#and since their crimes work wonders as robberies

[just-an-enby-lemon]

[After escaping from Batman]

Riddler: Of course we lost, Selina! Your superpower is having too many cats! Stupid ass ability

Catwoman: Shut up, Edward, we lost because YOUR superpower is being the most annoying person in the room at all times.

#their friendship dinamic means a lot to me #riddler #edward nygma #selina kyle #catwoman #i'm sorry but thid two are just such a good heist combo #the spy and the mastermind #the genius thief (selina) and the guy in the chair #their abilities are very complementary #and since their crimes work wonders as robberies #and their motives are different shades of for the thrill of it #they just work rly well as partners #and should've done it more #ofc it isn't a good as Selina in the Sirens #but nothing will be #except maybe batfam Selina flirting with Bruce and Kate and being iconic

[everlastlady]

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎 '𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

✰ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Hello! My little heroes, villains, and civilians. The first Miguel O 'Hara post. Hopefully it's good, I'm not really good with Spanish so I'm using a translation thing to help me with the language. I do plan on learning Spanish after I finish learning Italian on duo, anyway if you enjoyed this story then my request box is open. You can support me by blazing, commenting, hearts, or reblogging. Don't forget to eat, drink water, and take your medicine. Also support your local fan fiction writers.

✰ 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬: kidnapping, drugging, manipulation, violence, lies, and stockholm syndrome.

✰ Part 2

• You are an absolute sweetheart to everyone at the society. Always making lunches for those who you were friends with or patching them up from missions. You always put others first, your smile could lit up a room. At first Miguel didn't think much of you, he honestly found you annoying and sometimes would have to tell you and Peter to be quiet whenever you both were trying to make Mayday laugh. " cierra el pico both of you, go do that somewhere else. " so when you and Peter left. Miguel sat there for a while wanting to hear your laugh again but not with Peter around, not with anyone around.

• He loved your cooking, he would tell you that he's only accepting your food out of respect. But he would ever last drop as if he was starving. He wondered what meals you would cook if you two were married, what dishes would you make whenever he came home from working. What lunches would you pack him. Would the kids help you with dinner. Miguel started asking you to bring him lunch everyday saying that he didn't have time to make his own and didn't want to spend money on take out. " Gracias cariño " he likes how your fingers brush against his whenever you hand him the bento box.

• Recently he stopped sending you on missions and is having you help him in the lab or having you in the medical wing to patch up other spiders. You didn't mind but you missed going on missions, and Miguel could tell but he knew soon that you wouldn't miss missions. And he was right, you started to distract yourself by stopping crime in your own universe and hanging out with the other spiders. Miguel didn't like this, what if get hurt in your own universe or worst fall in love. Miguel swore that he heard you talking to Noir and Peter B about this guy from your favorite coffee shop called Steven Grant. How you almost got hurt trying to stop a robbery in your neighborhood. He needed to plan something, it might be painful and hurt him emotionally but he needed to teach you a lesson.

• Boredom was killing you as you sat in the lab and started playing with paper clips but you jumped when Lyla flashes on your watch. " Woah, don't fall over and die (name), I'm blessing you with my presences to tell you that Miguel is sending you out on a mission since everyone else is busy or Miguel thinks they aren't capable. He thinks you can handle it so chop chop get to it! ". With that Lyla vanished. You let out a gleeful noise and put on your mask as you open the portal and jump through. You thought this was going to be fun and easy especially since you been training but you thought wrong. Everything in this universe was wrong; it was all dark and gloomy. Here you are running away like a scared child while bleeding. You suit in had claw marks and tears slide down your face. Crying into your watch for help. You were covered in claw marks, bruises, and your wrist broken.

• No one seemed to be answering their watches when you had Lyla contact Jess, Peter, Gwen Noir, Miles, and Hobie. No one picked up but Miguel did when you screamed for Lyla to call him. And when Miguel showed up he took care of the threat. " ¿Estás bien querida? You had me worried when you didn't return, come on let's get you to the medical wing. " Miguel picked you up, your injuries made you pass out but you could have swore that Miguel was smirking before you shut your eyes.

• You eventually woke up but you weren't in the medical wing, you were in a bedroom and it didn't belong to you. A delicious smell entered your noise and you looked down to see your wrist bandaged. You carefully got out of the bed groaning. Still sore from your injures. You left the bedroom and walk down the hallway and into the kitchen where Miguel stood cooking a delicious meal. He eas wearing a tight black t-shirt and grey sweatpants. Miguel turned around and saw your confused look. " Ah! corazon your awake! I brought you here because your injuries were so bad that I decided to treat you, also I didn't want the others to feel bad for not answering you. Good thing I answered you or else you would have been dead, now you know why I don't want to send you on anymore missions, you aren't strong enough which is fine, you were made for better things. " Miguel turned around and went back to cooking. You stood there and looked down, was Miguel right are you weak?

• Miguel had you sit down at table which you did still looking upset. " Now don't pout, until your injuries heal you can stay with me. I'll tell the others that you are on vacation a well deserved vacation. You do so much for everyone and take care of everyone. It's time for someone to take care of you~ " Miguel lifted up the fork to feed you some of the food. A break did sound nice and you could try to mentally recover from what had happened on the mission. So you agreed to stay at Miguel's place until your injuries healed. It wouldn't take that long for you to get better right?

• Wrong..... you always felt so weak and sleepy after every meal, Miguel made for you from breakfast, lunch, dinner, and even small snacks. You body always ached, you threw up, felt dizzy, and tired. Miguel ran some test and told you that you were sick but didn't know what you were suffering from. When you wanted to leave because you didn't want to be a burden. Miguel shook his head telling you that you weren't a burden that he would take care of you and that he didn't mind the company especially after all he lost. That made you feel sad so you stayed. Miguel bought you anything you wanted to make you feel at home, he even brought your clothes and other items from your apartment which felt weird at first because you didn't give anyone your address.

• While Miguel was gone and didn't come home the usual time he did. You were hungry and Miguel always cooked for you. So you wanted to surprise him and cook a meal for him and you. As you were going through the cabinets. You find a strange green bottle with some purple liquid inside. You ask Lyla about it, as she was painting her nails and not looking at you, she said the ingredients along with the side effects. " Not safe for human consumption, why do you ask? " She called out. Your whole body froze, was Miguel drugging you? Did he plan this whole thing to trap you here. You ran towards the bedroom to look for your watch but couldn't find it.

• " Looking for this corazon, it's rude to leave without saying goodbye or even a thank you mi amor for taking care of me... " You turned to see Miguel holding up your watch. Before you could react, Miguel threw it down and stepped on it. The watch broke into pieces. " oops... " Miguel quickly walked towards you and caged you with his body as your back was pressed against the wall. Tears stream down your face, this had to be a nghtmare. " D-Did you drug me, why did you drug me!? Did you send me on that mission knowing what would happen to me!? " You screamed at Miguel. Who stared at you with those red eyes. " Yes... because I needed to teach you a lesson that you are weak and only I can protect you because..... (Name), I love you~ " you flinch when Miguel strokes your cheek and wipes your tears away. " You are sick... " You said in between panic breathes. " I'm not sick, I was doing what was best for you... for us and you'll understand that soon but let's get you calmed down wouldn't want you to pass out again... " Miguel leans foward as you struggled. Miguel bit down sinking his fangs into your soft skin as you scream. But soon your body froze. " Shhh, te quiero. " Miguel laid you on the bed and left the room.

• You stayed trapped in Miguel's home for weeks. He told the others at the society that you quit and didn't want anyone to contact you since you wanted to retire from being a hero and didn't want any reminders or memories of the society. Of course everyone was upset but respected your wishes, if only they knew that truth. Just because you were kind that didn't mean you don't have a fighting spirit. You always fought to escape and tried taking Miguel's watch but he always overpowered you and knocked you got, always yelling his lungs out at you. " 𝙎𝙏𝙊𝙋 fighting me, I'm trying to care for us for you! I don't want to keep fighting you. But you leave me no choice but to do this..... " Those last words from Miguel made your stomach drop. He locked you in a room and only left you a blanket and a mattress. The room had a bathroom but no windows. " I'll let you out when you learn to be a loving partner. " And he left you alone in that dark room. The only time he came back in was to bring you food but said nothing and left.

• Being in that room was driving you crazy and the food wasn't good it was just microwave meals that weren't cooked all the way and the room was cold. You sat there on the mattress crying all day and all night. Screaming for Lyla but she didn't respond because Miguel instructed her not to. After a month you sat there feeling mentally, physically, and emotionally drained. The door opened as the hallway lights burns your eyes. Miguel stood there with his arms out while staring at you, he stood there waiting and you got up. Walking over you hug him tightly. Miguel smirked and hugged back as he planted a kiss on your head. " Have you learned your lesson, do you love me? " He asked while rubbing your back. You nod your head. " Then say it, say you are sorry and that you love me. " Miguel said while hugging you tightly so tight that he could snap you in half. " I'm sorry for being selfish for not appreciating what you do for me, I love you Miguel, please don't send me back into that room, I'll behave, I love you, I love, I love you. " You said in between sobs.

• Miguel smiles and kissed you. " Good, let's go get you properly cleaned up and a good meal~ " Miguel picked you up and did as promised, he gave you a bath, fresh pajamas, and cooked your favourite meal. The two of you even sat on the couch watching your favorite movie. What made Miguel happy was how you cling to him. How whenever he went to the bathroom you would panic and try to follow him. " Don't worry cariño, I'm just going to the bathroom I'll be back watch your movie and be good and I won't put you in the punishment room. " Miguel kissed you and left. That night you laid in bed with him and quickly fell asleep since you were in an actual nice bed. Miguel watched you sleep and was finally happy that you had you.

Part 2 coming soon comment if you wanna be tagged in part 2

#miguel ohara x reader #miguel fanfic #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #miguel x you #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere stories #miguel ohara x gender neutral reader #everlasting writes🪻 #fandom #fanfic #fan fiction

[superums]

42 songs — 42! miles morales x reader

spidey!reader. angst, no happy ending. for general audiences. (cannon) character death. reader is a but of a loser here. some fluff. reader has a (loving) mom. gender neautral reader. no pronouns. no y/n. childhood friends to crushes to enemies. jeff is a father figure to the reader

color coded text: miles. you/spidey. your mom. jeff.

inspired by: 24 songs by playboi carti

pre-spidey headcannons

crime is off the charts in this universe, every other day there's a riot, a robbery, accidental killings, purposeful killings, people on the news begging for help, bombings, and general terrorist attacks caused by mutated mad scientists and victims of freak accidents

in the daytime, you can sort of ignore the turmoil the city is in since everyone feels safer when the sun is out. At night time there's a curfew for teenagers and even some young adults because of all the crime that happens.

you feel uneasy a lot of the time because of the political climate but the crush you have on your mom's best friend's son, miles morales, makes you forget about it even if it's just a bit.

you've had a crush on him ever since you could remember; you couldn't even remember when it started.

for the longest time you wanted to confess to him but every time you tried to he would always get distracted by the pretty girls at school.

your hands were sweating as you held onto your backpack strap with two tickets for the museum. you found miles alone in a classroom putting things in his backpack.

"hey, miles." you saw him turn in your direction before smiling a bit. getting closer to where you stood a few feet in front of him you felt a little shiver go up your spine as you saw miles' big brown eyes look directly into yours.

"yeah?" his accent made your heart race a little. looking down at your shoes you began to ask. "y-yeah i was wondering if..." the sound of ruffling pom poms in the door cut you off.

"hey miles are you still coming?" michelle jones stood at the door waving at the boy with her two friends behind her. "uh... yeah im comin, my fault." miles continued getting his things together before walking past you. "can this wait? i gotta get ready for practice?" he said as he walked past you to join the three cheerleaders.

your embarrassment never left you as you watched him leave you in the dust. "yeah... my fault." you muttered to yourself as he left the class room to join the cheerleaders.

you ended up going to the museum by yourself (not wanting to waste any money), little did you know you were going to get bit by a radioactive spider at the vending machine

post spidey & cannon event headcanons

being spidey is not easy in universe 42. the crime was bad before but now it the gotten worse. during your second week of being spidey you had to fight villains that other spidermen would shiver at the green goblin, the sandman, and many more.

after 4 months you've been beaten down, almost died a few times, even almost got your secret identity exposed at least twice but you always get back up because you love your city and everything who lives in it—it's just too bad your new york doesn't feel the same about you.

The people of your new york really like jonah jameson and respect his opinion so when he talked bad about you the public opinion of spidey quickly soured.

you work with the police aka hang criminals upside down with your webs and leave a little note as you swing away when you hear the sirens coming towards you.

you struggle to balance your school life with your spidey life so you end up isolating yourself like all the spidey’s before you have. so now you only interact with miles in passing. when you do have the time to actually talk to him your spidey senses pull you in another direction

your parents worry about you a lot, at first they thought you were fine because your grades were good and you had a few friends but now you sometimes walk with a limp and sometimes your friends (miles specifically) come by to check up on you it's just too bad you're never there

every blunder you made as spidey would always met with a loud rant from jonah jameson. like when you got knocked out by rhino slamming his head into yours multiple times or when you accidentally let the green goblin blow up an entire block because you were getting pestered by protesters who were trying to rip your mask off

speaking of blunders your mom calls you sometimes when you're fighting crime because she's scared about if you're safe and you always try to calm her down but it never works because there's always screaming and explosions going on in the back

most of the time you end you hanging up abruptly because you have to stop the villain or else more people get hurt but you always make sure to face time her when you get away from the chaos so she doesn't get too scared about you

almost a year after becoming spidey you were invited to jeff’s promotional party and your mom stressed that you be there. You haven’t been able to make it to outings recently—canceling at the last minute, not showing up without a warning or leaving early without a trace, it was starting to feel like you were only someone she could talk to on the phone and never in person.

and throw in the fact that the morales family have been friends with your family for years, almost like a second home and none of them have seen you not even miles— it was starting to worry everyone.

when the morales family invited yours to jeffs promotion party your mother practically begged you to come

when you got to the party you and your mom had an argument about your latest disappearances. she brought up how your school was calling her about missing school ans how you were flaking out on her and while you tried to argue that you had more than just her to worry about, your argument immediately fell flat when she asked you ‘like what?’

after congratulating jeff on his promotion you left to sit under the water tower and watch the streets of new york. you knew you couldn't keep lying to your mom forever, she was worried about you and you just wanted to keep her safe. looking out to the city you didn't notice the foot steps coming from behind you.

“you aint gon say hi to me?” a familiar voice said from the right of you. turning your head you saw miles leaning on one of the metal rods that held the tower up. “you were busy with everyone else. i thought you’d be too busy to talk to me.”

“you coulda still came to say hey or sum’ you're like a ghost now.” miles looked down at you causing you to shake your head before looking ahead. “tuh… anyway, i heard you made the basketball team.” you changed the subject as you turned your head around, not being able to see the bashful look on his face. “”yeah it was easy.” “i bet. you're like good at everything.”

the boy looked at his feet trying not to smile when he heard your praise. “also! i noticed your new hairstyle. it's really good on you….” you messed with your fingers a little before turning back to him. “yeah?” the boy would be blushing if his melanin allowed it.

you stayed at the tower for most of the gathering. your mom even coming to get you so you could watch jeff blow out his candles. after that though you had to leave the sounds of police sirens started to go off as the sun began to set, you had to go back to your job.

cannon event & 'cannon event'

as you work to keep the city safe there's always something you can't stop and that is death. unfortunately, you can't save everyone even if you try to. believe me you tried everything but nothing could stop him slipping through your fingers

it was a cold winter when it happened, everyone getting ready for winter break the christmas lights were beginning to be put on display it was almost perfect until norman osborne broke out of jail

if was like he wouldn't go down. it didn't natter what you did—final blow after final blow the man would get back up and destroy even more buildings.

you tried your best to keep everyone safe, multitasking between saving people and knocking down the green goblin. your bones were screaming as you swung across the city, webbing buildings together, destroying rubble before it could hit the civilians below, you did all you know.

but that wasn't enough.

your web couldn't stop the tip of the daily bugle antenna from hitting him. you almost moved in slow motion; jumping off of green goblins glider to chase after the rod.

the man you've seen all your life stood still, paralyzed with fear. your webbing got sloppy after hours of fighting, your left web missed, the other right one ran out of fluid—you couldn't stop the antenna from hitting jeff.

the green goblin laughed maniacally as he flew off into the snowy sky, leaving you shivering holding the man you saw as a father figure.

"spidey...." his voice was weak, the tip of the bar was lodged into his heart, he wasn't going to make it. "i'm sorry..." your voice was weak as you held onto him, you heard his slowing heartbeat above the chaotic city.

"im sorry... i'm sorry" you sung apologies to him as you saw the life draining from his body. "spidey... i was growing to like you." jeff started, looking directly into your mask where your eyes would be. "i know i don't got much time..." he heaved once. twice. thee times.

"but please, don't lose yourself cus a' me." his blinking started to slow down. holding him tighter your couldn't handle this. "please, please stay with me. the paramedics are almost here!" your begged the man who just gave you a sad smile. "remember.... with great power comes great responsibility."

the man stopped breathing in your arms. you almost screamed into the sky if it wasn't for the sirens getting closer. "freeze spidey!" you heard them cock their guns, they were going to shoot you. "w-wait you dont understand!" you tried to explain through tears but you knew you had to go.

a gun-shot from your right made you leave before you could get a word out, a few of them hit you but not enough to be anything fatal

you ran to your house and practically tire your shit off of you. you cried for days, and didn't go to school for at-least three. your mom didn't know why you were so upset but didn't budge, seeing g how depressed you were

spidey didn't show up for a while. almost disappearing entirely besides a few sightings. though the press around the hero in the mask got worse

“Spidey? More like spider menace! look around you New York—that fraudulent freak trying to call themselves a hero is a danger to our livelihoods!” a booming voice echoed through the snowy streets of new york. “The green goblin, the lizard all of them—this is all their fault!” “spidey has brought nothing but uncertainty and harm to this city!”

news reporters seemed to go on and on about you on every channel, every jumbotron, and street corner—spidey was the topic of discussion. they're a killer, a sorry excuse for a hero. who are they? where are they?

*the sinking feeling in your stomach never disappeared as you saw miles at school. he was darker, less talkative, more angry—you cant help but think it's your fault.

you almost quit being spidey but you knew the people needed you even if they acted like they didn't. the robberies, rampaging villaians everyone needed you.

you went back to fighting crime even acter you saw the headlines on the billboards calling you a murderer, a fraud.

in less than a month a new face was making noise on the news. the press called him the prowler. he's been stealing money from museums and the daily bugle; anything he can get his hands on.

his LED mask was the only thing they got as he sped away on his bike.

the prowler began to leave messages 'bring me spidey.' and a simple spider drawing with a red X over it. he wanted you dead, and you knew he wouldn't stop until he had it.

in hindsight it was like dejavu. you're back where you started. fighting on a building in the snow.

"i've been waiting on you spidey." you bearly escaped his claws. stream came from your mouth as you jumped back from him."who are you?!" you knew you were being played with but you couldn't help it. the masked man laughed before swiping at you again.your other cuts from him stung, his claws were full of poison.

"you ruined my life." he managed to punch you, poisonous gas exploded in your face from the impact. "you got me all wrong!" you fought back, bearly noticing you began to crack his mask. "you'll pay for what you did to me." he bunched your face repeatedly.

"no!" bringing your leg up you managed to kick him in his face, knocking him back. getting on-top of him you repeatedly hit him in his face. you didn't even notice the familiar brown eyes being unveiled to you until it was too late.

you froze in place when you saw his face. miles. he knocked you off of him again, smirking, he began to laugh. "this'll be the last face you see, spidey."

"miles?" you felt like throwing up all over again, looking at the boy you've loved for almost all your life talk down to you. you were almost living the worst day of your life all over again.

#42 ​miles x reader #miles g morales x reader #earth 42 miles x reader #earth 42 miles morales x reader #prowler miles x reader #atsv headcanons #atsv x reader #atsv imagines #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #spiderverse x reader #miles morales headcanons

[such-expensive-mistakes]

halfa!Steph AU (part 1)

I'm still working on the Superpham AU but I couldn't stop thinking about this idea.

-----

Once upon a time, there was a girl who thought she could be a hero. And then she died. She died slowly and painfully and steeped in guilt over having accidentally set off a gang war that destroyed the city. It's a neat little story about hubris and knowing your place and why Batman is always right.

Except she didn't. Die, that is. She flatlined on the operating table and Leslie faked her death. And when that girl came back, she put on a costume again and became the third Batgirl. It's a heartwarming story about stubbornness and learning to rely on others and proving Batman wrong.

The truth, Stephanie thinks, is somewhere in between.

When she talks about having died, people treat as— not as a joke, the pain is still too raw for that, but as an exaggeration. Dramatic license.

Sometimes Steph thinks that's all it is.  But she feels like she died.  She dreams about it sometimes.  Not just Black Mask, although he does haunt far too many of her dreams, but something else.  Something in-between.

It's probably just the trauma.  That's what Leslie says, when Stephanie finally asks her.

Stephanie doesn't ask Leslie about her newfound strength, or about how sharp her senses have become.  

You can't go through something like Stephanie did and come out unchanged.  That's what Babs says, and she would know.  Steph doesn't think they're thinking about the same kind of changes, though.

-----

Stephanie lands on a rooftop and looks down at the white van parked below.  It's not a particularly notable vehicle, except for the occupants.  

"What are they doing?" Steph asks.

"I don't know."  Babs sounds frustrated, and no wonder.  There aren't many people who can keep Oracle out of their systems, and Steph wouldn't have judged these guys to be among their ranks.  "I'll keep trying to get through their firewalls, but I'm flying blind here.  Keep an eye on them, but be careful."

"You know me," Steph says.  "Careful is my middle name."

Babs doesn't even bother to muster up a sarcastic response to that, which is how Steph knows she's preoccupied.

These guys have been running all over Gotham for the past few weeks.  They're dressed in immaculate white suits and carrying unfamiliar weapons, and they seem to be taking some kind of readings on unfamiliar instruments.  None of that is a crime, but it's suspicious, and Oracle's inability to find out any more about them is even more suspicious.

And that means they're officially Steph's problem.

The men are doing the same thing they've been doing the last few times Steph has watched them.  It's not particularly exciting.  

"Batgirl," Oracle says.

"Please tell me there's a robbery or something that needs my attention," Steph replies.  "These guys are so boring."

"Sorry.  Do you think you can get one of their gadgets for me?  I want a better look."

"Can do, boss."  

Stephanie carefully climbs down to street level, staying out of sight.  She's gotten a lot sneakier since her not-death.  She tells herself it's all of her training and practice, finally paying off, but regardless of the cause, the guys in white have no chance of spotting her.  

They're standing near the front of the van, arguing about something.

"The apparition was spotted here last night," one says.

"That doesn't mean it's going to return!" another responds. 

Sounds like they're looking for something in particular.  Which Steph and Babs had already guessed, but it's nice to have confirmation.

Steph slips toward the back of the van, which is wide open.  Not smart, especially in Gotham, but she's got a feeling these guys aren't from Gotham.  

The inside of their van reminds her of a sci-fi movie; everything is blindingly white and chrome, with glowing green accents.  And lots and lots of those weapons.  Whoever they are, they clearly have a nice sized budget.

Steph grabs one of the guns and a handheld instrument like the one the guys outside are waving around, but as soon as she does, all the instruments the guys in front of the van are holding start going wild.  

"There it is!" one of them yells.  They all start shooting at her, which is how Steph learns that they're using some kind of fancy laser guns.  Because regular guns just aren't space age enough for these guys.

That's Steph's cue to get out.  She grapples back to the rooftop, just barely avoiding getting hit by the laser guns.

It’s easy enough to lose them from the rooftops.  At Oracle’s direction, she makes her way back to Firewall.  She tugs her mask off and hands the stolen tech over to Babs.

“The’re looking for something,” she says.  “An apparition.”

Babs hums in acknowledgment.  “Hopefully these will have some answers.”  She switches on the— scanner?  Steph’s pretty sure that’s its function, anyway.  It starts beeping wildly.

Steph jumps back, startled.  The beeping stops.

“Well,” Babs says.  “I think we have an idea what they were looking for.”

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp fic #stephanie brown #halfa steph au

[lightwing-s]

hi, I was wondering if you’re still taking requests from your list of prompts?

If so, could you write something with the prompt 62 (along the lines of have we met before?)? Where the reader gets saved by the Red Hood for a minor crime or is a witness and quickly interacts with him. Being fan fiction, either Jay or the reader is smitten. Then when she meets Jason, his siblings notice that they know each other and poke fun at the situation? Like a public setting?

If you want to of course! Have a nice day/evening!

“Did we meet before?” you asked Jason, after what felt like an eternity waiting together in line for drinks at the skimpy bar Barb had dragged him to. You need to socialize, she had told him. Bullshit.

Or maybe not.

You two had been talking since the moment you approached him to wait for your drinks, joking about the waiting time, joking about the people dancing at the bar. He was having fun with you, enjoying the sound of your laugh like he had done earlier that week.

The fact is, you two had met before. But you didn’t know.

After rescuing you and other hostages from a robbery at the jewelry shop you worked at, Jason, or the Red Hood, paid a lot more attention to you, making sure you were okay, that you weren’t hurt. You, on the other hand, made sure you were alright and lightened his night with your bright personality and unforgettable charisma.

Jason was hooked. He had thought about you all week, how you reached for his arms to assure him you were alright, how you thanked him with a tight embrace, a few tears falling on his jacket, after he saved you from nearly being shot. 

You surprised him with how fast you recovered, or at least how you seemed to, throwing jokes and sweet smiles at him, but deep down he could see your hurt, your fright. So he had to ask again, he had to make sure, and then you broke into his arms, cried for a while, and when you pushed yourself away, you still gave him your brave smile.

“No, I don’t think so.” he replied to you, turning to face the other side of the bar, avoiding your eyes and the lie that hid in his own. Finding the table him and his friends were sitting at, he received eyebrow jiggles and annoying smirks in return, as he recognized the girl by his side.

“Weird, I could’ve sworn I recognized your voice from somewhere. You look really familiar.”

“Really?” he questioned, he was wearing a helmet all night.

“I mean, I think I would recognize those large… s-shoulders if I saw them.” you replied, awkwardly changing your sentence in the middle, the words falling off your mouth without you really paying attention before you could take a hold of yourself and reply with something that wouldn’t leave him weirded out.

He chuckled, amused by the growing pink on your face.

“Next.” he heard coming from the bar, announcing his turn to order his drink. 

“And for the lady…?” he looked back at you after ordering his drink, eyebrows high waiting for you to answer.

“You don’t have to.” you tried to argue, but Jason’s voice was adamant.

“Bullshit.” he said, rolling his eyes in a way that had your tummy spinning. “What are you ordering?”

Biting on the nail of your thumb, you shyly reply. “A negroni.”

“And for the lady, a negroni.” he repeated to the bartender. As he walked away to prepare your drinks, Jason turned to you, one elbow rested on the bar.

“You didn’t have to.” you tried again, shaking your head and holding a smile.“Yes, I did.” His reply was sharp. “How else would I get more time to talk to you and find out about this guy that has shoulders as nice as mine?”

#i forgot about this prompt list lol #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd blurb #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #jason todd x yn #jason todd x female!reader #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #red hood x you #red hood fluff #red hood blurb

[tteokdoroki]

OCTOBER 31ST. DEADPOOL FT. SPIDER-MAN

"you might be wondering why the red suit. well, that’s so bad guys don’t see me bleed."

♱ — katsuki bakugou ft. izuku midoriya + cucking.

♱ — synopsis; with great power, comes great responsibility— such as one’s duty to pleasure his girlfriend ( though failing ), luckily a certain mercenary is able to swing by and take over such a big responsibility on spidey’s behalf.

♱ —length; 7.8K

♱ — warnings; please read for your own safety! mdni, smut 18+, heavy smut, characters aged up to 20s, cucking, threesomes, auralism, dacryphilia, voyeurism, cumplay, mutual masturbation, dry humping, body worship, facials, fingering ( f!receiving ), oral sex ( m!receiving ), mask!kink, fem!reader, deadpool!bakugou, spider-man!deku. not beta read !

♱ — notes; and with that, kinktober is over! thank you to everyone who supported me along the way!! please enjoy this last fic, i realy hope that you like it and have a safe halloween!! ily mwah <3 - m.list₊ kinktober m.list ₊ taglist 𓆩♡𓆪

“yanno,” you say wistfully, dabbing away at a cut underneath your boyfriend’s dazzling green eyes. “i think you got away pretty lightly this time.” 

deku hums, forcing away a wince as the rubbing alcohol seeps into the shallow wound— you let him squeeze your hand instead. “aside from my blood dripping across your floor, i’d pretty much agree.” despite how many times he’d sat on your bedroom floor, letting you coddle him and tend to his scrapes and scratches— the cleaning part never got easier. “deadpool always gets me into extra trouble whenever we work together.” 

your gaze flickers up to izuku’s in concerned warning, having him stumble into your apartment at ridiculous hours was all fine and dandy when he just needed to be babied and had a boo-boo on his head, but ever since working with whoever this deadpool guy was— your precious boy had been littered with all sorts of stab wounds and now your shifty handiwork stitches. today the bank robbery with said mercenary left your boyfriend with the graze of a bullet, and he was lucky to get away with just that. 

“‘m worried about you izuku,” your body keens into his warm hands and soft touch as the superhero pulls you into his lap, fingertips sliding over the curve of your ass and over the fat at your hips lovingly— not even sexually at first, as if each little caress grounds you both, slowing your head beats and filtering out the adrenaline of the night. 

he’s so warm, it reminds you that he’s alive and breathing, safe with you for another night. “i’ll try to be more careful, hm?” sensing the spike in your emotions, izuku leans forward with his nose nudging along yours, his lips dragging over the seam of your own, as if to tease you— a reward to follow if you calm down. 

“i want you safe,” you huff with no fire behind your words, just about pouting before deku has you locked in a soft, barely-there kiss. 

“it’s part of the job,” he says back, quietly, and there’s a beat of silence between you both where longing gazes are cast over features twitching into needy expressions— and before you know it, your mouth is slotted perfectly against his, bruisingly close as your tongue licks into izuku’s hot cavern, searching for is. the once chaste kiss turns sloppy, spit swapped between hungrily moving lips, your noses nudging and lungs burning for the air you won’t get, being joined like this. 

even when you do come up for air, you’re back on one another in seconds— practised hands used to fight crime and save lives, trickle up your spine to the base of your neck, pulling you into deku’s web of wanton, one you don’t see yourself wanting to be free from any time soon. his thumb presses nimbly into your throat, an amused chuckle resounding in the base of his own when your eyes grow misty and your tongue rolls out eagerly— with a hankering to be kissed again. 

“you want another?” 

“i want you.” 

now panting, your fingers surge up into forest green locks so you can tug izuku the rest of the way—your teeth sink into his lower lip for you to pull back slowly, gingerly while you hint at your need for more; giving izuku one last chance to call it quits for the night or kiss you properly like you want. he needs you just as badly as you need him, driving forward with the taste of you crackling like dopamine against the neurons in his brain. his heated pink muscle grazes over the swell of your lips, only just quelling the spark of hunger now pumping from his heart into his blood before you welcome him into your mouth with a debauched little sigh that falls into the tail end of a moan.

deku grunts low, in bliss,  at the noise, hips jumping up as if triggered by your sweet sounds and your tongues dance together instead of fighting— spit slicked and sliding over one another, down each other’s throats until your makeout is far more heated than anticipated. you seize the opportunity to guide your boyfriend’s free latex gloved hand to your waist once more, giving him the control to guide the flow of your hips while you grind down onto him,  grinning at the stiff press of is hard on against your panties through the spider-man suit.

he seems to get the picture, growing handsier by the second and manhandling you back and forth against his swelling cock, izuku’s breath’s much heavier than before. “fuck baby,” he whines into your wet mouth, his lips cherry red and raw, all because of you. “feel what you do to me? so hard…already— for you…” there’s a flutter of pride in your chest, knowing that you’re the one that’s able to make the spider-man a mess like this after he puts on a brave face for the city. only you get to see the cocky, webbed hero hump you like a mangy dog, circling his hips and pushing his throbbing erection against your fat folds in desire— latex covered hands exploring every inch of you they can.

izuku’s lips fall to your shoulder, licking and sucking a trail of kisses up to your neck— nipping here and there, so that bruised blossom under your skin in a signature of off coloured love bites. “wanna fuck you,” he says between the wetter smooches, whispering the words into the junction between your jaw and neck. “gonna lemme, oh shit— fuck you, love?” 

your body vibrates at deku’s promiscuous words— each far from the goodie two shoes persona he puts on for the world. he wants to make you feel that badly despite being beaten to shit, and knowing that is enough to spark a fire in your lower belly, the best shooting down to your pussy which flutters as you drag it back and forth across his hard-on through the blue and red suit. 

running your fingers through his already mask-missed hair, you map out each little detail of izuku midoriya— his sun spotted cheeks, B-road shoulders and muscled arms, that slender waist of his hidden away by stretchy blue and red fabric. he’s yours, and he’s desperate for you, aching and leaky for you. “gonna let’cha fuck me, ‘zu, need you to take me.” 

all of a sudden, he’s like a kid on Christmas unwrapping a present ( in a way you are, his gift after a fucked up day fighting crime ), padding up your spine until you shiver— drawing his name against your back until a finger hooks on the strap of your bra. you’re only wearing a t-shirt, the jagged letters of Spider-Man printed on and peeling off the front, but it’s not like either of you care. the loose fabric gives your boyfriend easy access, unhooking the material with ease and letting it fall down your front. you only part for a moment to let your arms slip through from under your shirt— tossing the sage green garment to the side shortly afterwards.

he can smell you, the salacious and honeyed scent of your sex hanging in the heated, vibrating particles in the air between you. “god baby, how do you always get this wet, this fast.” deku simpers in a tone of awe, two latex fingers pressed into your soaked core, watching you twitch, your body burning up with a new wave of heat. he squeezes your clit, admiring the way you pulse under his hold, tip of his finger then moving to run between your folds to build up the sensation of delightful pleasure inside you. 

