay?” 

Stifling silence making an additional appearance, you nervously await the verdict, perched rather hilariously outside of your bedroom door.

Chewing the skin of his cheek, he scolds himself for falling so susceptible to you, though you won’t ever know that.

“Fine, but you’d better have a plan.”

Ah. Great.

You don’t.

At dawn’s arrival you’re swept upward, fixing a hasty bout of tea and toast prior to dressing in the privacy of your appreciated quarters. 

You don a much-needed hat, hopping aboard the first train of the day with a well-dressed Minho in tow.

Retracing your steps turns out easier than you anticipated, The Alchemist tailing you as you had done him at Port Nova.

Though, just when the task seemed a cake walk, you manage a meager detour, regarding your unimpressed mentor.

“From what I can remember, it’s around here somewhere. But I might be wrong, I stumbled upon it by accident and it looks a bit scary but I think—“

“Stop! Stop- Stop talking. Please.”

You quickly shut your mouth, allowing the man to lead instead till the sight of familiar landmarks becomes a gradual reassurance of your location.

Perhaps now it’s safe to talk.

“Mr. Lee, what did Reiner mean by calling you a champion-“

Shoved against the brick wall, your sentence dies instantly, panickedly glancing in all directions assessing the all too familiar pistol Minho‘s drawn, conspicuous in close proximity. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” He enunciates, tone unusually gruff whilst scanning your surroundings.

Your face warms an involuntary pink you clamber to ward off, drawn to the sight of his tense jaw and the feather-like arrangement of long lashes, focused on something elsewhere.

Your retort dies not only from his beauty, but upon the familiar Greenhouse coming into view.

“Looks like we found where your little friends are playing.”

Though, as the man begins forward, you grab him by the sleeve.

“Wait! We can’t just waltz in.”

His hand, slipping from the warmth of his pocket, cups your chin, unbearably close to your face to the point you can feel his breath on your nose. 

Curse the butterflies.

“Well there’s no need for an introduction, so let’s listen this time, shall we?”

Left at a loss for words either from your slack mouth or the concerning amount of sweat building upon your palms, you don’t argue back, lingering right outside the door, craning to hear voices. 

By the sound of it, at least four people are inside at the moment, and the longer you stay out here, the more ample time becomes for additional threats to show up. 

As if reading your mind, he slips through the rugged door, gesturing for you to follow while silently navigating through dense, humid underbrush and overgrown foliage.

However, your quiet voyage is quelled when a twig, unbeknownst to the two of you, cracks under the pressure of his foot. 

“Shit,” He mutters, cringing back at the immediate quietness that ensued.

The Alchemist curses as well.

Interesting.

Amidst the men bearing closer, Minho turns to you, tone urgent. 

“When I get up, you run and free the cats. Don’t look back, just go.”

Nodding hastily, you reacquaint yourself with the area, ensuring a dead set beeline to where the cats were held without interruptions. 

Minho, a split second before you can ask a question, whips the gun from his coat pocket, the sound of bullets whipping through the air enough indication it’s time you go.

Finnicking hands make it hard to unscrew the wired cages, surges of adrenaline helping speed up the rescue as you double check every feline has escaped.

Heeding to instruction, you don’t look for The Alchemist, solely driven to freeing the cats and fleeing the scene. No more problems. 

Almost an exact replica to your last visit here, a hand drags you off right as you exit the Greenhouse doors, back pressed against his (whom you realized was Minho, not Hyunjin, thanks to the leather gloves) front. 

And perhaps from running, perhaps from something else, you can feel his heartbeat, oscillating in a nonstop orchestra that sends your own heart pounding from the confines of your rib cage. 

Stifling a shaky inhale you’d held in as the last of the perpetrators scattered elsewhere, you instantly step back, denying every urge to coddle him like a child, fretfully check him for injury. 

A certain fondness lay reserved for Lee Minho, a fondness you can’t discern of at the moment. 

“C’mon, quick, Soonie might get scared if we’re gone for too long,” He ushers, crashing your tunneling train of thought right off its rails in the process. 

“Yeah-“

You stop.

“Soonie?”

“Yeah, Soonie.”

“You named her?”

“..Yes.”

It’s a genuine struggle hiding your laugh.

“I didn’t find you the type to take in cats.”

“Today you’ve been proven wrong, apparently.”

A sort of giddiness you never experienced fills your chest, wishing nothing more than to look back at the man and swoon. 

How could you not? He was very much dexterous, and attractive without a doubt, that much was known to anyone who laid eyes on The Alchemist.  

Your trek home proved relatively easy, able to skillfully get to the station away from prying eyes and trod along a mixture of gravel and dusty roads without issue.

Silently celebrating your success, you nudge your counterpart's hip, the unimpressed side-eye he grants doing little to dull your happiness.

“Aren’t you an Alchemist? How come you’re oddly good with a gun?”

He clicks his tongue.

“Aren’t you my apprentice? How come you’re getting yourself into trouble when your only instruction was to fetch herbs?”

You conceal a smile he obviously catches, glare failing to quiet your bubbling laughter, his own lips tugging upward.

“It was necessary Mr. Lee! And you know you love Soonie.”

“Unfortunately.”

Nearly a month into her residence, and Soonie has become an effervescent force to be reckoned with. Although initially sassy and wary, she’s transformed into the most affectionate cat you’d ever met.

You have to give it to her, she’s grown on the both of you, a lot.

Plus, you might just have to thank her for unleashing Minho’s tender side, whether that’s the two of them cuddling on the couch while he naps or him picking her up and treating her like a baby while you watch from afar. 

Over the course of the five months you’ve been here, you’ve sent countless checks back home—enough to where dues could finally be paid and the hope for a good life came into view.

Everything seems right, seems ideal. 

But of course, on an equally ideal Thursday evening, a thousand pounds of bricks drops right on top of your head. 

“How long were you planning to keep it from me?” 

He, Lee Minho, The Alchemist, voices.

Simultaneously, your stomach plummets to your feet, peeking over your shoulder to find his back facing you, hunched over a straus flask. 

Then the bomb drops.

“You being a woman, that is.” 

Abruptly pausing, you don’t reply, worried you’d say the wrong thing, unintentionally summon the catalyst to this arising catastrophe. 

Yet, you can’t stay quiet for too long. And a fear lingered inside, a fear that if he looked at you, you would break.

“Forever.” 

Doing just what you dreaded, he turns to you, wearing a horribly serious expression. 

You avoid eye-contact. 

“Because you thought I would fire you?”

A nod. 

“And that’s why you said that, when you first came to me? That you weren’t a woman asking for a job?” 

Another nod. 

He sighs, pulling glasses from atop a hooked nose. You remain staring at the floor.

“I don’t decide who to hire based on what they are. If you can do your job and do it well, you’re worthy enough to work.”

Minho spoke softly, the dim, orange lighting of his lamplight doing little to shake how overwhelming the occasion is, how it feels as if your disguise is wearing, thinning to an impossible degree. 

Except, your world isn’t ending like you thought it would if someone found out, so why do you feel so heartbroken? So overstimulated with realization?

“How did you..” you trail off, raging tears longing to spill. 

No, you can’t afford to cry now. You’ve held out so far, it will stay that way. 

Should stay that way.

Minho dips his head lower in order to fully see you in all your lip-chewing, anxiety-ridden glory. The ghost of a smile rests upon his lips. 

“It was impossible not to tell. You’re unusually tiny, those shoes are massive, and, um, I do the laundry.” 

Watching his once bemused expression dissipate, you mark this as the first time you’ve ever seen him genuinely flustered—and, upon realizing he’d likely seen more than necessary as well, you’re also diminished to a bright red. 

The room wilts in stillness before he exhales, stepping a bit closer to where you linger by the bookshelf, your heels tapping against the frame. 

Tone minimizing itself terribly gentle, The Alchemist carefully collects your cheeks in his hands, urging you to see him, see those terribly thoughtful brown eyes granting a terribly kind disposition. 

“It’s been scary, hasn’t it?” 

Well, you had held out thus far.

Cracking into pieces, you melt like droplets of honey in his fingertips. He perfectly catches them in the jar. 

Out of anyone in this world, you can’t help but be grateful he was the one who found out, found you.

Chest bubbling with breaking sobs, Minho’s thumbs caress your under eyes, swiping away the many salty droplets in their continuous descent. 

Own hands shakily reaching up to hold his resting on your face, you stand there, soaking in his wooded, earthy scent and the soft hums he occasionally emits as if a reminder he’s still there, listening to your cries without intent to leave.

“Mr.. Mr. Lee… It was so scary, I’m so tired Mr. Lee,” You hiccup, mentally berating the endlessly freefalling tears, how your once staved emotions reduced your strong, dutiful voice into nothing but a stuttering mess.

Carefully swiping drool from your chin, he leans forward, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“I don’t know why you did it, but I promise it’ll be okay, we’ll be okay.”

Then another kiss to your forehead, staying there until your sniffling and breathing calms.

Gathering yourself if only slightly, you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him into a warm hug he gradually accepts after a beat of shock. 

“Thank you, Minho.” 

And just when he thought the shock faded, he’s struck again from the sound of his name leaving your mouth.

Minho. 

Mr. Lee had been charming, but Minho, it was different. A good kind of different. 

He particularly favored the way it sounded falling off your lips, two syllables he’d replay over and over, savoring each a little bit more than the last.

More so, he wished to substitute his nagging thoughts with you, have you narrate the phrases bouncing inside his skull.

Perhaps then everything wouldn’t be so loud, if he had your voice to nullify the battlefield.

Unfortunately forced to separate, Minho adjusts his tie, clearing his throat in a manner you can’t help but feel nervous about. 

You like this flustered Minho.

“I’ll.. I’ll run you a bath.” 

You wince at the rawness of your skin when your face wrinkles in a chuckle.

“Do I smell?” 

Minho, frantically scrambling for an excuse, rubs his temples, exasperation evident in the grooves of his face, the curve and dip of prominent cheekbones portraying a mature visage.

“No I-“ He grumbles. “It helps calm you down.” 

Merely able to halfway staunch your irrevocable glee, you call his name as he begins stepping out, ears an adorable pink.

“Y/N. My name is Y/N. L/N is my last name.”

Not allowing you view of his front-side, you listen to his whispering with delight, testing the newly discovered title on his tongue as if to memorize it.

Ah, you’re falling in love.

Or maybe you’ve already fallen.

Hastily closing the door behind himself and letting you get situated in the bath, it’s not long into your relaxing that you notice a shadow seeping through the door’s crack, a figure standing there, debating.

“Minho?” You announce amusedly, watching the shadow jump and causing you to bite your frothing laugh whilst choosing what to say next. 

“Would you like to join me?”

The Alchemist audibly chokes on his saliva outside the door. 

Sparing a few seconds for him to collect his oxygen, you hadn’t been prepared for when he replies a quiet: “Another time”.

Your eyebrows shoot up with surprise. 

Daring. 

Then his shadow, after furious shuffling, disappears, serving as a reminder of your extended time spent bathing. 

Assembling the copper drain and pulling foreign nightwear over dampened skin, opposed to your usual rush to your room, you allow the chilling air to grant its harsh greeting, leaving the steamy room in its wake.

No more secrets. What a breath of fresh air.

Minho, still cooped up at his desk like routine, barely moves when you place your hands on his shoulders, adorning those charismatic glasses, lips pursed thoughtfully.

“You should go get some rest Mr– Minho,” You beckon, response a sleepy blink of his eyes, obviously exhausted.

“...I really wanted to kiss you.”

The remark drifting off as a murmur, you crane to hear him, wondering if your mind was playing tricks on you. 

“Hm?” Humming, you lightly push his back toward his quarters, the man begrudgingly following your inaudible orders. 

At least he’s cooperating.

Abruptly, he turns around, evading your hands that ease his back forward, sporting a pout adorable enough you might just lose your mind.

How unfair that someone could behave like this and expect you to not go insane.

“When you started crying.” His eyes flicker to your lips, if only for a moment. “I really wanted to kiss you.”

A portion of your stock-still frame wants to blame his tiredness, but another so badly wants it to be true, wants those words to be irrevocably real.

Fighting the urge to scream with how stupidly childish he’s making you feel, you reject every ounce of sensibility, looping one arm around his neck, using your other hand’s index to tug him closer by the belt loop. 

Trust, the feeling is mutual.

Why waste the opportunity?

“What’s stopping you?” 

The utterance barely graces air, and in milliseconds he’s crashing into your lips, a wordless confession it is real, not a mere figment of your imagination.

Stumbling to loosen his tie whilst keeping your faces impossibly connected, you fall deeper and deeper into the manner he tilts his head, expertly diminishing you into puddy in his touch. 

Back and forth, memorizing your taste on his tongue. 

Clumsy footsteps lead to his sofa, your fingers tangled in his dark strands, his kneading your waist.  

And it’s not until your lungs cry for oxygen that you pull apart, Minho’s bottom lip tugged and bitten, yours swollen with his feverish kisses. 

Both of you avidly messy, you can’t bring yourself to care, too busy enjoying the afterglow, his dazed smile.

“Whoever you want to save,” He starts, carefully smoothing over your skin with his thumb . “I will save them, deal?”

Returning that same lazy smile he directs at you, the both of you lean back on the couch, a twine of legs and limbs flailing in every direction.

Close, closer. 

A part of you aches at the thought, blinking up at such a stunning tragedy. Aches knowing you can’t return the favor, can’t say the same, promise him that same promise. 

Because according to the Red Plague, he’s lost that person, those people. So you remain silent, merely hoping one day they’ll receive proper eternal rest. 

That's something you might be able to promise.

Tipping your chin up to where it sits right above his heart, those brilliant eyes of yours blinking up at him do little for his well-being. 

Has anyone told you you’re beautiful? Because he thinks you are, he knows you are. 

Just this once and I won’t rope you into anything ever again, okay?

Minho grins deeper, brows creasing, expression doused in unadulterated adoration. 

“And yet, you rope me into something else,” He whispers to himself. 

“What was that?”  

“Nothing, let’s run another bath. I’ll join you this time, hm?”

FIC TAGLIST. @linocz @foxinnie8 @wonniesverse

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[womenstruation]

One of the biggest ways young girls are exploited in the global South is via the “house girl” culture. I’m speaking on how it works in Nigeria as that is my experience but I know it happens all around the world.

“House girls” are domestic servants, usually late teens though I have seen girls as young as six or seven, employed by middle and upper class families. They do everything from cooking and cleaning to caring for the elderly and young children and get very little wages. Most times these girls never see a penny of their wages- it’s all sent to their families. In Nigeria, these girls tend to come from very impoverished families living in border towns and often times do not speak the language before being sent to these families that exploit them.

Due to their young age, lack of any family nearby or money, poor education, and Nigeria’s legal system, these girls are overwhelmingly subject to sexual abuse at the hands of their male employers. In fact there is a common trope in media of the “husband cheating with the house girl and replacing the “madam” of the house. And when these men impregnate these girls, they are sent back to their villages in shame while the cycle continues.

They also face lots of other abuse. One of my mother’s friends was a “house girl” in the 70s when she was just thirteen and she was only given mouldy food and left overs to eat for most of her childhood. she once told me of a time where she was so thirsty, she drank the dirty water her abusers had used to wash their hands. I have also seen “house girls” physically beaten by their abusers and subject to horrific punishments- once as a child I saw a very young girl forced to ride in the boot of a car while all the employers children threw their imported backpacks at her.

There have also been situations in which families immigrate and arrange to bring their house girls with them. They continue to abuse them and when these girls manage to break free, they face deportation and further exploitation.

Of course such experiences are usually less common but the hiring of house girls is not viewed as the exploitation it is. Some people, my parents included, seem to view themselves as saving these girls from their lives in the village where they would get married young and live in poverty with lots of children. But how is it saving them to deprive them of education and enslave them? It is said that it is easy to recognise a house girl: shaven heads, old and dirty clothes and a scarily small stature. They look nothing like girls who have been saved.

[theflashjaygarrick]

It's a missed opportunity that despite Roy Harper and Jason Todd hanging out now there's been never any tension between about them or exploration of their differing approaches and perspectives on the drug crisis. Particularly because for both of them it is deeply personal.

Roy Harper.

Roy became addicted to drugs in the 1971 comic Snowbirds Don't Fly which was Neil Adam’s and Dennis O'neill's attempt to tackle the "youth's greatest problem!" drug use and addiction. I feel like all most people know is that Speedy took drugs and Ollie took it badly, but that honestly ignores the whole point of the story. The story challenged contextual stigma around addiction and drug use as a personal failing or something that only happened to weak people. It explored how it could happen to anyone, even a hero like Speedy. It focused on the social factors such as racism and poverty and how they push people into substance abuse as a way to cope. It even turns the trope of the evil foreign drug cartel on its head by making the guy behind the drug supply a wealthy white American man in who runs a Pharmaceutical company, doesn't do drugs, and actively mocks the people he profits off the suffering of.

The point therefore is twofold. Firstly, drug users are people just like you and me and it is vital to be compassionate to people struggling with addiction. Ollie who yells at and hits Roy and leaves him due to anger and fear is clearly in the wrong. Hal and Dinah who look after Roy and stand beside him at his friend's funeral and as he confronts Ollie are clearly in the right. Secondly, the solution is not to focus on the drugs but instead to deal with the systemic problems of inequality, oppression, trauma and disenfranchised youth.

Despite parts of it ageing bad (the use of slurs was to demonstrate the damage of racism, but I feel uncomfortable having slurs uncensored in a comic book written by white authors) it is a surprisingly progressive take on addiction for a mainstream 70s DC comic. It also clearly demonstrates Roy's opinion on the drug problem and how to deal with it. He sees anger and going after dealers/manufacturers (like Ollie did) to not be enough. Instead the real change comes from helping the people in that situation by improving their lives and compassionately helping them at their worst.

Enter Jason Todd.

For context Jason Todd has had almost his entire life shaped by trauma of substance abuse. His (adoptive) mother Catherine struggled with addiction and overdosed just months before he met Batman, effectively orphaning him. Soon after he was found by Batman who essentially drafted him into his crusade on crime, not considering that being a vigilante may be potentially damaging for an already traumatised child.

But when he came back in UTRH he decided he could best help Gotham if he killed (largely non-costumed) criminals and controlled the city's criminal underworld himself. After violently assuming control of the drug trade, Jason imposed his own rules for dealers, most famously that he would kill anyone who sold drugs to children or near schools. Later while incarcerated Jason Todd killed 82 Blackgate inmates (and harmed over a hundred) by poisoning the prison food. This mass murder was intrinsically indiscriminate and due to the US prison system it is reasonable to assume people charged with drug offences were included in the death count.

Jason does have deep childhood trauma associated with addiction and drug use and wants to help prevent suffering. That being said, his approach treats drugs as a criminal problem to be eradicated or controlled, not just a symptom of deeper social issues. He kills people who sell drugs to kids, rather than helping building a support system so kids aren't pushed into abusing substances to cope and people don't have to deal to survive.

What does this mean?

Scott Lobdell got details of Roy's addiction wrong and distorted him into a reckless idiot who has been ostracised from the community. But if it was done right their interaction and opposing perspectives/experiences could be really interesting. Both hate drugs and the drug trade, but the way they conceptualise this hatred differs significantly.

Roy focuses on helping the individual and addressing deeper social problems, seeing drugs as a devastating but ultimately symptomatic. Jason sees drug use as first and foremost a criminal issue, with true benefits being achieved through controlling the criminal underworld.

Roy's priority is therefore supporting people struggling with addiction and showing compassion for their situation. Jason doesn't really focus on ways to help the individuals suffering from addiction, as much as mitigating the overall harm and fitting the drug trade into parameters he views as acceptable.

I think it would add needed complexity to their relationship (and to Jason's redemption if we're going that route) as well as dealing with the more 'war-on-drug' elements of UTRH. Also it would help Roy stand on his own as a strong, articulate leader with a dark past rather than being (at least for a while) reduced to essentially Jason's sidekick.

[sleepyelliee]

how john and abigail treat you after finding out your dating jack. part two.

before you continue!

GN reader, implied financial issues, brief mentions of the VDL gang, brief mention of injury, implied starvation and poverty. Jack is nineteen years old, Abigail and John survive AU. Implied malnourishment Loosely proofread, lmk if I missed anything. just 'you.'

credits...

thank you so much for the love on the last post!! lmk if you want me to write more of this series. part one.

One of my mutuals gave me this idea, so thank you so much @creamqueen <3.

puppy love trope implied with jack marston <3.

Throughout the short period of knowing the marston family, you managed to make a name for yourself in that household. You were popular within the walls of the ranch because it seemed like the couple's lovestruck son didn't ever stay quiet about you, everyday either John or Abigail had to hear about how pretty you were, how you were such a sweetheart, the looks that you give him, and the list seemed to go on without a stop.

Abigail and John both enjoyed your company in that small amount of time of meeting them couple weeks back. Abigail basically became the mother you never had due to her wanting to teach you everything and anything because you were never able to experience that growing up. She loved the sweet mannerisms that would escape your lips whenever you thanked her for something she would've considered small - hand sewing your clothes, fixing up old clothes that had holes in them, teaching you new recipes and she adored whenever you would compliment her food, knowing you aren't as lucky as most, causing her to insist on giving you more food because your small and malnourished body always makes her heart break.

She was also grateful that her son managed to find someone sweet as you, she was afraid that the morales and respectful demeanor she stuck into that boy's head would've gone to waste on someone who was a bad influence. Afterall, she didn't want her son to be following the same path they were running away from for years.

John was no different to you, he was carrying towards you in his own way, he would back up his beloved wife when they tried to convince you to stay over, always buying freshly new packed cigarettes for you and invites you out on the porch as he would tell you old stories of running in a gang - scolding you in the process not to make the same mistakes he did. He smuggles... insists giving you money whenever he would shove it in the pocket of your coat whenever Abigail would fix up your clothes, he knew that you needed it more to keep yourself stable because you'll decline the money otherwise. John decides to set up a room for you in the attic without telling you and gets his beloved wife's opinion aswell as the pair would decorate the room and put things you were lacking - warm blankets, couple of snacks, shoes, clothes and whatever else jack tells them that you needed at the moment.

Both parents also took notice of how Jack no longer called you by your first name. Anytime he spoke about you at dinner, he would call you sweetheart, love, darling, honey or anything that came to his mind that caused his cheeks to grow a rosy red.

He was excited for you to see the room they set up for you, it meant that you finally you have a chance to relax and enjoy a fully cushioned bed without having to worry about bills or food. It also meant that he gets to see you more often and spend more time with you.

He knows that your not fully moved in yet, but the thought of you staying here for a couple of nights makes the young man excited, Afterall he misses you whenever your not around.

...

When you found yourself on the property that belonged to the Marston's once again, you were learning back in the chair as your boyfriends father spoke about his past, mentioning couple members of the gang he used to run in. He slipped a pack of cigarettes to you like he does normally, insisting that you should take one or more.

You don't know how you found yourself smoking cigarettes as the cold wind blew against you to Jack showing the new room they are allowing you to stay in for however you'll like with a big grin on his face - excited that your going to stay over for a couple more nights than just one.

It still didn't change the fact that his arms were wrapped tightly against you, his nose buried deep in your neck as he muttered reassuring words, hoping you'll accept the offer as you two laid down on the small bed, squished together making the proximity closer.

