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littlejuicebox · 5 months

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Mermaid whiskey.

Pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Reader/Tav Summary/Setting: 2 weeks after BG3 final battle, Elfsong Tavern / Astarion has been ignoring you and spending too much time reading for your tastes, you aim to distract him. Rating/Warnings: M+ / Smut / Light BDSM / Soft Dom Astarion vibes / Some mild in game spoilers/allusions to events / Overstimulation, Teasing, Bondage, Blindfolding etc Word Count: 4.3K Notes: Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off x Whiskey Girl

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Two weeks after the final battle, Astarion is lounging by the crackling fireplace on the upper level of the Elfsong Tavern, a large goblet of red wine in one hand and a book in the other.

Everyone else spent time after the battle exploring the city or downstairs drinking and celebrating their victory as they all prepared to move onto new adventures. But Astarion had chosen nearly every opportunity over the past two weeks to hang back and enjoy some much-deserved alone time. Now that the constant worries about Cazador and the overall impending doom of Baldur’s Gate were all behind him, the rogue threw himself into finding bits of individual enjoyment whenever and wherever he could. He'd fixated himself on hobbies and leisure, and reading had seemed an obvious first choice. He'd easily idle hours away, sometimes reading an entire book cover to cover in one sitting.

Often, you would sit with the elf as he read, snuggled in a blanket or cuddled up against your love, but eventually you always got the urge to get up and do something else. You'd tried on more than one occasion to interest the rogue in another activity, but Astarion remained glued to the couch for those two weeks, barely stepping away to hunt, bathe, or trance. You'd noted, with a bit of concern, that he hadn't even asked to feed on you in more than a tenday.

Tonight, you’d tried more than once to pull him down to the tavern, but the elf quickly refused, barely lifting his eyes from the pages in front of him. Astarion seemed particularly obsessed with this book; you were almost convinced he’d already finished it and had started a second reading.

Several hours passed while you socialized down at the bar and Astarion's perfect nose stayed wedged in a book before a very tipsy Karlach decided to climb the stairs and speak to the vampire. “Oi! C’mon, Astarion! Close that dusty tome and join the fun. We’ll all only be together for a few more days. Me, Lae’zel, Shadowheart, and Tav are taking shots!”

The vampire’s ears perk up and he furrows his brow at the woman, snapping his book shut in the process. “Shots? Of what, exactly?”

“Mermaid Whiskey!”

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no! Karlach! Mermaid Whiskey practically makes Tav’s clothes fall off!”

Astarion is on his feet now, the book abandoned as he rushes past the Tiefling and down the flight of stairs into the tavern. He quickly spots the silky blue bandana you use to tie your hair up at camp strewn upon a forgotten bar stool. Knowing it’s possibly your most prized article of clothing, the elf tucks it into his back pocket. Scarlet eyes perform a hurried scan of the room and the vampire bristles when you’re nowhere to be found.

The others are still at the bar, where Lae’zel just challenged a bartender to an arm-wrestling competition. The women warriors are cheering Lae’zel on as she’s locked in a stalemate with the man.

“Shadowheart, have you seen Tav?”

Shadowheart barely acknowledges the vampire, too engrossed in the show. “What do you mean? She’s right—“ Her gaze flicks to the abandoned stool as Lae’zel successfully slams the worker’s hand onto the sticky bar, causing the campmates and some other patrons to erupt into cheers. “She was right there a moment ago.”

Astarion runs a stressed hand through his curled hair, inspecting the room for any sign of you. Soon enough, he spots a familiar pair of shoes and hurries to them, eyes already searching for the next clue. A discarded earring floating in a glass of half-drunk whiskey is sat on the bottom step of the stairs. That hadn’t been there when he descended down them, had it?

The vampire’s gaze trails up the stairwell and his suspicions are confirmed. Your navy-blue dress is draped across the back of an armchair he can barely see from his low vantage point.

‘She must’ve snuck around when I was talking to Shadowheart.’

The rogue dashes up the stairs to find you reclined on a chaise lounge, body flushed from the whiskey coursing through your veins. You are strewn suggestively across the chaise, clothed in only your laced undergarments and thigh high stockings. The alluring vision caused Astarion's heart to leap into his throat.

“Darling, what on earth do you think you’re you doing? You’re barely clothed in the middle of the tavern. This isn’t the wilds anymore.”