“don’t get distracted,” you manage to scold your boyfriend, words falling away into a breathy sigh when his mouth latches onto your clothed and budding nipple from under his shirt—he hums in content around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth, happy to toruture you like this. your hands ground yourself in his wild hair, pushing him back from your stimulated chest. “get naked, i think you promised me some dick, ‘zu,”

smiling, the green haired hero reaches up to peck you on the lips. “you’re right, you’re right…mind helping me get out of my suit?” he asks, pulling his working digits away from your cunt in awe, staring at the clear strings of essence that connect them while you nod. wrapping your arms around him, you catch the zipper on the spidey-suit and pull it down, moving back so izuku can shake off his sleeves.

but you’re impatient when you’re horny, frustration fogging your brain as midoriya struggles to get out of the costume he designed. he flails about, the sight only serving to turn you off even further, minute by minute. you love your boyfriend— you do, he’s sweet and nerdy, and you adore that he saves the world… but things like this happen a lot, and you only wished he would take some time out, putting it aside for you. to separate you from his save-the-world-bullshit.

“here, let me help,” you pout, hands on him once more— tugging and pulling at his arms and chest while izuku struggles against the latex with burning, bright red freckled cheeks. he whimpers at every cascade of your finger tips, breath hitching here and there as you work with each other to get it off.

until deku stills, green forest eyes screwing shut, a warmth flooding his lap. 

“did you just—?” 

“y-yeah?” he stutters, clearly embarrassed by cumming in his pants. “s-sorry, love, i’m sorry—“

with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes, you back off of deku’s lap, shoulders sagging with relief as you look for your underwear in the mess of your room. “it’s whatever,” you shrug it off, not finding them before standing up and away from your boyfriend. “‘m gonna grab some snacks and we can watch some shitty cartoons, and pretend this didn’t happen.” 

you leave the room before izuku can catch wind of how disappointed you really are— knowing he might struggle to get it up a second time. the stress of saving the world can do that to you apparently. usually he’ll make it up to you with that silver spider-man tongue of his, the same one that’s chatty with quips directed at villains…but tonight, that just won’t do. 

tonight you’d really needed him. 

“fuck me,” izuku sighs heavily, laying back on the floor— suit sticky and tight against the skin of his thighs after cumming in it prematurely. submerged in his own self pity— he fails to notice the telling tingle of his enhanced senses, and the sound of your bedroom window sliding up. 

“after that shit show? nah, no thanks,” izuku jumps up, gaze shooting over to the window where deadpool pops his head through. “was pretty sad to watch.” the mercenary makes himself comfortable, sliding into the room before crossing one leg over the other as he sits on the window ledge. 

you choose that exact moment to re-enter the room, a tray full of snacks and warm drinks to smooth over the awkward evening with your boyfriend. “‘zu, i made you some cocoa, how you like, i’m sorry for the way i reacted earlier i just—“ glancing up as you push through the door, your eyes dart between your boyfriend, Spider-Man, and the new red and black dressed figure— a scream ripping through your body as you drop the tray, deku’s webs catching it safely before the items hit the floor.

deadpool only screams back, covering his face with gloved hands as if to mock his own shock. 

“who the fuck are you?” after you regain your bearings, you’re launching at the heavily armed stranger in your apartment; his feet swinging and the white eyes in his mask animatedly moving in a widening motion. you grab the nearest and closest thing you have to a weapon ( a butter knife used to spread pb on your boyfriend’s crackers ) and throw it at the intruder, lodging it into his shoulders just before deku trips you up with a few more webs. “how the fuck did you get into my house?” 

“ah, well ya see. ‘m always pickin’ the locks whenever i visit spidey over here— but i must’ve gotten the wrong address this time round.” the intruder sings, peering down at you. you feel like he’s reading your soul through the mask and start to scramble again. “ya never told me how hot your girlfriend was, bugboy. if i look at her any longer Cupid might shoot my ass with a tiny, pointy arrow.”

“i-it was none of your business!” deku grunts, holding you down with webs, another horrified yell building up within you as deadpool pulls the knife from his shoulder and the wound hole closes up on its own. “baby— deadpool, aka kacchan. deadpool— my girlfriend.” 

“well, pleasure to meet you, sweetheart,” deadpool…kacchan coos in response, stepping down to use a gloved hand, taking yours in his own and kissing the back of it. 

you’d been warned about deadpool, the heinous crimes he committed in cold blood, his playful attitude towards life threatening situations with his dangerous anti-hero attitude, which was less than ideal to work with— all the forewarnings your pretty, goody two shoes neighbourhood hero boyfriend had fed you. but right now, gazing up at the red suited mercenary, you couldn’t find it within yourself to be scared because you hadn’t been warned about how hot he sounded with the gravel in his voice, how built he looked under layers of leather that had clearly been used in combat or war.

coughing, and ruining the moment that has your skin burning, deku clears his throat to ask. “what are you doing here, ‘pool?”

“came to invite you out for celebratory drinks, buddy! we kicked ass t’day, and that’s what friends do, right?” kacchan’s white masked eyes give you both the once over, forming somewhat of a grimace— from what you can tell. “but i see you’re kinda busy with…other, failed plans.” 

“we didn’t fail! we were just hooking up, that’s what couples do!” 

“barely counts as hooking up shitty spider, can barely keep yer fuckin’ dick up! 

as the two super-enhanced dummies argue their way through the situation— you sit mortified, your sex life ( what of it ) sitting bare on the table for the two men to openly to discuss. “i-it’s not always like this!” you gasp, desperately trying to shut them both down. 

they both look over to you, kacchan clearly amused. “that’s the sixth fuckin’ time this month!” 

“you keep count?” deku squeaks, voice rising anoctave. 

“only on tuesdays and fridays, and i gotta admit— your girlfriend has such pretty tits, i dunno how you can’t pop a stiffy just lookin’ at those things, so round…s’soft,” he sounds like his mouth is watering, words sloshed around the spit pooling on his tongue. “i bet they feel as soft as those puppies from the ryan reynolds puppy interview.” bakugou says, looking somewhere off that you can’t see, yours and deku’s eyes follow it to the wall but don’t spot anything. 

“who the fuck are you talking to?”

“them, the readers. filthy sluts they are. hi gorgeous…we’ll get to the smutty parts in a bit, kay?” then, deadpool turns back to you. “any fuckin’ ways, i think i’d fuck you better, hah? i can be somewhat of a tender lover,” kacchan sings, the last of his words falling into a gentle whisper. you hear the protests of your boyfriend in the distance, but it does nothing to quell the overwhelming lust tingling at the tips of your fingers and toes, clinging to every crevice of your mind. you wonder if you’re a bad girlfriend for even considering the proposal.  “oh come on spidey, you can’t tell me you’ve never imagined someone else fucking your girl?”

within an instant, the masked assassin, katsuki bakugou, ( better known as deadpool ), yanks you up from the floor and spins you into his chest— your back to it, bending you into midoriya’s view. he gives a single, calculated thrust from behind for demonstration, the weight of his cock beneath layers of tarnished red and black leather, bumping against your cunt; knowing what it’ll do to you— cloud your judgement, make you whimper and whine. 

between your gasps and sighs of increasing wanton, bakugou let’s his clothed hands travel up your Spider-Man shirt—drawing goosebumps along your skin as they make their way up to your breasts. “i’ll make you a deal,” squeezing the warm fleshy mounds between killer fingers, he pinches your nipples until you arch your back away from his chest with parted lips. “you let me fuck your girlfriend’s cunt and i won’t leak it to the press that you’ve got erectile dysfunction!”

“that’s not true!” izuku whines as if he’s a kicked puppy, cheeks flaming hot and red underneath his sunspot freckles. 

an evil, breathy chuckle leaves kacchan’s lips, emitted through his mask against the shell of your ear— sending your body into a fit of shivers, liquid gold gathering between your bare folds at the sound. “sure it’s not, but they don’t know that.” you feel like crying, all the anticipation built up from dry humping your boyfriend earlier coming to a head as soon as you feel deadpool’s fingers on your clit, tapping the tiny sensitive bud as if to see how much it controls your pleasure, how responsive you are to his touch. 

the sight of your eyes rolling back from a simple motion over your clit makes blood rush from his heart right down to deku’s cock, bringing it to life again, aching with need. “i don’t… i dunno,” he mumbles, sitting up and leaning forward to watch deadpool play between your thighs, pull pretty moans from between your angel lips. “if this is such a good idea—“ 

“please ‘zu!” you beg, a quivering mess from just a few strokes to your pretty pussy. “please izuku… please!”

and it’s as if the two men come to a mutual understanding, your boyfriend nods eagerly and the mercenary laughs again in satisfaction. “perfect! now keep still sweetheart, wanna be careful not to cut you up too badly,” he murmurs into the back of your neck. “blood doesn’t wash out too easily, that’s why i use lemon juice ‘n seltzer water. and i wouldn’t want t’mess you up too bad.” your eyes widen in protest when you hear the clang of metal and feel a cool blade practically run up your spine. your stare locks with the trusting one of izuku, who’s hand is already making work rubbing oje off on his new erection beneath the seedy wet stain on his suit, and it takes you a second to realise the man had used the katana strapped to his back to slice through your sleep shirt, causing the fabric to fall way from your chest. “better.” 

in the next moment, you’re manhandled face down and ass up onto the bed, izuku moving to sit opposite you against the pillows to watch the scene unfold. you feel bare, fully naked with your glistening cunt on display to the hungry leers of a stranger you don’t know. a man who kills for fun and for sport. “i-it’ll be okay, love,” spidey does his best to reassure you, tentatively taking your fingers in his and pressing a kiss to them— but you don’t miss the way his free hand squeezes his latex bound, weighty balls impatiently. 

“so cute, it’s like ‘m watchin’ and aftercare scene straight outta my little pony!” kacchan rolls his eyes beneath his mask, ruining your gentle moment before he turns away to look into the distance again to address his audience. “who’s yer favourite, reader? mine’s the unicorn but between you and me? twilight’s a fuckin’ cock sucking bitch.” with the focus back on you both, bakugou takes a hold of the globes of your ass— pulling them wide apart to get a wiff of your sweet arousal, a glorious view of how they stay connected by strings of your growing slick. “thatsa pretty view,” 

squeezing deku’s fingers, and katsuki wastes no time easing one thick digit into your eager hole— pushing whatever leaks from your pussy back into you. your mouth falls open as he curls it, searching for that gummy spot inside you that midoriya knows by heart and hums behind the mask when you spasm around him— locking the finger inside your sweet cunt. “‘nother, c-can i have another?” the way you rasp out your words is like an aphrodisiac to both men, deku’s dick twitching as if you’ve called out for him while his anti-hero coworker groans, clapping his free hand against your ass, watching it jiggle and your juices glue them together again. “p-please, ‘zuku— please, i’ll be good— s-so good,” 

spiderman has always been someone to help those in need, and you’re his pathetic little baby— who needs him, needs izuku to feel good and to cum. he can always do that. “i know love,” he inhales sharply, green eyes clouding over like a forest suffocated in a black smog of fiery lust. deku pervertedly looks between your perfectly arched ass, deadpool scissoring another finger into you, and your adorable face— lips between your teeth, eyes fluttering and he can’t help but soothe the pulse in his drooling cock by palming it once more while watching you. “k-kacchan, let’s add another finger, yeah? make her—“ 

“shut the fuck up, would’ya pretty boy?” katsuki snarls, twisting his fingers along the insatiable, streaming cavern of your core until you choke on a moan. “let’s not forget who’s doin’ the fucking here.” he tells both you and your boyfriend, reminding you of your places. “we had a deal, bug boy,” he punctuates each of his words with a ravishing thrust of his digits past your sluice entrance, making you claw at the sheets and sink your nails into deku’s hand. “and if you want somethin’ pretty girl, you gotta ask for it.” 

“d-deadpool,” you plead wetly, lightheaded from the heated excitement of finally being fucked in the way you deserve. “please…”

“it’s katsuki, baby,” there’s movement behind you again, and before you can ask what’s happening—katsuki bakugou is between your trembling thighs from behind, aggressively pulling his mask up and over his chin and nose as if he’s just as needy for this as you are. “‘m gonnna tongue fuck ya,” he says like it’s a statement, his husky voice wavering wwith an appetite for sex. katsuki sounds so much better without the mask, the sound of the deep chocolate octaves of his voice only making you gush around his fingers that plug you full. “and you’re gonna watch, spidey-fuck. god you’re so much more fuckin’ pathetic here than in the comics.” 

red eyes behind the white of the mask swill up the way your mound shines under the night and clenches around his gloved fingers that stuff you nice and full. deadpool’s nose nestles itself between your swollen, wet folds— breathing in deep in the nastiest way possible while his cock throbs at the scent of your arousal. it’s then that he juts his head upwards, nudging against your clit that grows even more prominent with each wave of sex hormone laden blood that rushes to it. 

“oi underoos, c’mere— lay down on the bed ‘n kiss her while i make out with this little cunt like a horny teenager on prom night.” deadpool sounds excited, happy to be the reason that heat sparks under your skin like being pricked with hot metal— his tongue darts out from his sinful mouth to trace over the length of your slit, humming in content at your honeyed taste. “fuck me, it must be christmas.” bakugou kicks his feet, deku crawling to be flat on his stomach before you. “web her down, she keeps squirmin’.” he adds, practically bouncing for joy when deku uses his web slingers to tie your waist to the bed.

just as your hero boyfriend saves you from letting out a pornographic moan, slotting his own mouth against yours, your uninvited guest does the same— pressing his own to the entirety of aroused sex, sucking greedily at the dribble of slick coming from you like a broken tap. you feel so overwhelmed, two tongues licking at you in two different places. izuku’s tongue slides lazily over yours, head tilting to swallow your voracious, agonised deplores. 

“baby y’sound so pretty,” izuku whines, already rutting his hips onto the bed in the same pace that kacchan eats you out, dragging his tongue in circles over your tight hole, faster and faster the louder you get, struggling to keep quiet even as deku kisses you sloppily. hormones breach the air between the three of you, rattling around like crazed particles only served to make you feel dizzy, controlling every movement of your body as you buck your hips back onto the masked face of the man controlling your pleasure, riding out everything on the tip of his tongue. “s’wet down there too…does she taste good kacchan?” 

the sounds of katsuki slurping and sucking every drop of your essence from your mound before it can drip onto the sheets below. reluctantly, he pulls away from your slit— connected to your sticky pussy by ropes of your creamy arousal. “like fuckin’ heaven,” he looks up to the ceiling. “sorry big guy,” right before digging back in, the mercenary spitting onto your cunt and watching as the frothy mixture slides down the length of you. in his next movements, he grabs your hips and yanks you back onto his mouth until his tongue is all the way inside of you, the pink muscle writing against ribbed, souse walls. “yer such a mess down here sweetheart, you gettin’ off to this? being used by someone who ain’t your man?”

there’s a guttural rasp in bakugou’s words spoken against the rising temperature between your thighs, marred skin of his chin shining with your viscous arousal. he makes you a mess, ruins you for better or for worse— you can’t tell. you can’t even tell what’s up or down. izuku is in no better shape than you, shamelessly bucking his hips into the sheets below just from watching your expressions as katsuki fucks you with his tongue like it’s his cock. 

the bed creaks lowly beneath the weight of your ministrations, every lick and suck, perhaps bite from the anti-hero against your pathetically soaked pussy has your entire body in mind-numbing shivers and shakes, legs threatening to give out on you at any moment. “c-can i cum?” you stutter out, tensing when gloved fingers are once more slipped past the frothing white ring of your entrance— it’s a tight fit, has your eyes bulging and your fingers clawing at anything to hold onto, your boyfriend the victim. 

he senses the pain of your death grip before he feels it, supernatural senses causing the feeling to mix into a delightful sting, pulling deku under and stealing his breath from his lungs watching you unravel for another man. it bricks up his length, his seedy precum covered tip catching on the ridges of fabric wrinkling in your bedsheets. everything only intensifies when the mercenary draws a knife from his holster, daring to drag the material against the curve of your ass, smiling wickedly at your attempts to move away from the cold blade despite craving the digits currently plunged inside of you.

he might cum in his suit again, mouth falling open with your own— your moans mingling in unison for a sweet song like a harmony to deadpool’s ears.

“whaddya say spidey, should i let ‘er cum?” deadpool goads, fingers fucking into you at a godspeed pace, tongue tracing his chicken scratch signature into your puffy, overworked clit— keeping you on a tilted ledge familiar to you, right before your high. “should i make your girl cum?”

fat, weighty tears build up in your eyes, the decision sitting in the sex tainted air as your boyfriend holds back his own orgasm. “yes, g-god yes, please let her cum kacchan.” 

you feel it creeping up at you, ready to drown you out in endorphins— but as soon as the twisting feeling in your gut comes, it’s quickly ripped away from you, katsuki’s fingers pulling from your sex only to grip at your waist and hoist you how he wants you, despite your whines and begs to feel release. 

“nah,” he says simply. “she won’t get t’cum till you do, and you won’t until i do, now isn’t that a plot twist.” he adds addressing you the reader this time, hardly breathing as he yanks down the leather of his pants to grab hold of his dick, thrusting it back and forth between your pussy lips as if they’re welcoming him home— met with resistant only when pushing into, despite how much he’d stretched out your little hole. “didn’t i open ya up enough sweetheart? you’re still so fuckin’ tight…or maybe spidey doesn’t get his cock in you enough to make a difference.” 

deku sits up at the change in position, a superhero strength taking over him as he rips through his latex suit— finally bringing some relief to his erection. your boyfriend’s cock feels and looks different to deadpool’s… he’s longer where katsuki is thick, pale with a pretty pink tip covered in white from how turned on he is from watching you get ruined by someone he’s worked with. your own mouth waters, watching izuku take hold of his curved shaft that pulses with the mean words his colleague spits at him— precum clings to each vein, adding a sinful shine to the length of him, guiding the steady movements of his fist that cups his cock…enjoying the show. 

“she gets a little tighter right before you push in,” the green haired hero beefs from deep within his throat, the glow of his eyes trained on the way bakugou’s fat cockhead brushes against the beginnings of your soft walls, trying to push into your little abused cunt. your eyes water at the delightful sting, tears streaking a path down the apples of your cheeks as your body breaks into a sheet of goosebumps. “gotta keep tryin’ s-she’ll take you eventually.” 

they talk about you like you’re not even there, using you in one way or another to get off but katsuki tries again, peeling his leather covered chest from your sweat slicked back and shoving his knee between your soaked thighs to part them even wider. deku groans as even more of your pulsating pussy stretching around the masked man is revealed to him. “it…h-hurts,” you hiccups, muscles in your hips locked despite how badly you want it. “y-you’re bigger than ‘zuku, katsuki,” and even though there is a twinge of pain every time the anti-hero fucks an inch of his length into you, you rock your hips back onto him— smiling to yourself as more of his girth sinks into you.

“ya hear that, shitty bug. your girlfriend thinks my cock is worth more than yours,” a contended, deep sigh lays wet on bakugou’s lips— teasing in tone as he ploughs onwards, his voice making your cunt shudder and grip onto his mushroomed, oozing tip, letting your cunt catch onto every ridge and bump and burned imperfection decorating his shaft. “tellin’ me how to fuck this pussy when he’s barely been in it himself, pathetic, hah sweetheart?” you should feel bad for agreeing, nodding your head feverently, but there’s hardly time to think what you say over. bakugou’s fingers, calloused from whatever birthed deadpool dance over your soft tummy, your hip bone to pacify the bite of your pain by fumbling with your pleasure bud, writing praise against it so you open him up like a flower in bloom— sweet nectar painting his entire hand, and again the skin of your thighs. 

“you gonna let him take you, love?” deku manages to ask over the drool filling his mouth and flooding the palette of his tongue. “i know you can, you’ve always been so good at doing what you’re told.” the rising temperature of the room turns his face as red as the suit cutting deliciously into your skin from behind, kacchan’s mask tough against your back and ass as he grinds his meaty cock into you. 

you shake your head yes for what feels like the millionth time, head lolling back to rest against deadpool’s shoulder— too weak to hold himself up since the added stimulation between your legs as you selfishly sucking more of the man in, letting his girth nestle itself against your warmth, churning you up just right. the more attention he pays to your clit, the more of himself he fucks into you until he’s able to bottom out, balls snug against your iron hot cunt. every movement, each twitch in the room comes to a standstill so everyone can adjust, your core rippling around katsuki and izuku beginning to cup his dick, waiting for his friend’s command to touch himself.

bakugou sets a steady rhythm to his hips, calculatedly making sure each one hits deep enough to smear his thick precum against your g-spot, his hips fluidly flowing into you like a rushing river— skin on skin echoing throughout the room. slick sounds accompany the tune of sex, izuku wrapping a firm hand around his own shaft, jerking himself off in tune with the speed at which katsuki passionately ruts into you— shameful and creamy as you swallow him up. deku fucks his fist like it’s your greedy little entrance, if he closes his eyes tight enough it feels just like you. sweat beads on his hairline like humiliation builds up in his bloodstream, carried about his body and straight to his arousal bleeding tip that his thumb circles over, pushing through the beads of precum at the slit. 

you feel everything, the slow stroke of deadpool’s creamed tip into your sluice and gooey insides, drowned in what feels like gallons of your essence— weakly rocking your hips down onto his, with tiny mewls that send both men into a frenzy. “couldn’t get your dick out for your girl but could for me fucking her? pathetic.” he sneers to your goody two shoes boyfriend, making him feel like even more of a pervert.

perhaps this does make him one, it’s been so long since izuku gave you the time of day and the attention that you needed— hanging his duty of Spider-Man just one peg above you always. he couldn’t even begin to imagine the amount of nights he’d left you, his loyal and sweet girlfriend unattended to because being the friendly neighbourhood hero garnered all of his focus. maybe being a little debauched was what your sex life needed,  for izuku to take a seat and really learn how to make you see stars. to have his lover ravaged and pounded into like a bitch needing to be fucked in heat.

that’s what he needed to wake up— see how much his baby needed him. “‘m sorry,” he hiccups, emerald gem eyes filled with crystalline tears that catch in his waterline, from pleasure or regret, your boyfriend can’t even tell. clear precum guides his movements, hips rising from the bed needily while his palm slides up and down his lengthy and chubby shaft, white caught in the fuzz of his pubic hair. “‘m sorry i’m no good at f-fucking her— shit, that i can’t keep it up. love, god…”

“fuck me, yer whiney,” deadpool laughs between heaves of his chest, concentrated on taking you to cloud nine— letting you know that he fucks you better than anyone who has before. “aren’t you embarrassed that a man like me has both you and your girl a mess? c’mon spidey, at least act like you hate me doing your job.” izuku howls at the degradation, and though your eyes are hazy, you swear that he’s swollen with an impending orgasm— the shredded latex that covers his hands squeezing at his weighty balls that look just about to burst. “still don’t know how a wet wimp like you managed to bag such a pretty lady, s’almost like she’s paid to be here,” 

licking a stripe up your neck, bakugou goes on, hands exploring every dip and curve in your body— pinching your sides and your clit and your nipples, nibbling on your shoulder and leaving marks where izuku would. “you know that right, that you’re fucking gorgeous,” his praise sends a shiver down your spine and butterflies in a frenzy within your lower tummy, leaving you gasping for air and a clenching mess. “moans sound so perfect, pussy swallowin’ me down… never met such a good girl, even when you’re crying like this.” 

“i-i’m a good girl?” you manage over the balls tapping your pearl at the centre of your viscous honeyed cunt, wet slaps bouncing off the wall. 

“so fucking good, sweetheart, love how you wrap around me, how you take this cock— you like it, i know you do,” he goes on, cupping your breasts as they bounce along with the rapid lunges of his hips, choking on a deep gripe of your name. “you like bein’ fucked while your boyfriend watches, you like that it’s me, don’t you? let’s play a game sweetheart, let’s pretend i’m your boyfriend who knows how to fuck you just right? yeah? get you all loved up and cockdrunk.” 

one second he’s balls deep, the early signs of katsuki’s release painting your guts as he churns them up, the next he’s got you flipped onto your back— your head by izuku’s lap and your thighs hiked over the latter’s broad, muscular shoulders. the whole world tilts on its axis, your head swimming and ears filled with cotton at the new angle, deadpool ramming into you missionary style and fucking you like he means it, like he loves you. 

“h-hah, k-katsuki…need more. need you!” you squeal, his tip grinding roughly against your g-spot over and over until it makes your vision shake. his pelvis is smooshed agonisingly against your swollen clit, stimulating you beyond belief, ripping you to shreds while every push and pull of his slender hips pieces you back together again. 

seeing him smirk above you as he cages you in against the soiled sheets with one hand above your head,  has you a sweating, wet mess— heavy tears clumped in your lashes at the view. deadpool’s…katsuki’s got to be attractive, you just know it. though his skin seems littered with rough, harsh scars, it glows golden under the artificial yellow lighting in your bedroom— tufts of blonde peek out from below the mask and you feel yourself grow woozy at his bright, white toothy grin. your hands, curious and needy, run from his slender and slutty waist up to his bulking arms and toned chest— mapping out his body built to kill, to fight, and when your arms wrap around his neck, you whimper with frustration, perhaps desperation— greedy eyes and cunt wanting more.

“take off your mask,” you beg between hiccuped cries, mouth hanging open when the mercenary’s speed picks up mercilessly. “wanna see your face… wanna know who’s f-fucking me this good.” 

cocking his head to the side, a rough thumb presses into your clit between your joined bodies. “ask me nice ‘n pretty, gorgeous. r’member who you’re talking to.” 

you keen into his touch, back arching off the bed and ankles locking just above his ass. you hear izuku above you, groaning at the sight before him— while his friend moulds you into the shape of his cock. “go on baby, know you can be good…use your manners,” he heaves, shifting so that his knees are either side of your head, fisting his cock rapidly over your tear soaked face.

“please,” you repeat to both of them, pout on your face, voice hoarse.“t-take off your mask, please.” it’s only fair he does as you ask, since both yourself and deku are practically naked— himself almost fully clothed.

pulling the hand locking you against him, bakugou uses it to rip off his mask— tossing it back into the room somewhere only to lean down close, squishing your cheeks between his rough fingers. “like what’cha see gorgeous?” his voice is thick with ecstasy, filtering through your ears like warm honey and filling you with a similar sense of heat. katsuki is a fucking god. where your boyfriend, deku, is pretty, adorable and sure does have his moments, deadpool is another kind of attractive— a scar from his battles running down the length of his chiselled face as if he’s been carved from the same marble used to make statues of gods. his eyes remind you of molten lava, red pools bubbling over with such intensity you might pass out. “‘cause i do, love how you look right now, pussy chokin’ my cock like you wanna milk it, clingin’ onto me. love it, sweetheart.” 

“love you,” you mewl in response, the world around you beginning to fall away— cease to exist, where the only feelings you know are katsuki’s shaft pressing up against your inner most sensitive spots and izuku tapping is leaky cock against your cheeks, wet moans of your name, tight and broken clinging to the air. “i love you, love your cock, love this, love you ‘zuku…” the three of you are a mess of juices splashing about the place and hot-to-the-touch skin, waves of clear liquid spewing from your puckered hole, creating a wet pap every time katsuki plunges back into you at unthinkable speeds. 

“you love me, hah? c’mere,” bakugou swoops down, a grip on the backs of your thighs as he pushes your knees towards your chest and connects his lips to your own. the new angle has all of his weight onto you, galaxies forming behind your eyes while he pounds into your foaming entrance with rhythmic claps. his tongue swipes over your bottom lip, delves into your mouth until you can feel him right in your throat and sucks on your lips until they’re swollen and raw. “gonna take care of you where the shitty bug can’t, keep this pretty body nice and full of my cock— fuck me baby, you’re so sweet.” he tells you like it’s a promise, fucks it right into that empty head of yours. 

while you grasp at sunshine locks, deku pants weakly behind you, strings of his near release dripping onto your face— his voice rising in octave. he’s trying so hard not to cum, savouring the pretty show being put on just for you, a front row seat to your sex grinding slick and lewdly up against bakugou’s, a creamy ring frothing around his base. “kacchan,” he cries, squeezing the bottom of his own dick to stave off his orgasm. “‘m gonna cum.” 

“no. you’re not. you wanna cum before your girlfriend does? no wonder why she’s so hungry for me cock you can barely last yourself,” although the blonde’s words are mean, evil enough to make your precious boyfriend hiccup with his own wave of tears, running low on stamina and hips rutting high into nothing, bakugou takes hold of deku’s chubby cock, guiding it before your lip locks and kisses. “suck, sweetheart. he cums, you get to cum, kay?” 

“uhuh,” you agree, pacified by having both of your entrances filled and let your strawberry tongue glide over izuku’s salty tip just the way he likes— hollowing your cheeks to suck him in nice and deep. 

between watching his girlfriend get her pussy destroyed by another man and having her swallow him down, tight throat constricting around him— there’s no way izuku can last any longer, especially when bakugou spits on to his shaft, rolling his balls too. he wants nothing more than to watch you both fall apart from him, switching his attention from your boyfriend to you, seemingly flipping a cold blade out of nowhere to press against your throat— knowing it’ll only get you wetter, sloppier and messier, messing with your mind.

it gets you to clench just right too. 

“fuck…that’s it, fuckin’ shit…” katsuki seems to have no control over his body either, barely holding back but the sight of your throat bulging for deku and your creamed cunt is enough to send him over the edge. he chokes on a moan of relief, tip nudging your g-spot and hands shaking with the treat of cutting your pretty throat as he runs towards his orgasm. “g-god sweetheart, got me breedin’ you. fuck, you want it bad,” static nearly blinds the anti-hero, curses spilling from his lips like his gum that spills into you in hot white ropes. he hisses, pulling his cock from your spasming hole and jerks himself off through the rest of his high, cumming and cunning until it splatters up your soft, marked tummy and over your ruined pussy lips. 

“can i cum now? c-can i? d-don’t think i can— oh baby… h-hold it!” your spider-man boyfriend comes next, thick and right down your throat until you choke on his heavy seed as it pours out by the corner of your swollen lips— he has to web your wrists together to stop you from pinching his freckled thighs so that he pulls out, the rest of his hot load shooting over your face, tangling in your eyelashes as his body convulses above your own.

with his breathing evening out, bakugou takes hold of his weighty length, smearing his seed into your skin and over your ravaged mound— knowing that you sit on the edge of your own release, a stunning mess of tears and cum and juices. “think it’s your turn, hah, pretty girl?” he grins wide at how you can barely manage to nod, and exhausted from the night’s activities. the blonde mercenary only tuts, slapping his cockhead against your clit, pushing it into your slit along with globs of his cum until the knot in your stomach twists, unravelling violently and all at once, release splattering out against his stomach, in a clear stream. “there you go, doin’ so well.” 

“so well beautiful,” izuku parrots, mesmerised by the way your face contorts into an adorable pout while you cum, coated in his own release that spreads over his tongue as he leans down to kiss you slow, and encouragingly to swallow the scream you let out. 

the three of you collapse a pile of over exerted limbs, with deku checking you over like the hero he truly is. 

“so, same time next fuckin’ week?” deadpool asks, grinning when you agree hastily. “and oi, you lot. don’t go askin’ for a part two. it ain’t happenin’, it’s a private screening.”

deku hums in agreement too, but makes a mental note to ask iron man to make him a looser suit, for practical reasons of course— not so it’s easier for him to fuck you, or anything.

#𓆩♱𓆪. 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑'𝟐𝟐 #bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x you #deku x reader #deku smut #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki smut #bakugou fanfic #tteokdoroki #katsuki bakugou smut #izuku midoriya smut #katsuki bakugou x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #bakugou thirst #tw: flashing #tw: cucking #tw: voyeurism #tw: knifeplay

[hollandorks]

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter seven

Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a

a/n: Fuck it, here's chapter 7 since the previous post was technically just an interlude! Once again I'm basically begging for comments/ messages/ any interaction other than just likes because I'm greedy!

Series Masterlist

word count: 3.5k

All she had was an eager cop, a detective, and the detective’s vigilante best friend. 

She hoped it would be enough.

Y/n knew that boredom would be her worst enemy, so she downloaded a police scanner app and listened to it almost religiously while she worked. The constant stream of voices helped keep the grief at bay and helped her focus. 

To her surprise, the cops seemed to want Batman around. There were a couple of calls those first couple of days–an armed robbery and a creep taking pictures through a window–where the officers mentioned him by name. He’d stopped the armed robbery before the cops got there and also caught the peeping Tom. One cop grumbled on the radio how all their work was being taken by some guy in a costume. The rest of them jumped to Batman's defense, saying there was more than enough crime to go around. “Besides,” one chuckled. “I wouldn't want to be the one to catch some creep with his dick out.” 