...

Most cases whenever you stayed over, Jack would either be in the room that is considered yours or you'll be in his. You two would sleep until Jack would wake you up, hearing Abigail scold both of you through the door, stating that it's late and breakfast is already cold. Depending on the gunslingers mood, sometimes he would smart-mouth his mother just to hold you longer, causing him to get scolded more.

You two would help John with ranch work, he would always try to impress you in some type of way or both of you would get distracted and his father would scold you both.

thank you so much for reading! please do not repost my work on any other platform, reblogs and likes are very appreciated! <3. masterlist

[shortpplfedup]

The only Only Friends meta I'm gonna write...

@neuroticbookworm's post about how romance narratives ignore the ugly reality of poverty and class differences in-story and @lurkingshan's post about how the narrative is punishing Sand for naively simping for a dazzling rich boy, and Jojo n'em are kind of upending/deromanticizing the Cinderella trope (not her words exactly but that's the gist) sent me deep into my own thoughts. I have noted before that Ray does not see Sand as an equal and that's why he will never take him seriously and I feel the need to expound on that a little, and on why Sand and Ray are set for a tragic end whether they are together in the end or not.

You see, rich people and poor(er) people think different. Ray will not ever value Sand, because what Sand offers him is for free. @wen-kexing-apologist and I got into some back and forth last night in side chat about this, and they will probably be meta-ing in a much more comprehensive and researched way about this in future because they are awesome like that, but it comes down to what money means to rich people vs poor(er) people. Because the secret about rich people is that they're rich because they pay for as little as possible. Rich people see not having to pay for things as their god-given right, and they NEVER value things they don't pay for somehow, with money or with the inefficient equivalents of money: time and effort. Because to rich people money isn't money, it isn't food and shelter and safety and the smile on their kid's face when they open that birthday present, it's a scoreboard.

Sand made a classic error with Ray: he thought they understood each other. He thought that Ray read his words and actions in the way he communicates them, and he reads Ray's words and actions through his own lens as well. He thought that by refusing money to hang out with Ray, and prioritising Ray without Ray having to expend much if any time and effort, Ray would see him as a person instead of an item for sale but that's not how rich boys work. Ray expects Sand's company for free, because rich people mostly don't pay for shit. If he in fact had to pay for it somehow, with money, or with time or effort, he would value it, and Sand. Instead, he still sees Sand as an item for sale (He. Called. Him. A. Whore. That. Is. How. He. Sees. Him.), but the sale price is free, and rich people LOVE free shit. Poor(er) people think they're being kind or caring when they don't charge for things, because for poor(er) people not having to pay for things, in money, in time, in effort, is how you show you care. For rich people, not having to pay for things is just the way they expect the world to work.

Ray will never love Sand, because Ray doesn't value Sand, because Sand gave it all to Ray for free, because he didn't understand that to rich people 'free' isn't love. Does Ray like Sand and enjoy his company? Sure. Is he attracted to Sand? Absolutely. Is he on some level grateful to Sand? You betcha. But he does not now and will not ever see Sand as an equal he can love. Sand is a bonus possession he got for free. Sand's an idiot, because he could have at least gotten paid along with his heartbreak. He gave it all for free and Ray still calls him a whore, because in rich-people-land not charging for something isn't noble it's just stupid. HE'S GONNA CALL YOU A WHORE ANYWAY AT LEAST GET PAID FOR IT.

Now might Ray and Sand end up together? It's totally possible. Ray is lonely enough and likes Sand well enough, and Sand is so in love at this point he will accept anything that keeps Ray around, he's admitted that. But the way Ray sees Sand and their relationship is NOT the way Sand sees Ray. Even the (inevitably deceptive as they always are) preview for next week draws a line under this: Ray can have Mew, but Sand is his possession and nobody else is allowed to play with his toys. Even when he's not using them and has in fact left them strewn about while he focuses on things he actually values (Mew, who didn't give him anything for free). So yeah, they might end up together (in fact I'm starting to think all the couples will, in twisted ways), but Sand will pay the price of that. Because rich people DON'T PAY FOR SHIT.

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Happiness - Part 2

Fandom: LOTR

Ship: Eomer x F!Reader

Trope: Arranged marriage

Note: Reader is Elfhelm's daughter and I invented a lot for what I didn't know so probably A LOT of mistakes.

Fun facts: I only wrote this extended fic for this one sex scene during their wedding night. This gif is my favourite thing to look at right now. It's late and I'm tired so.

Word counts: 4 090

Warnings: Dealing with grief, loved one's deaths, depression, SMUT at some point, poverty, war's aftermath, diplomatic relations, pregnancy, blood, miscarriage

Tags: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

During the long weeks leading to the wedding, your days were either spent with your mother or Gera, taking over in your mother’s absence.

Indeed, thanks to your father’s insistence, she had been appointed as the wedding organizer. Or something akin to it. She was fussing and busying herself like she had never before, not even for Moira’s wedding. Your mother was a force of nature, but she could be a lot and having Gera was a good contrast to your mother’s buzzing energy.

First, the chiefmaid had kept you company or helped you find your way around the place. Quickly, she became a big part of your days. You visited orphanages with her and brought food to those in need in Sofia’s company. Over these shared times, she became a godmother of sorts - and her daughter a friend - always present when you needed them, and you always there when they needed you.

“Milady, I do believe it is most improper for you to work with the cooks in the kitchen.”

It had taken you almost three whole days of imploring her before you had managed to make Gera yield.

Gera did not believe in such a fantasy as fun. It was working or resting, no in-between. With that statement in mind, she had still followed you to the kitchen while you were asking questions to the bewildered pastry chefs meeting the future queen in such an unofficial manner.

When she asked for what purpose you wanted to cook, the word “fun” came out of your mouth. “To forget” would have been a more accurate description. Eomer’s attitude towards you had become erratic and even avoidant. You could not know why as he would not give you straight answers, always mentionning something he needed to take care of. The gestures of affection he had towards you were limited to him occasionally kissing your forehead and offering you his arm while walking. You had not had a good walk in days, the weather going grim with your mood.

The plates you were cooking always ended up given to people in need.

After that first expedition, it had become a habit of yours to go down to the kitchen to help, a few hours here and there when you could.

But, for every effort you made, Eomer seemed to have forgotten about you. Your actions were out of boredom, but if it could benefit the poorer all the better. He was always busying himself with new economic plans or diplomatic correspondence. He would not tell you about any of those things either and you figured it would take his mind off of things to talk about more mundane things. Like cooking. Suffice to say, it did not work.

So, when he stepped into the kitchen one day, leaving Gera to usher the poor cooks away, you were surprised, to say the least.

“Milady, you do know it is most improper for a future queen to wander around without an escort.

It had to be a trick of the mind though, Eomer did not feel that way and he had made that clear, spending all of his time away from you. Telling you about her. Amongst the fleeting moments of affection you had shared, he had talked to you about Enora. About the woman she was. It felt as a much needed talk for him. For you, it left you questioning everything. Even his commitment to you. Especially his commitment. It was clear that he wanted to keep you out. What for, that was a question you did not have the answer to, as many others when it came to him.

I had Gera until you arrived, my lord.”

He called your name in a soft commanding tone. You could feel the embrace you were missing in his words.

“I am sorry, that you find no suitable distractions in the castle. Nevertheless, you can not come in here. It is not your place. Nor mine as it turns out.”

You sighed. This day was bound to happen. It was improper, and that was that. People would talk. Even he had to uphold his status. He had to, even if he did not want to. Just like you soon enough.

“I know. I am aware of that. I just… Needed space. From the wedding’s preparation, from my mother - I love her but she’s hovering a lot these days, maybe… maybe even from myself. I cannot hear myself think these days.”

You could have sworn his cheeks took a hint of pink as you looked at him from under your lashes. Unbeknown to you, he had grown quite fond of hearing what you were doing and who you were doing it for, your good deeds to his people never going unheard. The cakes going to orphaned children in need, bread to the beggars in the streets, when you were not willingly spending time with the servants, giving a hand where you could. He admired your dedication and kindness a little more every day, despite himself, and his lost lover’s shadow.

-Yet, you do not share that with me. We have not talked much or been in the same room for longer than a few moments since the engagement has been announced. Were you trying to avoid me?”

“I know. I feel the same way.

Over the weeks, your presence had been missing. The little things he would have loved to be doing with you. Your hand on his arm at the engagement party imprinted in his mind. He missed you. All of you. Eomer had thought himself more of a practical person, reasonable, and smart. In this case, he had thrown everything out of the window. Where his first fiancée enhanced his duties, you made up new ones. You were so different, her and you. You could not compare to her and she could not compare to you. She was gone and you were alive. So alive, he yearned for you in a way he had forgotten. You made him feel again.

His head bowed, his eyes cast down. Words were escaping him. He had thought long and hard about this relationship.

“Yes. I was trying to avoid you.”

Your anger was only growing within you. You were frustrated by his actions but could not blame him for them. When it came to Eomer, you had become blind. As soon as you had recognized it for what it was, it felt easier to smile when thinking of him even if he was not thinking of you. No matter what he would do, you knew you would forgive, for you would love him. From that first day until the last.

His voice was lower now, as one of a child being chastised.

“I was afraid.”

His steps brought him next to you, only a meter or two from where you were. Just as he lowered his voice, you softened yours.

“How could you be afraid? I am just a woman.”

His hand took yours and you released a sigh you did not know you were holding. In the back of your mind, you willed your memory to keep those moments tucked away safely. You were sure they would not happen again.

“A woman in grief. A woman I chose. A woman I can not seem to care for as she needs.”

He closed in on you, a mere breath away now, his palm a gentle reminder of his presence on the side of your face, your eyes closed for your own sake. You could not drown in him. You would not. Not when it meant heartbreak.

“Sometimes, I try not to seek you out.”

You could not look at him, but from under your lids, you could feel his breath fanning over your cheek, his head bowed to you in silent prayer. The question burned your lips.

“Why not?”

His hands were now cradling your face, your eyes forced to look at him. His brows furrowed, lips parted in quiet stillness, the way he looked at you, mercy and hurt in the eye, made your heart clench in despair.

“I am guilty of selfishness. When I am with you, I forget. I forget what she looked like and who she was. When I am with you, the ghost of her disappears and I don’t know if…”

His lips parted, as if to say something again, were an invitation you could not refuse. Pushing a little you grabbed him by his collar and kissed him with everything you had. His hands found your waist, making you pull away brutally.

-What for?

“I am sorry, my lord, I…

-The… Just now. And… I did not wish to make you forget. You loved her. Why would I wish to erase her from your memories? She’s a part of you. But, I am selfish too, and…”

You took a deep breath. The feelings you had wanted to snuff out were too strong now. They had to be faced and felt.

-I promise.”

“If you are feeling the way you tell me you are, then I need to know you will be there fully when you’re with me. I… Eomer, I cannot compete with a ghost.

There had been no hesitation in his voice.

He grabbed your face in his hands, and kissed you again, slowly, with eternity in his mind.

The day of the wedding was the worst. You could not see each other all day, it had you both on edge. You were nervous beyond what you could handle, your mother feeding you sweets and Gera swiftly pushing the maids out of your room. You were sure you would suffocate.

Every day it was something new. One day it was a brush of his lips below your ear. The other, his fingers linking with yours discreetly. Another one, he pulled you into an alcove, kissing you senseless, breathless, leaving marks on the exposed skin of your neck.

Once you walked down the aisle, your father’s arm securing and anchoring you, your nerves disappeared. Your father’s teary eyes as he handed you over, almost made you cry, but Eomer’s fond looks shook you to your core. Only then did you notice that the sword he had at his side kept his hand from shaking. A genuine smile on your lips, you had covered his hands with your own, wishing to settle him. The emotion in the man had been threatening to overwhelm him. He had hold onto you for comfort as you wished he would.

The ceremony and the festivities had gone by so fast, it had felt like the blink of an eye. Your parents were dancing and seemed happier than you had seen them in a very long time. They were smiling and laughing, bickering so much, you felt happy for them too. Eomer’s hand surprised you, sneaking under the table and linking his fingers with yours. He leaned down and kissed your cheek, before kissing your lips, your hand cradling his face the cold metal of your wedding band only making it harder to stop. You were his. To love and to hold, forever. How could he have been so lucky, he would never know. But he was willing and wanted to make you understand that. Your doubts and need for reassurance, although not voiced, were clear to him, in the soft moments you shared, a hint of anxiety always taking you over. He never wanted you to doubt his love and attachment for you.

Quickly enough, the night came to an end and the moment to go back to your chambers arrived. The thought of him sharing a bed with you brought a new kind of warmth to your body. The past few days your imagination had been running wild. Not that you would own up to it in front of him. Ever.

Upon entering the room, the door closing behind you, you stepped back until you were met with the wooden surface. It was your salvation when Eomer showed himself, barefoot and naked from the waist up. You wondered if your legs were not going to give out.

In the semi-darkness, silence overcoming everything, he feared you might have swallowed your tongue. In truth, you thought you had, your breathing becoming laboured and uneven.

He called your name, as you were staring, eyes blown while looking at his chest and the expanse of his shoulders, the grave notes in his voice only eliciting more heat to bloom in your abdomen. You bit your lips, not hearing him until he grabbed your shoulders.

“Hm?”

He chuckled, his knuckles caressing the side of your jaw, goosebumps left in his path. Your hands were clasped behind your back, not knowing what to do nor how to do it. Unease took hold of you where there had been only anticipation before. Eomer noticed. He stepped back, looking at you with hunger. He swallowed discreetly. You looked magnificent. His own chest was raising and falling rapidly, the adrenaline in his veins thining his patience to a thread. It made you feel desired and loved more than you could fathom.

“My love, what is the matter?”

“I-… I’ve never been with…a man before…”

You sighed, the endearment on his lips only making it harder to speak.

Fearing you might take offence if he said he knew - even though he did know -, Eomer kissed your temple trying to soothe you. His smile mirrored your own, as his hand slid behind your back, bringing you closer to him. His eyes kept looking into your own.

“I will show you if you wish.”

His lips a mere whisper away from your own, you only nodded. The span of his hands covered your hips as he kissed you. You could feel the laces of your dress coming undone thanks to his handy work, tender kisses caressing the length of your throat, and Eomer holding you against him in a gentle grip. Once the pool of cloth at your feet, your light under-dress was the only barrier between him and you. His kisses were growing heavier with every passing minute, the gentle hold he had turning into him trying to melt his body with yours. Without a word he hoisted you up in his arms, carrying you towards the bed. As he laid you down, your eyes went to the shadows of the fire on the wall before coming back to Eomer, his hair undone, tickling your bare shoulder in the dark. The space above his collarbone, the bridge of his nose, his fingers against your throat, everything illuminated by the feverish light.

Before he looked, his lips against your own he quietly asked “Is this alright…wife?”

Before you could dwell on it, he claimed your mouth for his own, his chest to yours. Your fingers found themselves in his hair, earning a grunt from him, making your core clench and your hand stop. He smirked at that as if he knew what had happened. His palm pulled up your last garment until the birth of your hips, almost revealing yourself to him.

A “Yes” escaped your tongue before you could keep it against the roof of your mouth. After all why would you?

The sweet nothing in his mouth made you whimper out of nowhere.

He helped you out of your dress, leaving the soft caress of his palms up and down your chest, the planes of his hands down your stomach and your back, open-mouthed kisses on your breasts leaving you arching into him, struggling to breathe and how he could be everywhere all at once you would never know, but you would not have stopped it for the world. His mouth trailed down your stomach, always looking at you, always making sure you were alright, just the right amount of overwhelming from him. When he reached the apex of your thighs, you noticed his bare ass in the flickering light of the fire. You swore under your breath. It only made him laugh against you.

“See something you like, princess?”

An idea came to you.

-Hmm?”

“Queen.

You propped yourself onto your elbows, looking him dead in the eye.

-Indeed… then I should treat you as such, should I not?”

“I am not a princess.

His mischievous eyes were new to you. You did not mind them one bit.

You moaned loudly when his tongue flattened against your clitoris. His eyes narrowed and he kept on going, a thirsty man finding a source to drink from. Your body arched of its own accord, full cries escaping you. Something deep in your belly was threatening to snap when he stopped. Concern was etched on his face, his lips gleaming in the dim light as he reached for your face. You shivered at the sight.

“I am alright, husband.”

You nestled your face in his palm, kissing the calloused fingers one by one.

“What about you?”

His body settled next to yours, and you could feel him against your thigh as you turned. Your mouth ran dry at the thought of him inside you.

“I am content.”

He pushed a hair out of your face, feeling the heat of your breath against his nose. What a sight you were. Pupils blown, lips swollen by his ministrations, your skin reacting to the harsh touch of his beard, a path down your body he started following with his fingers down and down again between your thighs. As he met your core, you held onto his shoulder, whimpering again, biting your lip in a silent plea for pleasure. Despite it all, you managed to utter a question.

“Only content?”

His head in the crook of your neck, you felt him stop, now looking straight at you with an adoration you were sure you could not grow tired of. You felt his fingers as he entered you. One, then the other. The soft burn of the stretch kept you from saying anything, your nails digging into his back, his hair now hovering above you, kisses raining on you. He did not answer you, only moving his fingers back and forth until you could not feel the burn of them anymore. He had you rocking your hips onto his hand, filthy sounds surrounding you, the thought of ever leaving this room having left you entirely, drunk on him and only him. Only then did he answer.

“I could not be happier than in your arms.”

“Tonight is not about me. But if you ask…” half a smile crossed his features, as you were marvelling at him, sweating and hungry for more. You never thought anyone could look at you with such reverence in their eyes.

Your heart clenched. Your hips stilled between his hands before he pulled your legs apart.

“If any of this hurts you, please tell me.”

As he pulled himself out, you could feel it down your thighs. It made you hungry for more, somehow. The emptiness he had left behind was soon replaced by the warmth of the sheets on you, his arm sneaking around your waist. He pulled you to him, your head resting on his chest, eyes weary and tired. He did not say a word, the pad of his thumb tracing the column of your spine in lazy strokes and you could hear his heart under you ever so erratic becoming soft and in rhythm with yours. Never could you have imagined this to happen to you. It was nothing short of a miracle, that he found you and you him. You let yourself bask in it for a little while, the shadows of the room luring you into a daydream you longed for deep in your soul.

He laid himself on top of you, his weight never suffocating you, his eyes ever so inquisitive. You nodded slowly, fingers weaving in his hair making him close his eyelids under your care. He placed himself between your legs, your folds welcoming him in a warm embrace. As he pushed into you, a tear escaped you, a dull pain at the pit of your stomach appearing. It stopped with the movement of his hips against yours, ever so gentle, his irises never leaving your face, forehead against yours, before leaving blazed kisses on your skin. Something feral woke up deep inside you, your hand clawing at his back, enticing him to keep going. His groans and moans were echoing in your chest, when he bit down on your shoulder with a swift bite, drawing blood to the surface. The heel of his hand was gripping tightly your ass, moving your legs until they were locked at the ankle behind his back. You felt a renewal of pleasure as he moved your legs higher, visibly impossible for him to stop. His hips were sure to leave bruises on your own. Soon after, you met your end, in a blinding white light, clenching around him. Then he could not stop himself from rutting into you, leaving his seed deep inside you.

“Do you want a boy or a girl?”

The question was asked as if in pleading, praying the bubble you were in would not burst with its utterance. Eomer merely smiled, reassuring you. He grabbed your fingers, kissing your knuckles one after the other in a tender gesture.

“Both.”

His cheeky grin made you smile despite yourself. Your eyebrows rose of their own accord, not able to hide your surprise. Amused by his newly found confidence, you laughed and kissed him deeply, weaving your hand with his. When you tried to pull back, his teeth grazed your bottom lip, and a shiver ran down your spine, eyes wide open. The warmth you felt before, came again. You pulled yourself up and as you were laying on top of him, kissed him as deeply as you could. He did not stop you, his hands on your hips again, where you could feel the friction leaving him hard again. The power you had over him was so obvious. It would have been a crime not to use it to your advantage.

On instinct, a hand to the headboard to support yourself, you dragged your core up the length of him never looking away from his eyes. This new side of you was a pleasant surprise he was delighted to discover. A grunt and an insult passed his lips as the movement dragged down, before starting again, and again, and again. Seeing him willingly relent his control into your hands did things to you, you never thought yourself capable of. Abruptly, his grip on your hips tightened in a desperate gesture to stop your actions.

-…inside me.”

“As much as this is pleasant, I’d rather be…

It had rolled off your tongue so easily. Sultry tone and all. Eomer wondered how he would cope if you were to disappear from his life, taking all you were away from him. The answer never came as he snapped back to you, guiding you down on him. A soft whimper escaped your lips, your back arching into his skillful hands, while he kept on guiding you, the movement of your hips made him jerk upwards deeper into you. Making you cry out in pleasure was his new favourite thing to do, he believed it to his very core. The little sighs, your heaving chest, your hands clasped on his, right on the dips at your hips, the full-out cries, the whimpers, the way you felt as you desperately chased your climax, everything turned him on more and more with each passing minute. The worst part was the way you looked at him, with only desire dilating your pupils, adoration in your every movement when he pulled you down for a sloppy, messy, heated kiss. Forehead against his, your hips moving on instinct, the hot breaths shared between you, all of it turning feverish upon reaching the high you were seeking, before it all snapped, a heat leaking into you as he pushed deeper than before.

You stayed there, relieved, shivering in pleasure. He was still, inside of you, not willing to let you go just yet.

“Sleep now. We have all the time in the world, wife.”

You did not even bother to meet his eyes, as yours were already closing.

“No. I want to be pregnant. Now.”

Eomer laughed and it shook your whole body. Barely registering his kiss on your temple, you fell asleep as he had asked you to, in his arms, protected and content.

Next and last part

[mixelation]

oh, this reference for Naruto's apartment might be useful to some people.

it's a popular fic trope to have naruto living in abject poverty with the shittiest apartment possible, but what we're actually shown is decently nice. (or it would be nice for a young adult living alone-- i'm not defending leaving a literal child to live alone as a good idea lmao)

in the first databook, we see that naruto has a studio-style apartment with a combined kitchen/dining/living/bedroom area and a separate toilet and bathroom with a full bath. based on my studies of youtube apartment tours, this is a pretty typical japanese apartment and perfectly serviceable for someone living alone. however, INTERESTINGLY, naruto has an additional room which is for ninja training/studies. unclear if it's meant to be a bedroom or storage area he just decided was for ninja stuff, or if the apartment was designed with that purpose in mind. he's also shown to have a very nice view of Konoha.

for the anime, naruto's apartment was upgraded slightly. the training room is absent, but he now has separate rooms for kitchen/dining and his bedroom. it looks like he even has a little tv and a small balcony. he keeps his beautiful view of the village.

in neither case has kishimoto/the animation team gone out of their way to animate excessive clutter or anything particularly wrong with naruto's living space (as in, there's no inclusion of cracked paint or obviously broken appliances). we do have a scene dedicated to naruto's milk being spoiled and kakashi suggesting he eat more vegetables, but these details reflect more on naruto's personality/decision making* than a problem like "he doesn't have money for food."