Y/n was almost pleased to hear the good relationship the vigilante had with GCPD. She wondered how much Gordon had to do with that. She made a few notes of their comments for her article, because it was definitely interesting to see that a city wanted a guy who operated outside the law around. 

It was a few nights before an interesting call came through. 

A witness reported a woman being shot. A young woman. The details were sparse but it was enough to pique her interest.

Y/n couldn’t say what it was that had her dressing warmly and grabbing her camera and phone. Stupidity, definitely. But it was one of those moments where she felt in her gut that something was happening, something related to her case.

Pepper spray clutched in one hand and camera in the other, she left the safety of Wayne Tower. Every shadow made her jump. She called a cab to take her to the crime scene–or at least as close as she could get. It was practically on the other side of the city and she definitely didn’t want to chance walking alone at night in Gotham. 

They were stopped two blocks from the scene, so she got out and peered around. It looked like the actual crime scene was on the other side of an apartment building to her right, but that alley was blocked off as was the street in front of her. So she walked a little further down to the next connecting alley to get to one street over. 

“What are you doing here?” 

“Shit!” She screamed. She whirled and swung her arm up to use the mace, but her wrist was quickly caught in an iron grip. She tried to scramble away and almost fell when the hand suddenly released her.

Her heart only slightly calmed when she saw who it was. 

The Batman. 

She pressed her knuckles to her chest. Her heart was jumping out of her chest. “Jesus fucking Christ. What are you doing here?” 

He watched her passively, half in the shadows. He had stepped away as soon as he let her go. “I asked first.” 

She closed her eyes for a beat and inhaled a steadying breath. “Probably the same thing you’re doing here.” She shrugged. Her pulse was still racing but she knew she was safe now. He wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. And besides, there were about a million cops just around the corner. If she screamed, they would come. 

“It’s too dangerous,” he growled. He took a half-step forward, like he would grab her again. 

She held up the pepper spray. “Not afraid to use this on you, buddy. Besides, you’re here now to keep me safe. And the other fifty cops out there.” 

He stopped. His eyes narrowed. She wanted to get closer, see what color they were, help narrow down who might be underneath the mask. 

“Fine, let’s go.” He started to walk past her, towards the blue and red lights at the end of the alley. 

She blinked in surprise. “That was easy.” 

He looked back over his shoulder at her. “Only because you’re going to do what you want to do. At least this way I can keep an eye out for you.” 

She grinned and winked. “You’re learning already.” 

They walked down the alley together, her shadowy protector moving to stay one step behind her like a bodyguard. 

At the end of the alley, the world was leached of color in the whirling red and blue lights, the flashes timed almost perfectly to the beat of her heart. She snapped a quick wide picture. She could see the area cordoned off with bright yellow tape. 

“Well, of all the officers in all of Gotham,” she said pleasantly when she spied Martinez keeping onlookers away from the crime scene tape. 

Officer Martinez’s young face brightened when he saw her, then changed comically fast when he peered over her shoulder. She could feel the Batman’s presence at her back, looming over her. 

“She’s with me,” the vigilante said. Martinez sighed but held up the tape to let them under. She sensed there was a story between them and itched to find out what it was. 

“If either of you touch anything…” Martinez grumbled. “It’s my neck.” 

Y/n flashed him her most winning smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the big guy in line.” Martinez grinned back. 

“So Martinez doesn’t like you, huh?” she asked the vigilante.

He ignored her. 

The air around them was humid, wet. It must have rained earlier, like most nights in Gotham. A few cop cars were leaving already. She wondered what had brought on the intense response. Her stomach tightened as they approached another alley. Gordon was talking to a young guy, late teens to early twenties, taking notes on a small notepad as the guy wiped at his face. 

Y/n quickly fumbled for her phone and set it to record. She wasn’t making the same mistake twice. Except for, well, the whole leaving Wayne Tower late at night while a murderer might be after her mistake she’d already made. She snapped another sneaky picture of Gordon and the young man. 

She caught Batman watching her and arched an eyebrow as if daring him to say anything. 

He simply turned away and said, “Gordon.” 

“Thank you,” Gordon said to who she assumed was a witness. “We’ll be in touch.” 

The guy hurried off, shoulders hunched, his face almost green. 

Gordon turned, saw her, and sighed. “I would ask, but…”

She winked. “You’re both learning so quickly. I’m proud.” 

“What happened?” Batman asked, all business. Y/n glanced past Gordon and saw a body covered in a sheet. The medical examiner was unzipping a body bag, about to transport it. 

The detective’s attention turned to the vigilante. “Single gunshot to the head at close range. Woman in her thirties walking home from work. Guy heard the gunshots and came running. Said he didn’t see the shooter but immediately called it in. Unfortunately, his dinner has…contaminated part of the scene.” 

While they were talking, y/n quietly lifted her camera and started taking pictures. 

The medical examiner lifted the sheet. She took another picture but paused. 

She took a shaky step back and bumped into something. Gloved hands steadied her by her elbows. 

“Oh,” Batman said softly. He put it together quicker than she had. Her brain was scrambling to keep up. The girl on the ground was a bloody mess, face down, legs sprawled like she’d tried to run. She was wearing a similar outfit to y/n–leggings, sweater, running shoes. 

But that wasn’t where the similarities ended. 

The height, the body shape, the hair color, even the shade of her skin…

The woman looked like y/n. 

She didn’t realize she was shaking until Batman gently squeezed her elbows. 

“Shit,” Gordon said. He must not have seen the body when he first arrived on the scene. 

“Don’t look,” Batman said in her ear, pulling her away, his voice conjuring–of all people–Bruce Wayne. It was just her mind reaching for something familiar, comfortable, safe. She shook the thought away. The vigilante turned her around and held her close. “Don’t look,” he said again. 

She closed her eyes against the wave of emotion. Her stomach swooped dangerously. She’d seen a dead body or two before but not–not like this. 

“Guess we have confirmation, then,” Gordon said softly. She didn’t have to ask what confirmation they had. She knew already, her gut telling her what exactly had happened despite its churning. 

Someone had killed that woman because it looked like her. 

They knew what she looked like. They knew well enough to kill someone even with the chance it might not be her. 

Which meant they were desperate and that it was only a matter of time before they found her. 

“Come on, you need to get out of here,” Gordon said, and this time he had her by the arm. He pulled her along, the vigilante cutting a path through the crowd before them. 

Her mind was blank. The shock of seeing a body, of imaging her own in its place, had wiped everything clean. She didn’t protest as Gordon bundled her into the passenger seat of his car. At least he didn’t put me in the back like a criminal, she thought almost deliriously. 

Batman stood in the open door, staring down at her. She wasn’t sure when he’d gotten there but now he was filling her vision. Her eyes traced the planes of his armor, wondering what he looked like underneath, who he was. There were dings and scrapes in places, physical memories of past fights. 

“I’m going to find who did this,” he said. His voice pitched impossibly lower. “And keep an eye out for you.” 

This made her snap out of it. “You can’t be in two places at once.” He had black paint around his eyes. She hadn’t noticed before. 

The barest smirk on his lips as he looked away. She couldn’t tell what color his eyes were in the darkness of the night. “You don’t know that for sure.” 

She snorted. “You’re right. Maybe you’re some sort of mutant freak. Besides dressing like a bat, you know.” Despite the joking, her hands shook. She tucked them between her thighs. 

“Listen,” he said, serious again. There was a note of steel in the word. His voice was so low she could feel it as a vibration on her skin. “Stop sneaking out at night. It’s too dangerous.” 

She nodded vaguely but didn’t actually make the promise. If they wanted her dead, Wayne Tower wasn’t going to stop them. Slow them down, maybe, but not stop them. She needed to put the puzzle pieces together, and fast. They were getting closer to figuring out who she was, but she and Gordon and even the Batman only vaguely knew who they were dealing with. They needed to even the score. 

“Then give me your phone number so you can be my bodyguard,” she said. She was half teasing. 

The Batman seemed to consider it. Her eyes went past him as the gurney passed with the body on it. She shuddered and he stepped to block her view. 

“If you have to leave, let Gordon know and one of us will come. But only if you have to.” 

“Right,” she scoffed. “You’re allergic to texting.” And probably don’t want a reporter having your phone number, she silently added. 

Batman stepped back and then Gordon was there. He put one hand on the top of the car and leaned in, expression as serious as she’d ever seen it. “I’m taking you straight home and you’re going to stay there, alright?” 

She waved a hand but nodded. Satisfied, he shut the passenger door. She could hear muffled voices as he said something to Batman. Probably berating him for bringing her to the crime scene in the first place. Or telling him something he didn’t want her to hear. 

Within a couple of minutes, Gordon was sliding behind the wheel. 

“How’d you even know where to go?” he asked as they drove. 

“Police scanner app.” 

He glanced over at her. “I hate those things,” he muttered. “What happened to quid pro quo? I would have called you.” 

She bit her lip and shrugged. “I can’t just sit around waiting for someone to shoot me in the head.” She shivered at the image she now had of what, exactly, that looked like. 

“So you’re going to take yourself right to their doorstep instead?” 

“With the way my luck is going lately, it’s only a matter of time anyway. Might as well get as much done as I can first.” She hated to be so casual about it, but she had had really shit luck lately. There was no use hiding from it. If she didn’t leave Wayne Tower, they would probably find a way to break in. Or send a sniper after her. She thought about the times she’d leaned against the windows in the study and a chill went up her spine. 

“All you’ve done is traumatize yourself and give me a headache,” he said around a sigh. He really did sound like a tired dad half the time, she mused. She leaned her head back and watched the dark streets of Gotham pass by. She was reminded of another night in Gotham, years ago, on the back of a motorcycle with Bruce. 

She pushed the memory away and said, “I’ll pay for a bottle of ibuprofen.” 

Gordon laughed softly. “Listen, I know you reporter types are always rushing into danger, but this is your life. Can’t write the story if you’re dead. Text me if you have to go anywhere, and either I’ll come or send someone I trust.” 

“Okay,” she said. “But if it takes too long I might leave anyway.” She smiled so he would know she was at least partially kidding. “Have you learned anything new?” 

Gordon was silent for so long she knew it was bad news. He parked right in front of Wayne Tower–illegally, she might add. 

He turned to face her, his hands idly resting on his knees. “It’s definitely the Gallo family. And another of the suspects we caught is dead. Apparent suicide, but we aren’t so sure. The third one is under around the clock protection, but…”  

“Shit,” she said. Now she was the one with a headache. “That is…bad.” 

“Can you see why I want you to stay home now?” he asked pleadingly. “Like it or not, I’m responsible for keeping you alive. If we can catch the last guy and get him and the other to trial…you’re an important witness. The only witness.” 

“Aw, and here I was thinking you were starting to like me.”

A tightening at the corners of his mouth told her he was trying not to smile. “Let me walk you upstairs.” 

“Do you see all the security in there? I’ll be fine.” She gestured towards the lobby. It definitely looked more like a swanky prison these days, even at night when no employees were in the lower floors of the building. 

“I wanted to see if I could talk to Bruce Wayne.” 

Y/n did a double take. Just the sound of his name made her stomach tighten almost painfully. “Why? To tattle on me? Bruce Wayne is not my keeper. He’s not my anything.” She immediately bit her tongue. She’d said too much with that last sentence, let too much of her hurt and bitterness in. 

“I want to talk to him about his security, see if we can bolster it with our officers somehow.” Gordon was already up and out of the car. She scrambled to keep up, briefly getting caught in her seatbelt before yanking it off and hopping out. 

Gordon flashed his badge to the security. They all relaxed not at seeing it, but at seeing y/n. 

“You better talk to Alfred then, if he’s awake. He’s more in charge of that stuff than Bruce. He’s with me, it’s fine.” She said the last part to the concerned security guard–the new one whose name she still hadn’t learned, the one who had called the police for her the night she’d witnessed the murders. He was in charge of the night shift security, apparently. She wondered if he resented being the only guy at the desk at night to having a whole team around. Or maybe it was less lonely. 

Gordon followed her into the private residential elevator. “Be that as it may, I’d like to speak to Mr. Wayne too.” 

She sighed but hit the button to take them up to the residential part of Wayne Tower. “You really sound like a dad,” she muttered under her breath. 

Gordon cut his eyes at her then smiled. 

The elevators opened, and there was Alfred, already dressed and waiting. Security must have called up, warning him the detective was coming. Had he even gone to bed? She was starting to think that Alfred might be nocturnal. Or maybe he didn’t sleep at all. That was new–she and Bruce had gotten in trouble many times when they were younger for interrupting his precious sleep. These days he always seemed to be dressed impeccably, even late at night. 

“Detective,” Alfred said pleasantly. He briefly narrowed his eyes at her. “How can I help you?” 

Y/n idly scuffed her foot against the floor, suddenly feeling like a teenager again. She had always been caught either sneaking out or sneaking back in. Alfred had a knack for it. Or maybe she wasn’t as good as Bruce had been, who had been caught only twice that she could remember. 

Gordon nodded politely. “Is Mr. Wayne feeling better? I’d like to talk to the both of you.” 

“I would like to add here that it’s not sneaking out if I’m a grown woman,” y/n said helpfully. 

Alfred’s eyes narrowed again before he turned his focus back to Gordon. “Mr. Wayne is out.” 

Now y/n was narrowing her eyes at Alfred. He caught her looking. She raised one eyebrow. Was he street racing again? She remembered the bruises on his knuckles. Or part of an illegal fight club? Neither would surprise her. 

Another thought struck and stole her breath. 

Maybe Bruce had a girlfriend. 

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” Gordon asked. His tone was carefully neutral. 

“Well, as I was just told, the rules are different for grown men–and women. He comes and goes as he pleases and rarely includes me in his plans.” Alfred was being too professional with it. His tone was too flat. Oh yeah, Bruce was definitely up to something, and Alfred definitely knew exactly what it was. Fuck, she thought desperately. She couldn’t breathe. Alfred would know if Bruce had a girlfriend and he knew her well enough to hide it from her. 

Why did the thought of Bruce with another woman hurt so much, even three years later? I don’t love you and I never will, he had said that night. 

Which meant he was perfectly capable of loving someone else. 

Y/n bit her lip until the pain made the panic recede. 

“Of course,” Gordon said in an equally flat, professional tone. “I wanted to chat about security measures. There was another murder tonight, and while I can’t give details of an ongoing investigation…it definitely seems like y/n is a target.” 

She cringed, remembering how eerily similar the body had been to hers. Who had the woman been? She hadn’t gotten a name, an age. But she felt like she should know these things if the woman had died in her place. What if she was only the first? Would they kill every woman who looked close enough to y/n before they caught her?

Alfred blinked in surprise, the professional facade slipping. “I–of course, let’s go into my office.” 

Y/n wanted to go with them but decided against it. It really would be smarter to listen to Gordon. If she needed to leave, she would get an escort, even if it was Alfred. He may walk with a cane but she knew he was secretly pretty spry. He’d been a spy or soldier or something in his younger years, before coming to work for the Waynes. 

“Goodnight, Alfred,” she said, taking a half-step towards the hall that led to her room. “And thanks, Gordon.” 

They both nodded and bid her goodnight before disappearing towards the study. 

Y/n waited a second then darted to the elevator. The other elevator. Bruce’s. 

She didn’t really have a plan other than to see with her own two eyes that Bruce was gone and not just hiding. 

She hit the button for what was once the garage and again, nothing happened. She frowned at it and hit it several more times. Still nothing. 

What if Bruce was down there with a woman, showing her his cars? Or–She shut the thought down and mashed the button one more time, knowing it was futile. 

With a curse, she stepped back out. 

Fine, she would go to bed and leave Bruce alone. It didn’t matter if he was wrecking illegally souped up cars or beating someone’s face in and following the first rule of fight club. It didn’t matter if he was with a woman he might love more than he ever loved her. 

It didn’t matter. He didn’t matter.

Except, as much as she hated to admit it, he did.

Next Chapter

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[navybrat817]

𝑬𝒓𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅

✧˚ · . a collaboration between @navybrat817 and @sgt-seabass

Stay reformed. Erase this perfect world. Hate left below. The dark stray dog of war. (x)

Pairing — Bucky Barnes x Reader W/C — Almost 5k This is a dark fic. 18+ only. Listening to - Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea Previous part - A Tide of War and Broken Dreams

Warnings — angst, kidnapping, aftermath of attack, injuries, threat of violence against reader, Hydra exists, Bucky whump A/N — Welcome to the next part of our Vengeance AU! Quick reminder that this is a dark fic and things are going to be extremely rough for our reader (and Bucky) in the upcoming parts. Please heed the warnings and we hope you enjoy the ride!

Coming home to you was the thing Bucky looked forward to the most after a mission. Whether you were wide awake to greet him with a smile or curled up in bed sound asleep, the sight of you was like coming home every time. The love of his life, you taught him to believe in dreams again when he lived in a nightmare for so long. While he was darkness and pain, you were light and warmth and hope. You were part of his redemption, his dream he had long forgotten come true.

In hindsight, he should've thanked you more for loving him.

Even as his shoulders sagged from exhaustion, he smiled to himself as he took his keys from his pocket. You drew interlocking hearts with a red marker on the apartment key after his last mission. It was a reminder that the two of you had a home made with love. And that he had someone to come back to.

In hindsight, he should've shown more appreciation for the small things you did for him.

When Bucky got to the door, he wondered if you were awake or asleep since it was still early. Would you wake up if he joined you in bed? He hoped you got enough rest without him, remembering how you tried to get him to stay home. You seemed more nervous than normal for him to leave and it wasn't easy for him to shake, but you were safe there. And once he kicked his boots off and greeted Alpine, he'd wrap himself up in you as he put the mission behind him. He refused to let his work, or past, taint the beautiful space you created together.

In hindsight, he should've listened when you asked him to stay.

Darkness greeted him as he undid the multiple locks and pushed the door open, his senses on high alert when he noticed objects strewn along the floor in the dark. Alpine knocked things over when she had her zoomies, but this was something different. The aura of the room was heavy, and when Bucky stepped inside he could feel the air thicken suffocatingly. He reached for his gun as he listened for any sign of someone in the apartment. When he didn't hear any voices, or heartbeats, he turned on the light switch. He nearly got sick when the smell drifted to his nostrils.

Blood.

It was quickly becoming apparent that something was very, very wrong. Bucky’s heart spiked in a flurry, and while he wanted to freak out, his tactical survival mindset switched on, his emotions temporarily waning. The former assassin and current sergeant trembled as he stepped forward, careful not to track his footsteps through the blood in the hall. If this was a crime scene… He pushed the thought away as he glanced down at a photo of the two of you, the red fluid staining the beautiful memory and drowning out the happiness.

He experienced hell, but it still didn't prepare him for the sight of your living room as he kept his gun trained. Everything from the table to your hard work lay in scattered pieces. The sight of destruction made his stomach turn. It was as if someone wanted to ruin the care put into this place. Even the air was colder, shadows taking over the normally bright space.

It was pure destruction.

Why didn't he get an alert of a break-in? His security wasn't as good as Stark's system, but he should've received something. He knew the signs of a robbery, but this was something else entirely. Whoever did this knew what they were doing and he feared what that meant for you.

"What is that?" he muttered, stepping over broken dishes as he saw something written in blood.

BLONDE

His brilliant and amazing other half tried to leave him a clue.

All his training and thought went out the window as he spotted the knife normally hidden under the couch soaked with blood feet away, screaming your name as he frantically searched for you. He choked on a sob as glass crunched under the boots, the bathroom in the same disarray as the rest of the apartment. The bloody footprints led away from the room. Was this where it started?

You put up a fight, didn't you, doll?

Fury surged through him at the thought of someone hurting and scaring you, for daring to put their hands on you. You weren't trained to fight and you didn't deal with pain well, but you had spirit. You had heart. But he wasn't here to defend you.

In hindsight, he should've been there to protect you.

"Meow."

Bucky pointed his gun at the ground as he spun around, a tear sliding down his cheek when he saw Alpine's normally white fur darkened red. He holstered his weapon before he crouched down to check her. Physically, she was fine, but he knew she was shaken up. So was he. "Hey. I've got you," he whispered, trying to soothe her and himself when she nuzzled his chest.

Keeping her close, he finally made his way to the bedroom. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine you were there, stretched out and smiling as you welcomed him home. He could join you, hold you, and know he was home. But all he saw was an empty bed.

You were gone.

In hindsight, he never should've gone on that mission.

"Who did this, Al? Where is she?" he asked, wishing his cat could tell him what happened. You were kind to everyone. You had no enemies. Everyone loved you.

I love you so much, doll.

Trying one last thing, he got his phone out to call you and hoped by some miracle you'd answer.

You didn't.

"Hi! You've reached the voicemail of…"

Hearing your cheerful voicemail unleashed his tears as he hung up and collapsed on the bed. The scent of your perfume lingered on the sheets as Alpine curled up in his lap and for a moment it was as if you were there to assure him you were hanging on. To not give up on you.

Never. I'd fight for you 'til my last breath.

It took him a moment to dial Steve's number, trying his best to keep it together as he ran a shaky hand through his hair. This was his fault. It had to be. He could blame himself later. For now, he had to find you. He had to bring you home. And he tear apart the blonde monster who dared to lay a hand on you.

"Hey, Bucky. What's going on?" Steve asked as he answered.

There was a beat of silence before Bucky let out a choked sob. He placed his hand over his mouth for a moment, whimpers slipping past his fingers before he got the words out.

"She's gone," he whispered, a tear falling on Alpine's head.

"What?"

"She's gone," he repeated as he cried, the sound drowning out Steve's voice. The last time he broke down like this was in Wakanda, the day he was free of Hydra's hold over him. That was the beginning of a new dawn, like when you entered his life.

But today was the beginning of a brand new nightmare.

Wherever you are, please, hold on.

Pain, by definition, is an unpleasant sensory and emotional experience associated with actual or potential tissue damage, or described in terms of such damage. What you felt as you tried to open your eyes went beyond unpleasant, the physical anguish drawing a groan from you began to sit up. Your body screamed at your mind to lay back down as your vision slowly adjusted to the light, immediately recognizing that you weren’t in your home by the look of the dirty ceiling.

Where am I?

The last thing you remembered were the three strangers, your attackers, standing over your weakened body. You had no clue what shape you were in, but it couldn’t be great judging by the ache you felt just from waking up. You didn't know what you had done to receive their wrath, but they miraculously listened to your plea and didn't kill you. For a moment, you thought the men were going to leave your lifeless body for Bucky to find.

Bucky.

The physical pain shifted to your heart as you imagined him getting back to the apartment only to find it in ruin. You didn’t know when he would return from his mission or how long you were unconscious, but you had to get back to him. He needed to know you survived and he sure as hell wouldn’t just lay there if he were in your shoes. You had to be strong for him, even if you felt weak.

“I’m okay,” you whispered.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly began to push yourself up. The left side of your body protested, but you managed to get in a sitting position after a few seconds. Glancing down, you pulled the flimsy sheet away and expected to see random splotches of dried blood on your naked body. You found none because someone took the liberty of cleaning you and putting an oversized shirt on you.

Who did that?

The only relief you felt was there was no soreness between your legs. They kept your dignity intact and didn't taint that part of your soul. You would take the pain over that.

You gingerly touched your left shoulder, wincing as you felt the wrapping under the fabric. The brunette stabbed you, the flash of the memory in your mind making your stomach lurch. But was he the one who patched up your wound? There were bandages around your feet, too. Who removed the shards of glass? Or were they cruel enough to leave them there?

You fought the urge not to cry when you noticed the cuff around your left ankle attached to a chain. Sniffling, you slowly swung your legs to the side of the bed, the clinking sound momentarily distracting you from the ache as you set your feet on the ground. The musky smell of the filthy room filled your nostrils as you looked around. It reminded you of a basement, but worse. The average size room had no windows. A lone light in the ceiling. A toilet. A sink. And a bucket beside the bed.

The one someone chained you to.

Like a prisoner.

You braced your hands on your knees to keep your breathing even, but it didn’t stop your stomach from lurching again at the reality and stress of your situation. Combined with the ache of your body and the smell on your cell, you managed to grab the bucket just in time before you wretched. You hated throwing up, almost as much as you hated being in pain. You could never put your finger on why you couldn't handle it well. Maybe it was because you had little experience in dealing with it in comparison to someone like Bucky.

"Ouch!" you hissed, shoving the paper away on your desk. "Damn."

"You okay?" Bucky called from the kitchen, his footsteps already heading toward you.

"Paper cut," you pouted, showing him. His look of concern made your heart swell. "Will you kiss it better?

"Poor thing," he said, his tone sympathetic and not chastising as he helped you up. "I'll kiss it once I put a bandaid on it."

"Why do they hurt so much?" you asked as he led you to the bathroom, feeling silly for saying that. It was just a paper cut.

"Because paper is actually jagged and acts more like a saw than a knife blade," Bucky explained, giving your finger a kiss once he cleaned and wrapped a bandage around it. "And there are a lot of pain receptors in your fingers. Cutting through those nerve endings hurts."

"You're so smart," you smiled, your finger tingling as he gave it one more kiss. "I'm just a baby."

"You're not a baby. You're allowed to feel what you feel," he assured you, pressing his lips against yours. "Just be glad it wasn't your foot."

"How would someone get a paper cut on their foot?" you giggled when he smiled.

"It could happen. And if it does, I'll kiss it better."

“I’m okay,” you whispered again after you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

A tear rolled down your cheek as you stood up and you couldn’t stop the whimper as you took a step forward. While you didn’t think they left any glass in your feet, it sure as hell hurt to put your weight on them. Your legs shook as you moved toward the sink, which was far from the door. It was slow going, but you put one foot in front of the other. You longed to feel Alpine rub her fur against your leg as you rinsed your mouth out with surprisingly clean water.

At least those bastards didn’t hurt her. Or did they?

You didn’t make a mad dash for the door, not wanting to do more damage to yourself, but you tried to move a little faster. Each step was more painful than the last and you nearly collapsed when the chain couldn’t give any further. You whined as you tried to stretch and touch the door. Of course, you couldn’t reach it, but you were so close.

Yet so far away.

"Come on," you whispered, unable to hold back a sob when you yanked on the chain.

For some reason, maybe it was fear or thinking no one would help, you didn’t scream. It wouldn’t do you any good when you didn’t have much energy to spare. You tried to think of what Bucky or any of the other Avengers would do in this situation as you wiped the tears away. Not like they’d let something like this happen to them. No, you couldn’t think like that. This wasn’t your fault.

The only ones to blame were the ones who took you.

You didn't get a chance to feel along the walls or look around any further when you heard three sharp bangs on the door. Stumbling backwards, you winced as you fell against the mattress and watched the door swing open. You couldn't stop your heart from pounding at the sight of the three men casually entering the room. The ones who ruined your home.

And took you from Bucky.

Your attackers stared you down as you cowered on the bed. They no longer wore the hoodies with the green symbols, each of them clad in black t-shirts and tactical pants. The brunette crossed his arms and looked all too pleased at your present state. The dirty blonde glanced around the room with a sneer, like he was too good to be inside of a dirty cell. The blonde who attacked you first showed no emotion as you hugged your knees to your chest.

Up close, and from your sitting position, the men were large and intimidating in stature. The room felt smaller from the space they took up, threatening to suffocate you. They easily tossed you around your home and you didn't want to imagine the damage they would do to you here. You were a doe in a den of wolves.

Would you manage to get out of the woods?

“About time you woke up, toy,” the brunette said, checking the chain to make sure it was still secure. "I was about three seconds away from dumping water on you."

“She looks like shit,” the dirty blonde commented with a small chuckle.

Heat filled your cheeks. You hadn't looked in a mirror, but of course, you looked awful. Felt like it, too. What did they expect when they nearly beat you to death?

"I guess we didn’t get to properly introduce ourselves, did we? I’m Maddox. That’s Damien. And that’s Kage. We already know who you are, but your name doesn’t really matter.”

You remembered them referencing each other as they attacked you, but you didn’t recognize them from anywhere. Bucky never mentioned them. They were distinct enough to stand out if he had.

Kage didn't acknowledge how you stiffened as he got close to you. Gently pulling on the sleeve of the shirt, he checked your shoulder and glided a warm hand down the other side of your body. Was he going to hurt you again? What about the others? You didn’t see any obvious weapons on them, but that didn’t mean anything. They were strong enough to beat you if you tried to fight. The thought had you hugging yourself tighter when you felt the blonde's breath on your neck.

“Told you the little bitch would puke,” Maddox said, nodding toward the bucket when Kage finally pulled away. You woke up chained to a bed in an unfamiliar place. How were you supposed to react? "You’re not much of a conversationalist,” he added, making you move back against the wall as he stepped closer this time.

There were plenty of things you wanted to say, but you kept your mouth shut.

"You’re really not going to say anything? That’s rude,” Damien said, nudging Kage with his elbow. “Why isn’t she talking?”

“Ask her,” the blonde replied.

“Why aren’t you talking to us?” Damien asked, crouching down and patting your cheek harder than necessary. You didn't want any of them touching you. “We know you’re not deaf, so speak.”

You didn't know much about him, but his tone came across as entitled. Like he expected people to jump at his word. "I’m scared," you admitted.

“You should be,” Maddox mocked, pulling Damien back a little. "But I don’t see what being scared has to do with you not talking. You were pretty mouthy with your whole ‘I’m still winning’ bullshit.”

"I’m scared because you almost killed me," you told them, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. Had they really forgotten that or did they not care?

"But we didn't. We let you live,” Damien said, like you should’ve thanked him for allowing you to still breathe. “Your vocal chords still work. Use them."

"I don’t want to," you whispered. All you wanted to do was go home and let Bucky know you were okay. “I don’t want to talk to any of you.”

The humor left Maddox’s face at your answer. "You say that like we give a shit about what you want. Talk, or we'll cut your tongue out if you refuse to use it."

Fear spiked at the threat, knowing it wasn't an empty one. The man stabbed you in the shoulder simply because you tried to fight back. "Okay, I will," you promised, though you weren’t sure what they wanted you to say. "Thank you for patching me up."

Even though they were the ones who inflicted the wounds, they could've easily let infection set in or not tend to them at all. Your statement didn't get much of a reaction from them though, minus the slight look of surprise on Damien's face. "You should be thankful. Put this roof over your head, too."

"Thanks," you said again. At least you had a bed. "Where are we?"

He burst out laughing. What was so funny? "We're in a room. And here we thought you were smart being a graphic designer and all."

"How did you know that?" you asked when his laughter died down. Did they discover that when they wrecked your place or did they do their research on you?

"Dami's great with computers and systems," Maddox smirked, clapping him proudly on the shoulder. The younger man preened at the compliment. "Your security system's lacking, but the camera loves you."

These monsters hacked your apartment cameras? Invaded your privacy? It was a violation that neither of you deserved. It was how they likely knew Bucky wouldn't be home to help you. "Why were you watching my place?"

"We have our reasons," Kage replied, not expanding on the topic.

Maybe, by some miracle, the cameras picked up on what happened to you. As much as you didn't want Bucky to witness your attack and kidnapping, it could give him clues to your whereabouts since you were only able to write one word in blood. "Are you going to let me go?”

"Kage, I think that hit to the head did more damage than we thought," Damien joked.

"Let's clarify for that baby brain of yours: We're not letting you go, so don't fucking ask,” Maddox stated.

Your heart sank the longer you sat there. "Is it money that you want?" you asked. Had they demanded a ransom from Bucky or anyone else for your release?

"Oh, please," Maddox rolled his eyes, as if you asked a stupid question. "Didn’t we already tell you this isn’t about money? Damien has more than he knows what to do with."

“Then what is it about? I haven’t done anything to you. To any of you,” you pleaded, wishing you were stronger. But was it weak to beg? To want to go free? “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

"How self centered to think this is about you."

"I-I'm not self centered,” you gently argued. You weren’t a perfect person, but you had a good heart and wouldn’t hurt anyone for the world. “I'm just trying to understand."

"Aww. Of course, you are. Because that's the kind of person you are, aren't you?” The brunette grabbed your chin with an iron grip, squeezing hard enough to make you whimper before he let you go. “So kind and understanding and willing to look past flaws? Living in your happy little bubble where nothing can touch you?"

Maybe, in some ways, you did live in a rose colored world. Your life was a happy one overall. Bucky shielded you from some of the things he did and the horrors he went through. Was it a means to keep you safe or to keep you blissfully unaware of the darkness of the world?

“Why did you attack me? You mentioned Bucky-”

You shrieked when Maddox kicked the bucket against the wall, his fingers flexing like he wanted to hit something. Damien had a similar look of fury on his face. Kage was the only one who didn’t physically react, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t upset. “Don’t say his fucking name,” he spoke above a whisper, something dangerous in his voice making you shudder.

“I’m sorry,” you said, not wanting to anger them any further. Bucky worked hard to make amends for the actions he was forced to carry out, at least the ones you knew about. What was the history with these men? The green octopus on their hoodies briefly flashed in your mind. "If you won't let me go and you don't want money, why bring me here? Why didn't you kill me?"

"Because it isn't your time to die yet,” Damien shrugged.

It was both comforting and fearful that they didn't kill you. By bringing you here, they had some sort of plan. Besides violence, what else were they capable of and what would they do to you in the process?

"Death is a privilege earned through pain. And you need a hell of a lot more before you get there," Maddox chastised as you put on what you hoped was a brave face. Were they going to try and break you? No, you wouldn't let them. "Plus, you’re Damien’s first girlfriend, so we can’t get rid of you just yet."