*again, this is why we don't let children live alone!! but it's not evidence for a lot of common tropes like "naruto would run out of money for food" or "naruto lived in horrific conditions"

[da-mous]

My thoughts on Walnuts & Rain

Hello burgers, fries, and everything in between! I didn't think I'd wanna write another Adventure Time post so soon, but I remembered Walnuts & Rain and really wanted to talk about it. Unlike Puhoy, nobody really talks about this one, but it's actually among my favorite episodes believe it or not! Both settings in this one really capture my imagination, and I like how the whole thing feels kind of like a fable. It's full of the kind of potent, unexplained weirdness you get in old fairytales, and I think that's cool!!

So, as a refresher, this episode has Finn & Jake falling down two different holes and ending up in two different situations that explore class disparity and the dangers of getting too comfortable

Finn falls into the Huge Kingdom, which seems to just be this one big room with food lining the walls, where the Huge King forever sits in his throne, constantly fed big food by little food boyz and excitedly anticipating the hourly chiming of his big cuckoo clock in an endless loop

The Huge King of course embodies absolute wealth and fortune. He never has to lift a finger. His servants bring him all the food he'll ever need, and his clock not only provides entertainment, it gives him something to anticipate, like a long cooldown timer in a predatory mobile game

The Huge King seems to idolize the concept of waiting. Almost everything he could want comes to him in time, and he doesn't seem to be aware that this isn't a universal law--it's a product of his privilege. But I did say almost everything...

Next to the Huge King's throne, Finn is put in a second throne half the King's size, but still way too big for Finn. It feels to me like the king had a companion at one point who left, or maybe he never had one, but he's been waiting all this time for one. Either way, when he tries to prevent Finn from leaving with force, it starts to seem clear to me that the Huge King is lonely

In this way I think he's as trapped as Finn is. He isn't fully satisfied here, but how could he ever think about leaving? Here, he's as fed as he'll ever need to be, and the clock provides an endless distraction from what he's missing

This is the lotus flower island trope I talked about in the Puhoy post played straight

Despite the tragedy of his situation, the Huge King is not really a character I want to sympathize with. He may come off like he doesn't understand the ethics of subjugating the food boys to endless labor, but I think on some level he does. His clock, which I imagine he commissioned since it's his size, says "in toil we krimber." People use weird words all the time in Adventure Time, but even Finn doesn't seem to know what "krimber" is. The message feels like deliberate yet meaningless propaganda glorifying labor to the food boyz

Further, the throne next to him is only half the size of his. Even his ideal companion would be beneath him, and I think his attempts to trap his new companion Finn show us why

The situation Jake falls into is in some ways the opposite of Finn's and in some ways the same. Having been knocked out before he fell, Jake wakes up on this platform that this bear dude is living on, parachuting endlessly in the dark pit. The bear dude, 7718, has been stuck down here waiting to reach the bottom so long he's lost track of time and forgotten his given name, but he's been able to survive off of the occasional walnuts and rain that fall into the pit. He passes the time playing Freecell, a spinoff of Solitaire--a much more active hobby than the King's

Despite his absolute poverty, 7 is like the chilliest dude ever. While he convinces Jake not to try to leave, it's only because he thinks Jake would be climbing so long he'd die of starvation. And, even though his gaunt appearance suggests the walnuts aren't even quite enough to sustain him, he doesn't even consider not sharing with Jake

While, like the King, 7 was completely alone until Jake arrived, he seems not to want for anything more than what he has. When Jake suggests they could play some two-player card games, 7 says he forgot games like that even existed, as if he never even imagined he might have a friend down here. The one book he has, "Dividing the Day", seems to me like a book about structuring your day efficiently. Despite all the nothing going on, I get the impression 7 makes the most he can of every day

Interestingly, like the King, 7's food comes to him through no action of his own. It comes only occasionally, is very sparse, and walnuts are pretty tough to crack, but all 7 has to do is wait and crack nuts

7's situation is one anyone would reasonably want to escape, but it seems hopeless to try. There's really nothing he could do besides jumping and hoping to land in water or something... but his needs are almost kindasorta met here, and maybe one day he'll finally reach the bottom, so how could he ever think about trying?

In both wealth and poverty, it can be easy to find a relative peak of comfort and stay there forever, never questioning or challenging the system that keeps you forever unfulfilled. It can be easy to put off worrying about fulfillment at all, trusting that the system around you will bring it to you one day, when in reality, it likely never will. Not without action

The cruel twist is that 7 was never falling. He's inside the exhaust tunnel from the hood of the King's stove, perpetually kept running to prepare the King an endless stream of food, creating a persistent updraft that keeps 7's platform floating in place. Considering that the walnuts seem like not quite enough to sustain him, 7 could have starved in obscurity and poverty, with the change he was waiting for simply never coming

While 7 could truly have done nothing to change his situation, Jake, with his stretchy powers, is technically able, but he believes it would be impossible because he thinks the hole is much deeper than it is

The King could fix everyone's situations, but he's content enough with his own, he doesn't want to let Finn go, and he isn't even aware that his constant stream of food is causing 7 and Jake's situation

Finn, not satisfied trapped in the life of the King, is the only one to persist in his desire to escape the hand he's dealt. He forms a completely off the wall plan that would free only himself by using the resources afforded to him by the Huge Kingdom, but he changes his mind halfway through executing it and instead decides to disrupt the order of things by destroying the King's clock

In destroying the thing that traps the King, Finn inadvertently knocks over a pot whose water puts out the flames on the stove, finally ending the updraft that kept 7's platform in place and freeing him and Jake, despite Finn not even knowing they were there

Finn didn't need a rock solid plan, a thorough understanding of the system, or any idea of what he would do next, in order to change the majority's lives for the better just by disrupting the order set by the ruling class. He avoided the danger of getting too comfortable

Thanks for reading!!

Once again, I have a lot more to say about this one beyond broad, thematic analysis, so I might follow this up with another list of odds, ends, and little things :) I'm super happy people liked my Puhoy post! I'm not the most experienced writer or analyst, but I hope my thoughts come through clearly enough and ring true to people. I think I'll keep writing these every now and then as long as I keep feeling like I have something new to say!

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

You‘ve briefly talked about how Adrien fits the lonely rich kid trope very well and now I‘m curious, what do you think of the trope in general? Personally, I think it‘s a little overused

My problem with the trope is that it's often used as a crutch to ignore the abuse the kid faces even though money doesn't magically protect mental health. This is true across the board when it comes to how we treat wealthy characters. If removing a character's wealth makes the character into a monster or a victim, then you are using money as a crutch to hand wave abuse.

For example, I've seen screencaps of tweets where Miraculous' head writer claims that Chloe is not a victim of abuse because she's been given everything she wants and is still a monster. She hasn't been given everything she wants, though. What Chloe wants is to be loved and accepted by the people she loves, especially her mother. No amount of shoes and diamond-eyed teddy bears can make up for a mother's love. Take away Chloe's money and the issues with her family become glaring.

Similarly, Gabriel's neglect isn't somehow lessened by Adrien's impressive room. Climbing walls and video games cannot make up for a father's love. If Gabriel lived in an apartment and ran a restaurant where Adrien worked as a waiter, their story would not magically be more tragic because they went down a few rungs on the social ladder.

Don't get me wrong, money does buy a certain level of happiness since it provides security, food, and health. If Adrien lived in poverty, then his situation would be more upsetting, but that's because of the trials that poverty adds to the station. Trials that would be there even if Gabriel was a wonderful, loving father.

I'm not against making a character rich if it makes sense to the plot, though, which is why the Agreste's wealth doesn't bother me. Gabriel's social status makes his more threatening and allows him to have a villain lair and the ability to just miss work since he's his own boss. My only issues is that they don't lean into the wealth disparity and the social isolation issues enough with Adrien. He should be making oblivious rich kid comments! Yes, it makes him less "perfect," but that's the point. It's a really logical flaw that's both easy to fix and quite humanizing. I also give him a 12-step skin care regime and make him refuse to use the school showers for more than a quick rinse off because "the water pressure is appalling!" and he doesn't have all his products on hand. Dude is a model raise in luxury. Have fun with it!

[demonlike-judge-of-fire]

This is the hill I will die on: Kim Dokja can cook. He can cook well.

Nowhere. In the novel is it said that he can't cook. People only assume he can't because yjh can and BECAUSE OF THE DAMN SHIP DYNAMICS OF CAN COOK/WILL BURN THE HOUSE DOWN!!!

YOU ALL ARE BETTER THAN THIS!!! YOU CAN START BEING BETTER TODAY I BELIEVE IN YOU!!!!!!

(Tropes are good but... Don't reduce a character to a trope? aksjsjldkdksk)

Anyway here's why Kim Dokja can cook, for real this time

There are three times he has made food in the novel that I can remember: the meat of the dungeon rats, the meat of the plant thing and The Dumplings.

The first two times you can assume that he read how to make it in twsa... And that the recipe was 20 pages long...

The third time 999 is giving him detailed instructions.

DETAILED INSTUCTIONS.

He can cook but only with detailed instructions!! If the recipe says "cook" he needs to know just how high the flame is and exactly how long to cook it for. If it says "add salt" he needs to know how much salt.

(recipes are super vague... also i may just be projecting my neurodivergence...)

Its kinda funny to think about hsy writing the detailed instructions to kinda highlight yjh's meticulousness but unknowingly giving kdj exactly what he needs to survive... Food. (Don't think about how it may have been deliberate if you don't want to be sad)

In conclusion, may I suggest yjh teaching kdj to cook instead? It would work. Hsy is more likely to burn the house down (intentionally) anyway.

(I'm so sorry this got super long... I couldn't resist :') )

UR SO REAL FOR THIS...

Ur right about the ship dynamic. you are SO right

i think it's necessary for kim dokja to be able to cook for his backstory. this man lived alone and in poverty, do not lie. now, whether he's good at it is another story!!!!!!! I like to think his meals were average (<3) and he used descriptions of delicious food in TWSA to trick his senses like with storebought meals

Also. dont worry about projecting your neurodivergence. because kdj is totally neurodivergent.

Han Sooyoung knew KDJ didn't eat well. She saw it when she visited the hospital. I figure that, for a long time, Han Sooyoung couldn't forget his arms and how not a single muscle could be felt! His hands were as small as hers (and during that time, bodily, she was also younger than him) SCREAMS

But yeah, I would like to see yjh guiding kdj in his process. Maybe replicate that recipe 999 taught him :)

[yennas-stuff]

Hi 🍒 anon,

sorry for responding late, but I didn't have a chance to sit and think (brain fried, something to do with alcoholic beverages on Saturday, but 🤫)

I read the post you sent me, and I don't understand why the op is having a beef with Valkyries.

Valkyries made the book for me. If it wasn't for them, I wouldn't enjoy it as much. So I am very biased and ok with it.

They said the Valkyries were not as well trained as the other Illyrians. Well, they were trained supposedly by the best of them. Almost one on one. I would say they were thoroughly prepared.

The other point they made is that Feyre won against the Wyrm because she was also trained. But... she wasn't. She just could hunt for food with her bow and arrows. That's not a training you get to fight against a creature like that.

Then they mentioned that Feyre won because she outsmarted the Wyrm. Guess what Gwyn did with the monsters?? The same damn thing. They didn't fight all the guys in hand to hand combat. We know that the girls probably do not have as much of a brute force as Illyrians do. But they used their speed, thinking skills, had some help from Balthazar, and utilized monsters. They also waited the guys out. It was strategic, and they fought to survive, not for the glory.

It's not the power of friendship (I'm assuming they wrote it with disdain) that made them win, but their thinking skills, some luck, yes, and the same thing that helped the bat boys. Being together.

And with the found family trope and people claiming Nesta calling girls sisters is disrespectful... Give me a break. Sometimes, you find people who understand you on a deeper level and go through difficulties with you, and they become your family. With Archeron sisters, it's complicated. They seemingly went through the same thing (extreme poverty), but each of them experienced its different aspects deeper than the others. Nesta was affected most by her parent not being able to protect her, and by his hopelessness, Elain experienced being a social outcast, and the burden of being the one whose suitable marriage could save them. Feyre became the caretaker and the protector of the family. They are sisters by blood, and nothing is changing it. Maybe they will fully mend their relationship by the end of the series, but for now, they need to grow and heal. And sjm takes them on these journeys separately.

[sunboki]

— THE ALCHEMIST. TEASER a Lee Minho fiction

Lee Minho x f. reader

TROPE. historical! au, set in 1940’s Korea, alchemist! au, friends to lovers, fluff, angst

WARNINGS. abusive behavior toward women, impoverished communities, overall sexist beliefs of the time, reader dresses as a man, mentions of death & disease, smoking (not reader or minho), war conflict, making out??

AUG'S NOTES. trust.. there’s much more drama and minho from here… for now, tell me what you think of the teaser!!

SYNOPSIS. Cities stricken with poverty, the lack of male presence in your home while surviving in a male-dominated society leaves meager food on the table and a piling debt. Left no choice but to make a risky decision, you decide that, if biology wanted to fail you, you’d simply try another approach.

alternatively :

In which deception introduces you into an entirely new reality, and The Alchemist.

It’s one thing surviving with the knowledge you can change something, whatever it may be that’s wrong. 

It’s another when that problem isn’t merely changeable, but biological. 

Your problem? You’re a woman. 

Not as easy to fix, right?

.

.

.

With your father lost in the war, fruitlessly straining to support a family of girls, the household is left helpless.

Representation is nonexistent, and merely walking outside frets harassment and laughter struck in your face at the mention of working. 

A woman, working? Hilarious. 

Or, apparently to the men in pubs it certainly is.

Some things you can’t change, yes, but there are always alternatives. And as for now, you’re helplessly searching high and low for that alternative, whatever it may be. 

Selling yourself is possible, though the inability to remain connected to your family eliminates that option. 

When you get so desperate, there’s no incentive in guarding your pride. Because being called derogatory names isn’t as bad as losing them, the people you call home.

October welcomes little warmth, biting your fingertips and sending a tremor of chills cascading down your spine. Minimal sunlight peers through dense clouds, shrouding the atmosphere in a depressing haze. 

You’re on your way to the apothecary, but not to purchase anything. The pennies in your pocket won’t amount to anything in the face of medicinal prices, which happens to be one of your many alternatives. 

Since day one, you’ve had a rock to rely on.

Medicine. 

Lack of money meant improper living conditions, entailing sickness. 

Constantly.

Whether it was your mother, your younger sister, yourself, an infection of some sort occupied your respiratory system, wreaking havoc for wallets and mental health altogether. 

Purchasing necessary medication became impossible the further you drowned in your debt, to the point drastic measures needed to be taken in order to prevent death from infesting itself in the household as well.

Then came the question. If you couldn’t purchase the medicine itself, why not collect the ingredients?

Alternatives.

Behind the apothecary you discovered mint hedges that, if mixed with wormwood and balm, could aid in curing Sun-ja’s current sickness, colic. 

Although, you’d have to be swift in your efforts, ensuring the shop owner didn’t notice your presence.

Too many times had you nearly been caught, risking a good beating from the red-haired, burly man regarded as Mr. Myeong.

Fiery red hair complimented an equally unruly personality you aimed not to cross by. Ever.

Yet, unlike Mr. Myeong, his wife was the polar opposite, an ideal magnet. She was petite and soft-spoken, but out of her appealing traits, you found her resilience to be most attractive.

Mrs. Myeong is stubborn. She’s strong in what she believes, sporting an unquestionably vocal opinion that can’t be quenched.

The woman is, likely, the only woman capable of sealing her husband’s mouth shut.  

Hidden between thorn ridden weeds sits your desired leaves, abundant in supply.

You clutch your satchel closer, plucking as quickly as possible whilst crouched to the ground, maneuvering through tickling grasses and itchy reeds. 

Your mission remains successful, until the wretched sound of a doorknob rips your head upward, the red-haired man in question standing nonplussed, arms crossed. 

He wears a cocked brow, examining what you’re desperately trying to veil away.

Your heart leaps into your throat.

“Stealing, are we?” Black boot clad frame thumping closer, you immediately prepare to run, hair standing on end like an agitated feline.

Instead, his huge hand swoops down to grab your collar, other evidently ready to land a harsh slap to your face.

Instinctively cringing, you brace for the stinging impact.

That is, before a saccharine, lullaby-worthy voice rings from the cracked doorway, belonging to none other than Mrs. Myeong.

“Honey! Have you seen the new envelope that came in?” 

Heels clicking whilst padding over cobblestone to where you two stand, her husband fixates you with a stern, threatening glare. 

Finally dropping your frame to the ground, you slump forward, pulse pounding loud enough you fear your chest may implode. 

Mrs. Myeong, though wearing a taut expression, ushers him off, delivering a curt nod your way, intentional brows furrowed in place. 

‘Thank you’ You wish to say, but hold your tongue, watching them disappear inside.

Another time.

Walking home was rather uneventful (much to your delight), left to enjoy the crisp, cool air sifting through your lungs in steady rhythm, the lazy billows of cigar smoke dwindling from gaping doorways.

Calm. 

Nothing calm ever lasts long.

Stashing the house key back into your decrepit leather draw bag, your footsteps still upon entering, struck terror-filled.

Your mother, strawn across the floor, hacks amongst her rampant coughs, body convulsing in desperate shivers, skin drenched a ghastly blue.

Sprinting to her side, you kneel down, rolling the woman over to find her face utterly battered, new black eye beginning to swell, cheek bruised a mawkish purple against hollowed cheekbones. 

Sharks.

To your left Sun-ja hides in the corner, rags for a blanket pulled to her chest, shielded between the wall and a tipped cabinet. 

Over and over they’ve begun visiting, to the point your mother became recognizable by her continuous black eye, her torn clothing and stooped posture. 

Exhausted, she was exhausted. 

Yet, she took the beatings. The torturous punches. Jarring slaps, traumatic insults, tarnishing. Your mother took it so you wouldn’t, so you and Sun-ja could live.

And it’s at that moment you make up your mind, discover this occasion’s alternative. 

sunboki, may 2022 ©

[hyperlexichypatia]

Enabling people to exist

 It's a sunny Saturday afternoon, so it's a good time to remind everyone that the concept of "enabling" is ableist, capitalist propaganda.

The "enabling" concept originated in the context of addiction -- the premise being that friends and family of addicted people should not help the addicted person continue to use drugs or alcohol. Even in this original context, it's rather heartless -- addicted people can literally die from drug withdrawal; they can't always just choose to stop taking drugs.

But it's been taken much further in a capitalist society where being poor and being disabled are considered "bad choices." Even the most rudimentary aid to the poor is classified as "enabling." Privileged people are allowed to frame themselves as rationally displaying "tough love" by allowing people to starve and die in the streets.

Recently, a free public toilet for homeless people was criticized as "enabling." Because if people with no home, no money, few possessions, and minimal access to hygiene are allowed to use the toilet, this may "enable" their "choice" to be poor. Somehow if they have no toilet, the desperation might somehow "motivate" poor people to... generate money and a home, somehow. This is the depth of the capitalist belief that making poor people suffer is good, actually, because poverty is their own fault.

This, of course, also applies to disability. Equal access "enables" disabled people to choose to be disabled. With enough barriers in place, we will become motivated to simply choose to be abled.

In particular, this capitalist-classist-ableist-neurobigoted trope applies at the intersection of psychiatrically disabled people who choose not to use medication, and also are poor, unemployed, or homeless. Material assistance is denounced as "enabling" psychiatrically disabled poor people's "bad choice" to opt out of psychiatric medication, as it is presumed that, if they were pressured or forced to accept medication (or were desperate enough to acquiesce to it), they would become neurotypical-passing, and be hired for some well-paying job that would lift them out of poverty. Of course, this isn't how psychiatric medication nor capitalism actually work.

All people deserve a basic standard of living. Food. Shelter. Bodily autonomy. Healthcare with consent. Bathrooms. No one "chooses" to be poor and desperate. Reject the narrative of "enabling."

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Heat Chapter 41: Enchantment

Back, back, back again~! Sorry for the long lag with this one. It’s a supersized chapter, at least, so I really hope it’s worth the wait 😊

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: 26,000+

Summary: After your explosive confrontation with Javi concluded in a passionate tempest, you both take the time to regroup. Are your feelings for each other enough to overcome the turmoil of the past?

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex, including explicit depictions of unprotected sex. Mentions of diet and food habits, exercise routines, angst, past trauma, resentments, frustration and emotional stress. Allusions to toxic behavior, negative coping mechanisms, recurring relationship tropes, women's health, personal turmoil and regrets. Soft!Javi, Longing!Javi, and Sensitive!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 40: Hopes 

Chapter 41: Enchantment

In the early 1990s, Puerto Rico was besieged with an influx of crime fueled by the drug trade, violence, and trafficking moving through the U.S. territory. There were a whole host of factors that played into the archipelago's woes, and the more one factor was pulled like a thread to its source, the clearer it became that it wasn't even close to being similar to the situation in Colombia.

Really, it could be boiled down to the limbo Puerto Rico and its people floated in for over many decades, if not from as far back as Spain's defeat to the United States during the Spanish-American War. After all, the nebulous status of being a modern-day colony in the late 20th century exacerbated many ills common in other places: poverty, lack of social mobility, and a classist system where the few controlled all the wealth and economic access of the many. But when you're beholden to a federal overlord who was content to keep you at an arm's length, but still shackled from having true self-governance and agency? These ills are only amplified, and become terminal symptoms for a population that are both U.S. citizens, but not truly Americans.

Javi had read up on the history of Puerto Rico. Of course, he knew the basics, and had learned more during his on-and-off again relationship with you, but to read about Operation Bootstrap, and just how much that had changed the smallest of the Greater Antilles? To absorb how a strategic holding in the Caribbean – which had passed imperialist hands for centuries – could be known as La Isla del Encanto, while being ravaged by predatory industries and corrupt fat cats, had been acquired by the U.S. and exploited for most of the 20th century? Well, it all had done little to motivate his zealous ambitions. At least at first.

However, the inevitable happened: his aspiration to leave a place better than he'd found it kept heeding for him to invest more care and attention to what lay ahead. So, after spending his first week as the Special Agent in Charge, Javier found himself voraciously delving into everything before concluding there was a criminal element that controlled the flow of things – a syndicate not unlike that of El Cartel de Cali.

But, where it did differ substantially from the Cali cartel, was in the way the drug trade operated on the big island.

The Puerto Rican Mafia was organized just like it sounds: it was made up of different ranks within La Familia – aka The Family.

Just like the mob, crime families ran different territories, with one central figurehead. However, unlike the mob, members were recruited from all walks of life, and could work their way up through the ranks, but would conduct business operations like a gang. All in order to create a multi-structured network that would make it difficult to dismantle the cartel-level operations.

It was a real puzzle – one Javi was growing more and more intrigued by.

Steve was also getting invested in figuring out strategies for taking down the syndicate, but they both recognized that wouldn't put an end to the drug trafficking in the region.

"…put a bullet in Escobar's head tomorrow? There's just another scumbag that'll fill the vacuum the next day. Is it really worth going off the deep end for?"

And like a cold comfort to his scrupulous intentions, your realistic take slaps him out of his brooding thoughts.

He'd arrived back from doing flyovers of Vieques and Culebra while field analysts pointed out possible drop zones used by drug traffickers to hide product meant for ferrying down to the Lesser Antilles under the cover of night.

Once he'd deboarded from the small plane after it'd taxied into the hangar, Javier strode over to the waiting SUV and gotten in quickly to avoid the rising humidity of the early afternoon.