"Shut the fuck up," he snapped, his cheeks red as he glanced at his friend. "I’ve had plenty of girlfriends."

You wondered if he chained them up in dirty rooms like this, but chose not to ask.

"What, in high school?" Maddox chuckled.

"Fuck off. I’m not a teenager!"

As the two of them bickered, Kage continued to stare at you with an unreadable expression on his face. And his eyes? They took on an unnatural shade of blue that sent another shiver down your spine before you blinked, the irises going back to normal. Maybe the light in the cell was playing tricks on you.

His eyes lingered on you still as he addressed the others. "That's enough. Go over the rules."

Damien huffed, but conceded. Kage's words seemed to hold weight for him. "Since we're kind enough to let you stay here until we decide to get rid of you, you’ll do what we tell you."

Meaning, until they decided to kill you. Your eyes burned with unshed tears as you nodded. Maybe if you behaved, you could bide your time and find a way out of this. Or at least hold on until Bucky found you. “What are the rules?”

“So glad you asked,” Maddox smiled. “First rule. You’ll eat three meals a day, whatever we give you, without complaint. You don’t eat it, we’ll shove a fucking tube down your throat. Is that understood?”

You nodded again. You’d eat so you could keep up your strength. It was also better than starving.

“A nod isn’t a good enough answer. Say, ‘yes, Maddox',” he said slowly.

The urge to snap was quickly smothered by fear and uncertainty. “Yes, Maddox.”

“That’s a good girl,” he said, a darkness in his eyes that made your skin crawl. “Next rule. You’ll brush your teeth after each meal, but you’re not allowed to keep your toothbrush. Don’t want you trying to use it as a weapon.”

“Why do you want me to brush my teeth?” you couldn’t help but ask. They harmed you and kept chained you in a cell, but cared about your hygiene?

“Because we don’t want your teeth to rot," Damien answered, a wide smile on his face. "If you lose them, it'll be because we knocked them out or pulled them out.”

You refused to throw up in front of them, but you were pretty close as your stomach lurched. These men were sick, but they wouldn't have those smiles on their faces once Bucky got his hands on them. "Brush my teeth after each meal and give the toothbrush back when I'm done."

"Like a fucking parrot. So proud," Maddox muttered, holding up three fingers as you hung your head. Did they have to be so rude? "Rule three. Don't lay in bed all day, Get up, walk around, stretch. Just because you aren’t allowed to leave this room doesn’t mean you can be lazy while we work.”

You wished you were working. You longed to be at your computer, bringing your visions to life. Maybe you could piece together the damage they had done once you were free and pick up where you left off.

"I'll walk around," you said, wondering how long your feet would take to heal.

“And rule four. You don’t give us the silent treatment," Damien said, narrowing his eyes. "If we ask you a question or initiate a conversation, you're expected to answer. You don't get to ignore us after we let you live."

Did they think you owed them something for not killing you? That it was a privilege for you to live? "I'll talk," you said, only if you had to. "What happens if I break a rule?"

"We'll punish you," Maddox smirked, his dark eyes sparkling with excitement as you shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "Please, break a rule."

"We'll go over punishments later," Kage said, checking the time on his watch. "We need to feed her. Let's go."

You got unsteadily to your feet as they moved toward the door, attempting one last plea. "Please, let me go," you begged, immediately regretting your words when three pairs of eyes glared in your direction. You couldn't take it back, but you couldn’t stop either. “Bu- My boyfriend will come looking for me if you don’t. He'll get me out of here.”

All you wanted to do was go home.

“We’re counting on him to look for you,” Damien smiled.

“One last rule for now,” Kage added as Maddox walked toward you with a scowl. “Don’t say his name or ever ask to go back to him.”

Before you could back away, the brunette deliberately stepped on your foot. If that wasn't bad enough, he pushed a finger against your stitched shoulder. A wounded sound left your mouth as searing pain shot up and down your arm and leg. You were barely able to make out his face as black spots danced in front of your eyes.

"Order comes through pain," he said, pressing his boot in more as you sucked in a breath. He released your foot seconds later and harshly shoved you to the bed as your chest heaved. "You better get used to it."

"Kage just changed her bandages before she woke up," Damian snapped when you gripped your shoulder, your body still shaking a little.

"Oh, boohoo. She can lick up any of the blood she spills. She'll need the hydration," Maddox said before the cell door slammed shut, their footsteps fading into nothing.

Reaching for Bucky's dog tags around your neck for comfort, something to remind you that you weren't alone, you remembered they were gone. They took them from you. The floodgates opened, soaking the sheet with your tears. Your captors terrified you and you couldn't figure out their angle. They had an issue with Bucky, but hadn't asked any questions about him or the Avengers. They hadn't tortured you for any kind of information. What could you as a civilian tell them anyway?

What did they want?

I'll hold on, Bucky. I'll try and be strong for you.

Your boyfriend would find you. He wouldn't give up until he did. But it didn't stop you from crying in your cold cell. And it didn't stop the blinking red light in the corner capturing it all, documenting the next chapter of your nightmare.

Our poor reader. More to come soon. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

#navybrat writes #ambswrites #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #omc x reader #omc x female reader #omc x you #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x female reader #sebastian stan x you #collaborative writing #dark fic #james buchanan barnes

[furious-rogue-stuff]

Heat Chapter 44: Deserving - Part 1

I assure you, I did NOT intend for there to be such a long hiatus since the last update! Life got ridiculous for a while. Hopefully this massive chapter makes up for 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: While Javier's work spins up, preoccupying him, you try to keep your worries after several perplexing occurrences from towing you down into uncertainty. Can you both keep each other feeling grounded and deserving of the hopes you both care to nurture together?

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of sex, including masturbation and unprotected sex. Mentions of raunchy sexual acts, sickness, longing, stress, and fertility worries. Descriptions of power play, praise kink, and dirty talk. Allusions to jealousy, family strife, foreboding threats, and uncertainty. Some Protective!Javi, Dom! Javi, Bossy!Reader. 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.

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Previous chapter - Chapter 43: Still

Chapter 44: Deserving - Part 1

Since the 1980s, Puerto Rico had grown into a major gateway to the U.S. for South American drugs. Within the first few years of the early 1990s, though, the small archipelago and U.S. territory functioned as the Caribbean's drug-smuggling hub. The administration in Washington D.C. ranked Puerto Rico and the nearby U.S. Virgin Islands as second to Mexico, in being a corridor for drugs coming into the United States.

With stats like that, and a precarious rise in violence and social ills associated with the drug trade and trafficking on the island, it was no wonder that the federal government had established a larger footprint in the region, encouraged especially by the Partido Nuevo Progresista being the current party in power. The Puerto Rican governor, Pedro Roselló, was a pro-statehood politician who'd been voted into power with lofty promises of curbing the waves of crime and violence, and collaborating with the federal government to get aid and better opportunities for private industry to the island of 3.6 million people.

His Mano Dura initiative was one that will be studied for decades to come. Beginning as a zero-tolerance policy program to combat crime, that some say had the opposite effect when it came to bettering the social standing of the working and poor classes on the island. It included the enactment of policies that increased sentencing periods, reduced rehab-focused initiatives for criminal offenders and promoted aggressive, more proactive – and often invasive – policing tactics. Public safety was touted as the preeminent concern – borne out of the fear and public frustrations across all facets of Puerto Rican society regarding the skyrocketing incidences of carjackings, hold ups, drive-by shootings, and murders fueled by the drug trade.

For all the militarized tactics, most glaring being the use of the National Guard to infiltrate and police public housing and high-crime neighborhoods throughout the metropolitan municipalities on the island, the murder rate only kept rising.

Javier had poured over the data, and saw how crime had exploded on the island as soon as it became a hub for drug trafficking into the U.S. and Europe. It used to be that robberies and the occasional assault were the worst crimes in most towns on the island. But just the year prior, there were 980 homicides on the island, setting a record – with one of the worst massacres reported occurring in a small town west of San Juan. More than 60 percent of the killings were drug-related. And drug-related violence was only getting more pervasive – indiscriminate of victims or the collateral damage.

Needless to say, Javi was done with the crash course phase of things, and wanted to really wrap his arms around the facts at hand. Sadly, the murder and mayhem had no face – no figurehead to pin the wave of crime on, so he was left to pull at threads in the stats and data to try and find the source. Of course, though, he and Steve had their mandate: stopping the flow of drugs, especially of the 10 to 20 percent that ended up remaining in the island for local consumption, creating a criminal industry that smuggles and stores the product, launders money, operates the retail puntos and foments the violence to prevail over competitors. Well, at least that was Javi's goal, since stopping the all-out flow of drugs into the U.S. was a fool's errand.

Getting the DEA running without being as heavy-handed as the National Guard patrolling known points had been difficult in the past, but he and Steve had come up with different tactics and enforcement plans. Organizing everyone, and getting them the necessary training, and into the field office was their current hurdle, one that kept both agents busy.

Working to get the field office set up, splitting travel to and from the U.S. Virgin Islands, being briefed on joint task force operations, and dealing with federal officials assessing their budgetary requests had been occupying a lot of their time. There just aren't many moments for either of them to concentrate on non-DEA-related things longer than the cursory conversations or plans you and Connie make for dinner hangouts, surface 'how was your day' chats, or simply wanting to be in the moment when intimacy was possible. So, having the intuition to ask 'what is wrong?' wasn't in the cards currently.

You commiserate with Connie about it. Between the two of you, though, you don't feel like you have any concerns – you don't feel neglected or burdened. After all, she's the one juggling a full-time job at the V.A., taking care of Isabel and Olivia, and fitting in time to tend to the house. If anything, you feel pretty centered, compared to how things had been before reconciling with Javier.

It's all perspective, and you are a great sounding board for Connie as much as she's a reassuring voice of reason – and a fount of knowledge for living with a stubborn DEA agent.

Really, you enjoy having someone who understands what it's like to be in love with a tenacious, committed and selfless man who throws himself into his work head first, then thinks about the toll that takes much later. As far as you're concerned, it all is put into perspective. So not telling Javier – or anyone – about the threatening note you'd received via a pink carnation bouquet delivery to your condo building, makes perfect sense to you.

Sure, you'd rushed down and asked the attendant specifics – 'Who delivered it? Did they mention the sender at all? Are you sure it was meant for my apartment?' – and gotten no answers or evidence that would help identify the culprit, let alone a means to track possible suspects, had unnerved you. But you just didn't think it was anything worth mentioning to Javier. You didn't want to alarm him when you weren't really sure it was even meant for you or not. No, it didn't seem credible enough to set off unnecessary stress and panic. So, you didn't.

You'd thrown the flowers out, and stored the card into the drawer of the console in the living room.

When Javier had spent the night at your place the following evening, you'd already shoved it to the back of your mind.

He was none the wiser, and you'd enjoyed relaxing with him in bed after stripping each other of your clothes and making passionate love while the air conditioning kept your warm bodies and the room cool.

He'd been beat from work, so much so he'd practically fallen asleep in mid-sentence about his hectic day.

Things for your department were equally busy the next couple of weeks as well with a major server expansion across departments and agencies occurring in stages, so you held no umbrage at the juggling of free time happening, since you were also focusing on your work projects.

The nights he'd work late, you were content with a quick 'goodnight' call and making plans to have a coffee, or lunch date some time the next day. Whenever you both ended up being at the office after hours, due to working late, Javier and you would carpool together in your sleek sedan to his place to spend the night together, and he'd catch a ride the following morning with Kike either to the field office or some task force meeting at the Federal Court Building.

And dinner with the Murphys had seamlessly become a once-a-week routine during this period as well, which was much-needed for blowing off steam and socializing outside of work.

This week's dinner was Saturday night, and it had been wonderful, but not without a lot of chatter between Steve and Javier regarding the drudgery still to come. During this kind of shop-talk lulls, you and Connie would exchange musing looks before leaving the fellas to it, preferring to entertain Olivia and the baby over idle chatter. This time, the precocious girl had made you both come to her room so she could show off the drawings she'd done at school and play with her favorite toy of the week before she had to get in her pjs and get tucked in.

You didn't mind it at all, and Isabel was a sweet baby that always seemed to enjoy your silly muecas and bouncing on your knee.

Javi was apologizing now, on the walk home back to his bungalow, for being so preoccupied, but you reassure him that it didn't bother you.

"—I know how much of a hassle it is to deal with all this stuff, babe. I'm just glad you and Steve have each other, this time," is your understanding retort. "And anyway, you two will make it up to us eventually."

"Oh, yeah?" he drawls, arm around your waist giving you a cheeky squeeze. "Have anything in mind already?"

"Actually, yeah. Earlier today, Connie, Anita and I talked about maybe doing a trip – all of us couples together," you retort simply and slip your hand into the back pocket of his jeans. "We could rent a house close to the beach and go for a long weekend."

Pleased, Javi hums, "Sure. I like that plan. Could be fun."

You conceded that you were sure it was a ways-away out, and while you both walk around the corner, keeping to the sidewalk, you muse, "All the Mano Dura stuff is really only revving up too, so I can imagine you're both going to be juggling that as well."

Unintentionally veering him back onto the work topic, Javier ends up talking through his thought process and concerns the rest of the walk to his place. By the time he's unlocking the door and chivalrously holding it open for you, Javi is really on a roll.

"—Once we get things settled, and the extra funding we asked for the field op teams comes in, we'll be able to take a backseat and let our ASACs manage," Javier is remarking as you enter through the entry door through the laundry room before him, allowing him to close and lock it behind himself. "It's time for Segarra to sink or swim, and Steve's guy seems more than capable to handle his end, so we should be finally able to focus on big-picture work. Really, we shouldn't have been doing so much shit ourselves up to this point, especially since we're supposed to be the bosses—"

He's just loped into the main living space and placed his keys onto the counter when his verbal train of thought halts after turning towards the living room. Well, specifically at the sight of you pulling your flouncy pale blue and green floral-patterned bohemian dress off and tossing it onto the chair adjacent the couch before toeing off your favorite leather flats and look over at him alluringly.

You're only in a thin nude lace bra and tanga-style panty now, already undoing the front closure as you brazenly suggest, "Why don't you come over here and show me who's boss, querido?"

It's hot, and oh-so-naughty how you can spin his lust up in a nanosecond and have him simmering with incandescent urge, especially with this kind of taunt delivered as an appeal for him to dominate you. And the sultry smile in your eyes as you shed your bra and toss it over at him to land on his shoulder, for good measure? Proceeded by the spritely way you fold your arms behind yourself and jut your bare breasts out proudly at him?

Rapacious desire ignites in his gut and has him rushing over to sweep you up into his arms. A delighted squeal bubbles out of you as he carries you to bed, making you laugh infectiously from his nippy nuzzling – impishly grazing his moustache along your neck and collarbone before he tosses you onto the soft surface. You bounce and giggle as you prop up onto your elbows to bat your lashes sultrily at him.

"You wanna get bossed around, do you?" he rumbles in a velvety tone as he takes his boots off and quickly divests of his belongings before unbuckling his belt and showily yanking his dark blue and white vertical pinstriped shirt – the one you love because it clings to his shoulders and pecs perfectly and accentuates his muscled biceps deliciously – out of his jeans waistband before swiftly beginning to undo the top three buttons.

Giving him a salacious smirk, you purr, "Mmhmm, that's right, mi patrón—"

"Fuck…" he eyes you with that smoldering, chiseled regard that always makes you tingly, before he growls, "Take those panties off right now, then, you little tease," as he deftly works the rest of the buttons undone and shrugs out of the shirt before pausing at plucking the button on his jeans when you defiantly remain sat up on your elbows and do not strip your underwear off as he'd ordered. Raising a challenging brow at you, he puts his hands on his hips and grumbles, "Are you really going to defy me, malcriada?"

You give him a mischievous grin and lilt, "Maybe?"

He grunts, giving you a snarky look as he leans over and yanks you down to the end of the bed by your ankles. Your squeal of surprise and the way you bite your lower lip makes him smirk before roguishly husking, "Do I need to tear them off of you and bend you over my knee for a spanking, traviesa?"

"I really like these, so no – no tearing, please," you chime as you draw your knees up and plant your soles flat to the bed, splaying your legs wide open as you toy with the waistband suggestively while his gaze hones in on the damp spot your arousal has soaked into the crotch of your panties.

The way he flicks his dark brewed eyes up at you sends an excited tickle up your spine and makes your pussy throb when he stares assertively at you before ordering, "Take them off, and show me what's mine."

Arousal pulses at your center at his command, and heat zings along your nerve endings to harden your nipples while anticipation flutters in your tummy as you slowly work your panties down and off. You discard them to the floor and lay back so you can spread your legs open and caress your hands along your thighs.

Javi hums in approval, and you expect him to finish undressing and have his way with you, but instead his smoldering gaze intensifies as he keeps his hands at his sides and murmurs gruffly, "I told you to show me what's mine, tentadora."

Your breath skitters excitedly, and Javi's gaze holds yours before admiringly returning to your cunt, now flushed with arousal. The desire he stokes in you has your seam slick and clitoris thrumming with need. He doesn't have to elaborate what he means, and seeing as you started this little game, you're aching to have him, and are tantalized by him flexing his dominance.

Breathily, you part your legs more and glide your hands down to touch yourself, slick dampening your folds as you run your fingers down and part them like dewy petals. You use the fingers of one hand to spread yourself open while the eager digits of the other dip into your aching pussy wetly before tracing back up to rub delicious pressure over your thrumming clitoris.

The sight of you pleasuring yourself has Javi throbbing wantonly in the confines of his jeans, but he keeps his now clenched hands at his sides as you whimper impatiently for his touch.

"Javi—please," you whine, your touch not enough, and desire making you needy for him to be naked and pressed against you.

He doesn't budge, even when you arch your hips up slightly and squeeze your bare breasts together. No, he wants to hear the magic words before he continues stripping.

"Please…what?"

Your blush sears the apples of your cheeks and you bite your bottom lip hard before exhaling a frustrated huff.

"Please, take what's yours," you beg, slick fingers gliding through your damp sex before you caress your palms up to your apex, as you murmur, "Give me what you want, mi amor."

He feels that rapacious urge scorch up in him at your needy words, and with how you butterfly your thighs open to show him how soaked your pussy is now, Javier can't keep his controlling façade up – not with how quickly his hands move to undo the button of his jeans and zip down his fly before slipping his thumbs into the waistbands of both the denim and his cotton underwear to yank them both in one swoop down.

Watching him strip makes you smile. He catches it when he stands from shedding the last of his clothes and tossing them in a pile by the dresser.

"Hm, take what's mine, eh?" he drawls in that honeyed baritone that makes delight tickle in your core, especially when he stands with his hard cock to loom over you, like he's contemplating what to do to you first.

All you can do to not grin up at him is to nod as demurely as you can muster as you hum, "Mmhmm."

With a shameless smile, Javi suddenly scoops you up and prowls onto the bed with you squealing a silly sound as he stays propped up on his knees so you're only recourse is to wrap your legs around his waist and cling to his shoulders.

He loves how mirth lights your eyes while your expression quirks with delight against your will – how your pursing lips can't fight back the smile tugging them up, so with a faux-admonishing cluck of his tongue, Javi coos, "Why am I getting the distinct impression that you're really giving me what you want, and not the other way around, hmm?"

You snicker and daringly buck against him so he has to catch his balance by propping his arm sidelong, which allows you to use the momentum to topple him onto the bed so you can playfully roughhouse with him for dominance, as you chime seductively, "Because that's exactly the case, mi patroncito. It gets me hot when you get all bossy—"

"Oh yeah?" Javier croons as he easily pivots you both so you're on your back and his big hands have cuffed your wrists and pressed them down on either side of your head. The weight of him crowding you makes you shiver, and the exquisite heft of his cock nestled flush against your crotch makes you mewl involuntarily.

"Yes," you admit airily and smile when his soulful eyes crinkle affectionately at you, full lips pursing out cockily. Deciding to pluck at a naughty string in him, you purr, "And it makes me ache for your cock when you think you can command me, bebito."

That has Javier giving you that incandescent look just as he steals your breath with a voracious kiss. Your arousal hazes your mind just as his hand moves to cuff your wrists together above your head while the other possessively cups your cunt and grinds your clit with the pad of his thumb. Hips bucking at the contact, you mewl into his mouth when his tongue plunders it while you arch up into his warm, muscled torso.

Your brain is swimming in the pleasure of Javi dominating the hell out of you, so much so that you don't even feel shame when he breaks the kiss and leaves you gasping from the sudden thwack of his deft fingers wrapping around his cock and tapping it lewdly onto your drenched pussy in a very lascivious show of dominance.

"When I think I can command you?" is Javier's gruff croon, dark brewed eyes molten with conviction as he makes his point again by gliding just the head of his cock through your folds before guiding it to slap wetly against your mound, deviously close to the hood of your clit.

You moan and writhe at the electrifying contact, so Javi purrs, "I think the ache you got for my cock has you forgetting who the boss is, querida. I'm gonna need you to use your words and beg for it, or else I'll just give you everything but my cock tonight."

Your skin is scalding from how crass-yet-authoritative he's being with you, winding your lust up into a tangle of desires that has you vibrating with arousal and pulsing with debauched delight.

"Please, mi amor—give it to me. Lo necesito. Te lo ruego. Por favor, mi rey. Seré tuya—will do whatever you command, just let me have it," you ramble with needy allure, eyes shimmering with how earnestly you're begging for him not to deny you the pleasure only he can give you.

Pleased beyond belief, Javi caresses his hand up to cup your chin to ground you to focus on his smoldering stare as he leans forward and husks, "Good girl," before kissing you chastely on the lips.

He lets you wrap your arms around his torso as he settles between your thighs and rolls his hips with delectable prowess to drive his cock into your pulsing sheath.

It feels so amazing to have him fuck into you – to stretch you open onto his thick, throbbing cock with every thrust, especially after all the foreplay and dirty talk. This feeling of passionate ecstasy always fills you, and the way you cling to Javi with every desperate stroke of him into you tethers him into being both grounded and alight. Nothing matters when you're both spun up like this, except for the ruinous euphoria you each feel build and build as the lovemaking crescendos.

There's nothing more gratifying to his pride than when you climax, going molten around his cock and frantic in his arms to cling to the sensations he's unleashed in you. You're so wild from the throes of pleasure that you muffle your sobbed moan into his neck before ferally suckling a greedy bite into the delectable spot.

"Fuck," Javier groans and feels his thoughts melt as his orgasm barrels loose from the knot of pleasure in his apex and has him clutching your waist as he pounds his cock into you before his thrusts stutter in rhythm and his release empties into your fluttering sheath.

Your toes curl at the sensation of his climax filling that deep, tender part of you only he can reach, leveling you to fall apart in his arms as all the strength dissolves in your body.

The warm and fuzzy heat of post-coital relief has you uncaring that you're warm, slick and sweaty under Javier while he lies on top of you in a spent heap.

"Eres pinche gloriosa," is Javi's husky, albeit drowsy praise as he props himself up on a shaky elbow before laboriously rolling off of you with an exhausted grunt.

All you can muster is an affectionate nudge of your forehead into his shoulder before Javi rumbles something wordlessly and encircles his arm to your waist in order to pull you to sidle against him.

The cool air from the undulating ceiling fan caressing your dewy forms helps lull you into a calm repose, where only Javier's warm skin and heady scent occupy your attention, until he nuzzles the top of your hairline and presses a kiss there.

"You feel good, querida?"

"Feel divine, chavón," you sigh, kissing his collarbone before you murmur, "I love you."

He exhales an approving grunt before patting your thigh encouragingly for you to tilt your face up to him. When you do, he caresses your cheek and swipes his thumb to wipe away at the perspiration that beaded along the edge of your orbital bone.

"I love you too, corazón."

Dreamily, you smile up at him unselfconsciously. Your eyes are glossy, lashes damp and lids heavy, so Javi curls his fingers to crook under your chin so he can admire your flushed features before he peppers soft kisses along your warm skin. You are content to simply bask in his doting grace.

Eventually, when you regain your wits and start to fidget, Javier gets out of bed to retrieve a damp washcloth and returns to give you his loving aftercare. And when he pulls the covers back for you to be tucked under them, you hold onto his forearm and tug him to slide in after you rather than be apart from him the few seconds it would've taken him to round the bed to his side and climb in.

Feeling too accomplished to care that you're in the spot closer to the doorway than he'd normally like, Javi stretches out next to you and happily lets you lounge curled up against him, with your head on his shoulder and hand caressing languidly along his chest.

"So…at the risk of sounding clingy, I'm really going to miss you," you find yourself volunteering in a murmur, already frowning at yourself as you amend it by rationalizing softly, "I mean, the other trips were much shorter—"

Javi cups your jaw and makes you melt when he kisses you, snuffing the insecure ramble before it could start.

Resting his forehead to yours, he sighs, "I know, since I feel the same way," before stating flatly, "It's gonna be a lot of meetings. Hell, all the damn travel from island to island will be the worst of it. Not to mention all the political jockeying and face-to-face conferences with officials. Wish I could just delegate it to someone else."

You pout, seeing the weariness in the corners of his eyes, so you sit up and caress your touch over his brow, murmuring as you trace your fingertips over his forehead, "Those are the pitfalls of being the boss man, hermoso."

He exhales deeply out his nose and closes his eyes, letting you soothe him with your affectionate touch before he mumbles, "I'm going to miss you so much, it's ridiculous."

When he opens his eyes again, he relaxes visibly when you lean forward and kiss his full lips tenderly before playfully scratching into his unruly hair, while you lilt in a singsong, "You'll just have to be a good boy, get your work done, and hurry back so I can have my way with you."

His laugh is warm and raspy as he loops his arms around you to roll down into the pillows together so he can shower you with ticklish, moustache-grazing kisses to your cheeks, jaw and neck while you giggle and try to fend him off by tickling his sides.

After you both settle down in the warm bed together for the night, Javier conks right out, breathing deep and calmly on his back while you're snuggled at his side, with your head on his chest. The quiet of the room and the undulating breeze coming from the curtain-covered windows helps your mind wander for a bit, still charged with wayward thoughts. The ones that keep looping back for consideration revolve around Javier unperturbedly falling back into the chase – of being hungry for the hunt. He couldn't seem to quit the DEA for good, let alone sit back and relax in his position of authority. You remember his promises, both from when he was a field agent and when he was the Special Agent in-Charge in Bogotá. How he'd been unable to keep any of them, no matter how hard he tried.

And now here you are, recalling the ones he'd made to you when he'd begged for another chance.

"I came here for you."

He'd professed coming to Puerto Rico to be with you. That he didn't give a damn about the job, and if you wanted, he'd quit. How he'd do whatever necessary to earn your trust. That all that mattered to him, was you.

You don't want him to quit, or to not give a damn about his work. But you'd be lying if you weren't worried that old habits were intent to die hard when it came to him getting swept up in the politicking and the disappointment – that he would fall prey again to the corrupt jockeying and manipulation of compromised leaders, both here and stateside.

Still…in your heart, you felt things were different, and didn't want to give up the peace of being with him, on both your own terms.

"Everything we wanted is still possible…I want it all, with you…"

An effervescent palpitation has your heart skipping a beat at the echo of his words, and you feel centered.

With a smile, you close your eyes and let the strong thrum of his heartbeat help lull you into sleep.

Early the next morning, you wake up to Javi sitting on the foot of the bed with a cup of coffee he's nursing while in only a pair of blue-striped pajama bottoms hanging low on his hips. From how his shoulders are slumped, you can tell he's half asleep, so you maneuver up to crawl over to him in order to slink up against his bare back. He grunts sleepily and takes a deep inhale before reaching his free hand backwards to hold you while you loop your arms around his midriff and kiss the nape of his neck.

"Want me to make you something to eat?" you whisper as you nuzzle the side of his head when he tilts it back and leans more into you.

"I'd rather have you," he tells you unabashedly as he turns to kiss you softly on the lips.

You hum into his coffee-flavored mouth before leaning back to sassily pet your hand over his tousled hair as you order, "You're going to have both, and you're going to like it, guapito."

Javier has no objection to that.

You both get in the shower together, have a great quickie under the hot water and against the warm tiles, and let the water rinse over your sated forms of the soap and sinfulness.

When you get back to the bedroom, you dry off and lie in bed to relish the little time you have left until Kike pulls up to get Javi before swinging over to Steve's.

Skin to skin, you savor his kisses and lovingly cuddle him, knowing how lonely – and empty your bed – going so long without him will be. Javier feels the longing building up in him already, and all he wants to do is get lost in this sensual moment, even though he doesn't have the time for it. You know it too, and prolong it for as long as you can.

It's only when you insistingly nudge him to start getting ready a few minutes later, that Javi begrudgingly goes to his dresser to grab his clothes. His things were already packed and waiting in the laundry room, thanks to you having surprised him with a respectable suitcase you'd purchased earlier the day before. When he'd come home from the gym and met you at his driveway after you'd dropped off Connie, Javi had been curious about the sleek piece of luggage as you carried it to his bedroom. You'd opened it as you'd razzed him about needing to level up from his well-traveled duffle bag, and had proceeded to iron an arrangement of suits and shirts for him. He'd been more than happy to enjoy your domestic doting, and had smirked when you'd shooed him away into the shower so you could continue picking out the ties and other garments he'd need.

Right now, though, he doesn't feel the need to rush to get ready, even when you're done pulling on your jeans and are tugging your shirt down as you head for the kitchen.

By the time he trudges down the back hall into the main room, dressed in dark blue jeans and a nice white button-down shirt with a breast pocket his aviators are currently folded in, you have a generous breakfast sandwich and a refreshed cup of coffee waiting for him at the kitchen's bar top.

His stomach growls, spiting him, and you smirk as he sits at the stool and eats with gusto while eyeing you ruefully.

"You know, you're cute when you're grumpy," you can't help tease as you lean into the counter, opposite him.

Polishing off his meal, he quickly dabs at his mouth with the napkin before picking the dishes up and rounding the countertop, deliberately breezing by you to place them in the sink, as he gripes, "We had enough time to fool around some more, and you shot me down."

You scoff irreverently before whirling around just in time to catch him off guard and press him back against the sink's counter. Hands boxing him in so you can lean into him commandingly, you bossily tell him, "Javier Peña, you better not be getting surly with me before you're about to leave for over a week. You know how much I want to roll around naked in bed with you. Now quit being a brat, and give me a kiss."

He can't even stay surly, not at that, or the sultry look you're giving him.

His lips quirk into a smirk while he lets his moodiness out in a huff through his nose, then leans in to kiss you obediently on the mouth.

You suck on his bottom lip before grazing your teeth on the plump morsel, enjoying how he gasps excitedly and grips your waist as you pull back and imperiously smile up at his flushed expression.

Just as you're deliberating whether you can get away with kissing on him some more, you hear Kike pull up in the SUV outside, so you sigh and wrap your arms around him for a fortifying hug.

Once you've taken care of the remaining dishes and Javier's disposed of the garbage in the receptacle outside for trash pickup, you go to the bedroom to retrieve your scrunchie in order to swiftly put your hair up.

Javi's booted footfalls over the tiled floor approach from the hall just before he comes in and wraps his arms around you from behind. Exhaling, he kisses the top of your head before asking, "You're still spending the day with your dad?"

You nod, leaning into him before affectionately turning in his embrace and nuzzling his neck, humming before reluctantly stepping back so you can both exit back to the living room. "Yeah. He's going to D.C. for a while, so I was going to go food shopping and make dinner at his place," you remark and sigh whilst putting your hair in a ponytail.

He ogles your neck, and considers delaying leaving by pulling you against him so he can kiss from your jaw down the column of delicate skin. To nip a matching hickey like the one you left on him, and feel you shiver and cling to him. But you're hustling to get your shoes on and grab your purse, so he stows his raunchy desires and gets his keys, cellular phone, and wallet.

"That sounds nice," Javi muses, making you smile when his hand caresses your lower back as he escorts you through the laundry room, grabbing his suitcase and opening the door for you. "No Camille?"

"Nope, thankfully," you retort and watch as he locks up before smiling when he turns and quirks a derisive brow at you. "It's for both their benefits! I cannot stand her, and she has finally learned her place, is all," you insist, and Javi nods judiciously at your rationale while he takes your hand and escorts you out of the marquesina to lope over to the front curb where Kike is parked.

"Well, it sounds like it'll be a better time spent than what I'll be doing," is his deadpan before approaching the driver's side window that's rolled down, patting the frame to get the young officer's attention from the local tabloid magazine he's engrossed in, as he greets, "Morning, Kike!"

"Good morning, sir!" the jovial plainclothes officer retorts warmly before hastily folding up the magazine and stowing it in the door's cubby, then waves while greeting, "And good morning, Ms. Celina—"

"Ay, Kike. Just call me Celina," you razz him as you lean up to greet him with a kiss on the cheek through the open window. "Deja con las formalidades, ya," is your amused order.

"Okay-okay, se me olvidó," he chuckles as Javier opens the backseat door and places his suitcase in. "Did you like the mix tape?"

"Yeah, it had some cool tracks!" you retort and smile at Javi when he grunts and raises his brows curiously as he shuts the car door. "Kike gave me a mix tape with all the latest reggaetoneros that are hot right now."

"Ah," is his drawl as he loops your waist and pulls you close. "When are we going to perrear?"

"Javier!" you admonishingly hiss and swat his bicep haughtily, scoffing at his unabashed leer whilst Kike tries to hide his wry grin.

"Oh, that's right – you said when I take you to a club that actually plays reggaetón," he drawls as if you're talking about something innocuous, before he turns to Kike and remarks, "You'll have to tell me what the hot reggaetón clubs are so I can finally get her to dance perreo with me—"

"Alright, enough, beyako," you chastise sardonically and pinch his sides, grinning when Javier frowns at you using the naughty nickname in front of Kike, who is doing everything he can not to burst with a guffaw at his expense. You distract his umbrage by standing on your tippy toes to peck him on the lips before lilting, "Pórtate bien, y llámame."

He smirks at being told 'Be good, and call me.'

"I will," he murmurs and kisses you amorously before cupping your cheek and muttering, "You behave too, now."

Snickering, you kiss his palm and pull him in for a hug.

Once Kike has turned the SUV around while Javier walked you to your car, you two lock lips one more time before you hop in and pull out of the driveway to the street. You wave at Javi in the rearview once you see him get into the front passenger seat, and then drive away to head to your early morning errands.

Javier watches your little sedan drive off before Kike pulls away to coax down the block and turn the corner en route for Steve's house. He already misses you, and finds himself scenting his collar for the whiff of your perfume that clings to it.

"I gotta warn you, sir. Ms. Celina is going to have cacos drooling after her when you take her to bailar perreo," Kike remarks musingly, causing Javi to arch a brow dubiously at him. "Ella es una mamita sabrocita – all eyes will be on her at any reggaetón club, is all I mean."

With a dry grunt, Javier furrows his brow amusedly. "Trust me. I'm very aware," is his dry mutter, before he sarcastically warns, "And do not let her hear you refer to her as a mamita. Speaking from experience, she will let you have it and you'll have whiplash."

"Claro que no," Kike snickers and shakes his head sagely. "She's a chulería – una bichota bien wapa, so I would never pasarme así, sir. Definitely don't wanna offend her!"

Javier nods, picking up the gist of the slang-filled statement. After all, he's really had a run for his money in deciphering the bulk of the Puerto Rican slang Kike and Wilmer would fire off at each other in rapid conversation, and being out with you and witnessing your parrying of local colloquialisms you'd not used before in Colombia would often or not leave him inferring meanings, if not straight up asking you what a word meant.

Still, though, he'd heard bichote used to reference a drug dealer or criminal kingpin-type, so he had to ask, "¿Bichota?"

"Ah! Bichota as in a boss lady. A big shot woman – like, she's a cool, important lady," the younger officer explains as he pulls up to the front curb of the Murphy residence.

"I'm gonna need to find a 'Puerto Rican-isms' dictionary, for sure," Javier quips, smirking when the other man blows a raspberry and grunts in the affirmative.

He's not completely joking. Especially after the weeks of prep and briefs from undercover agents, who'd documented hours of audio recordings from dealers, traffickers, gatilleros and more throughout all their surveillance targets on the island. Thankfully Wilmer or Kike were always available to run questions by, and had been great helps to all local info for Javier and Steve.

The opening of the backseat door pulls Javi from his internal cataloguing. He turns to watch Steve chuck his suitcase in before climbing in and shutting the door while greeting, "Mornin', fellas. You been waiting long?"

"No, sir!" Kike assures as he pulls away from the curb once Steve's settled.

"Yeah, Kike here was just warning me about how I'll have to keep Celina close when I take her dancing here," Javier glibly jokes as he retrieves his aviators from his breast pocket and slips them on.

"Really? You do know Jav here is a real surly jealous type, right? So telling him something like that's only gonna get him stewing," Steve chuckles good naturedly as he leans forward to pat Javier's shoulder, and drawls, "We do not need a repeat of the Danvers incident, bud."

Javier scoffs and crosses his arms to keep his right hand from fidgeting with his exasperation at the mere reference. "Don't be an ass. That wasn't because I was jealous—"

"I'm sorry for mentioning it, sir," Kike genuinely offers as he drives, adding, "I didn't mean to sobrepasarme —"

With a reassuring pat of his shoulder, Javier assures, "Nah, you didn't. Don't worry. Murphy solo le gusta hablar mierda—"

"Hey, I don't talk shit," Steve interjects in a goading drawl.

"Oh, you're finally learning Spanish. Good for you, and about fuckin' time, hillbilly."

"Some of us are still capable of learning new things, pendejo. And do you kiss Celina with that filthy mouth?"

"She loves my filthy mouth. Maybe you should try it some time with your poor long-suffering wife—"

"Hey! My wife's off limits to your snarky remarks—"

"And Celina is off limits to your shit-talking commentary—"

"She ain't your wife yet, buddy. Once she is, then she's off limits."

Javier exhales testily and flips Steve the bird over his shoulder while glaring at the grinning blond in the rearview mirror. He arches his brow when Steve sits back and basks in having gotten the last word, or so he thinks.

"Look at him. Sitting so pleased with himself like he accomplished something," Javi deadpans to Kike in Spanish, who had managed to stifle his laughter during their juvenile back and forth. "Just loves to bust balls because his get busted at home."

Steve glowers at Javier's profile when Kike snorts amusedly at what he said, so he decides to prod his buddy some more. "Speaking of Celina," he drawls lyrically before remarking aloofly, "Wilmer told me he overheard Bozzi telling Vernon that she caught his eye."

That has the desired reaction.

Javier slowly turns around and tucks his chin down so he can glower at Steve over the rims of his sunglasses. "What?! When was this, and why are you only telling me now?" he grounds out from clenched jaw and tight lips.

Seeing the hickey barely concealed by Javier's shirt collar, he flicks his gaze up to see that dark fury start to fill his eyes, so, Steve dismisses, "Ah, because it ain't the first nor will it be the last time that anyone has the hots for your girl, Javi. No point in bringing it up—"

"Except to wind me up, you mean," Javi snaps back and huffily returns to sit facing forward in the front passenger seat.

"…All right, dick move on my part. I agree," Steve relents and busies himself with smoothening out the wrinkle in his green and white-striped polo shirt's collar.

"…What did Vernon respond to that asshole?" is the gravelly inquiry from Javier.

Steve looks at Javi's stare reflected in the rearview mirror before glancing at Kike, who's now just as invested in the gossip as Javi, so he exhales gruffly before answering, "Vernon told him something like, 'I'm pretty sure she's spoken for already. Or so go the rumors,' and Bozzi scoffed that there's no ring on her finger so she was fair game, as far as he was concerned."

That boils Javier's blood. But he only shows it with the hard etch of his scowling features and the way his biceps flex when he crosses his arms tightly across his chest.

"Acho, que canto cabrón," Kike remarks indignantly, not even batting an eye when Javi looks over at him, surprised. "Ms. Celina would never like that guy, so he's a pendejo for saying shit like that."

Chuckling in agreement, Steve cosigns, "I couldn't have said it better myself."

Javier cracks a lopsided smirk at that. He appreciates Kike being protective of you, and was glad when you both had struck up a platonic friendship after meeting when they'd picked you up from the dealership where you'd left your car to get serviced one morning. Since then, you would both chat buoyantly whenever you'd see each other and he'd given you his cell phone number in case you ever needed to get ahold of him if you couldn't reach Javier.

While he thinks about you the rest of the way they drive to the airport, you're leaving the video rental store now and hopping in your car to go spend the day with your father at his home.

You'd already stopped at the supermarket that carried Colombian food staples and picked up items for the meals you'd promised to make, so after a half hour drive to Dorado, you pulled into his driveway and parked across the open third-car garage. You confirmed with a quick peek as you rounded the car to get the groceries that Camille's luxury sedan wasn't in the garage, so with a relieved exhale, you retrieved the bag with the movie rentals and headed up to the front entrance.

The door was already open and your father was meeting you on the tiled front step to help you with the bags.

"How are you doing, tesoro?" he greets and kisses you on the cheek before taking the bags into the kitchen while you shut the door behind yourself before following.

"I'm good. How about you? Looking forward to going to D.C. for the big meeting?" is your retort.

He grunts wryly. "It's just a meeting. But I'll be there on lots of other business. What've you got there?"

At him gesturing to the bag in your hand, you reach into it and retrieve the three VHS rental movies and show him the stack so the labels are facing him. "I thought we could have a movie night. I haven't watched the third one yet."

The three movies are The Godfather, parts one through three.

Smiling broadly, your father is visibly pleased as he muses, "That'll take us the rest of the day to watch. Are you sure you're up for that?"

"Well we have to rewatch the first two parts to be reminded of everything before going into part three. It can also play in the background while I cook, no?" is your affable reasoning as you place the movies on the coffee table in the living room before returning to the kitchen to start unbagging the groceries.

He agrees, and soon you're both spending quality time together.

By nightfall, you're both engrossed with the final film while partaking in the leftover empanadas you'd made earlier.

You're on your fourth rum and coke, which pairs great with the empanada you're currently dabbing some hot sauce on while watching the drama, unaware of your father's pensive glance.

"I had the maid turn down the guest bed," he mentions as innocuously as he can.

You chew your bite and shift in your seat to look over at him. Swallowing, you retort, "I wasn't planning on spending the night, Pá."

You can see the furrow in his brow smoothen as he tries to not look judgmental. "I don't want you driving home so late. You've been drinking—"

Realizing why he's worrying, you wave him off, assuring, "I'm perfectly capable of driving. And I don't want to overstay my welcome."

He pauses the movie and frowns before weighing his options in how to respond. He seems to settle for, "I'd feel more comfortable if you spent the night, mija."

Finishing your empanada, you ruefully shake your head before washing it down with a sip of your drink.

"Unless Javier could come pick you up?"

Being a few drinks in, the indignant fire doesn't reach your eyes as quickly as it would've had he made the suggestion earlier. Deciding to relent, just a little, though, you muse impassively, "He's on a business trip."

Humming, he takes a long sip of his own drink before exhaling and attempting to capitalize on not being rebuffed on the topic like you'd done occasions prior. "Things are going well, then?"

You can't help sigh, because you truly do not want to argue with or snap at your father, but his constant need to broach the subject of your personal life aggravates you. So, you try to count to ten before placing your drink glass back onto the coaster on the coffee table before you answer him.

"I take it you haven't been able to get a rundown from anyone else on the matter?"

You turn to look at him directly, eyes frank as your brows quirk upwards in query.

He frowns, before responding in a mild baritone, "I'd rather ask my daughter about her life. Is that so wrong of me?"

You take a cleansing breath through your nose and let it out slowly before answering carefully, "Pá, I just don't want to end up arguing with you about my life. I don't want to be browbeaten by you, or feel like I have to defend myself—"

"I'm not asking you to, tesoro," he grumbles in a low tone, before pressing, "I just want to know you're all right."

"I am. But I know that's not all you want to ask, and I don't want to go down this road and end up with us getting upset," you tell him bluntly, crossing your arms and leaning back.

His jaw squares in impatience with you, but instead of snapping crossly like he would've in your youth, your father huffs and crosses his own arms to stare at you keenly.

"Just tell me one thing, and I won't broach the subject anymore," he proposes in his deep, raspy pitch. When you nod, his features relax minutely as he asks, "Does he make you happy?"

"Yes."

You responded without an ounce of hesitation, and the way your expressive gaze lit up with clear affection for this Javier Peña who makes you happy – as if he'd flashed across your mind's eye as you answered, made it easy for him to surrender.

With a hum, he presses the button on the remote so the VCR resumes the movie.

"Good."

You're pleasantly surprised.

When the movie ends a short while later, you surprise your father by agreeing to spend the night. So once you've packed the leftovers and washed the dishes, you kiss him on the cheek and go down the hall to the back guest bedroom.

Around the same time you're exiting the shower to get into a flowy nightgown and slip under the cool covers of the plush bed, Javier is just getting into his hotel room on St. Thomas.

After landing and spending most of the day getting shown around by Steve's ASAC, Sam Petersen, he was bone tired, and looking forward to just crashing. Tossing his suitcase onto the ottoman at the foot of the bed, Javi tiredly empties his pockets and places everything on the night stand before dropping down onto the mattress and kicking his boots off in order to lie back and stretch his aching muscles. Lulling his head to the side, he sees the alarm clock lists it being just after 11:45pm.

Even though he'd warned you he probably would get in too late to call tonight, he wished he could hear your voice before bed. Deciding he didn't want to risk waking you up, he lumbers up off the bed and starts stripping on his way to the bathroom. One nice hot shower a few minutes later, and he's trekking back into the cool airconditioned room in just a towel, yawning noisily as he unzips the suitcase and flips the top open in search for some boxers or pajama bottoms to wear to bed.

The exhaustion clears from his eyes when he sees just how neatly you've packed everything. His toiletry bag is snug in the center while two pairs of suits are crisp and folded just right that all he need do is put them on hangers, the dress shoes were buffed and shined, and everything else was tucked and rolled for easy arranging. Even the soft cotton dark gray boxers you packed were arranged right on top of the main folded pile, so he wouldn't have to rifle for them.

Seeing as St. Thomas would be their base of operations for the next few days, Javi goes to work unpacking the items you took the time to iron and steam for him.

When he gets to the assortment of button-down shirts you packed for more casual workdays, he's surprised to find a square envelope hidden underneath them. Placing the shirts on the dresser, he picks up the envelope, opening it and finding a crisply folded sheet that looks like was carefully pulled from the planner he's seen you write reminders in.

Unfolding it, he finds a note, written in your lovely handwriting.

Javier,

Since you'll be busy and likely unable to chat much while you're away, I figured I'd write you an important reminder: I love you, with all my heart. And everything you do, it matters. I'm proud of you, and I'll be thinking about you, and wondering how I got so lucky to have you.

Please, be careful, and give yourself grace. Especially if you find yourself in a moment of frustration. I know how invested you can get when you're on the case, so just remember that you're not alone in it. And let Steve take on some of the stressing!

Missing you, chulito.

Soñaré de ti, mi amor. Sueña de mi, mi cariñito.

Love,

Celina

Heat fills his chest, making his heart feel full and immense at your words. It's then, when he's about to tuck the note back into the envelope, that he notices there's something else inside of it. Slipping it out, he ends up staring at the snapshot.

It's a photo of you, posed sultrily – sat at the foot of your bed, in only the nighty with the slit up the thigh. And from the looks of the angle the photo was taken, he realizes you must've found a timer on the Polaroid camera and set it on the dresser to snap you while you struck the sexy pose.

Completely floored, he's so lovestruck that it takes him a second to realize that the soft garment that the envelope was placed on is actually the silky nighty you have on in the photo.

He picks it up and brings the delicate garment to his nose. It's laced with the scent of your skin, with hints of your sweat and the fragrance of your body lotion, as well as the lingering traces of your soap, fresh smelling laundry detergent and fabric softener. A smile warms his face when he realizes that's what you meant. That he can dream of you because he'll have your alluring scent with him as he drifts off to sleep.

Tossing the towel away from his waist to plop into the bathroom's tiled floor, he quickly pulls on his boxers and goes to stretch out on the bed with the treasures you slipped into his suitcase. The look in your eyes in the photo is dazzling and flirty, and your smile is cheeky yet sexy.

Javi wonders when you would've taken it, and his mind whirs through the recent moments that have passed between you both – suddenly remembering you'd been wearing the silky nighty the late evening he'd come to spend the night at your place after a very long day of being holed up with tax officials in Hacienda, the Department of Treasury of Puerto Rico.

The local government had cleared the DEA's request to review any and all flagged income tax accounts suspected of possibly acting as shell corporations for money laundering, as well as the list out of those that had come up in property seizure documents across the Caribbean region that had so far been catalogued by the forensic accountants. He'd spent almost twelve hours in the building, and during one of the coffee breaks, he'd called you to check in. You'd managed to cajole him to come spend the night at your place since it was much closer to Hacienda. And since he'd driven himself that day, he was more than happy to agree.

You'd been in your silky robe when you'd answered the door late that night, and he'd been so exhausted that you'd towed him to your room, stripped him of his clothes, and herded him to bed. With the lights shut, you'd curled up against him under the covers when he'd looped his arm around you and held you close, and your warm skin and the soft scent of your hair had lulled him into a deep slumber. He hadn't realized you were in the sexy nighty that had become his favorite of them all until the next morning when you'd stirred him awake with a gentle kiss to his forehead before lovingly caressing his relaxed features and liltingly murmuring his name. His eyes had dreamily gazed up at you, focusing on your mussed hair and how the early morning rays spilling in from the hall framed you, sat at the edge of the bed.

"Javi, it's almost 7. Do you have any early meetings?" you'd murmured, gliding your palm along his deltoid, bright eyes and fresh features bare, with only affection radiating down at him.

He'd stretched to roll onto his back, reaching his hand to cup your knee as he shifted up on his elbow and stifled a yawn before mumbling in a raspy husk, "Mmmph, yeah. A very important one," before seamlessly whisking you up and over him to sprawl onto the bed. You squeaked in surprise and then giggled when he rolled on top of you before crooning, "That is, if you can pencil me in, jefa."

"Oh, I just so happen to have some time right now, agente," you purred teasingly as you'd wrapped your arms around him and kissed his smiling lips.

When you'd both gotten hot and heavy, you'd tried to shimmy the nighty up and off, but he'd stopped you. "No, keep it on," he recalls rumbling before kissing a path down your body in order to bury his head between your welcoming thighs.

Arousal curls hotly down into his loins at the memory of you crying out and gripping his hair when you'd orgasmed on his tongue and sobbed his name in a breathy whimper.

Javier had to slam the proverbial breaks on his raunchy thoughts racing off into reliving how you'd stopped him from smugly leaving you sprawled on the bed to instead order him to strip his boxers off before you pushed him down onto the rumpled covers and yanked your nighty off, climbed on top of him, and rode his cock while squeezing his hands after interlacing your fingers with his and holding on as you rocked each other into an incandescent climax.

Shimmying under the blanket, Javi shuts the night table lamp off and stretches out with your nighty draped over the adjacent pillow, and drifts off to sleep with your scent soothing him and the photo tucked against his palm and the silky garment.

It's the best night of sleep he's ever had while away from you.

You, on the other hand, did not sleep very well.

Waking up with a slight hangover, thanks to how stiff your father pours drinks, you'd slithered out of bed and took a hot shower to try and revive yourself. Thankfully, by the time you'd wandered down to the kitchen, he'd already made a pot of coffee and there were an assortment of pastries and fruit to choose from on the grand island counter. He was sat at the nice eat-in table by the wide window, reading his morning paper.

"Doña Lana can make you anything you'd like for breakfast. She's just running the washer," he remarks without glancing away from the Op-ed he's skimming.

"That's alright. The coffee and this pastelillo de guayaba will be more than enough," you retort smoothly as you pour yourself a cup and pick up the pastry to go sit at the table with him. "What time is your flight?"

"Just before noon," he answers and folds up the newspaper to set it aside so he can sip from his own mug, eyeing you over the rim.

The respite of having a nice cup of strong coffee and a deliciously flaky and sweet pastry in a comfortable silence is short lived when he clears his throat and finally says what he's wanted to say for a while now.

"I'm really glad we've been spending more time together, tesoro. I was hoping you'd be open to getting together when I get back? Perhaps a dinner or outing, that doesn't exclude Camille?"

You silently seethe and count to ten as you finish your last bite. Washing it down with a long sip of coffee, you busily dab the napkin to your lips and use it to dust the powdered sugar from your fingertips.

"I'd like to keep this up, Pá. But I can't agree to that and be expected to grin and bear her," you tell him honestly, trying to keep all emotion from your tone.

He absorbs that, before crossing his arms and giving you an intense stare.

"All she's wanted is to be considered family, and she's done nothing but be supportive of us catching up for lost time…but I can tell it's begun to upset her, being excluded. It would mean a lot to me," is his bass-filled petition, his brows furrowing hopefully when you don't immediately scoff or shake your head. "You could invite Javier along—"

"Let's not get carried away," you finally sigh and idly brush the rogue strands of hair back from your face. You see a flicker of disappointment etch his features, so you dramatically huff before deflating back in your chair, then clear your throat before graveling, "Hmph…"just when I thought I was out, you pull me back in!""

Your father cracks a broad smile at that before chuckling, "That movie was terrible."

"Right?! I was so surprised by how bad it was," is your irreverent comment, snickering as you lean forward to prop your elbow on the table, "It did have some decent one-liners, though."

He grunts, before quoting, "Never hate your enemies. It affects your judgment."

Laughing, you quote back, "Never let anyone know what you're thinking."

He laughs along, but then surprises you when he reaches his hand out to affectionately squeeze your propped up forearm, before gazing warmly at you, as he quotes, "A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man."

It takes you off guard, to hear him quote that line. Truthfully, it disarms you, so you lean back and take his hand.

Just like when you were little, his hand dwarfs yours, and a heartstring tugs in your chest as you remember how much you'd loved walking with your father, holding his hand.

"Ok. I'll think about it," you murmur and give his hand a squeeze.

When you hug him goodbye a short while later, you wish him luck on his meetings, and he promises to call you once he's back on the island.

Both you and Javier have such hectic days that you don't get to check in with each other until very late that evening.

He's just returned to his hotel room and begins eagerly stripping his blazer and yanking his tie loose when his cell phone starts ringing in his pocket.

Retrieving it and pressing the button to answer, he props the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he toes off his dress shoes and empties his pockets. "Hello?"

"Hey, hermoso. It's not too late to chat?" your smooth lilting voice queries over the line.

"No, I actually just got back to my room," he assures as he sits to lounge back against the headboard of the bed. Stretching his legs out and crossing them at the ankles, he exhales relaxedly before asking, "You missing me as much as I miss you, preciosa?"

He hears you snicker flirtatiously before musing, "Depends on how much you're missing me."

"Ah, if you're gonna be that way, I'm just gonna get ready for my date with the sexy little thing I got waiting in bed with me then," Javi tauntingly croons as he pulls out your photo from his wallet left on the nightstand and smirks when you make a grumpy little sound of disapproval.

"Well, stud, go right ahead. I have my own date in bed too," you counter sarcastically.

Grunting, Javier mutters flatly, "See, when you say it, it's way too believable—"

Snickering dismissively, you deride, "Hah, mira quien habla. I told you they used to call you el guapo descarado around the embassy. I never got such an apodo—"

Quippingly, Javi cuts in, "No, you were 'that ferocious little minx' and 'a knockout', oh and 'drop-dead gorgeous'—"

Your dramatic sigh has him pausing to grin, then chuckling when you grumble, "Tan chavón."

Humming innocently, he drawls in a gravelly murmur, "The only thing I got a date with, is your sexy nighty. I slept like a rock last night thanks to it."

"Ah, so you found it," you chime coolly, and he can hear the shifting of the covers as you pull the quilt back and slide under it. "I'm hoping to have a better night's sleep thanks to cuddling your shirt tonight."

"You spent the night at your dad's?" he queries as he unbuttons his dress shirt open and pulls the tails loose from the waistband of his slacks.

"Yeah. I ended up having a bit too much to drink, so I crashed in the guest room," you reply before redirecting, "So, how's St. Thomas?"

"It's alright. Sunny, but hot. Luckily, we've spent a lot of time indoors, dealing with CBP's Office of Field Operations here," is his smooth reply, hand idly brushing the curls of hair fanning over his forehead back as he grouses, "They're being pains in the ass."

"Oh?" you query curiously.

"Yeah, there's always been inter-agency static between DEA and CBP. They're wanting to red tape us to a point of impatience. But really, they're just trying to keep all the action for themselves, and don't want DEA oversight," he explains before huffing his aggravation from his tone, to add, "Anyway, we got one more day here, then it's off to St. John."

"Hang in there, boss man," you quip impishly, before asking, "Did you find the envelope?"

"Yes, I did. And you're a wicked little tease for slipping that photo in," he retorts with a smooth, canela-dipped rumble in his voice.

You giggle, and it makes that funny tickle flutter heat in that spot behind his sternum.

"Just a little reminder of what you have to come home to, guapito," is your smug purr before you end up stifling a yawn. "So you know, I meant everything I wrote. And I really miss you, Javi."

That radiating feeling throbs in his chest at your words. He's carried your letter in his pocket all day, sneaking it out of the envelope to skim it whenever he had a free moment. Picking it up from where he placed it down on the nightstand, he rests it over his chest as he stares at your photo.

You hear some rustling on his end of the line, and wonder if he's even read the letter, when he clears his throat and husks, "It means a lot. No one…I've never…It just means everything to me." Obviously fumbling with articulating his feelings, Javier huffs at himself before declaring, "When I get back, I'll do a better job, showing you how much it means to me, querida."

Clutching his pillow to your chest, you smile whimsically as you tell him, "I love you, Javi."

"I love you too, corazón," is his raspy murmur, before he purrs, "Dulces sueños, mi amor."

Feeling effervescently besotted, you susurrate, "Soñaré de ti, mi cariñito."

You both wish each other goodnight before hanging up, and sleep finds you both easily thanks to each other's scent lulling you into sweet slumber.

You do dream of Javier.

The sound of the tropical night filters into your dream as you're sitting in the passenger seat of the Cadillac. Javier is in the driver's seat, with one hand steering the wheel while his other arm is draped over the back of the bench. The scenery through the front windshield is of a winding, Puerto Rican rural mountain road at early twilight, but in the back windshield, it's the sunset sky over the Medellín cityscape. Javier's hand moves from the back of the seat to rest on your thigh, and when you look down at it, you're surprised to see your belly is swollen under a flowy black peasant dress with red embroidery on the hem and down the front collar.

You look over to find Javi smiling at you as the orange and blush-toned hues of twilight illuminate his profile. When you go to lean close to him for a kiss, you're suddenly jolted awake by your alarm clock blaring.

Scrambling over to shut it off, you flop onto your back and sigh confusedly up at the ceiling.

No dawdling. Doctor's appointment awaits.

The details of the dream were already fading into the fuzzy recesses of your mind by the time you're arriving to the waiting room. Signing into the log sheet at the front desk, you entered and found the space filled with a lot of other patients waiting their turn. You were surprised the office was busy so early first thing in the morning, but quickly abandoned wondering about it to instead let your anxious thoughts preoccupy you.

Another lab screening is due, so bloodwork as well as the usual checkup. Nothing's come back since the last one, so not likely to have any changes until the specialist reviews—

They call your name, and you snap out of your internal worrying to get up from the seat you were able to snag nearest the door.

It was for the best, you thought, to continue not mentioning your health concerns to Javi. You figured that until they were able to give you a definitive diagnosis, it would be pointless to make him worry. Sure, you also didn't want to spend too much time fretting about all the 'what ifs' that had already plagued you for months, but there was a small part of you that was already settling into being resigned towards what seemed like an inevitable outcome.

You didn't want to say it out loud, though. Not yet.

After taking several vials of blood and tagging them for analysis, your doctor charted your current weight and asked you about any irregularities in diet, if you'd been fatigued or feeling off.

Confirming that aside from still not menstruating, you felt fine, she asked, "And you're still sexually active?"

"Yes," you answer, worrying the leather strap of your purse between your hands.

"And it's been with the same partner?" she inquires, and at your nod, she neutrally asks, "Unprotected sex?"

"Yes," you confirm, tone a little tight.

"Hmm, well, I'd like to test to make sure you're not pregnant. I'll note it on the lab form as well," she clinically details as she scribbles just that on the form. "As usual, I'll call you with the results. In the meantime, keep your routine, and be sure to take plenty of vitamins. Especially with this flu that's going around."

You nod and thank her, still on autopilot from compartmentalizing the anxiety and dread the visit whips up inside of you.

A few minutes later and you're back in your car, feeling the pressure from worrying all morning begin to dissipate. Driving out of the parking lot, you cruise through the increasing street traffic as rush hour starts to congest the metropolitan roadways.

The radio is on your favorite station, and the morning program is recapping the latest local news when you notice that the car is starting to shake oddly.

Suddenly, just as you pass the traffic light of the intersection, you feel a sharp lurch before the undercarriage of the car slams roughly down on the pavement, as if you'd just hit the mother of all potholes. But then you hear metal grinding against asphalt, and immediately stop the car, only to find you can't turn the wheel to try and pull off to the nearest curb and out of the way of traffic.

Frantically, you keep trying to force the wheel, but it isn't until a bystander on the sidewalk rushes over and waves at you that you lower your window and hear him tell you that you're driving on the axel because your driver's side tire came off.

The next few minutes is pure chaos as car horns blare at you and impatient drivers zoom around your disabled vehicle into the opposite lane, which then causes a traffic bottleneck in the opposite direction you were driving.

After climbing over your center console to exit through the front passenger door, you manage to see the damage for yourself.

"Oh my god," you gasp at seeing that indeed, your entire tire – rim and all – came off the axel and was flung at the corner of the intersection.

Several calls later, and the police are detouring traffic while a tow struck is hitching your car to its flatbed to be transported to your dealership. With your work tote, workout bag, and purse in hand, you accept the tow truck driver's ride to the dealership. Realizing you're going to be very late for the manager's meeting, you get your cell phone from your purse and call Ellis.

"—Holy shit! Are you ok?!"

"Yeah, just a little thrown off. It doesn't look like I'll make it in time, so could you do me a favor and take any notes for me? Devon is in the Operations review so I—"

"No worries, kid. I got you. It sounds like it's gonna be another budgetary thing anyway," he assures and promises to give word to Olga so she can relay the news to Devon once he's back in your department.

The dealership is baffled when you explain to them what happened, and insist there's no way your recent service could've caused such an issue with your tire. Still, they agree to expedite the repairs and do a full diagnosis to see if anything else is wrong with your vehicle.

Unfortunately for you, they don't have any loaner vehicles available, so you're just about to ask them if they can call you a taxi when you remember that Kike had given you his cell phone number.

The congenial plainclothes officer is pulling up to the dealership not even twenty minutes later.

"Chacho, that sounds very scary!" he remarks, shaking his head empathetically after you tell him what happened. "If you need a ride later, I can take you home—"

"No, don't worry. While I waited, I called my friend to cancel plans we had for tonight, but she didn't let me and offered to pick me up," you reassure, smiling as you thank, "I appreciate it, though! I promise to call if I'm stuck for real."

"Ok, very good," he intones, as if satisfied, driving through morning traffic all the way to La Avenida Chardón where the U.S. Courthouse and Federal building are. During the drive, you ask him about how his training exercises went, and he jovially tells you how he's progressing and should be snagging the tactical ops certification in a month or so.

While you're hearing about the training Kike has yet to complete, Javier is standing under the shady canopy in front of the luxury store's display window, admiring the different, glitzy jewelry options arranged on the shelves and stands. The promenade is busy with tourists and locals alike, out enjoying the balmy Caribbean morning.

Just like that previous time wandering the jewelry district in Bogotá, Javier was perplexed by the variety of options – at the daunting number of rings one could possibly choose from. He was just internally admonishing himself for not having peeked into your jewelry box prior to see what kinds of rings – if any – you wore, for inspiration, when Steve approached his right side and hummed in goading wonder to get his attention.

"Well? Any of 'em catch your fancy?" he drawls as he squints at a very gaudy canary yellow diamond ring.

Grunting, Javi pushes his sunglasses back into place over the bridge of his nose before glancing over at Steve. "That's the thing: I haven't seen anything that feels like 'the one' – which as I say it out loud, sounds dumb," Javi mutters before looking back at the display.

Cocking a brow curiously, Steve remarks, "I mean, you were engaged once before—?"

"I didn't pick out that ring," Javi cuts in matter-of-factly, and Steve raises his brows in confusion, so he explains, "When we'd decided on needing to get hitched, Lorraine showed me an ad for the engagement ring she saw at the local jeweler's that she liked, so I got it and went to ask her father for permission. Showed him I already had the ring, so no one would suspect," he trails off before absently brushing the perspiration beading at his forehead. Running his hand to sweep his rogue curls back, he ends up shrugging, deadpanning, "I have no clue what she would like."

"I mean, when in doubt, a simple, big ole diamond ring should do the trick," Steve razzes and claps Javi on the back good-naturedly.

"No shit," Javier scoffs, griping, "But gold band? What shape diamond? I just don't know…"

Humming sympathetically, Steve was going to suggest maybe asking one of your close friends for help ring shopping, when a car pulled up to the curb and honked at them.

"Our ride's here," Javi mumbles as he walks by Steve, gesturing for him to hop to it. "Let's get this nonsense over with."

They both get in the SUV to be driven over to the U.S. Customs field office, and all the rings and twinkling diamonds fill his head as they drive to their appointment.

You're in desperate need for a break.

Once you'd gotten to the building, you'd spent the rest of the workday playing catchup. All your meetings had to be rescheduled and you hadn't had a moment to even grab coffee or a snack for lunch, so by the time 2pm rolls around, you're famished. Luckily, the conference call you had with a counterpart at the D.C. federal office got rescheduled for later in the week, so you decided to rush down to the cafeteria and get something to hold you over until dinner.

You've just sat down with your little tray at the table closest to the floor-to-ceiling-length windows that overlook the interior courtyard between the Federal and U.S. Courthouse buildings when you here a pair of leather-soled shoes clomping towards you.

"Well now, having a late lunch, signorina?"

You turn to see Agent Bozzi in a light gray suit and pale teal dress shirt, sans a tie. His hair is swept back and his beard is groomed differently than you remembered, but that smug smile and his cunning gaze is still filled with promise of ulterior motives. He's holding a big cup of to-go coffee, and is standing in that obvious way someone would to nonverbally fish for an invite to sit.

"Yes, it's been a hectic day, so just needed a snack," you reply pleasantly as you can, without trying to be inviting or obviously aloof. After all, you really just want to eat your salad and fruit—

Bozzi goes ahead and slides into the empty chair across from you, nodding towards your meal as he muses charismatically, "Pretty disciplined snack. Never would've guessed you for enjoying the forbidden fruit."