"Buen día, Agent Peña!" Kike greets in his characteristically jovial way before beginning to drive out towards the security exit.

Grunting in greeting, Javi adjusts the air vents to blow directly on him after discarding is khaki linen blazer to the back seat as he scrubs the heel of his hand across his temple to wipe the perspiration there away. "How is it this fucking hot in winter?" he grumbles more to himself than to the plainclothes-disguised rookie in the driver's seat, who seems unbothered by the heat, even in the stuffy-looking collared stripe shirt and jeans he currently dons.

Snorting, Kike drawls, "It's the humidity. Not usually this high, but things should cool down once the vaguadas roll in early next week. It's going to ruin plenty of Valentine's plans!"

Javier hums as he tugs on the collar of his short-sleeved cotton button down shirt. The mention of Valentine's Day had him ruminating while Kike drove him to the Federal building.

Back in Colombia, Valentine's Day was similar in sentiment as in the states, but was celebrated on a completely different day and time of year. To his chagrin, he's realizing now that during the times you'd dated, every Día de Amor y Amistad fell around either when he'd been on a stakeout, or on assignment in Medellín, so he'd never gotten to do anything special with you.

Sure, this Valentine's fell on a day in the middle of the work week this year, but he was wondering now if he could make up for all those missed schlocky hearts, roses and chocolate-festooned days by taking you out like he'd been yearning to since he got to the island.

The holiday was as big here as it was back home, promoted on the television, plastered across banners on the highway, and he couldn't go into a single place without the garish red and pink hearts or cupids adorning the walls.

He'd wanted to respect your wishes – to let you have the time to think about everything, though, so he'd thrown himself into work and forced himself to pine only when he was alone at the end of the day, staring up at the ceiling fan while he laid in bed.

Today, though, he had business at the Federal building, so he figured he could chance maybe going by to see you? At the very least, it would be good to know where your office was, for completely professional reasons, right?

When he arrived at the building, it was just before lunch time, so there was a decent exodus of people going off campus for the break. As he begrudgingly shrugged on the linen blazer, he told Kike to go on his way and that he'd call if he needed anything, assuring the intrepid officer that he didn't have to hang around waiting for him in the car.

"—You can call my beeper, cell phone, whatever, any time," the man assures.

"I know, Kike. I appreciate it. Now go get lunch and relax," Javi quips wryly as he gestures a casual goodbye before shutting the door and loping off.

Pretty soon, he was entering the DEA offices for a meeting with his Assistant Special Agent in Charge, who was overseeing some surveillance ops he wanted to brief Javi on. Before he'd even finished walking through the bullpen, though, Agent Lopez had practically materialized next to Javi to walk alongside him towards the conference room.

"Boss, glad I caught you—"

"Christ, Nic. Can it wait until I get through this briefing?" Javier grumbles as he fiddles with his now-rumpled shirt collar before smoothening out the flat of his khaki blazer's lapels.

"Well, that's the thing. It's about one of the ops you're gonna hear about in there," Lopez confides to him.

Halting, Javi eyes him before gesturing for him to follow him to a secluded corner before muttering, "All right, shoot."

"I don't think the intel is legit," Lopez tells him before emphasizing in a lower voice, "I think they know we're listening to them."

"…Ok, and why do you think so?" Javi murmurs as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"Just a hunch," Lopez obfuscates.

"You gotta give me more than that," Javi tersely sneers, shaking his head when the other man just glowers at him. "Look, I gave you and Duff tons of latitude back in Cali, and it bit us in the ass. I can't tell this kid his ops are compromised because you have a hunch—"

"Alright, fine, but…Duffy doesn't even know about this. Long story, but I have an informant. Something they said gave me the impression that the target knows his place is being surveilled. So before we take what was gathered from their as actionable intel, I want to make sure I can look into it more," Nic insists, hands on his hips as he leans in to mutter, "And no offense, but your ASAC is thickheaded, and didn't want to hear anything I had to say."

Javier grunts evenly. "Yeah, well…that's an issue for another day."

And really, it was. He couldn't help the fact that his ASAC wasn't really his first choice, but as he'd been learning since he'd arrived in Puerto Rico, being juiced in and having spheres of influence were the way most navigated into appointments and work positions. Almost every major official he'd met or read up on was the cousin, in-law, or 'buen amigo' of someone high up in the government, both locally and federally, so there were plenty of incompetent, arrogant, or willfully clueless people in jobs they had no business being in. And the nepotism? It was so pervasive, that it even put the bit of it he'd experienced in Colombia to shame. There were municipalities around the island almost entirely staffed with family members of the mayor. Let alone all the government officials who had kids who worked in some congressperson's office, or who were related distantly to a miembro del senado.

The whole thing had him learning a new word from Kike.

Chanchú – slang derived from the word chanchullo, which defined an act that was morally illicit, due to intentional fraud or scheming that would earn a person or persons influence, money, or protection. Most chanchús would inevitably become illegal, either due to bribery or corruption, and sadly, Puerto Rico was rife with it.

So, after assuring Lopez he wouldn't sign off on anything until there was more information, Javi went into the conference room and let Ryan Segarra brief him.

Sure, he recognized that it wasn't really fair to call him a 'kid', since they were only 5 or 6 years apart, but Javi couldn't help his opinion of him being just that when the man gave him a self-satisfied look and waited for some form of praise once he concluded his briefing.

Of which, he got none. Instead, Javi remained in his cross-armed posture, but leaned back in the chair, and cocked a skeptical brow at him before checking his watch as he drawled, "So, anything else?"

Seeming put off-kilter, Segarra remarked, "Uh, yeah – the signoff to move forward with raiding the caserío—"

"Denied," Javier flatly responds before pushing his chair back and standing. "That's not enough to sanction a raid. Also, it doesn't sound like you've coordinated anything with the field ops guys—"

"Well, they're not looking to move on anything until there's more info netted," Segarra protests, clearly displeased that his boss doesn't seem impressed.

"Then, if that's the case, why the hell are you pushing for it?" Javier remarks with a flippant, albeit pointed edge to his baritone, one that takes the blue-eyed man with the stubble-covered jaw aback. The look he gives him says everything Javier needs to know, so he goes to exit the conference room as he dismisses, "You're not going to medal for being an overreaching jackboot who storms a public housing unit for some low-level dealers, Segarra. Come back once field ops gets you something that is really actionable."

With that, Javi exits to stride at a clipped pace out of his department and towards the elevator to head up to Digital Information Operations.

Luckily, the entire thing only took part of the lunch hour, so he figured you'd just be coming back from the break to your office. He didn't expect to come off the elevator and traverse the main corridor towards your department, and see Devon gatekeeping the entry while sat at the receptionist's desk, typing on the computer.

"They got you working phones during everyone else's break?" Javi quips after entering from the glass door and surprising the man behind the much-too-smug desk.

"Oh, no! I was just doing a software install for the receptionist while she ran down to grab something at the cafeteria," Devon explains as he maneuvers his broad frame from behind the desk before asking, "Did you have an appointment? I, uh, don't see the log out, so—"

"No, no appointment. I just came up to see where the department was," Javi quickly retorts, and at Devon giving him a musing nod while eyeing him dubiously, he ends up relenting, "And yeah, I was hoping the director was around so I could say hello."

"Oh, she's off-campus for lunch," Devon answers guilelessly as he adds, "She usually brings something from home, but today is her cheat day."

"Ah, is that right?" Javi chuckles, smirking at the idea of you partaking in the same kind of fast-food Steve was raving about indulging in whenever he could sneak it. "Huh, ok then…"

Seeming to sense he was slightly let down at not being able to see you, Devon checked his watch before retrieving something from the communal cubby next to the reception desk.

"Well, if you're up for skipping the cafeteria, this place is nearby and is a favorite around the office," he's remarking as he hands Javi a takeout menu. Looking at it, he hums flatly before he catches Devon giving him a look that was practically a nudge before he remarked, "Definitely check it out."

Smirking, he nodded before folding the pamphlet-style takeout menu and slipping it into his blazer's pocket as he backpedals to the entry. With a friendly wave over his shoulder, Javi calls out coolly, "Thanks for the tip. Have a nice rest of your afternoon!"

You hadn't expected for it to be so busy in the restaurant today, but since you'd become a regular, they'd sat you at a table tucked close to the bar so you could wait out the rush while you busied yourself with your planner. When the dine-in and takeout traffic slowed, you perused the menu before the server came by and took your order.

After your order is placed, you go back to writing reminders for yourself in your planner while you think about how much you'd enjoyed spending time with your father the Sunday before.

He'd avoided any topic that would raise your ire or stoke your combativeness, and you happily filled him in on work and the surface chit-chat about your friends while you cooked. And when all the dishes were ready, you'd both sat on the terraza and enjoyed the meal, managing a pleasant dinner before Camille arrived from the day out with her relatives. The evening had been so nice, that you'd even made an effort by not rushing off like you normally would.

You're just thinking about how much she'd irritated you by bringing up an upcoming anniversary she had no right mentioning, as far as you were concerned, when you dimly hear the bell above the door ring just before the chef behind the counter calls out, "Irasshaimase," in greeting.

Looking up from having just finished storing your planner into your purse to give a cursory glance at the entryway, you end up staring, disarmed, at Javier as he is led towards the tables. He looks so insufferably handsome in his ecru-colored linen suit and plain cotton button-down, sans necktie, with the top three buttons of the collar undone already. The tease of his neck and the flash of his collarbones peeking from the shirt just above the top neckline of a cotton undershirt has titillated excitement bubbling up in you. So much so, that you feel your heart throb and the apples of your cheeks burn with a flustered blush.

When he sees you, he smiles, eyes crinkling with affection as he catalogues how chic you look with your hair up in a sleek ponytail, wearing a light blue polyester blouse with quarter sleeves, sans the black blazer that matches your fitted trouser pant. You watch as he gestures to the host, as if indicating he was going to see if he could join you.

Javier didn't expect for the man to hum before approaching you first, however, in order to ask you in Japanese, "Do you want to share your table?"

Nodding, you respond, "Hai, daijoubu desu."

Javi's so impressed by the exchange that he dimly smiles when the man gestures for him to take a seat.

Once he's sat at the cozy table with you, he greets, "Buenas tardes, directora—"

Leaning forward to give him a suspicious look, you whisper, "I know there's no way you were just out wandering around this time – not in the middle of a work day, anyway – to just so happen to come in here by coincidence."

Smirking, he fiddles with the napkin and the sleeved chopsticks resting on top of it before toying with the little rectangular ramakin idly as he gives you a casual shrug, drawling, "Well, Devon recommended this place today when I stopped in to your office. Figured I'd give it a try."

"Oh, he did, did he?" you ruefully chime as you cross your arms and lean back in your chair, amused.

He nods before giving you a flirty glance, and you just shake your head at him, trying your damndest not to smile as brilliantly as you want to.

"Here is the menu, sir," the server says once he's returned with a glass of water for him to match your own.

Shaking his head, he holds up his hand reassuringly as he orders, "I'll just have what she's having."

"Ah, very good," the server bows and heads off to give the chef the order, while you squint at Javier.

"Um, have you ever had Japanese food?" you ask as he sips the cool iced water.

With a grunt, he shakes his head before remarking, "No, but if this is where you have your cheat day, I trust you to have picked something good to eat."

Snickering, you purse your plush lips sardonically before deadpanning, "Javier—"

"I didn't know you could speak Japanese," he rumbles, eyes molten and smug when you finally crack a smile. "You'll have to teach me some."

"I only know enough for proper restaurant conversation, chavón," you quip as you adjust in your seat so you can cross your leg under the table. "So? How's it been settling into things down here?"

"Not bad. Could be better, though," he remarks with an easygoing sigh before leaning back into his chair to eye you confidently when you hum and tilt your head, truly interested in hearing more. So, he crosses his arms and muses with rugged charm, "I haven't been able to concentrate much. Can't stop thinking about you, or the other night."

You press your lips together to suppress the delighted smirk threatening to crest across your features, feeling tingly from the glee his flirtatious line has sizzling up in your chest. "You mean from how worked up you got on the sofa?" is your deriding lilt, smiling cherubically at him when he frowns.

"Tan mala," he grumbles, but his chiding smirk is infectious. "You're never gonna let me live that down—"

"Why would I? It was the best compliment, knowing I have such an effect on you," is your teasing purr, winking spiritedly at him when he quells a bashful groan into his hand, feigning being gruff about it. "Hopefully you found a dry cleaner who can be discreet—"

"Do you know how hard I had to keep from squirming when I dropped my suits off, and the laundress silently judged me as she handed me the ticket?" he cuts in haughtily, and you can't help giggling at his harried pout.

"I have zero sympathy!" you sass, wrinkling your nose at him when he scoffs in faux shock. "My dress is a classic, so I ended up getting lectured about needing to be more careful with it by the doña who does my dry cleaning—"

"Get the fuck out," Javi chuckles, brown eyes lighting up with glee when you comically nudge your foot against his calf while you scoff. "Well, I can't be held responsible. That dress was a killer," he croons as he reaches over and affectionately squeezes your hand before murmuring, "But if you wear it again, I'll be more careful."

Snickering, you pinch the pressure point in the web of his hand before sneering impishly, "Beyako."

Just as he was about to say something else flirty in retort, the server arrives with your meals. "Here you are!" the man jovially announces as he places the large bamboo platter shaped like a bridge housing all the unfamiliar bounty of food at the center of the table along with the woven canoe-shaped tray filled with two orders of what looked like rounded fritters smothered in savory sauces.

Javi looked at all the food before gaping over at you. "What…is all of this?" is his awed, drawn-out query as he continues to balk at it all while you're pleasantly putting the napkin in your lap before you slip the wooden chopsticks from the paper sleeve in order to expertly snap them apart.

"Well, Mr. Suave, this is a double order of sushi, nigiri, and takoyaki," you chime as you point out each with your chopsticks before indicating row by row, "This is salmon nigiri. These are eel avocado rolls, these are spider rolls, and these yummy little rounded fritters are takoyaki. They have a piece of octopus in the center."

Giving you a perturbed look, he picks up his chopsticks and uses them to point at the center of the platter before he croaks, "Those are made of spiders?!"

You laugh out so brightly, that he instantly relaxes and enjoys how your eyes crest with mirth as your hand demurely cups over your mouth while you try to regain your composure.

"No, you dork! That's just the name. They're made with battered soft-shell crab, cucumber and avocado. But these? They are made with Japanese eel cooked in umami sauce. I promise, it's really tasty!" you assure as you align the ramekin next to your side plate and pour soy sauce into it from the ceramic bottle sitting at the center edge of the table before you pick up a piece of the aforementioned eel roll, dip it into the soy sauce, then pop it merrily in your mouth.

"Ok…if you say so," Javi tentatively mutters as he removes the chopsticks from the sleeve and tries to part them. When you see him struggling to, you reach over and snag them so you can snap them apart cleanly for him before handing them back. Smirking, he nips at his bottom lip lightly before he begins to drawl in a purr, "Thanks, mi patrona—"

"Quit flirting and start eating, chulito," you snipe playfully before picking up one of the octopus fritter balls and offering it to him.

He lets you feed him the fritter, and immediately grunts from how piping hot it is in the center. You giggle and eat your own piece, savoring it while Javi chews like a suspicious child, waiting for the bad flavor to hit.

When it doesn't, he hums neutrally before grabbing a sushi piece. "So, most of this is raw?" he queries as he struggles to use the chopsticks to pinch the piece securely.

"Actually, only the salmon nigiri is. Everything else is cooked," you tell him as you fondly watch him intrepidly try to maneuver the chopsticks, but he ends up fumbling the piece onto its side. "Here, this is the technique. You tuck them this way so you make more of a pincer motion when you grab for the piece. See?"

Following along, he manages to get the hang of it enough to move the piece from the platter to his plate. "This is a lot of work, guapita," he jokes as he gives you a puppy-eyed look. "How is this even a 'cheat day' worthy meal?! It's all fish—"

"Well, it's a lot of rice! I've tried cutting carbs out of my diet, and while the fish is mostly lean protein, the batter and the rice are what makes this a cheat-day-worthy feast," you explain, and finally take pity on him struggling to get the piece up, so you grab it easily with your chopsticks and offer to feed it to him, all while cheekily smiling as you chime, "Guess it figures you'd come around every time I indulge in something I shouldn't be."

Javi eats the piece, chewing it and savoring the odd texture, but scowls more from your remark than how exotic the flavor is to his taste buds. Once he's swallowed, he dabs the napkin over his lips before murmuring, "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Well, when it comes to keeping to a disciplined routine? It kind of is a bad thing," you retort aloofly before sipping your water.

Genuinely frowning now, Javi grumpily abandons the chopsticks onto his side plate and just grabs a piece of sushi with his forefinger and thumb before popping it into his mouth.

You sputter a silly giggle and snicker a haughty sound at him.

"That's impolite!"

"I'm hungry and these sticks are a pain!"

"I'll tell them to bring you a fork, then—"

"Never mind that. I can manage—"

"Ay, Javier. Let me help you—"

"You don't need to keep feeding me pieces like I'm an overgrown baby in a high chair—"

You stifle a laugh into the back of your hand and just simper, "Awww, well then quit acting like a bebito, you silly gruñón!"

He scoffs and pugnaciously picks up another piece of sushi with his fingers in order to dip it into your soy sauce before he pops it goadingly into his mouth.

"Oh, you're lucky I'm more concerned about wasting all this food than I am with your terrible table manners, tough guy," is your faux huff as you stubbornly smack his hand away when he tries to drag your soy sauce dish closer to his side of the table. "Uh-uh! You have your own. No dipping in mine."

Chewing his current bite puckishly while he pours some soy sauce into his own ramekin, Javi eyes you in a way that makes warmth fizzle effervescently in your tummy.

Gaze appraising you thoughtfully now, Javi licks his lips before asking, "Besides our little row last week…how have things been? Being back down here, and in the new job, I mean. Things are good?"

Nibbling on a fritter, you take the opportunity to think about how to answer that, unsure how much you want to say with things still feeling so tenuous—

"I never meant to come here and derail things," Javi says when you get pensive instead of answering, and after you glance back up at him, he decides to confide, "You seem…content, so, if me just being here is going to affect that? I want to know, querida."

You feel a pang tug at your heart at his words, so you let down your guard, and look him in his tense brown eyes as you assure, "Things are great right now, Javi. After I resigned from the embassy, I wasn't sure what would happen. But then I got a call with the job offer here, and the rest sort of fell into place. My father and I, we reconciled, and we're both good. It's not perfect, but I don't think it'll ever be…"

He listens as you end up telling him about all the highlights he'd missed since your time apart. From the wedding in New York, to the arrival of Ellis and Anita's first-born, as well as the wonderful time during the holidays you got to spend with your family when they visited from Colombia.

It makes him feel good to know that you had so many great people around you here, who loved and cared about you. But he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, where you'd say, 'And you being here is something I can't fit into my life. Not after everything.'

Instead, he's surprised when you admit, "—While I was livid when Ellis told me, something about it also felt…different and new."

Idly peeling the clustered ginger slivers stacked on the platter apart with your chopsticks, you allow your stream of consciousness to continue unselfconsciously with, "I've thought about it more, and really, things are totally different from what happened the last time, in Colombia. Everything was so fraught all the time, and keeping it all safe and secret just put so much pressure on us," pausing, you glance up at him with a meek smile before musing, "Here and now? Well, it's just not the case, since…everyone knows. Albeit the distorted, gossipy rendition that's been passed around for months and distilled into a simpler narrative. But still…it didn't feel as stifling, finding out the way I did. And understanding things in hindsight now helped."

Javi can't suppress the charming quirk of his brows and upward tug of his full lips, before drawling, "So, you're saying there's a chance?"

It has the intended outcome, causing you to crack a smile and snicker, shaking your head sardonically before you jab, "That's all you picked up from that whole thing?!"

"No, but it was the most important," he jibes and winks at you.

Humming imperiously, you take a long drink of water before sneering in jest, "It's almost like you want me to kick your ass, with how infuriating you behave when you should instead be humbly groveling—"

"I've literally begged you to give me another chance every time we've talked," he laconically mutters and pops a piece of nigiri into his mouth now, chewing pointedly while you taunt him with the pleased pert of your lips. Swallowing quickly in order to grumble tersely at your goading look, he mutters haughtily, "I groveled, and even got slapped silly for it—"

"What time is it?" you coolly change the subject as you nibble on the last piece of nigiri.

Grunting and narrowing his gaze grouchily, he looks at his watch.

"Whoops. Ten after lunch time," he responds before polishing off the remaining few pieces of sushi while you hum and unhurriedly finish the last takoyaki. "Did you walk here? I could call my guy to come pick us up—"

"No, that's ok. I strategically block off the half hour after lunch so I can catch up on messages or the like. I have some time," you retort before taking a piece of ginger and savoring it with a hum as you signal the server to bring the check.

"What's that?" Javi asks after seeing you eat the ginger from where it's sat on the now-empty sushi platter.

You're retrieving your purse from the back of your chair as you reply distractedly, "That's a palette cleanser. Some people put it directly on the sushi to heighten the flavor."

"Ah, ok," he remarks, reaching over to grab the little mound of bright green paste next to the slivers of ginger.

You look up from your open wallet just in time to see what he's doing. Gasping, you warn, "Javi, that's not—!"

Too late, Javier's popped the entire portion of wasabi into his mouth with his fingers before smearing it over the roof of his mouth with the flat of his tongue. Looking up at your wide-eyed grimace just as the burn of the condiment singes across his taste buds and makes him grunt in disgruntled surprised, he rushes to put his napkin to his nose when he feels the spice shoot up his sinuses.

Not wanting to spit out into his napkin and come off as even bigger of an oaf, he swallowed it thickly before grabbing his water to chug it down.

"Oh my god," you're wheezing in between simpering giggles as you quickly hand him the rest of your water and signal for the server to bring more. "I can't believe you just ate that whole thing!"

Chugging your water down and wordlessly grumbling at you, Javi feels his cheeks flush from the spice after it flooded his nasal passages and eyes, making them both water. "You said it was a palette cleanser!" he bemoans before greedily guzzling the water the server just filled into his glass.

"No, I said the ginger slivers were a palette cleanser!" you counter while forcing yourself not to dissolve into a fit of laughter.

Managing to take advantage of his distraction to hurriedly hand over your card to pay the check, you grab his hand before he rubs it across his face.

"Wait! You touched it with your fingers. Don't get it in your eyes," is your admonishing tut as you dip your napkin in your empty glass to sop up enough moisture to improvise a wet nap so you can clean his fingers with it.

"Me lleva la chingada," he grits out as you dutifully sit up from your seat to retrieve a handkerchief from your purse so you can dab the clean cloth at the corners of his eyes for him. "And it was all going so well," is his hoarse, wry grumble, which earns a flitting laugh to bubble free from you.

The server asks if everything is all right, and Javi nods while dopily flashing a thumbs up as you continue to tend to the tears running over from his eyes, and assure the man that he's ok.

A few minutes and a to-go cup of ice water in hand later, and you're both exiting the restaurant.

"—I'm so sorry, Javi. I should've called it out before," you're fretting as you take his forearm and lead him out to the sidewalk.

"Well, at the very least now, I know that if you ever want to kill me, it'll be by poisoning," he sarcastically jokes as he wipes the hankey over his eyes before accepting the offered cup of water from you.