Arching a brow, you retort, "This is a pear. No apples today, although, the pomegranate is believed to be the more historically accurate 'forbidden fruit' of legend."

"Huh. I didn't know that," Bozzi drawls in a bass-filled reply, thick brows knitting together almost bemusedly while you begin to eat your salad.

You can see the gears turning for him to try and come up with something else to continue in conversation, so you decide to redirect, "Well, I hope I'm not holding you up from whatever required you to get that big caffeine boost."

His eyes crinkle at his cup and he admits, "Nah, I just needed an excuse to kill some time before heading back over to the Courthouse building—"

Of course… you acerbically think to yourself.

"—been burning the candle at both ends with this task force operation. Never seen anything like it. I've heard of a neighborhood being run by the drug dealers in Jamaica, but in a U.S. territory?" Bozzi prods your interest then, so you pay attention to his unfiltered remarking of, "Can't trust local PD to get the job done, so gotta let the experts take back the block."

"A block?" you ask.

Bozzi is pleased with himself, that he was able to pique your interest with that. "Yeah. It's classified, so I can't say too much, but a small-time gang took over a whole neighborhood, and even drew a white line in front of a specific block as a point of no return for the residents and outsiders. No one can cross it but the gang," he explains boldly before shifting the topic. "Anyway, the whole thing reminds me of a ride along I did once with the Italian special forces team the FBI partnered with outside of Rome. You ever been to Italy?"

You have to do everything to not roll your eyes at him. He was laying it on thick, and you'd fallen in the conversational trap, so you relented and answered, "Yes. I spent a season in Naples while my father trained at the U.S. Naval base there."

"Ah, long enough to pick up enough Italian?" he flirts, brows smugly cresting up as he smirks charmingly.

"Enough to get by, yes," you reply and take a bite of your salad.

He seems to decide then to give up reeling you in, at least for the time being.

"Well, I'll get out of your hair. I'll see yah around, director," Bozzi remarks and seamlessly vacates the seat as quickly as he'd taken it, and smiles at you as he exits with, "Maybe we can grab a real snack sometime."

You watch him stroll towards the lobby with that cocky swagger, and internally glower. How presumptuous!

The Bozzi drive-by has you rolling your eyes as you finish your snack, taking the pear with you up to your office so you can nibble on it in peace.

If Javier knew the FBI special agent in-charge had tried to flirt you up, he would be in an even worse mood than he was currently.

U.S. Customs had agreed to let them review their own surveillance findings for the investigation into the drop sites found in remote strips of beach, but had insisted they wouldn't compromise their UC's or the targets they were currently embedded with.

"—For the last time: I don't give a shit about their aliases. All we want are leads on the local players so we can trace any of them back to the surveillance targets DEA has in Puerto Rico," Javi impatiently snaps, eyeing the official across the table like he's an obstacle begging to be moved with force.

Steve, on the other hand, is sat next to Javier and is rubbing his temples, shoulders squared in aggravation. "What Agent Peña here is saying, is we're not looking to mess with your undercover agents. We're just looking for cooperation on whether any of the contacts they've made have mentioned any partnerships with the trafficking players running the trade in Puerto Rico," is his patient insistence.

The irony of all this, which they wouldn't find out about until way after the fact, was that U.S. Customs didn't have a real foothold with the supposed underlings to the traffickers, because the targets were acting as decoys.

Junior Capsula had learned from the mistakes of Escobar, and he wasn't as big of a come mierda as the Cali Godfathers. So, he knew to insulate himself and his real partners away from public view. And after that clusterfuck of a bust back in 1988 during that Operation C-Chase, it became more obvious that no one was to ever penetrate the smoke screen created to shield true leadership of the Familia.

Then again, though, his syndicate wasn't technically part of it.

Still, that meant creating not only dummy corporations, but decoy bag men and trafficking liaisons. The days of smugglers using banks to launder money, as far as he was concerned, were over. And with the current setup he was slowly building, he was sure to grow his empire and remain incognito.

After spending all day chipping away at the red tape, Javier and Steve got the intel needed and a commitment from CBP to keep them in the loop.

By the time he got back to his room, Javi needed a shower to wash the exasperation and angst off. Steve had agreed to skip dinner in favor of unwinding over room service and a long-distance call with Connie, so Javi took the opportunity to pack his suitcase for the early flight in the morning to St. John before tossing himself onto the bed and popping the kinks out of his back.

Picking up your nighty from where he'd folded it on the pile of clothes going into the suitcase, Javi drapes it over his face and takes a deep inhale through the garment. Your scent warms his blood, and makes his impulses itch.

The cool air in the room caresses across his bare skin as he lies there in just the towel, eyes closed and thoughts going lustful.

You've just gotten home after being dropped off by Zoraida. Your muscles ache from the kooky workout you'd tried out before dinner, and now full, you feel like you're in desperate need for a nice hot soaking bath before crawling under the covers.

The bathtub is halfway full and you're just about to climb in to sit on the ledge and let your feet dip into the warm water when your cell phone starts ringing.

Rushing to retrieve it from the bedside charger, you answer it while adjusting the fluffy towel around your torso.

"Hello?"

"I really wish you'd packed a pair of your panties along with the nighty."

Scoffing a simpering laugh, you go lean back against the doorway so you can keep watch of the tub while it continues to fill. "As if I'd pack skanky panties into your luggage and run the mortifying risk of them searching your suitcase at customs!" you deride sassily, grinning when he grumbles contrarily at that.

"Tan chingona," he deadpans, before letting loose a ruminating exhale.

Humming curiously, you ask, "Something on your mind?" then add, "Bad day?"

"Just a ball-busting kind of day. Nothing worth mentioning," is his monotone gripe, before he queries, "How was your day, cariño?"

You don't really want to tell him about the chaotic day, especially the incidents with the car and Agent Bozzi, so you simply respond, "It was busy! And I capped it off by going with Zoraida to try out this Pilates thing, so after I finish this hot bath, I'm taking my tired ass to bed."

"Pilates?" he remarks on a grunt.

"Yeah, it's the latest workout, I guess. All about precise ranges of motion and they use this machine that kind of looks like a torture rack to stretch your muscles and make you hold into positions to strengthen your core," you tell him as you walk over and turn the faucet of the tub off. "I'm probably going to feel like I was beaten with a stick in the morning."

"Jesus, don't overdo it, baby," is his rumbling tut, but you can hear the lopsided smile in his voice when he adds, "I think you should just stick to our special regiment and let me work you into positions that'll have you feeling good, instead."

You snicker, "Beyako," and smirk when he chuckles cockily at your ribbing. "You guys are flying out to St John in the morning still?"

"Yep. We'll be there a few days. Steve's ASAC has a lot of meetings set up for us," he replies on a huffy sigh.

Pouting, you chime, "You can do it, gruñón. I believe in you."

Javi blows a raspberry at that. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, bravita. Now, go have your bath. I'll call you tomorrow night," is his rugged murmur that has electricity zinging through you and into your core. "Goodnight, mi amor."

"Goodnight. Love you, chulito," you croon sweetly before telling him goodbye.

Setting the phone aside, you toss the towel onto the floor and slip carefully into the warm bath water. You practically melt as the heat seeps into your aching muscles, as you luxuriate with the fragrant soap you lather yourself up with before dipping below the surface and popping up for breath before lounging backwards against the tub.

When you get into bed and fall asleep, you're hugging Javier's pillow, with his college shirt tucked around it. Your slumber is sound and soothing.

For Javi, however, his night's sleep is filled with sexy dreams of you.

Needless to say, he's ridiculously horny when he wakes up early the following morning. The urge lingers in his core, even after he takes the edge off in the shower. Sure, it doesn't help that his salacious mind can't stop thinking about you. That when he brushes his teeth, the image of you smiling brilliantly at him fills his mind's eye. And when he shaves, the hickey you left on his neck, while mostly healed, still taunts him with the memory of how wild you got as you reached bliss and reveled in the throes of pleasure that he gave you.

By the time he was riding down in the elevator with Steve to check out, he felt like an animal in a rut. And once they were waiting at the gate to board their hour-long flight, Javi was craving a cigarette bad.

"Fuck, you got any nicotine gum?" Javier asks Steve as he rifles through the front zip pockets of his suitcase.

"Yeah," Steve goes into his pocket for the pack he keeps on him. "Here, take 'em. I'm on the patch."

Javi takes the pack and immediately pops one of the gums out of the tray packaging. Tossing it into his mouth, he chews and pockets the rest in his jeans. "Thanks. I knew I forgot to pack something," he grumbles as he sits back and absently scrubs his hand along his jaw, exhaling soothingly when the familiar tingle disperses from the gum.

"Technically you didn't pack the suitcase though, right?" Steve jibes, twirling the pen he's plucked from his polo's breast pocket.

The smile crests his lips before he can even try to feign coolness. "She surprised me with it, then packed everything immaculately for me. But I haven't been relying on the gum as much lately, so I didn't have any lying around," he replies as he tucks the gum into his cheek and checks his watch. "How're Connie and the kids?"

Steve grunts lamentingly. "Olivia caught the flu from school, so Connie picked her up early and took today off to stay home with the girls. She's keeping Isabel away to avoid her catching it, which you can imagine isn't easy," he explains, frowning. "She said flu cases have been spiking the last week."

"Shit, that's rough. You're gonna have to make it up to her big time when you get back," Javi states the obvious and nods sagely at Steve, which always gets the gringo's goat.

"Says the guy who came down here to marry the girl he let get away, and he hasn't even gotten his shit together to pick out a ring," Steve instigates right back and cocks his eyebrow snootily at him. Seeing the comment needle Javier enough that he broodingly crosses his arms and huffs crossly out of his nose before staring at the terminal's foot traffic, Steve sticks his lower lip out as he grunts, before divulging, "I think you're overcomplicating the ring thing. Celina is not a flashy lady. I'm sure a nice, classic ring with a simple diamond in the middle will make her more than happy. And anyway, you can get fancy on the actual wedding band later on."

Absorbing that, Javi ruminates on it the rest of the day.

You, on the other hand, are doing anything but thinking straight right now. Not with how run down and sick you feel.

It started as a lethargic fatigue in your muscles that morning. One you easily chalked up to being sore from the workout the night before. You ignored it and went about your day.

The car insurance company was nice enough to expedite getting you a rental car to use while yours was still at the dealership getting repaired, and once in the vehicle, you'd commuted to the office. By noon, though, you'd started getting a congestion headache. You managed to make it to 3pm before you had to call it a day, feeling lousy and begrudgingly frowning when Devon had poked his head in to see you listlessly packing your tote as he remarked, "Oh no, you too, huh. Noreen caught the flu last week, and it's slowly been working its way through the building."

With your purse slung across your shoulder and tote hanging in your hand, you waved him away as you croaked, "I'm going to go home before I pass out. Now, stay away so I don't infect you—"

"Ah, I never get sick. I've been around everyone who's gotten the flu so far," he'd stated like it was irrefutable, before shrugging and insisting, "I'll cover that meeting at 4pm and have Olga adjust your calendar for tomorrow. You're definitely going to need bedrest."

You'd groaned, but thanked him before schlepping out as quickly as your aching body could. However, you'd gotten to your apartment and barely made it into your room before realizing you'd forgotten to finish an efficiency report due the beginning of the following week, and you hadn't packed your laptop.

Too drained to come up with a solution, you undressed and got into an oversized baggy t-shirt and crawled into bed. You had taken a dose of the medicine that was sure to knock you out soon, so you were hoping to get the ginger tea down to help settle your stomach before that happened. The chills had just started wracking through your frame as the house phone rang while you stood wrapped up in your throw blanket by the kitchen as the tea kettle heated up on the stove.

Croakily, you answer, "Hello?"

"Ay, no, you're sick too?!" Zoraida's dramatic lamentation sounds harried and raspy. "I woke up con la monga—"

"Join the club," you grouse, shivering. "And I was just at the doctor when she mentioned watching out to not catch it—"

"Ah! So you must've caught it and given it to me," Zoraida sarcastically chastises before breaking out into a coughing fit.

"Nena, it's flu season! Plus, wasn't that instructor last night sniffling?!" you lob right back, jolting when the kettle starts to whistle.

"Ah, es verdad. Que jodienda," Zoraida huffs over the line. "Anyway, I was calling to tell you I have to cancel going to the salon—"

"Obviamente," you laconically drawl as you steep the tea bag in the piping hot water you just poured before taking the mug back to your bedroom. "I was really looking forward to some pampering, too," is your gruff complaint. Once you've pressed the phone to your ear and gotten yourself situated in your blanket cocoon, you add, "This week ha sido una mierda, and it's not even over yet."

"Oh yeah?" your friend queries.

With the medicine cruising through your bloodstream, you're too sick to want to keep your guard up. Most of your energy was zapped out of you, so you end up venting about your week so far, not realizing how brashly detailed you're being.

"—Anyway, I'll stop ranting. Once we both feel better, we'll do the salon," you end up musing before you both wish each other speedy recovery so you can finish your tea and try to get some rest.

Javier tries to call you later that night, but you are dead to the world thanks to the medicine you took making you groggy. He figures you must've had a long day and fallen asleep early. But when he calls your cell phone, then your office line the next morning and gets no response? He starts to worry, and your home phone goes to voicemail after ringing for several beats. So, he calls Ellis.

The man picks up as he stifles a sneeze. "Hello?"

"Hey, It's Javier. Sorry to call out of the blue, but I haven't been able to get a hold of Celina," he explains, pacing the length of the hall just outside of the CBP conference room he and Steve had been in most of the morning. "Is everything ok?"

"Hey, Jav. One sec—" Ellis begins before being interrupted by another sneeze. "Ugh, sorry. Anyway, she's out with the flu. Probably sleeping it off. It's been running rampant in the building. Think I'm catching it too," is his congested explanation, before adding, "Poor girl's had a hell of a week as it is. I was planning on stopping by her place to drop off her laptop, so I can let her know to give you a call, if you want."

"Shit. Yeah, that would be great. Thanks. Hope you feel better soon too," Javi answers before they exchange goodbyes.

He's puzzled by the other man's comment, though. When you call him back later on that night, he's relieved to hear your voice and doesn't immediately remember to ask you about your week.

"—Hi, mi amor. I'm sorry I missed your calls!"

"It's ok, querida. Heard you're not feeling great," he replies, leaning against the banister of the patio he's currently stood on while the sun sets in the horizon across the way.

"I caught the flu. Minus Devon and Olga, almost everyone I know at the Federal office has been sick," you tell him in a tinny voice before coughing.

"Pobrecita," is his lament. "Olivia's been sick too. Shit's going around."

"Aww, bendito," you chime sympathetically. "The medicine I've been taking makes me drowsy, but I do feel much better than I did yesterday. Ellis came by a little while ago to drop off my laptop," is your comment before adding cheekily, "He told me you called him all worried about me."

"I did," Javi admits easily. "I'm glad you're feeling a little better—"

"Hey, Jav! You want another drink?" Steve interrupts as he shouts over from inside the house they're visiting.

"Babe, are you and Steve on a date?" you jibe impishly.

"No, you loquita," Javi snorts as he turns and gestures to Steve that he's still good with his half-filled glass of whiskey. "We're at his ASAC's place. Sam and his wife invited us over for dinner. I'm actually out on their patio. It's got a great view of the beach shore."

"Ah, that's nice! I won't keep you then—"

"When are you and I going to go to the beach together, eh?" Javi cuts in charmingly, before drawling, "Any secret playas we can go lay out on, just the two of us?"

You snicker, "Yes, there are a few, chavón. Hurry back so I can pack a beach tote and drag you along on a seashore adventure!"

"I'm holding you to that, preciosa. Now get some rest. Love you."

"Love you too, hermoso. Take care."

By the weekend, you're feeling almost 70 percent back to normal, with only a cough lingering now.

Your doctor had called with the lab results, and you were miffed to hear yet again that the results were 'normal' and requiring more observation, since none of the markers for thyroid, PCOS or pituitary issues were coming up that could explain the amenorrhea.

After also confirming you were not pregnant either, she surprised you when she asked, "Have you been feeling stressed lately?"

You'd been thrown off, but replied that you were of course stressed, but not in any significant way you felt was abnormal.

Deciding to schedule another checkup in a few months, she recommended you find ways to lower your stress, relax on exerting yourself in your fitness routine, and continue with vitamins to help build up your hormonal balance since you were probably still coming off being on birth control for such a protracted period of time.

The whole thing was aggravating you, which obviously wasn't helping lower any stress. Still, you compartmentalized the news and continued with your day, which was filled with playing catchup from your disastrous week previous, and looking forward to having that pampering session with Zoraida after work.

When you're finally basking in the lounge with Zoraida post-services, sipping your complimentary champagne, she decides to hit you with her nosy interrogating.

"So, when's your jevo back from his work trip?"

"He's flying back tomorrow night."

"When are we gonna meet him, hm?"

"Soon."

"Are we going to meet him before your dad does?"

"Probably."

"Are things progressing to him eventually meeting him, though?"

Scoffing after swallowing your sip, you gripe, "Girl, I don't know! I'm not following an itinerary or anything—"

"You said your dad's been insisting on meeting him, so I was just wondering," she defensively retorts, shrugging.

"…I did?" is your confused remark, brows furrowing.

"Yeah. The other night? You said your dad has been fishing for you to open up about him, and that he even suggested inviting him over to dinner—"

You truly don't remember that, and it's plain on your face.

"Coño, nena – no te recuerdas," she snickers, elaborating, "You were venting about how he's pulling on your heartstrings about it? Something about quoting The Godfather?"

"Hah, yeah, ok. Jeez, I'm telling you, that stuff had me groggy and drowsy," you ruefully shake your head and finish your last sip.

"So…does Javier know?"

"About my dad jodiendo? No—"

"No, not that. Does he know about the doctor's checkups?"

Blinking in shock, you realize you must've just rambled in your grogginess about everything that was front of mind for you.

"No. I haven't told him because there's nothing to really tell," you answer, sitting back in the lounge chair and running your manicured fingers over your freshly trimmed and styled hair absently as you confide, "I was hoping to know by now whether it's just residual hormonal imbalance from being on the pill for so long, but they think it's this condition—well, they don't know if it is because they haven't diagnosed any underlying causes—"

"I mean, you've been with only Javi this whole time, right?" Zoraida interrupts, and at your vacant nod, she presses, "Pues, since you've gone off the birth control. He's the only guy you've had sex with?"

"Zory, you know he's been the only one," you scoff, shifting in your seat while glowering at her.

"Well? Then maybe he's shooting blanks," she states like it's no big deal.

"…Zory," you begin, but then huff, "I'm the one not having a normal menstrual cycle—"

"Which your doctor said isn't totally abnormal—"

"Why are we even talking about this?!"

"Because! You are with this man who could get you pregnant any minute—"

"Por Dios—no he's not, because I'm more than likely infertile!"

You realize you've blurted it out and now sit there, feeling moored to the scary reality you've not wanted to acknowledge out loud.

Leaning forward and empathetically rubbing your arm, Zoraida assures in an unwavering tone, "You don't know that yet. Until you do, there's no point stressing yourself out over it."

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you feel guilty. You're unsure why.

"Anyway…did I tell you, that I think Rafa is going to propose to Naida?"

The new topic overrides the mounting rumination in your head and refocuses you.

It's a perfect distraction that carries you to the end of the hangout.

By the time you get home, you feel wrung out. Sleep comes easily, and the next morning as you prepare to go into work, you're feeling recharged – albeit still dealing with the lingering respiratory stuffiness.

You get completely caught up at work, and even have time to plan for the upcoming projects that will require you to travel in the next month or so.

When the dealership finally calls about your car the following day, you're hopeful that you can get back to your normal routine. However, you're surprised when they ask for you to come down so they can speak with you in person.

After work, you commute over to the busy avenue the dealership and its auto shop are.

You are brought into what would be used as a leasing agreement room, and are perplexed when the assistant manager and the lead technician enter the room with a bunch of documents.

They talk through all the repairs, show you photos of all the damage they documented when the car was dropped off by the tow company, and show you after photos. Then, they hit you with it.

"…You're saying that the tire was tampered with?"

"Well, we can't say that for sure—"

"Señorita, I'm going to be frank. I have been arguing that the kind of damage cannot be from negligence on our part. If when you'd gotten your tune up, we'd improperly tightened the lugnuts, you'd have noticed first thing. The fact that the incident occurred almost a week after the service? In my professional opinion, someone loosened those nuts—"

Truly flummoxed, you continue to listen to them, and make arrangements for the insurance rep to meet with them in order to review their findings so they can document their case. Said rep contacts you, explaining since there is no police report detailing suspicion of the car being tampered with, they would write it off as a sudden mechanical failure, with the cause as inconclusive.

Still, the rep can't help joke, "After something like this? I'd kick all the tires before I get in the car."

You'd dropped off the rental and gotten your vehicle from the dealership, finding that it drove fine the whole way to work.

The entire ordeal is so jarring and filled with judicious paper trailing that you end up not realizing you hadn't heard from Javi until that afternoon.

Going to the floor the DEA department was on, you loped down in the direction of Javier's office, hoping to at least pop in and say hello if he's too busy. However, when you round the corner and head towards his office door, you're surprised to be stopped by his admin, who clears her throat before stating curtly, "Agent Peña isn't in today."

You turn, internally wondering if you were misinterpreting the edge of her tone when Steve comes around the corner from his own office, spotting you.

"Hey, hun! Got a minute?" Steve greets and asks, gesturing with a point over his shoulder for you to step into his office for privacy.

Nodding, you stride coolly over and make it a point not to look in the admin's direction.

Once you're in the tall blond's office, he closes the door and accepts your hug and kiss on the cheek hello. "Is Javi at the field office today?"

"Nope. He's out sick," Steve drawls in his sarcastic twanging tone. At your gasp, he puts his hands on his hips and shrugs comically. "I know. He was complaining about having a headache before we got on the flight last night, and then this morning he called saying he felt like absolute shit, so I sent Segarra to the field office while I cover stuff here," is his explanation. "I told him to stay in bed, because he did sound like complete crud."

Crud was an understatement for how Javier was feeling right now.

He'd cursed himself the entire plane ride to San Juan for stopping into the duty-free shops in the terminal before boarding the flight with Steve, certain that tourist in front of him getting rung up passed his germs onto him after coughing in his direction. By the time Wilmer drove him and Steve to their gated neighborhood, Javi's head felt foggy and his throat started aching.

Dead-tired, he'd dropped everything in his room before going to shower. He'd put on pajama bottoms and gotten into bed with the intention of calling you, but ended up rolling onto his side and passing out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Shivering under his sheets now, with cold sweat clinging to his feverish brow, he gritted his jaw with exhausted aggravation. He was thirsty, but too tired and achy to get out of bed and go to the kitchen. Aside from ibuprofen in his medicine cabinet, he didn't have anything to take for his fluish symptoms.

Just as he began to doze off again, the distant sound of the deadbolt lock on the front door being jiggled mutedly caught in his hearing. It wasn't until he heard it definitively unlock that he jolted up in bed and instinctively rushed to get up and retrieve his gun. Unholstering his service weapon where it was sat at the top of his dresser, he stealthily moved on feverishly trembling limbs down the hallway towards the source of entry for the intruder.

His shivering makes his shoulders quake as he stalks cautiously over, and just as he's about to switch the safety off once he's made it to the kitchen's bar top counter corner, the door opens.

You fumble over the threshold with your arms incumbered by several big paper shopping bags laden in your arms and plastic pharmacy bags hanging beyond your wrists.

"Jesus fucking Christ!"

You squeak in surprise at Javier's alarmed exclamation, and nearly drop one of the bigger bags.

Quickly placing the gun on the counter, facing away from you with the safety still on, Javi shakily scrubs his hand over his feverish features.

"Javi, you scared me!" you haughtily grumble as you kick the front door shut and rush to put the bags down in the kitchen. "What're you doing out of bed—?" you begin but end up getting hit with a coughing fit.

Scowling almost pitifully, Javi grouses, "I thought someone was breaking in—"

"With a key?" you mockingly sass after clearing your throat, eyeing him sardonically as you toss your purse off from over your shoulders and place the keychain down on the counter before rounding the bar top towards him. In the low light of the entry, you hadn't seen more than his silhouette but now up close, you see how clammy his bare chest is and how worn with fever his features are, so you frown and fret, "Ay, pobrecito. Come, you have to get back to bed."

He doesn't even have the energy to argue, and is actually feeling a bit dizzy, so he is more than grateful when you loop your arm around his waist and lead the way.

Once you've helped him back into bed and pulled the sheet up to tuck him in, you sit on the edge of the mattress and take his temperature with the back of your palm to his sweltering forehead.

"You're burning up," you lament.

Tiredly, he smiles as he reaches for your cheek before he affectionately brushes his warm fingertips to tuck your swaying strands of hair behind your ear.

"You changed your hair," he points out in a gravelly murmur, eyes creasing softly as he drawls, "It looks nice."

Snickering, you cup his flushed cheek and comically sigh, "Ever the charmer."

He grunts humorously. "Steve told you I was sick," is his raspy comment, parched lips pouty when you rush up to get a wet washcloth from the bathroom so you can fold and drape it over his forehead after you brush his matted hair back from his sweaty brow.

"He did. So, I picked up a few things from the store, and stopped at their house to get your spare key from Connie," you tell him gently, caressing his cheek and brushing your thumb caringly across his dark stubble. "Have you taken anything?"

"No," he answers hoarsely, throat starting to burn from talking. "Mmmph, feel like shit."

"I know, mi amor. Stay here," you murmur and quickly go get him some medicine and a big glass of water, stifling your cough along the way.

Once he's taken the dosage and drained the glass, you make another trip to return with all the pharmacy supplies.

"Ok, sit up for me," you instruct as you retrieve the container of Vick's from one of the bags.

"C'mon, I hate that stuff," Javi complains and laboriously sits up, scowling. "I just need water and to stay in bed. No need to baby me—"

"What're your symptoms, tough guy?" you counter, looming over him with authority. When he stubbornly shrugs, you resolutely state, "Quit being a brat, or I'll make you go to the doctor."

Too tired for that, Javi grumbles in defeat, "Fever, sore throat, my body aches, and my head hurts."

"I'm putting this on you, and it's going to help with all of that. Then you're going to rest and let the medicine take effect. I'll make you some soup, and you'll drink plenty of this stuff too," you're instructing as you place the Vick's on the nightstand in order to retrieve the electrolyte drinks you picked up.

"I don't want you to get sick—" Javi grouses as he tries to suppress a shiver.

"I'm still getting over what I had, so I should be fine," you counter smoothly as you open the bottle of orange-colored electrolytes and offer it to him. He raises his brows, almost goadingly, so you sit on the edge of the mattress again and press the bottle to his lips to feed him slow sips. "Malcriado," you playfully chastise after he's drank his fill, and set the bottle aside to then open the container of vaporub ointment. Dipping your fingers in and scooping a generous amount of the ointment, you judiciously start to rub and massage it into his chest, then up into his neck, as you teasingly chide, "Your latino card is gonna get revoked for saying you hate this stuff—"

"Burlona," he grouses, corner of his mouth tugging into a smile as he holds the cool compress in place on his brow while you continue to rub the ointment along his back now.

His frame shivers from the chills caused by the fever, so you prop the pillows up for him and have him lean back. "I know you feel cold, but it's actually hot and stuffy in here, so I'm going to turn the air on," you're telling him as you pull his coverlet up from the foot of the bed in order to tuck him in before getting up to turn the air conditioner wall-mounted console on, then retrieving the boxed thermometer from the pharmacy bag.

Javi's eyes are heavy lidded and his cheeks are flushed while the thermometer tucked under his tongue takes his temperature as you go run the washcloth under cool water in the bathroom sink again. He can't help feel like an overgrown baby for some reason, but a small part of him is indulging in your doting treatment.

Sitting back on the edge of the bed to place the compress to his forehead, you take the thermometer from his lips and read the temperature with a frown.

"100.5," you tut before setting the thermometer aside and affectionately caressing your thumb along his cheekbone to swipe away the droplets that have dripped down from the washcloth. "You're going to start feeling groggy from the medicine, so rest while I make you some soup. I'll wake you up once it's ready—"

His warm hand reaches for your wrist to keep your palm cupping his cheek, as he rasps, "You don't have to stay and baby me, querida—"

"No seas tan terco, and let me take care of you, Javier," you bossily cut in, smiling when he exhales humorously and purses his lips out at you. "Quédate quieto, y pórtate bien."

He nods obediently, so you kiss his nose cutely and set everything he may need on the nightstand, including a box of tissues, before letting him rest in the cooling bedroom.

It isn't until you're coming in the dark room with a tray balanced in your hands that he realizes he must've dozed off for a while. His sinuses are stuffy, but he can see the piping tendrils of heat coming off the large bowl of soup, and his mouth starts watering.

Shuffling up to sit with his back against the headboard, he drowsily rubs at his face as he yawns, "How long was I out?"

You manage to place the serving tray so that the legs bracket up to stand on either side of his lap before placing the cold glass of water on the nightstand for him. "About an hour. Here, let me know if it's too hot, and I'll put some ice cubes in," you answer and instruct as you dip the spoon in and raise it to feed the sip of soup to him.

It is incandescently hot, but in the best way, so Javi helps himself once you've handed him the utensil. Along with the large bowl of noodle-rich, flavorful soup with giant chunks of potato in it, he has a nice piece of crunchy pan you must've gotten from the bakery at the supermarket.

"Mmm, thanks. I was starving and didn't even know it," he rumbles with his mouth full.

"Well, there's plenty more if you get hungry later," you tell him serenely as you go to tidy up the clutter in his bedroom from where he'd just tossed his open suitcase and things from the night before. You notice a big shopping bag with the logo of the duty-free shops printed on the side of it, but don't move it or ask him about it. Instead, you arrange the rest of the medicine to be laid out on his nightstand as you remark, "I'm going back to the office to finish a few things, but I'll be back after work, ok? Be sure to take the next dose after you eat."

He grunts while slurping up more of the noodles before murmuring, "Thanks, cariño."

With his dark soulful eyes twinkling at you like that, you can't help lean down and kiss him on the forehead. "Call me if you need anything," you tell him as you walk to the hallway.

Once you've closed the door, Javi picks up the bowl and drinks up the remaining broth straight from it, having not wanted to be too much of a boor in your presence. With his hunger more than sated, he drains a bottle of the electrolytes before moving the tray to the unoccupied side of the bed so he can lie back down, tucked under the covers. The rest of the pharmacy supplies you bought that don't fit on the nightstand are arranged on his dresser for him, along with the holstered gun you must've returned while he was asleep. The sound of the front door closing and locking echoes from the main room, so he relaxes and closes his eyes.

He falls asleep easily to the ambient hum of the consola and the soothing chill of the cool air fanning in a slow undulation around the room.

Hours later, after finishing your work day, you grab your things and head back to Javier's. You're eager to spend time with him, and actually are looking forward to taking care of him for the night, knowing he cannot be trusted to not try to use whiskey to "sweat it all out" as Steve had told you he'd not-so-jokingly grumbled after getting dropped off from the airport the night before.

You park in his driveway this time and use the second key on the ring to enter the laundry room door entrance since you weren't burdened with groceries, hoping it wouldn't rouse your sick lover to come gun drawn again.

When you come into the main living space, you're surprised to find Javier wrapped up in a blanket like a human burrito, curled up on the couch and watching TV. The coffee table is cluttered with bottles of electrolytes, an empty glass of water, a half-empty box of tissues with the used ones crumbled all over, and the tray you'd brought the soup on stood up with what looks to be several bowlfuls of remnants on it, while the bowl itself is licked clean.

"Javier Felipe Peña, I told you to stay in bed!" you admonish imperiously as you march over and loom over him.

His stubble-covered features pout up at you, disheveled hair flopping across his brow as he clumsily tries to sit up while still keeping the blanket tightly wrapped around him. "I couldn't stay asleep and got hungry, so I came out to get more soup, but got too tired to go all the way back with it, so I parked here. It was supposed to be until I finished eating, but then I fell asleep again, and then woke up and figured I should just stay here," Javi rambles, and your smile gets harder and harder to repress the more he tries to justify and appease you.

Shaking your head sardonically at him, you put your purse and tote aside on the nearby chair and come over to sit next to him and feel his forehead for his temperature.

"Hm, well you clearly still have a fever, so c'mon – back to bed," you tell him as you brush his mussed hair back from his forehead before caressing your touch along his brow, then down to cup his cheek as you give him a quick peck on the lips.

He lets you help him up and maneuver around the tray to go down the hall and back to being tucked under the covers. You fluff his pillows, prop them up behind his back for him, and retrieve the next dose of medicine he should've taken hours earlier.

"Sorry you have to put up with this," Javi croaks after clearing his sore throat.

"It's fine. I knew you would be a little shit and not obey me," is your irreverent singsong, chuckling when he glowers at you, so you angelically smile as you feed him his medicine, before asking, "Did you like the soup?"

Grunting, he finishes swallowing before drawling, "I got some of my taste and smell back after the first bowl. It was really delicious. That wasn't chicken soup, though, right?"

"Nope. That was sopa de jamón. It was my Puerto Rican grandma's recipe. It's less prep, but just as hearty and flavorful. The saltiness of the ham and the sofrito gets sucked up by the noodles, and it forces you to drink lots of fluids," you pleasantly explain as you pick up the vaporub and open it in order to scoop ointment out to massage his chest with it. "Once the medicine kicks in, I'll go start dinner."

I could really get used to being spoiled like this, Javi thinks to himself, enjoying your massage, even if it's with the heavily fragrant eucalyptus-smelling ointment. But he can't deny how it's helped his muscles ache less and his airways open up more, and he easily dozes off to you rubbing your thumbs in slow circles along the spot where his lymph nodes are on either side of his neck.

When he wakes up next, he realizes that you'd found the portable TV that was in the spare bedroom and had rolled it into his room. The ambient glow from the screen helped stir him to adjust in a sitting position, where he turned to find you lounging on your side, napping next to him.

With your eyes closed and your head lulled on the pillow this way, he could see how tired you still look from kicking the remnants of the flu, and something aches in his chest at the realization that he'd not been around to take care of you, the way you so deserved and did so easily for him.

The early evening news is playing on the TV, but the volume is set low, so he sits up and tries to pull the throw blanket up to cover your shoulders.

"Mmm," you mumble and curl closer to him, before stirring and stretching your legs out while yawning, "Ugh, sorry. I didn't mean to conk out—"

Snorting, he leans over and kisses your cheek before murmuring in a gravelly husk, "Quédate dormida."

"Nope. Too late. I'm up now," you lilt as you stretch out your limbs before sitting up, stifling a cough into the pit of your elbow. Once the bleariness is blinked away from your eyes, you see that the feverish flush has dissipated from his cheeks, so you sidle up to him to take his temperature with your hand to his forehead. "Hm, think the fever has gone down a bit."

His dark eyes look dreamy as he gazes at you before he leans forward and nuzzles your cheek. "You're actually getting me hot right now," is his purr, and you snicker when he keeps nuzzling down your jaw and to the base of your neck.

"You're not getting any until you're feeling better, Javi," you murmur with irrevocable authority as you nudge him back and make him lie down so you can climb over him while you announce, "Dinner's been ready. Are you hungry?"

Javier loops your waist with his arm and hauls you back into bed. "I'm starving for you, mandona," he croons as he cuddles you and grazes mustachioed kisses into your neck. "Let me show you just how much better I feel—"

"Ah, Javi—your lips are all crackly and dry," you object goofily and wrestle him onto his back so you can straddle his lap and thwart his sexy advances. His mouth frowns woefully, so you snicker and coo, "Ay, no me mires así, bebito."

"Ugh, fine," Javi huffs in defeat and flops grumpily under you.

However, your dazzling smile and loving caress along his forearms makes it hard for him to keep the brooding façade up. And when you lean down and pepper soft kisses along his face, he relaxes totally. So much so, you're able to go plate dinner and bring it back on the serving tray you set up on the center of the bed so you can eat together.

While in mid-chew, you notice the duty-free shopping bag tucked in the corner again, so after you swallow, you ask him, "What's in the bag?"

He follows your glance, and smirks around his current mouthful. Washing it down with a gulp of water, he replies, "That, is a gift for you. And the likely cause for this fucking flu I caught."

When he gestures with his chin for you to go ahead and take a look, you amble off the bed and retrieve the bag. You pull out a very large and elegant rattan beach tote with smooth tan leather handle straps and tropical-patterned linen-lined interior.

"Figured it would make for a perfect beach tote for that seashore adventure you promised," Javier charmingly muses when you smile over at him.

"This is lovely," you gush, leaning over and kissing him sultrily on the lips. "Thank you."

With a smug grunt, he grumbles daringly, "I thought my lips were too crackly—"

"Shut up and let me kiss you, malcriado."

And you do, kissing him on his lips, cheeks, and all over while he chuckles.

After finishing dinner, you join Javi for a quick hot shower, surprising him with the bouquet of dried eucalyptus stems you've hung from the nozzle. It's an old rustic remedy – using eucalyptus in a hot bath or steamy shower to diffuse the invigorating scent to help with nasal congestion and increasing blood flow in blood vessels. But Javi had never been a fan of it, especially when he was a kid and every woman in his family would slather the stuff on him over any ailment.

"Ugh, c'mon!"

"They'll help with your congestion!"

"Are you feeling congested still?"

"Yes, actually—"

"Ok. Fine—"

"I promise it will help, gruñón," is your flirty assurance as you tow him into the shower stall with you once the hot water and steam is going.

His surly grumble was softened by his smirk and irreverent head shake.

In the end, you were right, and the fragrant steam saturated his skin and made it easy to take deep breaths in without coughing or sneezing. The pressure in his sinuses decreased, and he was definitely enjoying you soaping him up and rubbing his tired muscles. It did wonders for you too, relieving the congestion still lingering in your chest and alleviating your coughing for the rest of the night.

Afterwards, while he's getting into a gray pair of sleep bottoms, you strip the bed and dress it with fresh sheets before getting out a nice blue quilt from the closet. He comes over and helps you toss it onto the bed so it's arranged evenly on the surface. Pleased, you go over and playfully guide him backward to sit on his side of the bed before dutifully giving him the next dose of medicine that will help him sleep. You then return from the bathroom with your container of Vaseline and glide a dab-size of it with your little finger over his chapped lips before tucking him under the comforter. He caresses down the curve of your waist to squeeze your nightgown-clad hip, smiling when you lean down and kiss his forehead.

"Be right back," you tell him before going to shut the lights off and make sure the doors are locked. You return to the cool bedroom, with another glass of water for him and a backup box of tissues, to find him rummaging under the comforter in search for the TV remote. Snickering, you walk over and pick it up from the top of the TV set and walk over to hand it to him.

"What would I ever do without you," he schmoozes in that honeyed baritone way that always makes you grin girlishly, especially combined with his flirty caress of your tush before giving it a squeeze.

Pursing your lips saucily at him, you set the glass down on the remaining free corner within reach for him on the nightstand, as you simper, "According to Steve? Probably starve and 'sweat out the flu with whiskey', among other things."

"He's such a narc," Javi laconically sneers, but his mischievous smile widens when you playfully swat his hand.

Shaking your head amusedly, you go to open the drawer to store the tissue box. "I think it's great how you two are a platonic married couple at this point—" your wry joke skids to a halt when you look in the open drawer and see a small bottle of lube and a long-lost pair of your panties within easy reach. Gasping, you snatch the used garment out and exclaim incredulously, "Oh my fucking god, Javier! Are you serious?!" His big brown eyes widen as you hold the offending prize up for judgment, comically haranguing, "You freaking puerco! How long have you had this nasty thing, you beyako pervertido?!"

"That's a rhetorical question, right?" Javi sheepishly drawls, hands going up defensively when your narrow glare sharpens in that commanding way that promises something wicked his way will come if he keeps being naughty. "Since around that time we went to that fancy steakhouse with Sasha, I think," is his answer, and he gives you those damned puppy eyes when he leans over to try and coax you closer so he can take them back, while begging, "Please, let me keep them?"

Scoffing, you place the box of tissues in the drawer, shut it and pointedly turn on your heel to march over to the hamper in the corner by the closet to ceremoniously dump the panties in. Javier groans in huffy disappointment, scowling as he flops back into the pillows. He glowers as you snootily strut to your side of the bed, shut the nightstand lamp off, and crawl under the quilt.

Only, you don't maneuver to lie next to him. Instead, you prowl under the covers to lay between his legs before answering with snarky authority, "That means those were over a year old, you fresco. And, that you pilfered them when you were under the comforter – just like this – and went down on me that one time. Right?"

Before he can answer, Javi feels you blow cool air on his clothed crotch, making his semi twitch eagerly, and getting a gasp out of him. "Sounds about right, yeah," he croaks gruffly, hands gripping the sheets.

Dramatically tossing the quilt away so you can quickly straddle him, you impishly lean close until your lips are a whisper apart before purring, "Good. So you'll be a good boy and earn another pair by behaving and letting me take care of you, right?"

Javi's running hot now, and not just from fever. "Sí, mi patrona," is his cheeky husk, relishing how you bat your lashes and smile, appeased.

Reaching to turn his nightstand lamp off, you hum alluringly for him to kiss you.

His lips brush yours covetously before he rolls you both into the bed, making a happy giggle bubble free from your chest.

After some savvy coaxing on your part, you both end up tucked close under the blanket. The ambient glow of the TV screen illuminates his relaxed features as you soothingly run your fingers through his hair, helping lull him into the drowsy haze provided by the medicine hitting his bloodstream while you watch the late-night comedy show. Even in the chilly room, his body temperature is still running hot, so you make sure not to press up against his form and overheat him.

By the time he's snoring in deep slumber, you turn the TV off, and curl up to sleep.

The next morning, Javier's temperature is down to 99.3 degrees, so after you shower and get ready for work, you make him breakfast and serve it to him in bed. Begrudgingly, Javier had called out sick for the day, and you'd insisted that he take the medicine and sleep, but ended up compromising with him to take at least one more dose, and that he stay in bed resting.

"—Ok, I'll come around lunch time," you're telling him now as you pull on your heels and go to his dresser to hurriedly brush your hair up into a chic twist. "Need me to pick up anything while I'm out?"

"Not a thing. You've done more than enough, guapita," he responds from where he's cozily resting in bed, head propped up by fluffed pillows. The angle helps him appreciatively ogle you as you smoothen your white with black trim Georgette v-neckline with a spread collar and button cuffs blouse after tucking the hemline into the waistband of your stylish black slacks. "You look fucking sexy, so you know."

Smiling, you turn and abandon putting on lipstick to go over and sit on the edge of the bed so you can sultrily glide your touch from his bare chest to cup his chin before leaning forward and kissing him, then pulling back cockily to leave him wanting as you hum, "You're a sweet talker, but you better be a good boy like you promised, me entiendes, bebito?"

His eyes darken with want as he nods and husks, "I will, jefa."

With a gloating smile, you let him pull you back down for a long kiss before you say goodbye and head out.

Javi keeps his word, takes his medicine, and has a relaxing sleep for the rest of the morning.

Thankfully, your morning schedule is fairly light, so you're able to leave the federal building campus earlier than you'd originally planned for your lunch break. When you come into the house and do not find Javier sprawled on the couch again, you smile triumphantly, before heading down the back hall to open the door to his bedroom.

You find him watching the afternoon variety show, lounging with his back against the headboard and a pillow tucked behind his head.

"Well, I can't believe it. You actually behaved," you chortle as you toe off your heels and flounce over to sit on the side of the bed before feeling his forehead.

"You got so furiosa, there was no way I was going to chance incurring your wrath," he jokes, sounding a bit stuffed up, but clearly feeling better.

He smiles when you scoff and kiss his cheek. "You feel even less feverish than this morning. Is your throat still sore?" you ask as you stand in order to take off your tight slacks so you can get more comfortable.

Appreciatively, Javi leers at your perfect ass in the pink cotton panties as you slide your pants on a hanger so they don't get wrinkled. "No, just dealing with a stuffy nose now," he answers as he retrieves a tissue. "I might take something for it, though."

"Ok, good. I'll make lunch so you don't take it on an empty stomach," you're pleasantly retorting as you pull on a pair of lavender drawstring shorts and go to the hamper to quickly separate garments. "Might as well start some laundry while I'm here," you remark while digging into it to pile whites, darks and items for dry-cleaning onto the foot of the bed. "Is everything in your suitcase dirty? I can take your dress shirts and drop them off at the dry cleaners on my way back to the office—"

You pause as you keenly eye the three piles and notice something missing. Laconically, you stare over at Javier like he's a rambunctious puppy you just caught trying to hide a toy.

"Um, yeah, everything in the suitcase is dirty—" he begins to answer as he starts to get up from bed to go retrieve it for you.

"Uh-uh. Park it," you order saucily as you put your hand on your hip and gesture with the other, demanding, "Give them to me, right now, chavón."

His poker face is pretty good when he feigns confusion while he drawls, "I don't know what you mean—"

"Hand over the skanky panties you squirreled away, or you're gonna get it, Javier."

The lewd thrill your smoky command stirs in his core cracks his composure and gives him up before he huffs in surrender and reaches his hand down between the mattress and box spring on his side of the bed. The undies are withdrawn swiftly before he makes a big show of sitting up and shuffling along his knees towards the foot of the bed to cockily place them in your expectantly outstretched palm.

Humming glibly, you tut, "Caripela'o," while tossing the panties in the pile before playfully shoving him to lay back down on the bed.

He has a faux pout on his lips, but you can see the way his soulful eyes are crinkled that he likes when you sexily chastise him. You like getting a rise out of him, too, and really enjoy that he's going out of his way to comply, albeit smugly. Still, he behaves while you go through his suitcase for the rest of the laundry, and only grins when you retrieve your silk nighty from the pile and toss it at him before placing all the sorted clothes in the laundry basket and taking it to the wash.

While the first load goes through its cycle, you make a pot of rice and your Grandma's recipe for Puerto Rican corn beef, quickly plating the meal and putting a hefty slice of aguacate to go with it before taking the tray to the bedroom to serve Javi.

His attention is riveted on the afternoon news segment about the latest crime statistics on the island that the anchor is citing in reference to a spree of carjackings and muggings that had occurred earlier in the week.

"Here, mi amor," you place the tray to stand on the mattress adjacent to where he's currently sat, on the foot of the bed. "Hope you like it—"

The sound of his cell phone ringing interrupts as it buzzes loudly on the nightstand, threatening to topple the pharmacy items now haphazardly stacked next to it.

Shit—" Javi tries to maneuver to reach for it, but you're actually closer, so you go to the nightstand and grab it. "It must be the office—"

"Well, you're out sick, so they shouldn't be calling you at all," is your curt remark before you press the button to answer it with a professional greeting. "Hello, you've reached Special Agent Javier Peña's mobile phone line. Can I take a message?"

Javier balks at you, stunned that you would answer, but also overawed with exhilarated admiration for you and your chingona confidence – that you would unabashedly do something so flashy when not so long ago you would've avoided doing anything remotely similar.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry. I should've considered that he would be too busy to answer the phone," a raspy baritone with an earthy southern cadence to it that sounded distantly familiar to you answers sheepishly. "I don't want to bother him, so I'll call back later—"

Smiling brilliantly, you turn to Javi as you answer, "Ah, Javier's got plenty of time to prioritize a phone call from his Pop. If that's who I may direct as the person reaching him?"

The surprise melts into instant delight on Javi's face when he can make out his father's warm chuckle. "Yes, that's right. And I take it that I'm finally speaking to the famous Celina?" Chucho rumbles jovially back, making you laugh brightly in the affirmative. "Well if you're answering, I'm sure that means Javier is indisposed—"

"Ah, actually, he's home sick, so I commandeered answering his phone in case it was the office bothering him when they should be respectful and let him rest," you assure in a spritely tone. You go to sit beside Javi as you add, "Anyway, here he is," before handing him the phone.

The endearing warmth shining in Javi's dark eyes for you as he takes the phone and leans in to kiss you adoringly makes you tingle, but you flirtatiously snicker and nudge him playfully from getting carried away and neglecting the call further.

"Hey, Pop. Everything ok?" he greets and asks, watching you maneuver to sit on your side of the bed with your own plate of lunch you picked up from the serving tray.

"Yes, yes! I just, well…it's my and your mother's anniversary today, and I guess I was wanting to see how you were," Chucho's baritone rationalizing is pensive, yet lonely, and Javi internally swears and clenches his eyes shut in upset with himself. "Anyway, you not feeling well?"

You see Javi's shoulders droop before he answers tightly, "Pop…I'm sorry. I should've called earlier. The last few days have been hectic; traveling, getting the flu—"

"No-no, it's all right, mijo. You are busy and living your life. And, from the sounds of it, you're living it well," is Chucho's easygoing rasp, proudly adding, "You have a feisty, loving woman looking after you, so relish it, and don't take her for granted. And live in the moment together. You deserve to be happy, Javier."

The lump in his throat manages to get pushed down when he looks over at you and sees you attentively reading his expression, curious as to what has his dark chocolate eyes shining with unshed tears. "Thanks. I will. And I promise to come visit soon—"

"Don't worry about that. I know you're busy. Just try to keep in touch a bit more, ok?"

"I definitely will. Cuídate, Papá."

"You too, mijo. But before you hang up, put her back on the phone?" Chucho cajoles, and Javi snickers in agreement before offering it to you.

Smiling, you set your plate aside on the nightstand to take it. "So you know, you can rest easy that I will make sure Javi calls more," is your affable remark, squinting your eyes impishly at Javi giving you a deriding stare.

"I know you will, mija. And when you can, have him bring you for a visit. It's been long overdue that I haven't gotten to meet and thank you for taking care of my son. He really loves you, and as far as I'm concerned, you're already part of the family," Chucho charmingly extols. "All he wants to do is make you as happy as you make him, sabes?"

Feeling your heart summersault in your chest, you chime, "Well, he takes care of me too, and he does make me happy, so I feel the same way." You see Javier's expression soften at your words. Fearlessly, you add, "I love him with all my heart."

"I'm glad, and will keep you both in my prayers. Take care, Celina. Dios los bendiga."

"You too. Goodbye."

Once you place the phone down on the bed, you can see Javi is buzzing with curiosity, so you coolly return to your plate of food before musing, "Eat, before it gets cold, chulito."

He blows a raspberry before obeying, and ends up scarfing the meal down with gusto, savoring the fresh avocado he mixes in with the rice and criollo-style corn beef. Once he's washed it all down by guzzling the glass of water until it's empty, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before he sets the serving tray aside so he can stretch out to sidle up close to you.

"I'm such an asshole. I forgot that today's my parent's wedding anniversary…" he unburdens himself, tone self-reproachful. "I had my head in my ass—"

"Javi, you've been running around for days, then you got sick. It just slipped your mind," you console as you rub his bare back. "Your dad is sweet and kind. I'm sure he just wanted to hear from you. He didn't sound disappointed or anything. And, from now on, I'll badger you to call him more so he and I can chat away."

That feeling of radiating heat fills his chest and makes his bones ache with how much your words comfort him.

"You're too good to me," Javi murmurs with genuine feeling, and it makes you shake your head drolly. "I know it annoys you when I say so, but I mean it."

"Javi, it only annoys me, because it's like you're saying you don't deserve to be treated right," you explain, frowning when he tucks his chin in to hide his self-loathing expression, clearly annoyed with himself for saying what he thinks was the wrong thing. You shift to face him and cup his chin in order to tip his face up so he can look into your eyes as you profess tenderly, "You are the love of my life, and you're worthy, and I mean it when I tell you this: You make me happy, and make me feel deserving of love. I only ever want you to feel the same, so when you say I'm too good to you, it makes me sad, because it means I'm doing the opposite…that I haven't made you feel deserving enough."

He's never thought about it that way, and now that you've told him how you feel, all the self-doubt – the feeling unworthy – gets blasted away like shadows being banished by the light of the sun.

You see it etching plainly on his handsome features, so you kiss him lovingly on the lips before nuzzling him affectionately.

The way your incandescent grace fills him up has him hugging you tight, and you smile at his murmured sweet nothings he pours into your ear.

"…Te amo hasta mi alma. You're my everything, querida…"

Your heart sores, and you bask in his passionate embrace, cherishing the moment of serenity with him.

Once you've both become settled, you end up having to rush to turn over the laundry loads, then hurry back to get dressed again for work.

"Get some rest, hermoso. I love you," you susurrate, and kiss him goodbye on the lips.

"Love you too, querida," he rumbles and playfully glides his touch down your arm to clasp your hand as if he's not going to let you go before trailing his fingers away.

You snicker and wink at him before heading out.

More than content to lie back down and rest until you get back from work, Javi lets his thoughts run wild with the exhilarating promise of plans he's intent on making reality sooner rather than later.

Hours later, after a staff meeting to get progress reports regarding the different program initiatives everyone is working on, you're in your office finalizing some reports. It's close to the end of the day, and you're eager to wrap things up so you can head home to Javier.

Your cell phone starts to ring, so you answer it and multitask as you scan your report on the computer's screen. "Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Ms. Reinosa. My name's Ned Fuller, and I'm a CIFI for your auto insurance provider. I'm calling in regards to your automotive accident earlier this week. Do you have a second to chat?"

Thrown off, you lean back in your chair and focus on your desk, already retrieving the folder with all the paperwork from your tote as you answer, "Yes, I do. I'm sorry, CIFI?"

"Oh, my apologies! That's short for Certified Insurance Fraud Investigator. I'm actually a case manager who helps flag cases submitted by our insurance offices out in the Caribbean region," the man explains good naturedly, while still managing to fill you with dread. "Anyway, I wanted to call and alert you that while at the local level, there was no way to prove the vehicle malfunctioned without an external cause, when I read the case report, it alarmed me, as it was very reminiscent to a case I worked on in the Florida Keys a few years back."

"Huh…in what way?" you ask, pulling over a notepad and grabbing a pen to jot down any details.

"Well, it was a doozy. Basically, a wealthy financier was driving his vehicle towards the interstate on-ramp, when his tire failed and sent the vehicle careening into the guardrail and almost jettisoned it over the barrier. On closer inspection by the tech lab, they found the tire's strut mount had been tampered with. Turns out the fella was in a contentious divorce battle, and authorities arrested his wife," the investigator retells, before getting back to the topic at hand. "Anyway, while not part of protocol, I figured it would only be right to inform you of the red flag this raised for me, and caution you that if not caused by your dealership's negligence, there was this possibility—"

"I'm sorry. Are you saying that there's a suspicion—that there's evidence that my car was deliberately tampered with in order to cause the accident?" you inquire, flummoxed.

"…Well, on the record, there was significant damage done that it made it difficult to conclude the tire was tampered with," he begins, before confiding, "Off the record? I would say it's suspicious."

The man explains a bit more to you, but you're floored and completely caught up in a ruminating whirlpool.

Did someone…could someone have purposely rigged the tire in order for me to crash the car?!

As the thought builds up an ominous pit in your stomach, yet another makes you worry.

Who would go through the trouble of doing it…and why?

To be continued…

  ________________

Read Chapter 45: Deserving - Part 2

Spanish-English Glossary:

Partido Nuevo Progresista = New Progressive Party

Puntos = Points, as in drug points

Muecas = Making faces; grimaces

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

Mi patrón = My master/boss

Malcriada/malcriado = Brat/spoiled

Traviesa = Naughty/Mischievous girl

Tentadora = Temptress

Mi amor = My love

Mi patroncito = My little patron

Bebito = Little baby (male)

Lo necesito. Te lo ruego. Por favor, mi rey. Seré tuya = I need it. I beg you. Please, my king. I'll be yours

Eres pinche gloriosa = You're fucking glorious

Chavón = A man that's pestering you

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

Hermosa/hermoso = beautiful (female); beautiful (male)

Guapito = Handsome (said in an affectionate diminutive)

Marquesina = Open air garage or carport

Deja con las formalidades, ya = Quit it with the formalities, already

Se me olvidó = I forgot

Reggaetoneros = Reggaetón artists

Perrear = Doing it doggystyle, aka referring to sex

Perreo = Dance style associated with reggaetón; doggystyle, twerking dance

Beyako = Puerto Rican slang for horny/naughty guy; akin to "horn dog"

Pórtate bien, y llámame = Be good, and call me

Cacos = Term referring to hardcore reggaetón fans, who are mostly men

Bailar = Dance

Ella es una mamita sabrocita = She is a tasty foxy woman

Claro que no = Of course not

She's a chulería – una bichota bien wapa = She's a charming gal, a real big shot lady that's real feisty

Pasarme así = Overstep like that

Gatilleros = Triggermen

Sobrepasarme = To overstep; to go too far

Solo le gusta hablar mierda = Only likes to talk shit

Pendejo = Dumbass/Jackass

Acho, que canto cabrón = Man, what an asshole

Tesoro = Treasure; darling

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

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

Soñaré de ti, mi amor. Sueña de mi, mi cariñito = I'll dream of you, my love. Dream of me, my sweet little darling

Jefa = Boss lady

Doña = A Spanish honorific, referring to a respectable woman; equivalent to Missus

Pastelillo de guayaba = Guava pastry; similar to a turnover

Preciosa = Gorgeous; precious

Mira quien habla = Look who's talking

El guapo descarado = The handsome cad

Apodo = Nickname

Tan chavón = Such a pain

Canela = Cinnamon

Dulces sueños, mi amor = Sweet dreams, my love

Chacho = Jeez

Come mierda = Slang for a stuck up, moronic person; literally means 'shit eater'

Tan chingona = Such a badass lady

Cariño = Darling/sweetheart

Gruñón = Grumpy man

Bravita = Tough girl; feisty girl

Chulo/Chulito = Cute guy; little cutie

Ay, no = Oh, no

Con la monga = With the flu

Nena = Girl

Ah, es verdad. Que jodienda = Ah, that's true. What a pain in the ass

Obviamente = Obviously

Ha sido una mierda = Has been real shit

Pobrecita/Pobrecito = Poor little thing

Bendito = Blessed simple soul; a hopeful lamentation

Loquita = Crazy girl

Playas = Beaches

Jevo = Puerto Rican slang for boyfriend

Coño, nena – no te recuerdas = Damn, girl – you don't remember

Pues = Well

Por Dios = God's sake

Burlona = Joker (female)

No seas tan terco = Don't be so stubborn

Quédate quieto, y pórtate bien = Stay put and behave

Consola [de aire acondicionado] = Air conditioning unit/console

Sopa de jamón = Ham soup

Sofrito = Herbs, spices, and vegetables minced into a cooking bouillon paste

Quédate dormida = Stay asleep

Mandona = Bossy lady

Ay, no me mires así, bebito = Aw, don't look at me that way, little baby boy

Puerco = Pig

Beyako pervertido = Horny pervert

Fresco = a guy who's being 'fresh', or naughty/pervy

Sí, mi patrona = Yes, my madam/ boss lady/ mistress

Me entiendes, bebito = You understand me, little baby boy

Furiosa = Furious (female)

Caripela'o = Puerto Rican slang for a shameless get over

Aguacate = Avocado

Mijo = short for "mi hijo", a term of endearment akin to "my son/sonny"

Cuídate, Papá = Take care, Dad

Dios los bendiga = God bless you both

Te amo hasta mi alma = I love you to my soul; "I love you soul-deep"

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

#Heat - Narcos fanfic #narcos fan fiction #Javi x Querida #Javi Peña #Javier Peña #Narcos #Latina OFC #Javi Peña x Latina OFC #Pedro Pascal characters

[stealingyourbones]

One aspect of dp that I don't see being used a lot in dp x dc crossovers is Danny's previous criminal charges. As well as the fact that he can't really do anything about them due to either no one believing him since he's a ghost or the fact that he would be really easy and legal for ghost hunters to shoot him in court. So with that in mind imagine how this would work in a crossover with the justice league. Like are they all aware of his previous charges but choose to casually ignore them or all they all unaware of them

Oh man okokok so his criminal charges. I haven’t watched the tv show in a while so I don’t know all off the top of my head but the kid has at least multiple accounts of robbery, battery, and destruction of property on many accounts.

Ya girl doesn’t know shit about the criminal/judicial system so I’m unable to go into detail as much as I’d like but…

Have you heard of our lord n savior Plastic Man? The man who is literally the only person on earth who could stop Martian Manhunter? The man the myth the legend who’s joke premise is so OP that DC had to make him immune to mind control or else the Justice League would be doomed?

Well Mr. Patrick “Eel” O’Brian is a wonderful lad who’s backstory ranges from a small time crook to part of the mob where he’s a safecracker.

Homie falls into a vat of acid that gives him his powers but there are many stories where he is reminded of his past of his many many crimes, and has to debate between getting money or doing the right thing. He is a fascinating character and I am slowly collecting all of his newer comics.

He has committed so many fuckin crimes that he had to be given many many many second chances until he is the hero that he is now.

The League has had criminals join their ranks in the past. Danny isn’t the first and hes surely not the last

#danny phantom #dp x dc #dc comics #writing prompts #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #bones replies #miscellaneous hunger

[sweaterweather-247]

Hey, I love you work! I was wondering if you would maybe write a jake peralta x reader where they are really flirty and sweet to each other at work and he’s her “work husband” and she’s his “work wife”. And the whole team teases them about it bc they obviously like eachother but are too shy to actually say anything?

Thank you love <3

Being Jake Peralta’s work wife

You are Jakes work partner and you loved his jokes and his personality.

Everytime there’s a crime scene you two act like an old married couple

“After you milady.” Jake says. “Oh well don’t mind if I do good sir.” You respond in a British accent.

You enter the crime scene and its a robbery. You start taking notes and Jake is holding a vase that is very phallic.

“Huh I wonder why they didn’t take this penis looking thing.” Jake says. “Thats vase number 69 it was won at the boring auction for boring people.” You say.

Jake laughs so hard he drops the vase just as Captain Holt walks in.

“SHE DID IT! HE DID IT!” Both of you say in unison.

You and Jake have a competition to see who can come up with the worst and cringiest pick up lines.

You’re currently winning but Jake won’t let you win.

Jake gets your attention by throwing a pen at you and you look up at him and he has the biggest dorky grin on his face.

“Hey, my name’s Microsoft. Can I crash at your place tonight?” Jake says. You cringe and he laughs. “ANOTHER ONE FOR JAKE.” He says.

“Are you related to Jean-Claude Van Damme? Because Jean-Claude Van Damme you’re sexy!” You say. Jake looks disgusted.

Gina adds 1 point each to your score board and you go for lunch. Charles rolls over to Jakes desk with a smile on his face.

“No Charles I don’t like y/n and she’s just a friend.” Jake says. “Uh huh sure.” Charles says.

The entire squad teases you for being so close and so flirty with each other.

You both like each other but you’re both too shy to admit it.

Jake comes to join you for lunch and you’re more than happy to see him eat lunch with you despite his lunch not being for another half an hour.

You two flirt and make diehard references the entire break.

You two are constantly touching each other’s arm and shoulders.

Captain Holt enters the room and knows Jake isn’t supposed to be having lunch now.

“Peralta, get back to work and have your lunch at your required time.” Holt says.

“Come on Captain, I’ve been here for 5 minutes.” Jake says.

Rosa comes in for her lunch and smirks at you two. “Captain they’re clearly on a date.”

“What no! We’re friends.” You say.

Jake is forced to leave and Rosa sits next to you and makes fun of you.

You try to leave but Rosa glares at you and you stay while she mocks you.

The entire squad is like that.

It’s so hard to get any work done with Jake without a comment from the squad saying you two should get married.

You thought Holt would be the only person who wouldn’t be like that but you were wrong.

You and Jake were complimenting each other about how good you both were on the case when Holt comes over.

“Peralta stop flirting with Y/n.” Holt says. “Sir we weren’t flirting.” You say. “Thats not what I saw.” Holt says. “Keep this work wife and work husband appropriate please.”

Everyone gathers around you two and starts to make ship names up.

“Is it going to Jake L/n or Y/n Peralta?” Boyle asks.

You both decide to act like boyfriend and girlfriend to make everyone uncomfortable to make them stop.

The plan was to act as lovely dovey as possible and eventually they’ll stop right?

You loved this idea since you got to pretend to be Jakes girlfriend.

“There’s my work wife!” Jake yells as you exit the elevator. You grin ear to ear and respond. “There’s my favourite person in the entire world.”

Jake holds out his hand and you grab it and you two both skip like little kids on the playground to the locker room.

When you get there Jake doesn’t let go of your hand.

“What if someone comes in and catches onto our fake boyfriend girlfriend thing.” Jake says.

You two go back to your desks while holding hands, when it’s time to let go, Jake decides to be dramatic about it.

“No darling I can’t let go of your hand! It feels like I’m going to die if I let go of it!” Jake says.

“Don’t let go, I need to hold your hand until the day I die.” You say.

You both make fake crying noises as you let go of each other’s hands and you both sit down.

The entire day is filled with fake flirting with Jake.

You both can’t tell what’s real and what’s fake flirting.

Some of the compliments from you are actually genuine.

Jake gets up from his desk and walks over to you with his hand out.

“Oh darling it’s time for our lunch date.” Jake says and get up and kiss him on the cheek.

Jake blushes because he wasn’t expecting any kisses.

“Guys Y/n kissed Jake!!!!” Charles screams.

“Charles they’re faking it to make us uncomfortable and it’s sort of working.” Amy says.

“Not on everyone.” Charles says.

“Ugh you two are so annoying, stop it before I beat you both up.” Rosa says.

Jake decides to kiss your cheek and you go to kiss Jakes cheek and you two accidentally kiss on the lips.

Everyone gasps and you two are both left shocked.

You go and hide in the evidence locker and Jake hides in the bathroom.

You’re embarrassed that everyone saw you kiss Jake and you’re scared it’s gonna be awkward between you two now.

Jake comes into the evidence locker.

“Hey Y/n.” He says softly.

“About the kiss, it was an accident! I-“ you say but you’re cut off by Jakes lips pressing against yours.

You kiss back and you both pull away after a few seconds.

“I really like you Y/n.” Jake says.

“I really like you Jake.” You say

#brooklyn 99 x reader #jake peralta x reader #jake peralta #brooklyn nine nine

[1moremilgram-enjoyer]

Deep Cover and YONAH spoilers!

First impressions time! (Looking at this translation for Deep Cover, this one for YONAH). Btw I actually haven't listened to Deep Cover yet because it's not out in my time-zone rip.

Add plagiarism to the list of crimes committed by Milgram prisoners lol. I actually love the Undercover callback it's fantastic! And the diss track? Eminem got nothing on wolf girl over here.

But this does raise the question of how much she actually knows about the murders. Like, she talks about very specific things such as Shidou being a "priceless stealer", so she has to know something. I saw someone bring up she may have been spying on all the interrogations, and I have to assume that's the case because how else would that happen.