"I'd actually say this should inspire you to be more careful with what you just shove in your mouth, jodón," is your snarky jibe as you affectionately brush the curls back from flopping across his forehead while he grunts and scowls mordantly at you. "And I would never poison you. Where's the fun in that?"

He scoffs amusedly at that before handing you the cup of water so he can pocket your hankey and feel for his cell phone. "I'll call to get us a ride—"

"It's not very far to the Federal campus," you find yourself volunteering, and at his agog expression, you suggest, "I know it's a bit muggy out, but if we stay on this side of the avenue, we'll be under the shade of the trees all the way down. And with traffic, we'd get there a lot sooner than he'd be able to get over here to pick us up."

Feeling something warm twinge behind his sternum at how you're in no rush to part ways, even after crashing and derailing your quiet lunch, Javi feels encouraged and accepts with a smile, shedding his blazer as he rumbles, "Alright, but I'm sweating like a hog—"

You take the blazer before he can fling it casually over his shoulder to instead fold, and tuck it to hang around your purse before nodding for him to follow your lead as you chime, "Come on before I change my mind, refunfuñón."

Smirking, Javi falls into step with you, and you both stroll down the sidewalk of the avenue's shady eastern side. As you go, he finishes the water in the cup and starts chewing on the ice while he banters, "You walk to the restaurant in this heat without a bother, but you couldn't handle that one heatwave in Bogotá?"

"I told you! That was more stifling heat and humidity at a higher elevation," you counter and playfully nudge your shoulder into the side of his arm. "At least here you get a breeze every once in a while. And there's always a rainstorm that'll cool things down a bit," is your easygoing musing, before you scathe wryly, "And anyway, you're literally wearing a half-unbuttoned short-sleeved shirt, so quit complaining."

It's the perfect excuse to give him a stern leer and silently drool over his toned arms and broad shoulders while he scoffs and slicks the hair back from his forehead.

"Yeah well, you're friolenta. I run hotter than you," he tuts matter-of-factly before crunching on another piece of melty ice. "It's so hot down here, I left all my jackets back home—"

"Even the leather one?" you query with a pout, which gets him to chuckle and nod. "Well, this is a nice suit, in any case," is your amiable chime as you adjust his draped blazer on your purse, before teasingly drawling, "…Nice to see you finally spruced your wardrobe up for the current decade—

"Criticona," he rumbles and nudges his shoulder into you, which makes you squeak and slap his bicep with a laugh, which makes him chuckle and bite his lip to stop from grinning. "But sure, yeah, I got a few new suits. Maybe I'll let you peruse them next time you come over?" is his flirted proposition before crunching on the last piece of ice and depositing the paper cup into a trash receptacle on the corner you've both arrived at and need to wait for the pedestrian light to switch green.

Giving Javi a coy glance, you sass, "See? You gripe about me teasing you over your clothes, but you always seek out my fashion expertise and crave my approval." When Javi shoots you a humorously defiant look, you razz, "I think you really bought the new suits because you've been working out and your old blazers are now too snug. Am I right?"

Javi's mouth bobs open to contradict you, but he realizes he can't, because that was partly true, so instead he squints cunningly at you before crooning, "Have you been checking me out, bravita?"

Expression lighting up with surprise at how quickly he turned the teasing around on you, the tickle of excitement that skitters into your core has you feeling overheated now, even with the nice breeze that billows through the lush canopies overhead. The cool air filters his cologne and the hint of his sweaty skin to you, and you watch as his dark brewed eyes flutter, unaware that the waft of your own perfume has him feeling warm and fuzzy.

The crosswalk light finally changes to green, so you hitch your purse strap high on your shoulder in order to tuck it and his blazer to your side as you lean close to him now.

"Well, it's been kind of hard not to notice," you silkily murmur whilst you trail your fingertips teasingly down his chest to skim all the way to where the shirt is tucked into his pants, emphasis on the operative word you purred as your touch brushes over his taut tummy.

The way Javi's breath hitches and his eyes get dark is exactly what you were looking to rile out of him, so you smile enchantingly before turning to trot down the crosswalk, shooting him a coquettish glance over your shoulder when he stays rooted in his spot.

"You coming, stud?"

Javier takes a cleansing breath and reins the impulse to run over and sweep you up in his arms so he can instead sprint over and take your hand bossily in order to thread it in the crook of his arm as he escorts you across the street to the next shady sidewalk.

"Atrevida," he growls into your ear, and you triumphantly hold your head high as he reluctantly lets your hand go once you've fallen back into your casually ambling step, only for you to surprise him by brushing the back of your palm against his before slipping your hand to take his much larger one, giving it a flirty squeeze.

He stares down at it before looking fawningly at you, smiling when you let him interlace his fingers with yours.

Not wanting to jinx a thing, Javi relishes just walking hand-in-hand the few minutes left in comfortable silence all the way back to the main gate of the Federal campus, content by the affectionate way you squeeze his hand from time to time as you both stroll together.

That is, until it's time to cross over to the western side of the avenue.

You hand him his blazer so he can retrieve his security pass while you both hustle across once traffic slows, and then dig through your purse for your own credentials while he follows you to the entry to get let through the gate.

He wants so badly to ask you out – hell, to kiss you right here and now as you're both loping up the walkway towards the building, but knows he shouldn't. Not so close to the offices, and definitely not when he can already feel glances from the few employees that are milling about as you both near the doors leading into the sprawling foyer and security reception desk.

You're so poised and unruffled, though, and he gets distracted by how you casually smile up at him that he doesn't even notice Kike as he walks by. The rookie is in the outer entry, flirting one of the workers sitting on a cement bench, and only pauses when he catches Javier's eye.

He's about to call out and wave, but notices he's not alone, so he gestures to the office worker that he'll talk to her more some other time so he can rush over, eager to pepper Javier with questions, when he slows at seeing you turn to Javier with a serene look relaxing your features as you gaze up into his soulful brown eyes.

"I enjoyed the impromptu lunch, chavón. So sorry again about the wasabi!" you tell him irreverently as you make a silly grimace.

"Ah, no harm done. I don't think I'll ever have allergies again, and I'm pretty sure I can smell colors now, so," he jibes with a shrug, and you snicker irreverently at him. "And anyway, you can just make it up to me—"

"Huh, it's always some quid pro quo with you, agente," you banter back before gesturing you have to go, as you muse, "Next meeting's in a few, so, gotta run. Have a good rest of your day."

Nodding, he shrugs on his blazer before digging your handkerchief from his pocket and calling out, "Oh, here, forgot to give this back—"

You smile and motion with your hand for him not to worry whilst waltzing towards the doors as you say convivially, "You keep it. With your spicy food track record, it might come in handy soon enough."

Snorting, Javi pockets the soft hankey as he watches you go. He feels wistful and glad, mind already thinking about when he can possibly see you next, when a catcall-like whistle sounds from his left as Kike approaches.

"Wow, que mami más dura," he whispers conspiratorially to Javi, who shakes his head humorously as he turns to lope towards where Kike left the car. "No disrespect! Just, wow…very beautiful. Way to go, boss—"

"Don't let her hear you calling her any of that, if you know what's good for you," Javi laconically deadpans as he gets in the car.

" ¡Chacho, claro que no!" Kike assures after he's gotten in the driver's seat, smirking in solidarity with Javi as he turns the car on and gives him a goofy look, as if to say, 'Game recognize game!'

The rest of your day goes by quick, thanks to your mind wandering every so often to how much you'd wanted to throw your arms around Javier's shoulders and kiss him silly.

Everything felt different. Sure, it was undeniable that you both had a knack for reliving the same back and forth – rehashing old patterns that made you wary of trusting again. But there was a big part of you now – one wiser to what you were tired of denying – that felt secure enough to be able to let your guard down around him again. To disregard resentments towards allowing him back into your life, and placate the worries you have about ending up right back in the same place you were, so many months ago: alone, heartbroken, and lost.

However, you wanted to ease into this. Well, whatever this was going to be, now that you both were in a new place together, surrounded by the knowing eyes of coworkers and other agency officials alike. Not to mention the surreptitious awareness of your father that seemed to permeate even the least-expected corners of your day-to-day life.

Oh god. Would Javi even want to deal with any of that?

Stowing the thought away, you make it down to the ground floor from the elevator now at the end of the workday, eager to get home and veg out in front of the TV on your lazy cheat day, when you notice a certain blond trekking to the exit across the way from you.

"Hey, Murphy!"

Steve freezes at hearing his name called so informally, and whirls around with a scowl on his features before comically blinking at you and getting tense when he sees you march over to him.

"Oh, hey!" Steve greets in that smooth rasp of his, smile lopsided as he idly fidgets his weight from one foot to the other. "How're things—?"

"Tell me something, Steven. Back when you first got here? And we ran into each other in the lobby and caught up? You knew Javier was coming down here the whole time, right?" you bossily inquire as you cross your arms and lean your weight onto one hip as you tap your foot.

Hedging, he stammers good-naturedly, "I mean, y-yeah, technically, but I couldn't mention it—"

"Hm, is that so?" you jeer, eyes narrowing on him and actually making him edgy with anticipation. "You're on my shitlist for that, dude. And, I expect you to make it up to me by arranging a double date so I can meet Connie and befriend her," is your suddenly wily proclamation as you smirk mischievously at him now, enjoying how his dumbfounded expression melts into wry shock. "Sound like a plan?"

Grinning, he amusedly nods and assures, "Damn straight, it does. I'll see to it, hun."

"Good," you chime before leaning up and pecking his cheek platonically before breezing by him to the exit. "Have a nice night, Steve."

"You too, Celina," he snorts as he watches you go, marveling at how good you had him sweating there for a minute.

Luckily for him, he doesn't have to wait long to fill his partner in on the whiplash-inducing encounter, thanks to Javi having agreed to come over for dinner that night.

He waited until a lull in the conversation not taken up by the kids pulling everyone's attention to them, to finally remark, "So, I had an interesting run-in today."

Javi looks up from the page of the coloring book he was currently helping Olivia fill in to see Steve was directing the comment to him.

"Oh?" he drawls before snickering when Olivia got impatient and took the green crayon from him in order to finish coloring in the tree.

Grunting intriguingly, Steve leans back in his chair to conspiratorially rasp to Connie as she feeds the baby a bottle, "Don't know what he did, but Javi's girl marched up to me and had me sweating when she confronted me about not having mentioned knowing that he was coming down here. Just when I thought she was gonna squash me like a bug, she said I needed to make it up to her by arranging a double date."

Smiling impishly, Connie looks over at Javi's stunned expression. "Great! It's long overdue. Just need to coordinate with the babysitter—"

"Wait – when did she say this?" Javi asks in a hushed tone and shifts in his seat to cup his cheek and lean his elbow onto the table, so not to distract the little girl sat next to him from her furious coloring.

"End of day when I was heading out," Steve retorts and crosses his arms casually before adding, "She also said I was on her s-h-i-t list, and that the double date is so she can befriend Connie."

Javier snorts and shakes his head as he tosses himself back into his chair. "Oh, great. That's all we need: the two of them getting in cahoots—"

"That's right. And what would be so wrong with that, hm?" Connie counters quippingly as she shifts the baby to her shoulder so she can burp her.

"Not a thing," Javi chuckles and shrugs before going to lean back over to resume watching Olivia color the once blank flower-filled park using bright colors from her crayon box.

Steve notices how lighter Javier's been since after the happy hour at the hotel. He'd figured something had occurred, but in true fashion, the man was mum about it. Every time he'd tried to coax it out of him, all he'd gotten was a musing, 'I'll tell you once there's something worth telling.'

"Would this be the first official date, then?" Steve fishes, as he busies himself with collecting the empty plates on his and Connie's side of the table.

Looking up with a frown, Javi hums, "…Damn, it would be—"

"That's a bad word, uncle Javi. You need to put a quarter in the swear jar!" Olivia suddenly pipes up and gives him a doe-eyed look that is more precocious thanks to the little smile on her lips. "Once it's filled up, we can get ice cream!"

Javi laughs, already going into his pocket for the change. "Well, here. Put it in the jar for me, would yah?" is his gentle chuckle as he hands her the quarter.

Merrily getting up to go do so, Olivia tots into the living room to plop the coin into the jar with the rest of the change.

After the table is cleared, Connie puts the baby down in her crib and helps Olivia get ready for bed while Javier and Steve remain at the kitchen table, pouring over case files for a bit.

Truthfully, though, Javi keeps getting distracted with thoughts of you. After a half hour of that, Steve notices and decides to suggest just picking it back up the following day when they're both scheduled to be at the office at the same time.

"Go home, you lovesick fool," he can't help haze as he walks Javi to the door a few minutes later. "And about that morning jog—"

"Nope. You're not backing out," Javi cuts in and claps him on the back before tutting, "I'll be at your door at 6, bud."

Huffing noisily, Steve relents and wishes him a good night.

You're not thinking a damn thing about working out the next morning, not with how nice and comfy you are, curled up on your couch with some mini chocolate chip cookies you're nibbling on as you watch a sitcom on cable while clad in a loose-fitting lounge-friendly top and short set.

The balcony slider is open to let in the nice cool breeze, and you're enjoying how it lulls over your skin with the help of the slow circulating ceiling fan above. So much so, that you have to shake yourself back to sharp awareness from staring tiredly at the television when your cell phone starts ringing on the side table next to you.

Setting the bag of cookies aside and shifting up to reach for it, you press the button to pick up the call before bringing it to your ear. "Hello?"

"I'm not interrupting anything important, am I, jefa?" is the honeyed baritone drawl on the other end, which instantly unearths a warm tingle to zing through you and a charmed smile to tug broadly across your face.

"No. Although, just like I said earlier, you have a knack for materializing in some way when I'm indulging," you remark in a playful lilt as you shift up on the sofa to pull your knees against your chest when he hums interestedly.

"Oh? What're you snacking on? No, wait – let me guess," Javi smoothly charms before offering, "Chocolate? Or maybe cookies?"

You chuckle, licking your bottom lip before chirping, "Both. Chocolate chip cookies."

"Yum," is his raspy hum. "Sounds like a successful cheat day, all things considered, hermosa."

Snickering, you lean back into the cushion as you muse, "I'll be paying for it tomorrow. You doing ok, post-wasabi disaster?"

"All good. Well, except for my gringo partner letting me know he had a mighty tough run in with a feisty boss lady today—"

"Ah, so that's what's inspired this call," you impishly snicker before following up curiously, "Did that seem like a fair request?"

"It did. Connie loved the idea, so we'll definitely do it," Javi retorts assuredly, then murmurs with baritone like honeyed gravel, "But, before then, I was hoping you'd be interested in going out, just you and me?"

You feel your heart summersault at the proposition, but hedge a bit before asking, "Oh? What would you like to do?"

Freshly showered and only in a pair of loose-fitting boxers, Javi lays more comfortably in order to stretch out on his bed, then pins the cell phone with his shoulder so it stays perched to his ear as he toys with the soft handkerchief before raising it to his nose to scent your delicate perfume from it.

Picturing you when you were smiling at him in front of the building earlier that day, Javi croons smoothly, "Well, I haven't really seen El Viejo San Juan yet. Maybe you can show me around, be my tour guide? You did say the murrallas in Cartagena didn't really compare to, what was it—?"

"El Morro," you finish, and by your tone, he can tell you're smiling. "I can't believe you remembered that—"

"Well, you left an intriguing impression, querida," he husks as he dotingly clutches the handkerchief in his palm and rests it against his chest. "Are you free after work tomorrow? I could come pick you up at your place, and we can do an early evening stroll," is his cool proposal, trying to keep the eagerness out of his tone.

There's a quiet couple of seconds on the other line before you sigh, and answer, "Yeah, I'm free. Your driver gonna tag along—?"

"Nope. Tomorrow I'm picking up the requisitioned car I got for personal use. The rookie's only gonna drive me during the week to meetings," he tells you as he rolls over to retrieve his little book from his nightstand before asking you for your address. Once you've given it to him, he suggests, "Pick you up around 6?"

"Sure. I'll meet you out front," you answer in a relaxed timbre, before adding, "Oh! And be sure to wear comfortable clothes, especially practical shoes."

"So no heels?" he jokes, and you scoff derisively. "I'll see you tomorrow, preciosa."

"Ok. Goodnight, chulito. Bye."

Javier lays flat on the bed and smiles up at the ceiling.

That effervescent, warm feeling fills his chest when he thinks about getting to see you again, and keeps fizzling up throughout the next day every time his mind wanders to the plan after work.

Luckily, he has Steve to keep towing him back from daydreaming.

The wryly smirking blond just tossed a paperclip at him from his side of the conference table, which pulled Javi back from his pining thoughts to squint questioningly at him.

"I said, the bust in St. Thomas was too big for it to all have come from speed boats, so I'm thinking there's gotta be some other transport that's moving large quantities of coke through that corridor. Any ideas?" Steve says in a musing drone, tapping his pen idly over the stack of files he's been reading.

With a shrug, Javi retorts, "Cali used to fly it in on cargo aircrafts. Before that, Medellín couriered it across the Caribbean in small planes, then ferried it up through Florida by speedboat. Might be a combination here? So maybe we check flight manifests? Most Cessnas flying out of the big island don't get inspected for cargo."

"Yeah, but still. That's a lot of flights back and forth. Definitely would draw attention," Steve grumbles as he looks over the total weigh-in for the seized bust. "And supposedly that area came up clean in a surveillance sweep just a week prior, so no way a bunch of planes and speedboats could bring in five tons like that in such a short window—"

Javi sits up and pulls one of the transport maps for large vessels that dock in ports off each island after stopping at one of the two major import and export depots on the big island of Puerto Rico. Staring at it, he grunts and traces his fingers to delineate a route to Steve as he thinks out loud, "Maybe they're not using either, and it's one of the container ships? Look, this shipping lane goes right by the area they found the stash. So, they empty a container here in Yabucoa, fill it up with the coke after and put it on a container ship. No customs checks, and they get it over in a day or so, if the seas aren't rough."

"Ok, but the waters are too shallow for them to go to any other makeshift port," Steve is looking at the bathymetric map before pointing to the specific sea floor depth for that corridor. "See? That means they're either unloading the container at the main port, or while they're still at sea somewhere?"

Crossing his arms and pondering, Javi stares at the maps, unsure of what would be the most likely possibility. "Shit…if the container makes it to the port, that means they have someone in customs helping get it out without being checked and transporting it on a truck out to this drop location. Or, the vessel makes an unscheduled stop somewhere mid-transit to unload the container off to another boat that then smuggles it the rest of the way," he pauses to look up at Steve with a scowl before muttering, "Either way, that's really fucking bad for us."

Nodding in reluctant agreement, Steve exhales as he scrubs his hand across his cheek. "Yep. Means we have a bigger corruption problem here than we thought," is his huff before checking his watch. "Is it bad you and I are still doing this shit ourselves when we have assistant special agents in charge who could be doing the heavy lifting?"

"Yeah, well, I like doing my own work. Plus, my guy is a pain in the ass," Javi laconically sneers as he reaches for his coffee mug and drinks while Steve chuckles at his expense.

"I'd trade yah, but Petersen is decent, so far, and he's out on St. John," Steve remarks, amused when Javier rolls his eyes and starts sifting through documents in his folder for something. "If you don't like Segarra, just have him reassigned."

"He's got an uncle that works in the governor's cabinet, so that's not really an option, unless he royally fucks up," Javi grumbles, before evenly quipping, "Wanna trade SAC roles?"

Snorting, Steve picks up his stuff and pockets his pen as he drawls, "So you'd want to take monthly trips out to the islands and be away from your girl?"

Glowering, Javi shakes his head as he deadpans, "Yeah, on second thought? Screw that."

Steve laughs as he heads to the door with a parting goodbye chuckled over his shoulder.

It's just then that Javi finds the document he'd been looking for, and reads from it as he collects the folder and his blazer, multitasking scanning the numbers of seizures in the last six months with hustling back to his office.

How the hell are they pulling this off? They'd have to pay off the dock manager, customs, an entire crew on the ship—hell, someone in the government, even. But that would be so brazen, even all things considered. Not to mention funneling the money around quickly and cleanly without setting off alarms with the banking institutions here, Javi is pondering as he goes. It doesn't seem sophisticated, but they really are operating like a mafia down here. And like any mafia, they've clearly found a way to clean their money, so maybe if we find that, the rest of this will start to make more sense.

His ruminating thoughts are interrupted by a knock on his office's door. "Come in."

"You got a sec, boss?" Lopez asks after poking his head in. Once Javi's nodded and waved him in, the agent saunters through and sits in one of the seats in front of the desk. "So, I know you shut down that raid the ASAC had been pushing for, but now Duffy just got word from his contact in the Guardia Nacional that they're coordinating a sting operation, off the books, with the local municipal police. It seems kind of suspicious that all of a sudden, the same raid is gonna happen with the locals," is his gruff charge.

"Fucking hell," Javi grouses as he rubs his hand over his mouth testily while he thinks. "Any chance they were tipped off by someone on our side?"

"I mean…this seems punitive," Lopez mutters, the accusation unspoken, but clear to Javi. Segarra is making a power play.

"Alright…I'll make a few calls," Javier huffs, already beyond aggravated. "What about your informant? Anything else there?"

"Yeah. They've basically said the caserío is just a decoy. They don't conduct real business there and the drugs that do move through there are for the smaller dealers who are trying to make a name for themselves in order to get into the larger crew," Lopez explains, adding, "If we raid the place, it'll just confirm their suspicions and undo any opportunity to really track the cartel's dealings with the street gangs."

Nodding, Javi thanks Lopez and tells him to keep his ear to the ground.

Once the man exits his office, Javier then calls the lead commander for the National Guard on the island, who then dials in the head of the municipal police the public housing unit in question resides in, and in not so many words, tells both men that they better not go through with the raid, or else he will tell the governor's office they acted against the DEA's protocols.

And as expected, the municipal captain griped, "We got the tip from your ASAC, so I thought this was an interagency partnership?"

Assuring the man that his ASAC did not have the authority to coordinate such a thing, and to please make sure they always reach out to him first if anything similar occurs, Javi got both their commitments and confirmations that the sting would not take place.

Furious, Javi got up from his desk and stormed out of his office.

The DEA department was busy with phone chatter and typing as he stalked through the space towards the ASAC's office on the opposite side of the wing, and many couldn't help notice how imposing he looked as he went, making it a point to avoid crossing his path. He knew his reputation from Colombia preceded him, and he didn't care, especially now as he barged into his assistant's office and slammed the door behind himself while the man balked at him from his desk.

"I-let me call you back," the other man rushed into the phone quickly before hanging it up and gaping at Javier. "Boss, what's up—?"

"I'm going to tell you this only once. You ever go over my fucking head or around my back again, I'll make sure you get busted down to rookie agent and shipped off to a real fucking hellhole your uncle won't be able to win you favor in," Javi thunders before snapping when Segarra begins to deny, "Don't even bother bullshitting me. I spoke to the locals, and they confirmed you tipped them off on that caserío point. They know now not to listen to anything coming from DEA unless it comes from my fucking mouth. I don't give a damn who you're related to. The next time you step out of line, you better have your shit packed already so you can go work for your uncle as a goddamned gopher. You got me?"

Segarra looked like he'd been steamrolled and doused in lemon juice after that, so all he could muster was a jerky nod and croaked, "Y-Yes, sir. Sorry, sir!"

Without a second look, Javi turns on his heels and storms out of the man's office, throwing the door open so roughly that it banged into the wall with a loud slam.

The office chatter muted around him as he traversed through the department back the way he came with another sharp slam of his door.

While the whispered murmurs began to hum between cubicles and filter over to the agent bullpen down the way, you were just wrapping up another assessment of the current network bandwidth post-onboarding.

Everything went fairly smoothly, except for the problem you knew you could no longer ignore: the nepotism factor.

There were staff members in the operations division overall that weren't exactly qualified to do the work required for the position they filled, but had been placed there nonetheless by well-meaning friends and families in high-up places who'd called in favors for their son or the like to be acomodado.

El acomodo was to be placed in a job or occupation. While typically that usually hinged on having the credentials or experience that would make for the proper fit in said job or occupation, in Puerto Rico, it was usually the opposite. Or at the bare minimum, someone's résumé was juiced up enough to make them passing on paper to fill the role, even at the detriment of more qualified candidates. Acomodando someone could even include placing a kid in an elite school or program that was competitive. It was often seen as a harmless grift, albeit unfair, but when it escalated into favoritism or favors – political, financial, or reputational – it often eroded public trust. However, it was a dirty not-so-secret, and every time a scandal broke, it would burn out until the next quid-pro-quo was revealed by the local news.

While you've worked very hard to get to where you are today, there is a part of you that feels guilty to have been privileged enough to get into good schools and had good words put in for you. It also doesn't help that you have no doubt that your father has used his influence to remove obstacles from your path. He would never admit it, though, but you felt it at times by the way people would greet you, or know to reference him to you in some way.

For the most part, you'd avoided that in Colombia. But back here? You were hard pressed to not run into someone who knows of your father, either by reputation or direct association. You could blame it on his unique surname, or the way he's successfully networked to make himself a person of reputation across all echelons.

Being the first and only Puerto Rican to become a Vice Admiral in the U.S. Navy didn't hurt either, sure.

Annoyed with yourself at having to start making the arrangements you'd been hoping to avoid regarding the personnel adjustments needed, you allow your mind to wander to your early evening plans with Javi.

You were excited to see him again, and looking forward to taking him around Old San Juan, but part of you was anxious about moving too fast. It only compounded when you recalled his words to you that night.

"I came here for you…I came here to be with you, Celina…"

Your heart squeezed in your chest every time you thought about it, and while your feelings hadn't stopped burning for him, there was a weary part of you afraid of letting your love overtake you again. Like it had every other time before you and Javi found your way back to each other, only to be flung apart by some chaotic circumstance that hadn't been in your control. It didn't help that part of you questioned how serious he was. After all, he'd said he didn't care about the job – had practically implied he'd only taken the SAC position in order to come to Puerto Rico to get you back.

Even if that was the case, you didn't know how to feel about that. It was flattering, but scary, but exasperating, but overwhelming to think that he would be so flippant with his career all because his motives were focused elsewhere, let alone that you were seemingly the only reason he'd taken the job. That he intended to orbit you in the hopes your gravitation would draw you back to each other once again.

Your ambivalence wasn't helped by how unsure you were with yourself. There was something raw and yearning within you that wanted to leap back into his arms and profess your love eternal, but the skittish, protective force that kept your walls up couldn't drop its guard like that, no matter how much you believed Javier now that he hadn't intended for things to go as bad as they had. No, it was all too muddled by your own insecurities, leaving you questioning whether you were even worthy of his passion and devotion.

What if he realizes he's made a mistake? That he's just as miserable being back in the DEA and dealing with the shit here than he was before, and doesn't want to put up with all the hassle of being with you? Of the scrutiny and judgment of it being known by all that we're together? What if he expects so much more now from you, and you can't give him what he needs?

What if I don't deserve him?

If Javier knew how tangled up you were about the unspoken things remaining between you both, and how much it was weighing on your heart, he'd be going about things totally different with you right now.

Instead of rushing through astounding amounts of traffic to get to your apartment on time, he would've gone to get a ring, gotten down on one knee, and assuaged you of any doubts in your head that he didn't want anything else in the world but to be with you forever. But, quite the opposite was in his head.

Sure, he wanted to ask you to marry him. Hell, he was up for eloping and running away to wherever you wanted, but he kept that impulsive part of him in check by admonishingly berating himself.

You can't expect her to want to marry you just like that! Things are back to square one, and trust will need to be built back up before you can even consider proposing to her. Gonna have to take it slow – let her set the pace of things. See how far she's willing to allow things to get back to where they were before—

Honking cars sweep his internal monologue away, and he focuses on the bumper-to-bumper traffic becoming a standstill at the height of after-5pm rush hour. Checking his watch, he grumbles as he snatches up the folded map that's in close reach in order to skim alternate routes he could take, peering over the rim of his aviators down at the woven streets off of the highway.

He'd gone to his place after work to quickly shower, shave, and change into comfortable clothes, eager to get over to your condo with enough time to spare so he could park and go up to the door to escort you down. But now, with how he's inching over lanes to get to the next exit in order to back route it to your street, he's aggravated that he's going to be running so late.

Javi doesn't know that you'd had to contend with the same level of traffic, even after avoiding the highway and sticking to the city routes you knew, so you were currently running around your apartment rushing to get ready. Freshly showered, you shimmy into your outfit and spend way too long fussing with what to do with your hair before you look at the clock and swear under your breath – worried Javier is parked out front waiting for you and wondering why you're so late in coming down.

You've just pulled on your shoes after putting on some tinted lip balm when your cell phone starts ringing. Sprinting over to the nightstand to grab it, you answer it already apologizing, "I'm so sorry! Traffic was nuts so I'm way behind getting ready—"

"Oh, that's alright! I just pulled up to the curb. The roads are a nightmare, so no rush, querida," Javi assures in a smooth baritone.

"Ok, I'll be down in 5 minutes!" you insist before hanging up to finish fretting over your appearance in the mirror.

Frowning, Javi returns the cell phone to the center dash. He'd been hoping he could've gone up to your apartment and chivalrously escorted you down to the car, but your condo building was fenced off with a security and carport gate that required a passcode for entry. Flustered with being late, he ends up busily popping a mint into his mouth and crunching on it while he lowers the visor so he can peer at his appearance in the mirror.

He's fussing with his hair in the reflection when he sees the entry gate of the walkway open. Slapping the visor shut and giving the interior of his car one last glance, he gets out and walks around to the sidewalk in order to greet you.

As you shut the gate behind yourself, you see him out of the corner of your eye approaching, so you exclaim, "Hey! Sorry to keep you waiting—"

Javi pauses in his tracks when you turn and smile at him. He's punch-drunk by how you're dressed, feeling a scintillating déjà vu flood him over with heat that has him slipping his sunglasses off to stare at you.

You look relaxed and flirty in the capri-style light denim jeans, peach-toned camisole top, and leather sandalia-clad feet, hair gathered up in a twist with the rose-shaped clasp. Sans makeup except for the balm on your lips, you look seraphic and enchanting, especially when you approach him after putting your keys in your purse so you can have your hands free to rest them on his shoulders as you lean up and peck him on the lips hello.

"This is your idea of comfy clothing, eh?" you can't help razz as you step back and give him a sassy once over. "And boots?"

He snorts and slips his sunglasses into his dusky blue cotton button down shirt's breast pocket before chivalrously opening the passenger door for you. The infamous blue Levi's look just as impeccable on him as you remember, and his ass is begging for a squeeze when he leans in to adjust the passenger seat back for you to have ample leg room.

You manage to not give into the impulse of groping him, but just barely.

"These are my most comfortable pair, criticona," Javi teasingly mutters as he steps aside for you to get into the dark gray SUV. Once he closes your door for you, he circles to the driver's side and gets in, remarking, "I don't know what's going on, but traffic was ridiculous—"

"Today is the semi-final game for the Serie del Caribe, and Puerto Rico has been sweeping the tournament, so getting to the baseball stadium is a hot-ticket event," you tell him before sheepishly musing, "It totally slipped my mind! I remembered when I hit traffic right outside of my usual route home. I should've called and warned you—"

"Nah, that's all right," is his warm assurance, as he drives off. "You'll have to act as navigator, though, since I want to avoid the way I came," he remarks as he nods towards the folded-up map tucked between the center console and seat.

"Ah, luckily, the traffic shouldn't be an issue going into Old San Juan. Just keep straight, and at the end, turn right to merge onto the route towards the bridge," you're instructing as you adjust your seatbelt and smile, then remark, "Ellis has this car, too, only in tan. Do you like it?"

"Yeah, uh, I know," Javi chuckles, subtly reminding you that he'd ridden in the Ellis' tan Montero after you'd cussed him out and stormed off. He snickers when you bite your lip at the recall, and rumbles, "It's not bad. Not so different from other SUVs I've driven. Surprised by all the foreign cars down here."

"Yeah, Japanese cars have gotten really popular down here. They're more compact and fuel-efficient," you remark as you point to where he needs to go as he merges into the lane he needs to take to go over the bridge that connects the islet to the rest of the metropolitan area.

You keep making light conversation as you guide him through traffic to take the best routes into El Viejo San Juan's city center, and jovially point out landmarks to him as you go. Javier smiles when you excitedly lean over to point at the Capitolio and explain how that's where the Puerto Rican Congress and Senate gather.

"Is that El Morro?" he asks as he drives by the massive outer walls of what looks like a sprawling fortification with ample grounds that overlook the ocean.

"No, that's El Castillo San Cristobal. Oh, take this left here," you answer and direct, then proceed to guide him to the nearest carpark garage.

Once he's found an empty space and parked, he leaves his aviators in the dash cubby and pockets his cell phone before you lead him down to street level, leaving the building's front loggia before convivially taking his hand and excitedly towing him along to begin the romantic excursion.

It's a cloudy afternoon, but the brisk air is breezy and cool, and the sun peeks through every so often, warming your skin whenever it seeps around the tree-lined street's Spanish edifices. The foot traffic is meandering but not congested, so you're both able to stroll together without having people to really weave through. You think it's nice, and the fluttering current undulates around you both every so often and brings his warm, spicy cologne to tickle your nose and make you lean in closer to him.

Javi is dying to kiss you. Had been since the day before. But he doesn't want to derail you, or make it seem like all he wants is to jump right back into the carnality of wanting and having you. No, he's on his best behavior, treating this like a first date and corralling all base desire in order to focus and be present with you. Especially when you exuberantly lead him to cross the street so you both can stroll past shops while you gush about your favorite places to go when you're in Old San Juan.

"—It's so nice out today, but it would be even better to come on the weekend or when the cruise ships anchor at port, because all sorts of vendors, artesanos and performers line the streets and flank El Paseo de la Princesa," you're telling him as he interlaces his fingers with yours and marvels at the old-world charm of the buildings.

When you pass a few restaurants with outside seating on the front sidewalk, Javi squeezes your hand and gestures to the façade of a building he recognizes. "Steve and Connie took me here for dinner—"

At your scoff, he blinks down at you and sees you shaking your head at him with a wry smile before you tug him along to briskly stride away. "That's a tourist trap, Javi. Where all the gringos go for 'authentic Puerto Rican cuisine' and get mediocre arróz con habichuelas y bistec. What a travesty," is your snarky appraisal of the place before tutting playfully to him, "For shame, chavón—"

"It was alright," he chuckles, and at your sassy scoff, he tows you back when he pauses in stride so he can lean in to whisper in your ear, "Tan exijona. Luckily, I'm more than happy to let you guide me wherever you see fit."

The giddy tingle that courses down into your core has you tempted to just slink up against him in order to kiss his smugness away, but you control yourself and instead lilt, "I'm happy to guide you to real authentic Puerto Rican food soon, galán. But, for now? We're making the most of this early evening tour!"

He chuckles and lets you take his arm so you can thread it with yours and escort him along to the next corner before the street opens up into a larger avenue overlooking the southern precinct of the islet. When Javi points out the impressive edifice across the way that takes up an entire city block, and asks, "What's that building?" you smile.

"That is the first US federal building of significance built on the island. It's where the old Post Office was housed, and it's an active US courthouse. It faces the harbor, and was constructed on an old Spanish customs house. There used to be fortifications that were part of the bastion up ahead, but they made way for this building when the US beat Spain and took the island as a territory," you're telling him as you both cross the street and walk the sidewalk along the building's north side.

He's impressed as he looks up while you both lope by, and lets you point out more sights and landmarks once you get to the front entrance of the building that overlooks a cobblestone pedestrian inlet flanked by barriers that delineate it for foot traffic while drivers mill around it to traverse one-way routes in and out of the harbor-facing precinct.

Pretty soon, you're both ambling over to one of your favorite jaunts: El Paseo de la Princesa. It's a lovely, picturesquely timeless promenade that looks up at the city that yawns upwards on the hilly terrain it settled on centuries ago, flanked by the bastions with alcoves Javi knew were called garitas, aka sentry boxes for Spanish soldiers, standing watch. As you amble casually down the tree-lined, cobblestone promenade, you point out more sights, happily answering Javi's follow-up questions.

He's utterly charmed by the wonderful stroll with you, and genuinely interested in the history of each landmark you tell him about as you lope down until the impressive bronze-sculptured adorned fountain at the end of the promenade comes into view. At this time of day, La Fuente Raíces looks older than it actually is thanks to the rays of dusk gleaming off the waters from the harbor and haloing in the majestic misted spray of the fountain's many nozzles jettisoning the water around the monument depicting all of the different roots that make up the people of Puerto Rico. The bronze figure at the center of the monument is reaching up to the sky, and Javi stands before it to admire how majestic the landmark is.

He's noticing how the flag poles that align the perimeter of the end of the promenade are flying the US and Puerto Rican flags, and is about to comment on how intrigued he was that both were variations of red, white and blue – albeit with a single star versus the fifty he's used to, when you adjust your purse to be crossbody so you can grab his arm with both your hands and pull him closer to the fountain.

"Come, if you stand over here, you can see how the light from the sun makes the statues glow gold and copper," you're telling him jubilantly as you lead him to stand just behind and to the side of the fountain, where the breeze coming off of the harbor brings the fine mist from the water spraying up to the sky to sprinkle lightly over you both.

The glow of the sun from this angle is stunning, and when Javi looks from the bronze monument pedestaled at the center of the fountain to you, his dark brown eyes flare like rich cocoa under the light.

His breath catches in his chest from how radiant you look under the dusky sky, and before he's registered the impulse, he's cupped your cheek and leaned forward to kiss you with a passion unmatched by the heat of the sun's dying rays.

You don't shy away from it, and instead lean into him as you deepen the kiss, heart racing when his hand cups the small of your back, holding you close to him.

With the mist from the fountain carried over by the breeze, Javi is inundated with the smell of your dewy skin and the scent of your perfume, so much so that he reluctantly breaks the kiss in order to nuzzle you and sigh.

"You really know how to romance me, cariño," he husks ruggedly, and you snicker before amusedly swatting his shoulder.

"Yeah, well, quit getting carried away, suavón. We got a lot of walking and sightseeing to do before the sun sets, so c'mon," is your deriding murmur as you take his hand and tug him along to a walkway of patterned pavers that veers off from the promenade.

The path skirts the rocky edge of the shore and looks out to the bay, flanking the outer walls of the fortified city and leading to La Puerta de San Juan – the iconic gate that led into the historic city's walls. As you walk, you and Javi canoodle closer under the ruse of chatting more intimately in the cloistered walkway while the breeze and crashing of the waves made up the ambience around you both.

His arm slips around you and yours around his waist as you near the tree-canopied park just outside the ancient gate. Plenty of people are enjoying the breeze and sitting on the benches around the shade-abundant gathering place, and Javi is admiring the charming surroundings when you glance up at him and smile.

"Right through the gate, at the top of the street is one of the entrances to La Fortaleza, where the governor resides," you're remarking as you both meander up the path towards the fortified entry. "From here on, most of the city is on an incline going towards El Morro, so hope you can keep up—"

Javi hears the goading challenge in your lilting tone and gives you a smug grunt. "Just lead the way, guapita," is his puckish drawl as he affectionately pinches your waist.

Giggling and detaching from his side, you impishly skip ahead before making a come-hither gesture as you purr, "Vente, señorito."

He scoffs, licking his bottom lip and eyeing you as he marches on long strides to catch up, just before you amble off cheekily.

You skip up through the open gate and make it to the top of the street, expecting to turn and still see Javi just clearing the threshold of the fortified entry, and instead are surprised that he's right on your heels. An effervescent laugh flits out of you when he loops his arm around your waist and scoops you up against him as he swings you around.

"You mischievous little scamp," he rumbles in a steely purr against your ear before kissing you in the spot of your neck just below it. "Quit teasing me when I'm trying to be on my best behavior—"

Wiggling to slink down his front, you purse your lips and huff, "So am I! But you're too easy to rile up, so I can't help it."

He grunts and puts his arm around you when you nod in the direction of walking up the current street. "Figures," is his laconic hum, smiling when the arm you've looped back around his waist gives him an irreverent squeeze.

Managing to stroll up the winding streets and continue to banter lightheartedly, you both make it to the end of the inclining route and arrive at the top of the islet that looks out at the expansive green, knoll-like grounds that make up El Castillo San Felipe del Morro.

A citadel built on the northwesternmost point of the islet of Old San Juan, it takes advantage of the promontory that overlooks the entrance to the Bay of San Juan, which accounts for its name amongst the locals: El Morro. Under the now pink and peach-tinged clouds of the sky backlit by the blazing Caribbean sunset, the entire grounds looked utterly enchanting. So much so, that Javier just gaped at it with mystified wonder while you jovially waited for him to glance at you.

Across the lush green grass meadow, people were enjoying the splendor of the majestic site. Javi marveled at the kites being flown in the sky by kids and adults alike, the congenial clusters of people lounging together for late-day picnics, and the children running down the more sloping terrain playing games on who can go down and up the quickest. Overall, it was spectacular, and the splendor of it had him starry-eyed as the breeze from the ocean billowed up to bring him back down from the clouds.

"Holy shit," he breathes out and looks at you, completely smitten as he smiles and exclaims, "You weren't kidding. This is amazing, querida."

Beaming, you take his hand and simper, "I told you! Now, let's take a break and sit so we can watch the sun set."

You both end up finding a nice spot on the soft cool grass to lounge and admire the sky, cuddled sidelong together while people-watching and enjoying the magnificent beauty of the historic site. At one point, while Javi is pointing at one of the kites and remarking about how much air the flyer got on it, you find yourself staring at his profile and getting a warm recall. His smile when he turns to you and sees your expression soften only makes your heart flutter more.

This time, you're the one who pulls him close for a tender kiss on the lips.

Javier deepens it with a slip of his tongue, and before you know it, the hand at his nape curls up into the back of his hair and guides him down with you to the grass. He balances himself by planting a hand next to your shoulder, slipping the other behind your head to wrap fingers along your nape.

For a moment, the world bleeds away, and you both get lost in the make-out session until the delighted squeal of a child rings over the breeze and reminds you of where you're at. Javi grunts at the same time as you hum reluctantly to break the kiss, and when he leans back to stare handsomely down at you, the image of him doing the same thing, but in a dream you'd had once, flares like a resplendent vision in your mind's eye.

Sitting up with a faux pout when he shifts to lounge sidelong on his elbow, you grumble, "Who's romancing who now."

He chuckles and does that silly mueca where he cocks his jaw askew before tucking his chin low so he can give you a molten stare. "I'm blaming it on the magic of the island of enchantment," is his canela-dipped purr as he affectionately nudges his shoulder into yours.

You chuckle and lean into him, eyes twinkling under the dusky light cresting into the horizon as you glance over to see that the squealing child was a little boy as his father held him out like he was flying while he ran down the meadow.

Smiling at the heartwarming sight, you turn to Javi and ask, "How's your dad?" When his brows go up in surprise, you bump your shoulder playfully into him and snicker, "What? I've been wondering if he was against you coming down here, let alone to head the DEA again under the ruse of coming to court me—"

"You have that in reverse, corazón," he counters and cocks a glib brow at you before remarking, "I told him it would be different, he believed me, and didn't try to talk me out of leaving. He gets it," he pauses to smirk as he croons, "Plus, he made me promise that when I got you back, that I'd finally bring you home to meet him."

Heart summersaulting in your chest at that, you stare meekly up at him now as you query, "He wasn't disappointed? That you were investing your time into all of this again, after everything?"

He's surprised to hear you wonder that. Sure, the first time he'd talked to his father after he'd arrived in San Juan, Chucho had pressed him on whether he was sure about his plans, but that had been before he was able to update him a few days later that you hadn't strangled him in your fury, and that you both had agreed to take things slow. Well, it was an unspoken agreement, sure, but Javi had felt confident, and his father had seemed relieved and happy to hear it.

The look in your eyes right now though tells him you want honesty, not appeasement, so Javi dotingly combs the rogue strands of hair that have escaped your clasp to frame your face, and tucks them behind your ear for you, as he answers sincerely, "To tell you the truth, when a big box with all my stuff showed up on the doorstep at the house? Pops leveled with me that it might be time for me to move on," he pauses when your expression tenses, so he quickly continues, "But I couldn't. I spent months obsessing about things – wondering if I should've done more, and I tried reaching out to everyone I could think of that would know where you were; that had a way to contact you, and always struck out. But the moment Steve showed me the org chart here? I went home and told Pops I needed to take the job; to come down here. That it would be different this time, because I had the right reasons—"

"Javi," you interrupt and shift closer so you can confide, "I waited for you. And when I couldn't live with knowing how complicit everyone was in sabotaging you – that they'd set you up to fail? It made me sick, and I quit…but I reached out to Steve, hoping he could tell me where you were. I never got ahold of him, and by then? I had no reason to stay in Colombia anymore. And, I was convinced it was over and I would never see you again, so I packed the box and mailed it to your father's address, figuring you'd turn up there eventually."

"…I'm sorry, querida," he mumbles on an exhale and diverts his gaze before admitting, "My biggest regret was being too much of a chicken-shit idiot to have reached out after I'd left. That I didn't go back sooner."

You hear the genuine upset in his muttered tone, so you sigh and caress his cheek so he'll look back up to your eyes as you huff, "So? Does Mr. Jesus F. Peña hate me for stealing his son away, or not?"

Snorting at you, he follows up with his own question of, "How did you know that, and the address to the house? I never told you—"

"I may have peeked into a shoebox I'd accidentally knocked off the top shelf of your closet, and seen the envelope to a letter from him to you," is your impish drawl as you smile at him giving you an impressed look.

The dim twilight has advanced enough now over the expansive grounds that you both decide to start making your way back down to the cobblestone streets. Luckily for Javi, you could tell he was a bit peckish, so you'd suggested stopping for tapas and drinks at Barrachina. Walking down the hilly calles to the restaurant and bar was even more pleasant, thanks to the cool breeze languidly billowing about now that the twilight gave in to night, as well as the antique lamppost-lit plazas and parques you both strolled by while you'd point to landmarks or museums you promised to bring him back to next time you both were in the old city.

He's in such a great mood that he even lets you cajole him into getting a piña colada instead of his go-to whiskey neat, all because you raved about how good it was and how the location touted themselves as being the original creators of the world-renowned tropical drink. Even when he got a brain freeze, he still couldn't stop smirking while you gushed about all the places you still wanted to take him to.