I'm really interested in the fact Kotoko seems to want everyone to be Unforgiven, though.

Which one do you pick? I want unforgiven

And the fact at the end she lists all the T1 innos and insults them, as if she wants them to be Unforgiven too. Like, I get it, she enjoys feeling like she's dealing out justice, but what. I hope the MV clarifies a bit more because right now she just sounds unhinged. Which is fun! I like characters who are just unrepentantly evil. But I get the feeling there's something more going on. We already know some of her motivations from HARROW, but you have to wonder if they've evolved in some way during her time in Milgram.

Speaking of the MV, my prediction is not only that the other prisoners are gonna be there, which I have to assume will happen-

(Please show Amane as a monster please show Amane as a monster please show Amane as a monster)

-Ehem. Apologies. I don't know what possessed me there for a moment.

You wanna know the wildest prediction I have for the MV? (Which is most likely going to be wrong don't get too excited) It think every prisoner's crime will be related to one of the crimes we saw in HARROW, and perhaps others we'll get introduced to in Deep Cover.

Shidou: “UNDER” Unsalvagable Priceless stealer.

Probably the guy that stole a bunch of luxury bikes, since it fits the idea of stealing from a lot of people.

Kazui: “UNDER” I stay hidden, fake prosperity and greed.

Either Mikio Oshii (the guy from the alleway), who pretended to be a bank employee to steal money, or the "It's me" scammers, who called people, pretended to be a family member and asked for money.

Fuuta: You’re being a jerk. You’re being a jerk.

Either the "It's me" scams, or the guy who took upskirt photos, because they're connected to phones.

Haruka: “UNDER” It’s a stupid dependency. Muu: “UNDER” Unchanging. A spinning queen’s game. Mahiru: I still like you though, still like you, it’s difficult.

One of these would be the paper bag robbery done by two people. I don't know about this one, but I think it kinda works.

Mikoto: I really don’t remember, I really don’t, it’s so bad.

It could be the guy who took upskirt photos since he said he did it because of stress from work, but knowing Kotoko, I wouldn't be surprised if she connects him and John to the serial killer in the white hoodie. She does not like them.

I'm not sure about the rest of them. Again, that's just a silly prediction, I'm not expecting it to happen, I'm just putting it out there because if it does happen I will feel like a God lol.

About YONAH, I'm slightly disappointed we didn't get much about Kotoko herself, but it's still really good! I think it's fun that she sorta encouraged Es to Forgive at the end of TASK and now she's like "yo your weak-ass needs to stop forgiving people."

But I do want to say, I'm surprised at the amount of people who are shocked Kotoko wanted to attack Amane. Like, we even had that one timeline conversation when she said she wouldn't treat Amane differently just because she's a child. I thought we had an universal understanding that the only reason Amane wasn't attacked is because of the Kazui ceasefire and John's time-wasting fight (and out of universe, because we can't have a character dying in T1). I guess I was wrong though. Anyways, Worst Girl enjoyers are rejoicing right now. Not gonna lie, this is making me like Kotoko more and more by the second. I don't know what that says about me.

Anyways, what do you think Kotoko's percentage will look like on the day the voting opens? Not her verdict since... well. Like, I was always expecting her to Guilty sweep, but what we have so far doesn't really help her. I would not be surprised if she ends up easily beating Muu as the widest Guilty margin. Hell, do you think it can beat Shidou as the most decisive verdict in general? I think it's unlikely, since Shidou got nearly 82% inno this trial which is insane. But honestly, unless Deep Cover MV does some insane leg-work, Kotoko might get more than 82% Guilty. I think it'd be funny.

Not like I'm gonna stop it. Sorry inno truthers, I highly respect your commitment to wolf girl and fully respect the decision, but I feel like Not Forgiving her this trial would be for the best. Still, I'm open to having my mind change when the MV drops. Take care!

#milgram #kotoko yuzuhira #deep cover spoilers #yonah spoilers #milgram spoilers #kotoko yuzuhira spoilers

[headingalaxys-spicy]

Hello darling

Can I ask for yan france, england, america and Germany with a darling that's using them to get citizenship/green card?

America: Kei….No, don’t you dare write this while watching and making references to 90-day fiancee.

Me: Too late bitches! This ask demands it! *laughs maniacally while typing like an absolute maniac*

Germany: “Oh nein, Sie hat vier Espresso-shot getrunken…”

France: Mon Dieu

🇺🇸 America 🇺🇸

In short, he’ll bring on the hellfire like Danielle and he has actual power, so that makes it even worse for you.

He will figure out that it was all a clever ruse when you’re not giving the relationship your all when it comes to emotional closeness. The way that you refuse to cuddle with him, don’t kiss him with passion, the looks you give him are devoid of warmth that someone in love would usually. Don’t worry you’ll get your green card with strings attached.

“Y/N, I have a surprise for you.” He guides you along a cobblestone pathway down some winding pathway. You pretend to have fun with his antics until he pulls the blindfold off your eyes. You were staring at a dressing room and a few ladies who were covered in pins, measurement taps, and needles.

“Hello, Y/N, we’re going to be preparing you for tonight!” The eldest lady with a nicely made-up bun states to you with glee.

“What do you mean?” Confused, you’re sure you didn’t want the answer to it. But you try to have an air of excitement around you.

“Your surprise wedding to Alfred! You’re going to become Mrs. Jones tonight!”

‘Oh shit I thought I had like 45 more days to figure this out.’

“Aren’t you happy! We’ll be married Y/N, and that means you’ll be an American and mine. Well, I’ll leave you ladies to it I have to get ready myself!” He gives you a peck on the cheek and tauntingly whispers, “You’re mine.” in your ear as you see a glint in his eye that you’d never seen before he walked backward for a few seconds before dashing off from the place where he’d brought you.

You knew you were fucked if you didn’t because for the last week or so he’d been telling you about his exploits of having to hunt down people who were here illegally and had been convicted of fraud, robbery, or some kind of crime they committed while in the United States. This conversation always seemed to pop up after the two of you discussed how long you’d be staying in the States from (country name), saw an ad for 90 Day Fiancee about a mystery couple or something that remind you of the shortening time for you to make a decision about the future. And since it was close to impossible without it being illegal (under the table) for you to find work, you really had only two choices: go home or depend on Alfred. You, of course wanted to be in the States, so you choose the latter but since a surprise wedding, and Alfred showing his far more dangerous tendencies, you wondered if heading back home to try a different way was possible. After all, you weren’t at the altar yet!

You decide that being with Alfred wasn’t worth the green card and you decided that you didn’t want to be under someone's control for it. So you decided to make a break for it. The red flags were blaring in your head, and you were not about to be a part of this! America is going to suspect that you’d do something like that so he did have agents of his ready to tackle you as soon as you tried to make your way from the wedding venue. They’ll hit you with some heavy sedatives so that the dressmakers, stylists, and make-up artists can get you ready for the big moment. This will be televised in and marketed as a Special Episode on 90-Day Finacee where the mystery couple is you and him tying the knot.

He did this so that his nation and others will know who exactly you belong to. He will also make sure that you renounce your citizenship in (country name) so that it will be virtually impossible for you to escape back home.

🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿 England 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

He has friends on the other side that will help him in his endeavors to ensnare you.

He’s the king of manipulation and shit-starting. So of course, it only takes him a few days to figure out that all you wanted from him was the green card.

‘If that’s all you want from me love I’ll give it to you under a few conditions.’ He will mention it causally while the two of you are having high tea at Theatre Royal Drury Lane.

“So, Y/N love I know that your visitor visa is about to run out in about two weeks' time, right?”

You do your best not to choke on your lavender tea, as you dare to gaze into those toxic pastoral green eyes that held back all of the disdain that he had for your betrayal. They also brimmed over with something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah, what of it, I mean you have recommended getting married soon and I’m excited about it albeit, kinda weary.” You had begun to notice some of his red flags and the fact that he never really wanted you to leave his home so that you could be at your hostel. It was so much so to where you were never allowed to be on your own without him or one of his royal guards dressed in civilian clothes. You just wanted to be able to roam the British Isles and take in the sights on your own without having to worry about a time limit, but the only way that you could do that is if….

“Well, why not? You’ll get your Green Card and become a natural British citizen. After all isn’t that all you want?” Outright accusing you of what he knew was true by your demeanor and desire to do things without him involved.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You put down your porcelain cup. You didn’t want him to try and argue with you in public and expose you.

“You know exactly, what I mean, Y/N; you only want that. Don’t lie to me. I do have the upper hand since I have connections throughout the whole government, and I’m myself a special agent and part of the royal family. There are things I can do right now that will make you tremble in fear.” He whispers-shouts at you lowly as not to attract the attention of the whole tea room.

Your throat is tight from holding back the forming tears.

“I….” Some of them fall, but you were quick to wipe them from your face so that you wouldn’t make a spectacle of yourself. “Yes.” You decide to be honest, knowing that lying would only escalate the situation further. You were surprised that he gently grabbed your free hand that wasn’t trying to wipe up tears with his black leather-gloved hand.

“I have some paperwork for you to sign. You’ll get what you want, and I’ll get what I want.”

It’s, of course, marriage registration forms and some other documents that forbid you from leaving the U.K. unless you have explicit permission from him or that he’s with you. You also have to give him your passport from (country name) and visitors visa, and it’s engulfed in flames right before you. Ensuring that you’d never see your country again. With that he will be nice in the beginning of your marriage but once the honeymoon phase is over he will start his training for you on how to love him properly.

🇫🇷 France 🇫🇷

Oh he goin use his beautiful tears to make you regret trying to use him. Sparkles. Sparkles everywhere.

Like England, France is more upfront about confronting you for your trickery. Although the way in which he does it is tame, romantic, and emotionally manipulative.

As the two of you traversed the Pont d’lena to the Eiffel Tower on a brisk cold Fall night Francis wastes no time in talking about the future that he wants with you in great detail.

“You know Y/N I never thought that you’d use me.” Caught off guard by the sudden statement all you could respond to him was with a “huh?”

“What are you talking about Francis? I thought we were in a good place in our relationship.” Trying to gauge how you’d maneuver out of this conversation and onto something else.

“You just want me for the Green Card so you can stay admit it! You’re not like Jenny to my Sumit! You don’t care for me in the sweet way that she does for him!”

“What has you like this Francis?! It’s so random!” You stated, frustrated that you have to mitigate yet another dumb argument. You brace yourself for the downpour because Francis's now shaded blues covered in massive rainclouds was about to be released in the next few minutes of tears and the realization that he’s caught onto you and your scheming.

“You don’t treat me like a lover! You don’t tell me I love you ! Like you mean it. You’re almost lifeless when we make love and you don’t eat my expertly prepared food that is made with LOVE and COMPASSION your eyes don’t spark up with joy! You look like I’ve just given you some awful canned American or British food. Plus you’re always stiff whenever I hug you! Your LIKE A ROCK!” He will just allow himself to let tears flow freely down his face like a river that's broken out of a dam.

All you could do is let the French man cry his eyes out while passersby wondered if you were tormenting the poor man. There were many raised eyebrows that looked on at you in judgment.

(Yes, I’m referring to Jenny and Sumit because I really do believe that even thought the odds are well interesting. I really do believe those two love each other despite the difficulties they face. Also, this was the best example I could think of in the moment while typing this.)

“Francis can we please talk about-“ He swiftly cuts you off dramatically by forcefully grabbing your hands as he gets down on one knee.

“If you love me Y/N then prove it, marry me!” A sudden burst of sparkles appears around everywhere along with red roses. You didn’t really have the time, energy, or headspace to question how in hell those things apppeared from thin air because you were stuck between a rock and a hard place currently.

“Fra-“

“If you want to save your own face right now and have a chance of ever coming back to France you’ll say yes mademoiselle.” Although he said it sweetly you knew that was a threat.

“Okay, I’ll marry you Francis.” You know full well there would be a much longer conversation later along with not being able to leave his bed for a week straight.

“Wonderful and I even have your engagement ring pick out which will go so well with the outfit you’re wearing!” His sudden change back into being extremely happy was jarring to you and for a few moments you did have to wonder if anything that was happening to you currently was real.

He grabbed your left hand with force and slid it onto the fourth finger. It’s glow radiated a harsh light of malice although a stunning diamond signified your permanent entanglement with him. He placed a gentle kiss on the back of your hand and it sent a shock through your nervous system. You were in danger for sure but it would be disguised as a charming prison with lace, chocolate, wine and other luxuries flowing without any other connection to anyone else on this earth.

🇩🇪 Germany 🇩🇪

He’s going to make a perfect darling out of you one way or the other and he’s going to do it through ruthless training and reprogramming your brain.

Since he’s asked Italy for help after hanging around you for 6 weeks and you still haven’t treated him like a true lover but someone who doesn’t act like their in love. He plans how he will confront you and the best way to do that is be underhanded. He overheard one of your conversations (he’d set up microphones all through your living quarters) with your friend back in (country name) that you were only sticking around so you could obtain your green card and get into the Masters Program you’d been eyeing for quite sometime. “Since you want to be a snake! I can also pull a reverse uno on you Y/N!”

Lately since you’ve been hanging around Ludwig you’ve felt sick and he’s been having to take care of you during these long sick spells. You’d feel horrendously fatigued, weak, and even somewhat nauseated. He’s been strangely sweeter to you and doting. You don’t question it since he did love helping you out with your green card situation. You never did start to question him since your brain was foggy and you were too disoriented to think about the underlying danger you were in with him. You never questioned why he suddenly became sweeter towards you and why he was so hellbent on making every meal for you.

“Y/N?” He gently placed a hand on your forehead to see if you were running a fever of sorts.

“Yeah?” You say groggily. The nap you took on his couch somehow made you feel much worse than you did before you took a nap.

“Are you really sure you’re up to the task of getting yourself home? I mean it’s across the city and it’s nighttime it’s not really safe for you to be outside anyways.” He states sternly. You could already tell what he’s about to suggest.

“Just stay here Fraulein. It would be foolish for you to get home in this state. And I can’t allow you to get hurt or sicker than you already are. I’ll go get some better blankets and pillows. I’ll be right back.” He’ll diligently march away and prepare his next round of poison for you to ingest. It’s not deadly but it saps you of energy and makes you disoriented. If your this way for long enough you’ll accidentally miss your date to exit Germany and return to (country name). He can pull a few strings with his government and say that your in his care and would be 100% unfit for international travel of any kind even on train you wouldn’t be allowed to leave. He’d have you right where he wants you. You’d be unaware the entire time.

“If Y/N wants to be in Germany wish granted Fraulien. But you’ll never be able to leave I can’t allow it there are so many men who’d hurt you!” He mutters to himself as he laces your Bavarian Griessknödel with crushed up sleeping pills.

You’re essentially going to be in a zombie like state due to all the drugging that he puts in your food and drink. After a few months he’ll light up on it and gradually hint at the fact that you no longer are a citizen of (country) and that it’s thanks to him that you’re safe. He’ll gaslight you a ton and make you believe that he’s doing what’s best for you after all you wanted a green card to his nation so badly he arranged it with the caveat that you have to be with him whenever you leave the house, you’re going to have to learn German, and you’re eventually going to have a tracker on you that will be connected to his phone at all times. You’ll be his sweet Fraulein that obeys him…. Eventually.

#yandere hetalia #yandere hetalia x reader #hws #hetalia fandom #hetalia #hws america #hws germany #hws france #hws england #hetalia imagines #I did the fight thing in this one! #headingalaxys spicy #headingalaxys writes stuff #I’m on my serious nonsense right now #headingalaxys #dark hetalia x reader #dark hetalia #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction writers

[cantstoptheimagines]

Celebrity Crush (Peter Parker | PS4 Spider-Man)

Summary — You have a crush on Spider-Man, unaware that he’s the one you spend all your time with.

Requested by anonymous — hi hi! i love your work! was just wondering if you could do a love confession with ps4 peter parker? i really love sappy mutual pining! also also,,, maybe reader has a big crush on spiderman and talks about that a lot? so that could be something to tie in as well haha!! thank you for your time! <3

Warnings & Other Tags ➳ Pure fluff (with very minimal angst); roommates to lovers; mentions of sex; friendly banter; cursing (including but not limited to the Reader calling Peter a ‘little bitch’); Peter likes the Reader while the Reader likes for Spider-Man; Peter has no romantic involvement with MJ.

Notes ➳ Word Count is 1,943. ➳ Reader is gender neutral (they/them). ➳ This was so much fun to write! Thanks for the request!

FAQ | Masterlist | Fandoms | Requests | Coming Soon | Schedule

As Peter entered your shared apartment, he shoved his red and blue uniform into his backpack. It was one of the many that he had lost during his college days, only having found it that afternoon, webbed haphazardly to the side of a dumpster.

He could hear the muffled sounds of music playing in the living room, immediately spotting you lying on the couch when he rounded the corner. He chuckled as you scrolled through some social media feed. You noticed him when he turned off the music, smiling when you realized your roommate was finally home.

“Hey, Parker,” you greeted. “How was work at the lab?”

Peter dropped his backpack onto the floor, and sighed, “Kinda boring today.”

You snorted, tossing a throw pillow at him, “That’s what you get for being a nerd.”

“Ha ha,” he replied, his tone laced with sarcasm, as he rolled his eyes, “very funny.”

“I know I am,” you said. “That’s why you love me so much.”

More than you know, thought Peter. He reached out, lifting your calves in order to sit on the couch. He then allowed them to rest on his lap as he grabbed the TV remote, flicking through the channels until he found the evening news.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence. Peter watched the news while you texted back and forth with your friend, MJ. Your attention quickly moved to the television when the anchor mentioned New York’s favorite hero.

Peter grunted when you sat up, leaned over him, and grabbed the remote. You then moved back onto the couch beside him as you turned up the volume.

“—stopped a robbery today. No injuries have been reported. Witnesses state that Spider-Man was able to safely evacuate the scene and put a stop to the crime before the arrival of emergency services. Now, to the weather—”

As photos of the masked hero flashed on the screen, you sighed, “He is so hot.”

Peter cleared his throat, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. Now, a few things to note. First, this was always an odd conversation to have, mostly since you didn’t realize that your roommate just so happened to be Spider-Man. And second, Peter usually ended up feeling guilty whenever he allowed you to, unknowingly, feed his ego with your praises for New York’s friendly neighborhood hero.

But then Peter would remember something very important. He liked you. A lot. And that’s why he couldn’t tell you he was secretly Spider-Man. After all, how would you react to your biggest crush turning out to be your best friend? Especially when he had let you go on and on about how attractive you thought the crime-fighting vigilante was?

You would probably kill him. Or worse — never talk to him again!

But there was also a third note to write down, it was very awkward for Peter to be jealous... of himself. There were times that he couldn’t go to sleep at night with how much embarrassment and self-loathing built up within his chest. Either that or he’d end up sleeping with a grimace on his face.

The news moved on to the weather. Peter almost let out a sigh of relief, but stopped himself when he realized you weren’t done gushing over your celebrity crush.

“He’s definitely the top choice for my list,” you smiled, listening as the weatherman predicted sunny skies for the weekend.

Peter looked over at you, furrowed his eyebrows, and asked, “What list?”

You barely paid him any mind as you responded, “My list of celebrities I’d wanna have sex with—”

“WHAT?!”

You blinked in surprise at Peter’s sudden interruption. His eyes were wide and his face was slowly turning red as he stared at you.

“You’d have sex with Spider-Man?!”

Peter was floored. Sure, you had talked about how you thought Spider-Man was, in your words, ‘hot’, but you had never mentioned that before.

“Uh, obviously!” you scoffed. “I wanna know what’s hiding under those spandex!”

Peter’s jaw practically hit the floor. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at the sight, shaking your head as your focus returned to the television. Peter, however, wasn’t going to let go of this information so easily.

“You wouldn’t even go on a date with him first?!”

“Peter, what’s your deal?” you chuckled, furrowing your eyebrows. “You’re being weird. Much more than usual.”

Peter ignored your teasing, and continued, “I mean, what are you gonna do if he takes his mask off and he’s not what you expected?!”

Obviously, you didn’t understand the underlying meaning within his question as you replied, “What are you talking about?! He swings through the city on pure muscle, Pete! He’s gotta be totally ripped under that suit!”

“But what if—?!”

“Okay!” you laughed incredulously, holding up your hands in mock surrender. “I’ll tell you what, we’ll make a deal.”

Peter fell silent. He raised his eyebrows, looking at you with an expectant expression. Realizing he wasn’t going to interrupt you again, you continued, “If I ever meet Spider-Man, I promise you that will ask him on a date before fucking him senseless—”

“Oh my—!”

You burst into laughter as Peter stood up and stomped away. You could hear his footsteps echo throughout your apartment as he escaped to his bedroom, leaving you unaware of the bright red blush slowly making its way onto his cheeks.

The weather reports had been wrong. So, so wrong. After spending the day with MJ, the sky had turned dark and cloudy on your way back to your apartment. Rain quickly followed, leaving you without an umbrella or, at the very least, a jacket. You had also made the mistake of forgetting your wallet at home, which meant you didn’t have money to pay for a cab or your MetroCard for the subway.

You still had four blocks to go before you would finally be home, but you were still miserable, completely soaked to the bone by the cold rain. Rounding a corner, you gasped in surprise as a flash of red and blue suddenly appeared in front of you.

“Hey!”

Of course. Of course, this is happening now.

“Hi,” you responded.

Spider-Man chuckled beneath his mask. He placed his hands on his hips and tilted his head, “You’re not really dressed for rain, ya know?”

“Well, I—uh—I forgot—”

He laughed at your stuttering. Meanwhile, you were stuck in place, staring in awe at New York’s prized hero. Your celebrity crush was standing in front of you, and you were stuck, trying to recalculate like a GPS on someone’s phone.

“Here, I bought you this at the bodega down the street.”

It was then you noticed the plastic bag in his hand. He squatted, reaching into the bag to pull out an umbrella. He opened it before holding it out for you to grab. Unsure, you took it from his hands, still stunned by his presence. He was way hotter in person. You could practically see his abs hidden beneath his costume as he rose back to his full height.

You blinked in surprise as he unfolded a brand new rain jacket, ripped off the price tag, and then moved to stand behind you. Without a word, he helped you slip the garment on. Returning to his original place in front of you, he then zipped the jacket, making sure it fit you properly.

“There! A perfect fit—! Hey, are you okay?”

You snapped out of your daze, and quickly said, “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine! Uh—thanks!”

You felt heat rise beneath your skin, embarrassed when he let out another swoon worthy chuckle. He was standing so close to you, looking at you through the eyes of his costume. You couldn’t help but notice the curious stares of passing strangers.

You didn’t give him a chance to reply, simply saying, “I have to go. My roommate’s probably wondering why I’m not home yet.”

Without another word, you walked around him, tightly clutching the umbrella, desperately wanting to slap yourself for being so caught off guard by the presence of a man you didn’t even know.

Meanwhile, beneath his mask, Peter had a wide grin on his face. He had never seen you so shy before. Before he could stop himself, he called out in a teasing voice, “I thought I was the top choice for your list though?!”

His eyes widened upon realizing what had just come from his mouth. Shit, he thought. Shit! Shit! Shit!

He felt himself turning red as you paused. Slowly, you turned to look at him with a confused expression, and asked, “What did you just say?”

The masked vigilante struggled for an answer as you stared at him. Your mind was moving a mile a minute, piecing the meaning of his words together.

Peter felt his panic rising while your eyes slowly widened. Your mouth fell open as you stared at him with a grimace of disbelief, and exclaimed, “You little bitch! Are you serious?!”

Peter winced in embarrassment, thinking about how this situation must have looked to the people around them. The two of you were receiving quite a few stares as the surrounding strangers wondered why someone would be yelling at Spider-Man of all people.

“How could you let me ramble on and on for months about that stuff?!” you shouted. “What the fuck, dude?! What is wrong with you?!”

“Hey, Spidey!” called out a voice. “What’d you do to ‘em, man?!”

Peter had only glanced at the small crowd of people for a moment, but even so, when turned back to you, he found that you had disappeared. He placed his hands over his masked face, groaning loudly in frustration at his own stupidity.

Peter came home late that night. Upon coming through the door, he could see the dull light of a lamp coming from the living room. You were sitting in your usual spot on the couch, silently watching a Netflix show as you curled up under a blanket.

Quietly, he went to sit next to you, focusing his attention on the television screen. It only took him a few minutes for him to break the silence, “Are you still mad at me?”

“No.”

He finally looked at you. However, your eyes were still concentrated on the television. Peter allowed a small smile to make an appearance when you lifted up the corner of your blanket as a signal for him to join you.

He leaned into you, allowing you to drape an arm around his shoulder and over his chest. His head took refuge on your shoulder, which led you to resting your chin atop his dark hair. 

“So...” he smirked, “since you’re not mad anymore... and since you’ve officially met Spider-Man, who just so happens to be me... does that mean you’re going to ask me on a date like you said you would?” 

“Yeah, okay,” you groaned, shoving him away from you and standing from your spot on the couch, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders. “Your cuddling privileges have been revoked, Parker.”

He grinned widely at the humorous tone in your voice, watching with sparkling eyes as you began walking away from him, “You don’t wanna go on a date with me?”

You paused in the doorway of your bedroom, turning to look back at him, “Depends.”

“On what?” he asked, leaning his chin against his forearm on the back of the couch and furrowing his eyebrows. 

You smiled arrogantly, giving him a once-over before meeting his eyes one last time. You raised your eyebrows expectantly, and then asked, “Will I get to see what you’ve been hiding under those spandex?”

#2022 #spiderman imagine #spiderman imagines #spiderman x reader #peter parker imagines #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #ps4 spiderman #ps4 spiderman imagine #ps4 spiderman imagines #ps4 spiderman x reader #celebrity crush #requested

[amee-racle-ofmyown]

since I can't give you the world

Heist!Mark x reader | Words: 1,279 | Read on AO3

After a job that goes surprisingly smoothly, Heist!Mark has a gift for his partner in crime.

Despite operating in part within a larger network of criminals, it was rare for you and your heist partner to take on jobs from others, ultimately preferring to work independently. You knew you could trust one another, and freelance work meant the two of you could determine the stakes and carefully plot every point of your plan with space for improvisation if necessary, all without being accountable to anyone. It just suited you better.

On occasion, though, you would take up jobs from higher criminal organisations that could provide you with certain tech or aid in covering your tracks, or from rich clients looking for individuals to do their dirty work.

This heist had been one of those such occasions.

A wealthy tycoon had offered a generous deposit in exchange for the two of you infiltrating the penthouse belonging to the family of a rival business. Your client claimed that the owner of the company had taken some precious jewels from him and his own family's possession in their youth, and it remained mysteriously lost for years until they later had them fashioned into a jewellery set and supposedly tried to pass them off as a family heirloom. He wanted you to steal it back, saying you could take whatever else you wanted to throw any suspicion away from himself.

There was no way you could confirm this story, and usually you wouldn't choose to involve yourselves in something so personal and petty on someone else's behalf, but in addition to the incredible sum of money the client was offering just for accepting the job, this would be a fairly simple heist, with him making all the arrangements for you to get in posed as guests to a soirée held at the target location. The only catch was that you had to figure out your own escape, but with your experience it wasn't much of an issue.

The client had provided you with instructions on where to look for the items (he had refused to disclose the source of this intel, which was probably for the best).

You and Mark were able to get into the lavish event without any problems and even had fun enjoying the party before you made your move, easily slipping away from the hubbub; you made your way to distract the guard on standby so Mark could get past unnoticed.

‘Got it!’ Mark had exclaimed in a proud half-whisper, his voice coming through the earpiece communication device tucked away out of sight behind your hair. ‘And I took some other valuables n’ stuff so it looks like a more general robbery, rather than us being after something specific.’

You kept up your conversational diversion for a couple more minutes, giving Mark the chance to sneak out of the room undetected, before thanking the guard for escorting you thus far and heading on your way.

‘Ah! I think I know where to go from here, thank you ever so much for your help,’ you said in an overly grateful tone that felt far too sweet (but worked wonders). You heard Mark scoff at the other end of the line.

As the two of you slipped out and into the night, the triumph and excitement in the air between you was palpable.

‘Oooh, nice haul!’ you said gleefully, peeking into the bag of loot while Mark drove you both back to base. Meanwhile, the jewellery set for the client sat safely in its own case.

All-in-all, it had turned out to be one of your most successful heists.

Later, you have everything laid out to total up your prizes, still somewhat giddy, like kids counting up arcade tickets to see what they can win.

‘Oh! I almost forgot, I've got something for you,’ Mark says, reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket, which lies over the chair behind him.

Your head perks up with curiosity.

He holds out his hand to you, and in it is an ornate, blue pendant in a teardrop shape, hanging from a delicate gold chain. You can't say for sure what kind of gem or crystal it is, but the cut of the azure stone catches the light in such a way that you can't quite keep your eyes off it. The bail attaching the pendant has a spiralling design embedded in the metal. Overall, it's a beautiful piece.

‘Now, I know it wasn't what we were after but while I was searching the room, I saw it and I can't put my finger on why, but it made me think of you. And it was just sitting around collecting dust, y'know? I just figured, might as well give this to someone who'll actually appreciate it.’

You take the necklace gently from his hands, examining the craftsmanship between your fingers. And you think you might see why it reminded him of you. Well, not really, more like you feel it — a vague sense of familiarity about the design that you can't place, like something from a dream or long-forgotten memory.

‘Yeah,’ he says with a grin. ‘Oh— of course, if you'd rather pool it in with the rest of the loot and get your money's worth instead, that's totally fine. I won't mind, I just thought you deserve to have something for yourself.’

‘Mark… Did you steal this, for me?’

He says it casually, but the whole notion leaves you feeling incredibly touched.

‘Mark. If you got this especially for me I'm not gonna sell it. This is really thoughtful, I love it.’

‘Aw, no problem, buddy. It's nothing.’

‘No, it's not nothing. Thank you. Really.’

‘Well… I'm glad you like it.’ He smiles and you hold each other's gaze for a moment. ‘Oh — here, let me- ’

He takes the necklace from you and after a second you realise he intends to help you put it on.

He leans closer, unclasping the chain carefully.

‘So, what's the occasion?’ you ask, conscious of how his hands brush against your skin as he moves them to close the clasp behind your neck.

‘Do I need a reason to give my friend a gift?’

‘... I guess not.’

He lingers in your space a bit longer than necessary, hands just barely resting at the curve where your neck meets your shoulders.

And maybe it's the tenderness and unspoken intimacy of this physical act, or that you're used to taking and not so much receiving, or the fact that he thought to keep this for you at all, but for whatever reason, your heart feels incredibly full.

‘It suits you.’

After that day, you wear your new accessory all the time when you're home.

You refuse to wear it out, even if you're simply going to meet with friends or the two of you are on a standard grocery run, out of fear that it'll get lost or damaged or, ironically, stolen.

Regardless, Mark can tell how much it means to you by the way he'll notice it hanging over your collar bones when you groggily traipse over to the kitchen for breakfast every morning, or how it is still around your neck when you fall asleep slumped against him in your living room by the end of the day. And whenever anyone comes over to visit, you wear it proudly, and he feels himself swell with happiness and pride in turn when your friends compliment it and you mention how ‘Mark gave it to me’.

You truly do love your gift, but what you cherish far more is the care behind the gesture, and the fact that he looks pleased whenever you wear it.

You'll have to find some way to return the favour.

#I had a list of ideas that I've had for a while but not written yet n I picked two and made leslie (tippytanpies) choose a number 1 or 2 #and this was the idea it corresponded to! #so you can thank leslie for this one #also guys!! for anyone interested the 1st part of my multi-chapter heist mark and yn fic is coming out THIS WEEKEND #(probably) #(most likely saturday) #I'M SO HYPED I HOPE YOU GUYS WILL LIKE IT AS MUCH AS I ENJOY WRITING IT #it'll be on ao3 but I'll post a link here when it's out #amee writes #ahwm #a heist with markiplier #heist mark x reader #heist mark x y/n #heist!mark x y/n #heist!mark x reader #heist!mark #heist mark #markiplier egos #markiplier cu #x reader #ahwm y/n

[scotianostra]

Happy Birthday Scottish actor, Robin Laing, born on February 16th 1976 in Dundee.

Robin Laing began his acting journey over thirty years ago in Poorboy's spiritual home of Arbroath when he joined the Angus Children's Theatre. Over time he moved down the coast to Carnoustie, then Dundee and finally Fife, all the while learning his trade. After a summer as a waiter in Kenmore, a chance meeting in the Dundee Rep bar led to his first theatre role as Renton in Trainspotting.

Since then he has been employed both nationally and internationally in theatre, television, film and radio. In that time he has worked with some of his heroes, none of whom have disappointed, and has played some wonderful characters.

Arguably his most famous role to date is playing Babe Heffron In the mini series Band of Brothers, although us Scots would argue playing D.I Donald in River City for five year tops that! Other shows Laing has featured in include, Taggart twice, The Coroner and Victim. He was also in season 5 of the popular crime drama, Shetland. Robin also appears as Major Donald MacDonald in seasons six and seven of Outlander. Last year he appeared in The Gold, a drama series inspired by true events surrounding the 1983 Brink's-Mat robbery, and the remarkable story that followed. Next up according to IMDB is Slay & Prepare with Dougray Scott

#scotland #scottish #history #outlander #acdtor #theatre #television #film #happy birthday