By the time he's escorting you back out to the cobblestone avenue and down a promenade that will lead you back to the parking garage, you're feeling content. You rest your head on his arm while your hands are looped around his elbow, effectively tucking you close to him as you lope by the shops you'd passed when you'd first arrived, while you continue to banter.

"—I swear, my father understands and is supportive. I'll even call him so you can talk to him yourself, if you don't believe me," Javier is remarking while traversing through the evening foot traffic to the corner, voice a gravelly murmur in your ear, making a tingle of arousal flutter in your belly, as you both cross the street to enter the garage kiosk to settle up.

"I believe you, chulito," you chuckle and take his hand once he's paid and the ticket is validated.

"Should I be nervous about how your father will feel about us?" he inquires in a musing drawl, and cocks a concerned brow down at you when you scoff.

"That's a whole other story for another day, babe," you obfuscate smoothly as you bossily clasp his hand in both of yours, giving his palm a squeeze while walking towards the entry of the stairwell up to the parking levels.

"Does he even know about us…?" he can't help fish.

Humming, you concede, "He does. And he knows you're here," before pausing to sigh as you glance up at him and add, "But really, everyone knows about us."

You go on to briefly tell him the encounter with your father, and Javier internally steels himself to the eventual sizing up he'll have to be subjected to by the imposing and intimidating-sounding man. "—He knows a lot of people in business and government, and is known by reputation across all the spheres of influence that matter down here, and is esteemed by most. So, it's par for the course that he's wise to us and able to keep tabs, I guess."

Sounds like I got my work cut out for me, Javi thinks to himself as you continue to stride together down the main aisle towards where the car is parked.

After you get in, Javi turns to you before putting the key in the ignition in order to have the quiet of the interior so he can ask, "Can I take you out to dinner?"

Giggling, you whisper in a silly tone, "Javi, we just had dinner—"

"Yeah, but I mean a real dinner. Somewhere on the beach, with maybe some dancing?" he unabashedly proposes, and the smoldering look in his dark brewed eyes makes a shiver skitter down between your legs. "Doesn't have to be fancy. Just somewhere nice and casual you vouch for."

"I'd like that," you chime before serenely smiling, then caveating, "Friday would be the best, since traffic will be pandemonium the next couple of days due to the tournament's final games. And the vaguadas are coming in over the weekend, so all the beach chinchorros will be closed because of the weather, most likely."

"Alright, it's a date," Javier croons before leaning over to kiss you on the lips, pride expanding his chest when you return it with a few flirty pecks and a playful giggle. "You pick the chinchorro, since I have no clue."

"I know where to go, and it's fairly nearby, plays music, and is right on the beach," you chime silkily as he starts the car, and end up smiling sweetly when he makes a silly sound and nods sagely at you.

A little while later, and he's pulling up to the front of your condo building, parking at the curb a few feet from the sidewalk gate entry.

"I had a great time," you tell him, expression gentle as he turns to look at you puckishly. Making an amused sound, you pester, "Well? Did you? I know it was practically a hike, most of the time—"

"It wasn't. We're definitely making a day of going back, soon," he confidently declares before leaning close and asking, "Can I walk you up?"

You hesitate, seeming unsure if you should say yes, and Javi reads the cause for concern from the tense press of your lips, so he quickly assures, "Just want to escort you up. I promise—"

"Yes, sorry, I'm just," you pause before scoffing at yourself, then clarifying, "I'd like that."

Relieved, Javier gets out and comes around to your side of the car to take your hand as you shimmy out of the passenger seat. He's nothing but a gentleman after you key in the security code for the gate and lead him through the lush courtyard.

He catalogues how nice the surroundings are and notes the number of units as you lead him through the front lobby to the elevators.

"You got a security guard posted here?" he asks when you walk by the desk and enter the elevator once the doors have slid open.

"No, just a day and night attendant. The night guy's shift doesn't start for another 10 minutes, though," you explain as you press the button for your floor. "How do you like living in a house versus an apartment?"

"It's different, but nice. The neighborhood is quiet, Steve and Connie live not even a block over, so it kind of feels like old times. Just a lot more tranquil. Although, I do miss the amenities from my place back in Bogotá," he tells you as he leans back against the elevator wall, arm looping around you when you hum and sidle up next to him. "The provisioner and in-building dry cleaner was just too good. Now I gotta get my own groceries and trek my suits across town—"

"Awww, pobrecito," you deridingly coo as the elevator arrives on your floor and the doors slide open. Coquettishly taking his hand, you tow him along to exit onto the loggia-styled walkway towards your side of the hall. "Well, I love my apartment—"

Tugging you playfully back to cuddle against his side as you both stroll towards your door, Javi drawls, "I like how secure it is. No pendejo can just waltz up to your door and invite himself in."

You laugh wholeheartedly, and he feels soothed to hear your melodious giggle before it melts into that discordant little sigh he loves.

Once you're at the door, you key in and hesitate before turning to him and looking at him tentatively.

"I-Thanks for taking me out, and letting me drag you around," you murmur, snickering when he smirks and exhales amusedly out his nose before leaning his hand into the doorframe as you add, "I'll call you Friday to confirm?"

Nodding, Javier's gaze softens into that soulful stare that makes heat tingle up in you. "Looking forward to it," he rumbles before leaning in to kiss you chastely on the lips. He then curls his finger under your chin to affectionately raise your countenance up so he can husk debonairly, "Buenas noches, querida."

You have to suppress the urge to just grab him by his collar and drag him into your apartment so you can have your way with him like you long to, and instead smile dreamily as he turns to lope back down to the elevator.

"I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave, papisongo."

Javi pauses and turns, and his expression is priceless as you grin at him from the door.

"I cannot believe you said that," he incredulously chuckles, and his smile is beaming as it unearths his boyish dimple. "And you give me grief about my lines?" is his faux-huffy counter as he puts his hand on his hip and squints comically at you when you give him a flirty wink.

"Yeah well, it needed to be said! Now, good night, stud," you goofily exclaim, then purr the latter farewell, blowing him a silly kiss before going into your apartment.

Smitten, Javi chuckles to himself and resumes his exit, already pining to see you again.

Even when the rest of his week is filled with the stress and toil of running things while still learning the lay of the land, Javier is able to keep his spirits up. His team of agents are savvy and self-aware, personable and scrappy, so he doesn't feel the same kind of anxiety he did when he'd first arrived to oversee the investigation of the Cali cartel. However, there wasn't a fount of leads or knowledge about the criminal organization like there'd been for either of the Colombian cartels, so hearsay and conjecture were what fed the operations and surveillance assessments.

Still, with Steve finding leads that linked back to certain players in the underworld on the island, he was able to go into meeting after meeting with his suspicions about the syndicates that made up the Puerto Rican Mafia only becoming more credible.

During his morning briefing, he heard the first bit of intel that made his instincts perk up, and ordered Segarra to work with the legal team to request financial statements, pull permits, and search for contracts that had overlapping LLC or holding company titles.

His ASAC was eager to please after being dressed down overtly enough for the entire department to know and gossip about it, so while Javier was brushing up on studying the municipal maps and the topographic charts for the mainland, the man had surprised him by coming into his office with the first of the documents.

"—Check it out, boss. I got the expert on forensic accounting to dig into things, and there are definitely repeating LLC's doing business between here and the other islands. See here? There's a business license in St. Thomas that matches one here," Segarra is detailing as Javier flips through the files and skims everything. "I have a buddy that works at Banco Popular, and I have him looking for accounts that may have wired funds back and forth—"

"Make sure you have legal in the loop of that. I don't want to end up having solid intel inadmissible in court because you cut corners," is his commanding drawl, eyeing the man sharply before glancing back down at some particular public record disclosures. He doesn't see the narrowed glare his dismissive air inspires from his subordinate, but he can sense his resentments percolating, so he deadpans, "This is all promising, though. Do we know who the LLC holders are?"

"N-Not yet, sir. But I have a few resources digging through the paperwork, looking for any filings that list the company holders," Segarra tells him, adding purposely, "And I definitely went through the proper channels with the bank audit, but it never hurts to have a friend run point."

Javier glances aloofly up at him as he tersely orders, "Let me know once you have the information."

"Yes, sir," the man curtly replies before heading out of his office.

Resuming his scan of the documents, Javi wonders about the LLC, and decides to put out some feelers for intel stateside, so he makes a call to Spencer. The man gives him some excellent contacts to reach out to for a deeper accounting of the information, before taking his usual opportunity to wax regretful that he couldn't convince him to take on Mexico.

"—It's looking like a crapshoot anyway down there. So, at the very least, you have a lot more enchanting surroundings, and company – or so I hear."

Miffed by the comment, Javier had curtly found a way to end the call, only to end up stewing. After all, he really was getting used to everyone knowing about him and you. It still raised his hackles to hear anyone reference you so glibly, let alone with a knowing undertone that spoke of amused recrimination.

Even when Steve would razz him like he had that morning during their morning jog – quipping, "Wonder how long it'll be before you both play hooky and run off to get married" – a feeling of protectiveness would twinge in his gut, and he'd have to remind himself that there was no threat. No looming fallout or harassment coming your way because of him.

Not anymore, anyway…

His stewing couldn't last for long, though. Not with more intel coming in from the port survey he'd requested. The logs and manifests took up so much of his time, that he didn't realize how late in the day it'd gotten until his cell phone started ringing, and he retrieved it while sparing a glance at his watch. "Peña."

"Hey. Wanted to see if we were still on for tonight?" your silky voice snaps him to attention to realize it was already past 5pm and he still needed to head home to change. He muffles a swear as he rushes from his desk chair to collect his blazer in order to head out, and you interpret it as reluctance to answer, so you end up asking tentatively, "Is it not a good time—?"

"No, no, sorry. I just lost track of time," Javier counters as he tosses all the documents back into their folders before setting the pile aside as he insists, "I'm running late, but I'll pick you up—"

"Oh, well if you want, just meet me there. The later it gets, the harder it'll be to get a table, so I'll take a cab there and wait," you cut in with the suggestion, and Javi frowns as he exits his office and rushes through the mostly quiet department. "I know traffic will be tough, so no rush—"

Glowering as he stalks out to the elevator and presses the button, Javi forlornly mutters, "I'm sorry, querida. I'll be there as soon as I can."

You giggle at his huffy tone, and mollify, "Don't worry about it, boss man. I'll just pass the time wondering what outfit you're gonna show up in that'll make me wanna tease you some more."

Feeling a tremor of desire pulse through him, Javi smirks as he takes the elevator down to the lobby. "Such a damn coqueta," he rumbles, and you hum innocently over the line before telling him the address and the best route to take. "—Alright, I'll see you soon."

"Drive safe. Bye."

He hustles out of the building and finds Kike sitting in the parked SUV while listening to reggaetón, caught up in the beat and not noticing him until he's at the passenger's side door, knocking on the window. The rookie jumps before lowering the radio and unlocking the doors.

"You working late on a Friday, sir!" Kike remarks jovially before turning the car on while Javi hops in and puts his seatbelt on.

"Yeah, lost track of time. Sorry for keeping you," he mutters as Kike drives them down to the security gate, then heads down the avenue en route to his house.

"No problem!" Kike assures as he drives, fingers tapping along to the beat of the song still playing low on the radio. The man had learned that Javier is more taciturn at the end of the day, so he makes a conscientious effort not to engage in idle chatter now, figuring he wants to decompress from his day.

"…How would you dress to go to a chinchorro on a Friday night?"

Kike's wide expressive eyes flash over at him in surprise, and Javi instantly regrets asking, feeling like a damn tourist, but luckily for him, the younger officer is more than happy to impart his wisdom as sociable local, and by the time Javi is dropped off at his place, he's confident and ready to impress you.

While he hurries to get ready, you're just getting in the cab that'll chauffeur you to the open-air restaurant and hangout on the beach. Excitement buzzes through you as you drive, but your mind preoccupies your thoughts with the news you'd gotten during your doctor's appointment. It'd been a good news-bad news kind of discussion with your primary care physician, whom was in consultation with your OBGYN, and you felt ambivalent as you rehashed it all, fixating on what was still unknown.

The results of your bloodwork were good. Blood pressure and cholesterol were normal, and your hormonal levels weren't irregular. You'd even surpassed your goal weight and gotten the encouragement to relax on your dieting. However, you'd been off of birth control for weeks, and while your headaches and fatigue had gone away, you'd not had a menstrual cycle. Noting that on your chart after conducting a physical, the doctor had administered a rapid pregnancy test as was standard in order to rule it out. It'd been negative, so the bad news was that you could be suffering from amenorrhea. And unfortunately, only more checkups in the coming months would rule it out as a diagnosis. But if there were several menstrual cycles missed? The chances that the amenorrhea was a permanent issue, and that it could be caused by a disease or chronic condition increased in probability. More testing would need to happen, and could lead to a diagnosis you'd been worrying about for a while now.

Infertility.

It was overwhelming to think about it, and even though the doctor had insisted it was still too early to jump to that conclusion, you felt it was inevitable. That you had to start building up your defenses to it being a reality.

As you exit the cab now and pay the driver, you feel an ache in your chest that you can't quite place while you smoothen out the skirt of your sleeveless abstract print jade-and-terracotta slip dress. Adjusting your beaded pouch purse to be crossbody before you straighten the ankle strap to your flat leather strappy sandal, you try to chalk it up to fretting over nothing. But by the time you walk in and get seated at a table on the outside deck overlooking the sandy beach and rocky shore beyond, the ache becomes a pang of worry.

What if Javi wants to settle down, and start a family?

The thought preoccupies you for a while, making you reticent as you sit alone and stare faraway at the horizon line. Your fingers absently toy with your hair after the breeze tousles it, and before you know it, you've worried your bottom lip dry from fixating on the what ifs and worst-case scenarios. Annoyed, you shake yourself free of the anxious thoughts and retrieve your satiny lipstick from your purse to reapply it to your lips and force yourself to stay grounded in the now.

The restaurant is full, but not crowded, with most lingering at the bar and dancing to the cheerful salsa music playing. The sunset gleams across the waters at the shore, and you get lost in the splendor of it while you sway along to the romantic oldie. So much so, that you don't sense someone approaching your direction until they're right next to you.

Javier was besotted the moment he laid eyes on you when he came in through the restaurant and spotted you out on the wood deck, by the veranda. The sunset was melting into the horizon, and the glow of the dusky hues illuminated you beautifully, managing to both cast you in soft relief and make your features striking as you turned your expression towards him and blinked in surprise.

"Christ, you look stunning," Javi rumbles as he stares at you, not sure what to do first: kiss you, pull you up into his arms, or just pick you up and take you somewhere secluded along the fronds that lushly skirt the beach beyond so he can properly fawn over you.

You're smiling as you turn in your chair and get an appreciative gander at his toffee-colored chino pants, warm cream short-sleeved button down, and dark-leathered beefroll penny loafers with a matching brown belt. He looks freshly showered and shaved, hair curling along his forehead and down his nape, eyes flaring the richest tone of brown thanks to the dying sunlight catching in his irises.

Unable to help yourself, you get up and encircle his waist brazenly before purring, "You've had this outfit waiting in the wings for this long, and you dare strut in here como modelo when I'm trying so hard to behave?!"

He snorts wryly at you before cupping the hinge of your jaw and leaning down for a kiss, brushing his lips chastely over yours before tracing his thumb along your cheek. "Hmph, all credit goes to the rookie that drives me for telling me what to wear out for a nice dinner on the beach here," is Javi's honeyed quip, smirking when you hum a charmed sound and affectionately swipe the pad of your thumb over his lips in order to remove the lipstick print you left on the pillowy morsels while he smiles and murmurs around it, "Hope you haven't been waiting long—"

"No, not long at all. It was nice to just sit and stare off for a bit," you sigh as he pushes in your chair for you once you've sat back down. "How've you been?"

Javi sits across from you and admires the way the breeze flutters your lovely hair about. "Busy, but ok. Been having a hard time deciphering the way things are done down here. This case is an odd one," he answers and immediately shakes his head at himself before muttering, "Sorry, I won't bore you—"

You snicker and reach for his hand after he's idly rested it on the table. "You're not. Things are different here when it comes to the way everything operates," you remark, not wanting to reference the topic overtly, for fear people might hear and become nosy. "How's Steve doing? Bet it's been tough for him too."

Nodding, Javi grouses, "Yeah, plus he travels out to the Virgin Islands every so often, but it's been good having the hillbilly around to bounce ideas off of again."

Chuckling with irreverent glee, you squeeze his hand and hiss, "Que malo eres, always deriding that whiteboy."

He laughs and takes your hand in his, features warm with affection as he asks, "And how was your day?"

Part of you wilts, but you catch yourself before it reaches your face, as you decide to answer coolly, "It was ok. Had to do some unpleasant boss stuff."

You end up telling him about having to let a few people go, and purposely decide not to tell him about the doctor appointments or the health concerns you've been worrying about. It feels too unstable and precarious to voice it to anyone, let alone to him. Not with how fledgling everything still felt, especially when your insecurity was burrowing deep into the part of you that didn't want to acknowledge the possibilities of a loss that could erode things between you and Javi. That could dictate plans yet to be considered.

Keeping it to yourself feels like the only option right now.

"—So yeah. Getting rid of the acomodados is never a popular thing," you're summing up now that a waitress finally makes her way to your table. Once she's taken your drink and food orders, you glance back at the dance floor when more upbeat salsa music starts playing and couples eagerly cut a rug.

Javi follows your gaze and smirks before suggesting, "Wanna dance?"

"I'd love to," is your sincere murmur as you stare alluringly at him with a soft smile on your plush lips.

Dancing with Javi floods you with memories and yearning, and from the way he holds you close after he spins and dips you, it's obvious he's feeling the same. Especially when the slow-tempo song comes on and he nuzzles your temple when you loop your arms around him. You brush your nose against his collar while you both sway to the ballad, letting his rugged scent curl warmth through you like your favorite spiced rum does when it hits your bloodstream.

The way you sigh and lull your head onto his shoulder allows him to get lost in the moment with you. To breathe in the perfume of your skin and the soft scent of your hair while the crowd around you both melts away. It feels like no time has passed, and all the time has rushed by him all at once while the gravitation between you both remained constant. That the love remained everlasting, waiting for you two to find your way back to each other. It makes something effervescent crest up in his chest, and all he wants to do is cherish you forever. To tell you what he's been resisting blurting out every time it burns behind his sternum, for fear of making your walls go back up in defensive self-preservation.

He could feel the doubtfulness and hesitance bubble up in you still at times. It made you meek, even rueful, whenever you seemed close to forgetting everything from before – to falling back into amorous serenity with him again. Javi understood why, but was longing to get you to a place where you felt safe enough to trust him completely again.

Still, he feels branded from the inside out with the need to profess exactly how he feels, and just as he musters the bravery to say it, he sees the waitress arrive at your table with your orders, so he kisses your temple and escorts you off of the dance floor, back to the veranda.

Dinner is wonderful, filled with silly banter and congenial catching up, especially on Javier's side. He acquiesced to your playful curiosity about what he'd been up to before coming down to Puerto Rico, so he tells you about how he'd been living back in Laredo, how it was being home for so long after being gone for so long, and he happily told you the good, the bad, and the exasperating tidbits as the ambiance of the establishment gets more animated with more patrons arriving, dancing, and waiting at the counter to put in standing food orders.

You love hearing about his friends – especially the anecdote he shares now about his neighbors, Luis and Eddie Zapata, who helped him and his father chase a few horses that got loose from the paddock and ran amuck one afternoon – and how he'd been able to decompress after everything that had happened with the Cali investigation.

Dreamily, you start to wonder out loud, "Don't you miss it?" When his eyes crinkle with confusion, you elaborate, "I mean, it sounds so nice. Completely the opposite of all the tumultuousness – just a safer, comfortable life. No stressing or despairing over meaningless things; getting to be around friends and family, keeping active on the ranch, but still getting to help your old department there without the commitment of needing to run yourself into the ground—"

"Celina."

Your eyes focus again and you blink bemusedly at him, having gotten lost in pensive thought as you painted the picture of a life better lived for him, one away from the life he'd left behind with you.

Bashfully, you look away and dismiss, "Sorry, I'm just rambling…"

He frowns as you retreat back into yourself, feigning a calm semblance as you finish your drink.

It pains him, but he realizes that professing his love right now would likely make you emotionally withdraw, so he decides to change the subject in order to coax you back from the reserved place you've slipped into.

"Murphy suggested we double date on Valentine's Day," he's remarking as he busily collects your disposable plates and cups in order to clear the small table and make it obvious to the waitress that she can bring the bill.

Amiably snickering, you lilt, "Oh? And you agreed to that?"

"I mean, I wouldn't say that," Javi dryly chuckles, smirking when you raise your brows amusedly. "I figured it'd be tough to get a table anywhere that day as just a couple—"

"Oh, it would, but there are a few places we could definitely get a table, as long as I have my friend call to make the reservation for us," you confidently chime as you lean back in your chair and cross your legs relaxedly.

He hums, intrigued, and eyes you interestedly as the waitress appears with the check, and he settles up quickly by handing the money and telling her to keep the rest. Once she's cleared the table and wished you both a nice night, Javi keenly leans over the table top, and gives you a bossy look.

"Using influence to get your way?" he queries playfully, smirking when you scoff at his goading connotation.

"Hey, if you want to take me out on Valentine's, you'll have to take advantage of me having a famous friend who gets in pretty much wherever she wants, and who'll happily reserve a table for four, just for me," you tease, snickering when he gives you a wry pout. "What, you a boy scout now too?"

Javier is about to counter your quip when the music starts to play loudly to accommodate the patrons who are dancing, and drowns out the drone of the crowds loitering about or ordering boisterously at the kiosk window attached to the long counter.

Leaning over to get his attention over the hopping merengue song currently playing, you shout, "Wanna stroll along the beach?"

With a pleased nod, Javi stands and helps you out of your seat before escorting you across the deck down the steps and onto the sandy beachfront. He immediately realizes though that he won't get far with his shoes on, but then you're reaching down to tug your sandals off with carefree whimsy, so he takes his loafers off and holds both at his side, hooked at the inner heel support and takes your hand with his free one once you've adjusted to carry your sandals on your opposite side.

Javi lets you navigate the meandering stroll down to the shore while you explain, "So this isn't really a beach for swimming, but right around the bend is a really great view of Isla Verde and El Condado."

As you both walk barefoot over the damp sand, Javi admires the beauty of the now twilight glowing over the ocean water, mindful to watch his step as you tug him along to follow around the rocky or jagged edge of an outcropping that obscures the path just on the other side of it.

"You come here a lot?" he asks when you squeeze his hand and lead him around the shore towards a cluster of fronds that rustle from the cool breeze.

"Yeah, since I was a kid. A lot of the businesses around here weren't here back then, just the main kiosko, but this hidden path was one I'd sneak off to when my parents weren't looking," you tell him as you lead him along the shady thatch created by the palm trees and fronds, smiling just as you guide him to the opposite side and reveal the amazing view.

In early twilight, the coastline across the bay looks like a glimmering strip, and the beaches were empty save for the crashes of the waves and the distant cawing of birds settling in for the nocturnal hours. He's awed by how enchanting it is, and lets his gaze sweep over the lovely view before he looks over at you now.

You'd been watching him, smitten with how his dark eyes widened and his expression softened. The distant echo of the music from the different businesses was little more than a hum over the gusting breeze and the lulling tide before you and beyond.

Your heart is beating fast for some reason, and Javier's soulful gaze staring unguardedly at you now has something tender worming free from the deepest, most insecure part of you.

"Javi…did you mean it? When you said you came here for me?" you're suddenly asking, expression etching with worry when he stares at you with incomprehension creasing his eyes and parting his lips. "I-I don't want you to give up anything that matters to you—to quit your job or throw away opportunities—"

Dropping his shoes to the sand, he faces you head on and cups his hands over your shoulders before caressing them down your arms. "I'm not. I did come here to be with you, querida, but I'm not missing out on anything else. I never stopped wanting the life we'd planned together. Yeah, it's a little different now, but all that matters to me is making it with you," Javi purposely vows, hands caressing you soothingly as you exhale and stare with open emotion into his pleading gaze. "I swear, I meant it. If you decided you couldn't commit to making things work because I was in the DEA—"

"No, Javi, I-I don't want you to give up your career—" you begin to fret, but Javi shakes his head at you, frustrated that you don't understand his meaning. "I just don't want to be the reason you end up regretting things—"

Imploringly, Javi cups your cheek and cuts in, "That's not going to happen. I'm not saying I'm giving anything up. I just meant that I can do whatever – that I'm not letting anything else dictate what happens to us, or affect our lives, however we want to go about being together—"

Overwhelmed, you pull away and drop your sandals to the sand so you can wrap your arms around yourself as you try to collect your emotional bearings. You're shivering, and it's not just because the blustery wind is becoming chilly as twilight becomes a starry night.

You sense Javi draw closer, and are about to turn and apologize when you feel warm, soft cotton drape over your shoulders. His scent envelops you, and you turn when you realize he'd taken off his shirt and wrapped it around you. Now in only his chino pants and the white undershirt, Javi chivalrously loops your waist with his arms and holds you to him in order to ward off the chill coming from the impending tropical winter deluges forecasted.

Pressing your nose to nuzzle into his chest after you tuck yourself against him, you murmur, "Since when did you start wearing these?"

He chuckles musingly, "Since I got down here and was sweating through my shirts like a pig."

You let out a simpering laugh and hug him.

An easy silence passes between you for a beat, and you get lost in the heat of his skin, the thrum of his heart against your ear, and the sounds of the breezy shore several yards away.

"I've been so scared of letting myself feel the way I did again," you suddenly susurrate, tone a tremulous whisper. So much so that at first, Javier wasn't sure he'd even heard you right. But then you look up at him and mumble, "I'm just so scared—"

He feels his heart wrench in his chest at your words and the woeful look in your eyes. "Please, mi amor. You don't have to be. I swear it'll all be different—"

You pull away then and try to rein in your emotion, to wrestle it back into the cage it's escaped before you become consumed by it. But then something searing flashes up through you when you think about how pushing him away now will devastate you, and before you can contend with either swaying you away further, you turn to Javi and just blurt it out.

"I love you," you profess before exhaling a shaky breath, and forging on, "I've never stopped loving you, and it terrifies me that I could go on the rest of my life loving you—only loving you, even if everything falls apart again. I'm so fucking scared; d-don't want to end up being something you regret, that I can't give you the life you want. That makes you leave again for good because I can't make you happy and I can't be enough for you—"

Javier is swooping over to consolingly ground you in his arms before he rushes out passionately, "You are enough. I've never left because of you, Celina. I was never happier than when we were together; never more hopeful than when I realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you."

He cups your face then and holds your watery gaze as he finally says what's been blazing in his chest for so long.

"I love you, Celina. I will never stop loving you. All I want, is to love you forever," Javier declares with a hoarse, suppliant baritone that rakes free the fire of his emotions as he husks, "Please, let me love you, mi vida."

Tears escape your eyes and roll down your cheeks before you catch your breath enough to whisper, "I want to. I just want to be with you, Javi," pausing to slip your arms around his shoulders and bury your flustered features against him before stammering, "I love you so much. J-Just want to be safe with you."

Both relieved and overcome, Javi holds you tight before nuzzling you lovingly and kissing you amorously when you turn to capture his lips imploring need.

You melt against him when he deepens the kiss, heart soaring as you thread your fingers into the back of his hair, swooning when his ardent embrace presses you against him protectively.

A loud car backfires in the distance, back in the direction of the beach-facing establishments, and you jump, breaking the kiss and causing Javi to squeeze you affectionately before you laugh at yourself.

"Sorry—"

"No, it's alright—"

You exhale a frazzled sound before staring at him through your lashes.

He senses you getting pensive again, so he decides to reassure you as earnestly as possible, by pressing, "I'm willing to do anything you need, whatever I can, to make you feel safe. Anything—"

"I know, Javi. I believe you," you exhale and caress your hands up his chest before murmuring over the wind, "I'm sorry for making you feel like that—"

"Don't be," he sincerely stresses before his features soften as he asks, "Can we…will you let me earn your trust back? I know you can't just forget what happened, but we can take things slow—no rushing into anything," he pauses, dark brewed eyes earnest as he emphasizes hopefully, "We can try again—just be together, and see where things go."

Feeling your heart race, you find yourself relinquishing control to it as you eagerly pipe, "Yes, I want to—I feel the same way."

The way his low-lit features perk up at your answer is enough to make you feel like this is right. Like just the promise of letting your feelings for each other thrive is enough to see you through to the next unknown milestone between you both. So, you lean up on your tippy toes and kiss him before slinging your arms around his neck.

Sublime calm settles over him, and he hugs you possessively before nuzzling you as he lets out a relieved sigh.

Snapping yourself back from the infatuated daze of being with him like this, you clear your throat and bossily nudge your temple into his cheek with a grunt.

"We should probably get out of here before a patrol rolls by and yells at us for being on the beach after dark," is your silly huff as you encircle his waist and meekly smile when he holds you in place so he can give you a moustache-tickly smooch on the cheek while the wind starts whipping across the nocturnal beach with a howl.

"It feels like it's going to start raining any minute, anyway," Javi grouses as he leads you over to retrieve both your shoes.

"Yeah, you can smell it in the air," you remark as you dust the soles of your feet before slipping your sandals back on. At Javi doing the same, you shrug his shirt off and hand it back to him as you chuckle, "Don't worry. We'll go the shortcut that takes us towards the parking lot."

Humming, he accepts his shirt before asking, "You sure? I don't mind if you wear it to the car—"

"Well, walking back to the kiosko with your shirt on is definitely going to look like we had sex on the beach," you joke, snickering when he scoffs derisively and quickly slips his shirt on before fastening it shut.

"And that would be such a bad thing?" he teases as he tucks the shirt in and takes your hand so you can lead him up the secret path that loops up a sturdy slope and over a gravel footpath tucked behind some closed structures.

"Uh, yeah! This beach isn't the cleanest spot to get laid on," you chortle as you squeeze his hand and look over your shoulder cheekily at him while you drawl, "And sex on the beach is not as sexy as it sounds."

"Oh, is that a fact?" he croons, sidling up to you now once the nearby lamp pole flickers on and provides enough illumination for you both to trek towards the bustling beachy hangouts.

Wrinkling your nose cutely, you tell him matter-of-factly, "Sand getting in your delicate crevices is not fun, sir."

Javier laughs that warm, full-chested guffaw you love, and you feel on cloud nine as you both stride the remaining distance to weave through the cars of the parking lot's outskirts before he cups the small of your back and leads you to his SUV.

The drive out of the hopping district with the two-lane road that intersects it is pleasant. You both listen to the salsa oldie playing on the radio in comfortable silence, until you glance out the window and notice how the dark clouds are rolling in now from the east. Just as you're going to remark, 'It's going to pour,' a muted sound of thunder grumbles in the distance.

You look over at Javier once he gets to the intersection leading out of the coastal scenic route and direct him to the correct exit that'll take him back to the highway going northwest. Traffic is thankfully not congested, and he cruises down the ramp leading into your condo's street not even ten minutes later. However, by the time he's pulling up to the building, the dark clouds had blanketed the metropolitan area and opened up, quickly going from a light drizzle to a pounding rain that obscures the windshield and has him setting the wipers on the highest setting to keep up with the pouring stream.

"Shit, I don't have an umbrella," Javi laments as he frowns out the windshield. "We'll have to make a run for it—"

"Just pull up into the driveway. I'll give you the gate code," you tell him congenially, blinking at him when he looks at you with surprise lighting up his eyes. "What? It's better than getting soaked. My visitor's spot is under the garage's awning. We'll be able to walk up to the lobby without getting wet."

Not having any reason to object, Javi turns the wheel and navigates the car into the driveway entry up to the automatic gate, lowers his window, and punches in the security code you recite to him.

Soon, he's parked in the spot you indicated and getting out of the car to escort you chivalrously up the garage's lobby entry and over to the elevator, passing the night attendant who nods in acknowledgement before returning to his newspaper. The ride up in the elevator to your floor is filled with banter, a repartee that is teasing as he gripes about the lack of proper security protocols for your condo.

"—Didn't even ask me to sign in! What does he even do? Just sit there all night, twiddling his thumbs?" he sneers when the elevator doors slide open onto your floor. You scoff impishly at him, so he grumbles, "And what's stopping anyone from getting the gate code and coming in—"

"Oh my god, you're worse than my father!" you chastise sassily and swat him playfully on the chest when he grunts huffily at you. "This isn't the embassy or Fort Knox! Everyone who lives here? They're mostly savvy professionals who like their privacy, and the night attendant is on duty in case there is an emergency of some kind," is your judicious musing as you lean into his side when he loops his arm around you and guides you to stay closer to the interior side of the loggia so you don't get wet from the rain being whipped about by the wind.

"Yeah, well—so much for keeping the pendejos out," he dryly jokes, and you giggle, unable to not grin when he gives you his goofy pout.

"Correction: so much for keeping the guapo descarados out," you tease.

Javi snorts, expression smug as you arrive at your door.

He watches as you retrieve your keys and unlock it, and presses his hand into the doorframe, already preparing to lean in and kiss you goodnight. So, when you open the door and push it wide so you can stand in the threshold as you swing your purse off from your person, toss it onto the nearby side table, and then place your keys in the bowl, Javier doesn't immediately sense what you're doing.

At least not until you turn back to him and peer up alluringly at him with a tentative flutter of your lashes.

"Do you want to come in?"

The silky query is said with a hopeful lilt to the timbre in your voice – eyes dazzling as you stare openly at him, and Javi feels heat course up his spine before zinging down into his apex.

He answers by stepping through the threshold and closing the door behind him with a firm shove.

You unseeingly lock it before taking his hands and pulling him further into your sanctuary, excited to show him your space. But really, after giving the surroundings a practiced, scrutinizing assessment – cataloguing the floorplan and noting that to his left the hallway leads to your bedroom at the end of it and to the right, Javi's attention is intently on you while you susurrate, "Come, get comfy. I think I have whiskey in the sideboard—"

You pause in your intended waltz over to said sideboard when Javier's hand doesn't let yours go.

The sound of the rain pelting against the banister and ceramic pots of the outdoor plants on the balcony is a muted patter inside the apartment, and the gusty breeze filters through the strategically ajar crank windows in the space while your breath catches in your chest. Distant traffic from the city blocks and highway beyond is nothing but a hum over the sounds of Javi whispering in your ear while he presses you against the wall in your hallway as your pulse races and your body arches against his. Rumbling thunder buzzes through the concrete walls and the smooth, glazed floor tile while you moan his name and cling to him in your state of semi-undress midway to your bedroom.

Swept up in the whirlwind of desire, all other sounds and sensations cease to matter now that you've kicked off the last of your clothes after stripping Javi of his. No, only the gravitation that exists between you – that incandescently heightens everything as you're both giving into each other, is what matters.

The carnal ecstasy spun up while in the throes of passion, after yearning for each other for far too long, is what you're dialed into. Especially when it fuels the pleasure and need only the other can liberate and nurture.

Picking you up and climbing onto your white-and-lilac-patterned quilt-covered bed with you, Javier rakes said need to throb achingly at your center when he grazes his teeth down the tender slope of your shoulder before suckling a possessive mark that makes you whimper and arch while your legs wrapping around his waist.

"Javi—please," you beg, hands clutching at his back while he keeps rutting his pulsing cock along your soaked folds before he slips a hand between your bodies to zero in on your clit. When his touch brushes the pulsing bundle, you cry out with needy hunger and fist a hand into his hair with desperation. "Please, mi amor, n-need it—"

"I know, baby, I know. You're doing so good, taking what I give you. Just let me make you feel good," Javi coos hotly against your ear before nipping the delicate spot just under it lightly. He feels you gush a fresh, warm slick of arousal on his cock, which snatches a pleased groan from his throat before he grinds more pressure over your thrumming pleasure point, and growls, "That's it, hermosa. Get my cock nice and wet. Come for me like this, and I'll fuck this heavenly pussy all night—"

Your gasp comes out a sob as you fall apart under his ruinously perfect coaxing, overloading you with his velvety commands and unabashed promises after going so long without him making you melt down to tingling sinew.

He watches with primal pride as your features become beatific when you moan and climax, eyes fluttering shut and mouth falling open in blissful delight.

You're trembling from how scintillating your orgasm was, eyes heavy while you breathe panting intakes of air to regain your breath. As you come down from it, you dimly realize Javi is gazing at you with a molten look in his eyes while he soothingly brushes the hair clinging to your sweaty skin back from your flushed features.

"Never get enough of watching you come. Look so fucking beautiful, querida," Javi gravels in a low purr before he noses into the hair at your temple and whispers, "Eres divina. Tan pinche perfecta."

A shiver courses through you at him proclaiming, 'You're divine. So fucking perfect,' to you when you've felt anything but. Your glossy eyes focus when he leans up to gaze down at you, giving you an enamored look that has you wanting to make him feel just as glorious as he's making you feel right now.

He grunts a lustful sound when you yank him down to meet your ardent kiss, groaning when your tongue sweeps into his mouth and you passionately grope your way down his body to line him at where you need him the most before undulating your pelvis to grind his cock into your drenched heat.

While the deluge and blustery breeze claim the world outside of your bedroom windows, you and Javi revel in each other, only registering the stormy event occurring beyond the confines of your bed when the cool air seeps through the slat windows and billows past your fluttering curtains to caress your heated flesh.

Savoring the salt of your skin as he scrapes his ravenous mouth down your craned neck after a particularly pounding thrust that has you arching in rapture, Javier ends up suckling hard on your nipple and grips you at the small of your back with one hand while the other clutches the back for your thigh roughly after you rock onto his cock fiercely and moan for more.

Your fingers dig into his back when he snarls and slams into you with abandon now, moustache grazing your skin as he drags his mouth back up from your chest to possessively claim yours in a feral kiss.

He winces against your mouth when your nails pinch into his sweaty back just under his shoulder blades and you whimper a reedy, desperate noise that tells him you're about to be seared through with another orgasm thanks to his bruising thrusts angling up into that devastatingly amazing spot you can't reach inside yourself. Your knees pull up and cling for purchase as you chase your need by meeting his pounding, piston-like strokes with the drenched squelch of your silken cunt clenching around his cock every time he slams in. The rapacious way your body is reacting to him along with your shameless hunger to claim him with as much ferocity as he's claiming you has Javier quickly barreling towards the precipice of pleasure before you ruinously fling him over the edge by nipping hard on the spot just below his jawline when you climax.

"Dios mío—mmph, C-Celina!" Javi grits out before moaning your name as he comes, lost to the scalding pleasure of reaching bliss as you cry out and writhe in the throes of lascivious euphoria under him.

He collapses on top of you after he empties his climax deep into your quivering center just before his muscles turn to jelly from getting off so fiercely. Drunkenly, he nuzzles into your sweaty neck and swears hoarsely, "Fucking hell, oh fuck. Jesus Christ, baby—"

You lie under him with a dreamy-yet-spent smile on your wrecked features as you confess unseeingly to the ceiling, "That was fucking amazing, Javier."

He shudders at the praise and musters the will to shift enough onto his forearms so he's not pressing his full weight onto you before he pivots to pull his cock out of your tender pussy to watch his cum drip greedily in his wake. He groans in savage accomplishment at seeing the pearly mess gleam in the lowlight as it pools on the quilt.

At your fawning exhale, Javi looks from the glorious sight up to your lovely, albeit ravished smile and gets punch-drunk by the amorous glow in your eyes as you reach for him.

He easily curls over you to be within the reach of your doting, reverent kisses, content to just hold you like this against him while your soft plush lips press into his overheated cheeks and jaw.

But then he catches your stare and gets pinned in place by it, because you're looking at him as if he'd hung the moon in the sky for you.

"I missed being yours. Missed you so much, Javier," you susurrate in a smoky timbre, dark lashes looking dewy in the dimness of the space as you flutter them clear of any tears before professing, "I just want to be with you, forever," then brush your lips worshipfully against his before whispering, "I love you with all my heart."

The feeling your words stokes in him burns like camphor in his chest, simultaneously making him feel deserving and profoundly at peace. It fills him up with an immense urge to shower you with devotion – to keep proving how worthy he is of you by worshiping you with the passion burning in his veins and rooting itself deep into his marrow.

Javier wants to make a vow to you for life, but is so overcome with the enthralling love he feels for you right now that he can only focus on proclaiming his adoration to you the best way he knows how – that is hardcoded within him.

He makes love to you throughout the night, and you both eventually succumb to the utter exhaustion of being fulfilled and at peace in each other's embraces while the vaguada settles over the atmosphere outside, keeping the air fresh and tranquil in your bedroom, preserving the moment and prolonging the blissful serenity between you.

A serenity comprised of all the matters to you both:

Your love.

________________

Read Chapter 42: Reflection

Spanish-English Glossary:

La Isla del Encanto = The Island of Enchantment

Buen día = Good day/Good morning

Vaguadas = Monsoon-style bad weather; heavy rainstorms

Día de Amor y Amistad = Day of Love and Friendship

Buen amigo = Good friend

Miembro del senado = Member of the Senate

Caserío = Public housing; housing project

Terraza = Terrace; usually a tiled patio in a backyard

Buenas tardes, directora = Good afternoon, director

Chavón = A man that's pestering you

Tan mala = So bad; So mean

Doña = Lady; Missus

Beyako = Puerto Rican slang for horny/naughty guy; akin to "horn dog"

Mi patrona = My master/boss (female)

Chulo/Chulito = Cute guy; little cutie

Guapita = Sassy/foxy/daring/testy lady

Bebito = Little baby (male)

Gruñón = Grumpy man

Querida = Affectionate term for a female, akin to expressing one's want and desire

Me lleva la chingada = Akin to "God dammit" or "Fuck me"

Jodón = Pain in the ass (male)

Refunfuñón = Grumbler

Friolenta = Sensitive to cold (female)

Criticona = Critical woman; hypercritical; nit-picker

Bravita= Tough girl; feisty girl

Atrevido/Atrevida = Daring man/Daring woman

Wow, que mami más dura = Wow, what a fine looking woman

¡Chacho, claro que no! = Jeez, of course not!

Jefa = Boss lady

Hermosa = Beautiful (woman)

Murallas = Fortified stone walls

Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious

Acomodado = Accommodated person; term referring to a person with business or political connections that gets placed in a role or job

Tan exijona = So demanding

Galán = Handsome gent

Cariño = Darling/sweetheart

Suavón = Smooth talker; Smooth guy

Vente, señorito = Come, little sir

Mueca = Making a face; grimace

Canela = Cinnamon

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

Calles = Streets

Pobrecito = Poor baby; poor baby boy

Coqueta = Tease (female)

Chinchorro = A kiosk or dive bar you go to have a few drinks before moving on to the next establishment

Como modelo = Like a (male) model

Que malo eres = You're so bad

Mi amor = My love

Mi vida = My life; signifies how deeply you love someone and consider them to be your whole world

Guapo descarados = Handsome cads

Eres divina. Tan pinche perfecta = You're divine. So fucking perfect

Dios mío = My god

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

[not-your-fucking-kacchan]

May I request Giyuu and his s/o having a meal after finishing a mission together? I love the food as metaphor for love trope.

Of course you may! I actually studied up on how to narrate food as a metaphor for love with the dishes getting more complicated and sweeter to reflect the love for Giyuu and symbolise reader giving her skill and time and effort to Giyuu , and when he gets invited over the food becomes known as something only he and the ones closest to her can can have jskdknfjjd I acc worked hard on this pls I hope you like it lol

Masterlist <3

𝐆𝐢𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 - 𝐅𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥

You get up earlier than Giyuu does in the morning, in your own part of the butterfly estate to make you both a meal to start off your day before your mission. You have no clue if he's awake yet, but you're supposed to meet him at the front of the estate in a half hour.

You take the time to make pancakes for the man you fell in love with, taking extra care to make them as perfectly golden-brown as possible. Food has always been your language, so as you told the pancakes and place a couple of fruits into the little pots a delighted smile settles across your face. The breakfast for today is sweet, freshly made with love from the finest ingredients of the estate. As the sky adopts an orange, dusty pink hue and the sun comes out you pack your bag and put on your haori.

Your blush almost matches the pinkish hue of the horizon as you see your blue eyed friend, though he means much more to you than just that.

With a gentle smile, well manicured hands reach out to hand an unsuspecting demon slayer a pot of well made breakfast, and your heart soars at the feeling of providing him with a home made meal. You take special delight when you see usually stoic, apathetic eyes widen with surprise and confusion as he reaches to take the food, setting your stomach ablaze with his quiet thanks.

A young love blossoms between the two of you, entwining your fates together, and every time you provide him with a carefully made meal, each one usually more complicated than the last, he can't help but fall for you and your gentle, giving nature. He likes to show you respect and his own kind of love as he eats each meal no matter how full he is.

At the end of the day, when the mission is long finished and the report has been made and turned in, you insist that Giyuu come to the butterfly estate for you to cook for him, and of course he accepts.

You roast some sweet boar meat and season it generously, peeling some potatoes to make it a more filling meal. You boil the pot and keep an eye on the meat as you speak with Giyuu about the mission, and tell him how cool he looked when he got in the last hit on the demon. Wide, bright eyes sparkle at the memory as you praise him, not noticing when his cheeks tint a little and his lips perk into a small smile.

The two of you eat delicious, perfectly cooked steak in comfortable silence before Giyuu breaks it with a quiet question.

"Do you usually cook like this for people? Where did you learn?"

His curiosity counts as a win in your books, and you gently correct him before telling him about where you learned to cook, as well as what food means to you. Growing up, you'd lived in poverty, and sometimes have to go without food, and if you were given a lunch it was the most treasured gift you could get. Every time you would go on a hunt and find food for the family it was met with a hug and a kiss from each member, and the sight of happy, joyful faces on that of your parents and your younger siblings.

Since then, the delighted feeling of providing something so important and necessary has stuck with you, and gift giving, especially with food has become a natural habit ever since you could get your hands on the ingredients.

You explain all of this, and how the members of the estate have taught you every recipe they know.

"I only cook for you, Giyuu..."

The look on his face tells you that he wasn't expecting that answer, but he appreciated it more, an expression of pleasant surprise and adoration tugging at his brow.

He really is in love with you.