You’re lying on your side when Astarion finds you, and you pout in his direction as he scolds you, waving a dismissive hand. You roll onto your stomach, bending your knees and crossing your legs. You’re pleased to see the vampire's gaze drag down your body, pausing at the curve of your bottom, before flitting back to your face. Astarion licks his lips as he looks at you, the first sign that your little plan is working. You’ve finally gotten his attention after trying to steal him away from that damned book he was so enamored with all night.

“I know my love, but I’m just so unbelievably hot right now. You wouldn’t believe how hot I feel.”

Astarion quickly crosses the few feet between you two, placing a cool, concerned hand on your flushed cheek. “How many shots did you take?”

“Oh, just two. Maybe three? I kept losing the stupid ‘never have I ever game’ because everyone made all their questions about vampires.” You pout at your lover again before turning your head to press your lips against his thumb, lingering there intentionally, your wide eyes still focused on the rogue.

Astarion was no fool. With your mouth holding his thumb in that suggestive manner, he soon realized what you were doing. You adored the vampire with your entire heart, but on your drunken nights, you knew how to be a perfectly tempting, needy little brat. “And why, my sweet, did you keep playing the game if it was so clearly rigged against you?”

You groan, moving to a sitting position, while your hands toy with the laces of your bodice. “Because…” You sharply tug at the flouncy strings and Astarion’s hand catches yours in a tight grip, moments before you’re about to expose your breasts in the center of the lounge. “You’ve barely paid attention to me the past two weeks… and I was lonely and bored and wanted to have fun.”

“Darling, I know what you’re doing... I thought we agreed that tonight you’d go to the bar, and I would stay up here.” Astarion murmurs, nimble fingers toying with the strings of your bodice. He tries to resist the temptation to look down at your cleavage and fails; you see his eyes roll up in annoyance at himself and his inability to fight off his baser instincts in your presence. Inside you’re practically giddy that you’re winning the charade, but you keep the pout plastered to your face.

“We didn’t agree to anything, my Star. You didn't give me a choice.” You huff, pointedly brushing your hair away from your neck to reveal the little pinprick scars made by your lover. The rogue's eyes trail to the marks and he licks his lips again, suddenly quite aware of how long it’s been since he’s sunk his fangs into your flesh.

Gods you were frustrating. Astarion both loathed and loved that you could play him like a lyre; you knew him so well that you understood exactly what would make him tick. Every. Single. Time.

The vampire shakes his head, trying to rattle the fantasies out of his brain and not allow you the upper hand. You were being ridiculous; if you’d wanted attention, you should’ve just asked instead of acting out. Trying to turn the conversation, Astarion asks, “What is it you even like about whiskey? It’s vile.”

You sigh and roll your eyes before sliding off the chaise and sauntering away from the elf. For a moment you think he’s going to let you leave, but then he’s trailing after you like a lost puppy and you know you've got him hooked.

“Excuse me? You’re just going to walk away? Conversation over?”

You shrug and sigh again, stopping just in front of the door to your bedchamber. You turn to face the rogue, leaning back against the door and crossing your arms. Astarion’s eyes are narrowed as he stares at you with some level of frustration and incredulity at your antics.

“If you must know, I suppose I like a bit of edge… and a bit of pain with my pleasure.” Your voice is coy, eyebrow raised, and you're fully leaning into the innuendo of your statement. “And you like that I like it... don’t you?”

Astarion chuckles at this, a smirk ghosting his lips. “You are a wicked little thing, aren’t you? Using my own games and my own tactics against me now?”

You’re wearing a mischievous grin as the rouge saunters forward, closing the distance between your bodies. He firmly grasps your chin in his hand, scarlet eyes studying your face. Just as his lips brush against yours, and you're thinking you've won this little game, you murmur, “I guess the apprentice has become the master.”

Astarion pauses and draws back for a moment, the darkening of his gaze and his raised eyebrow causing you to shudder where you stand as he grips a bit tighter on your chin. “Oh darling. You’re cute. But now I think I have to teach you a lesson and remind you who the master truly is here.”

And then his lips are on yours, fangs clashing roughly into teeth. He feels for the knob behind you and turns it, forcing you both into the room before unceremoniously slamming the door closed. Your mouths are melded together as the vampire effortlessly guides you to the bed and shoves you into the mattress. Quick, pale hands tug at the strings of your bodice and your breasts are released from their confines, spilling out in front of the vampire’s eager gaze as he drags the undergarment off your arms and throws it aside.

Then Astarion grabs something from his back pocket — your blue bandana — and dangles it in front of you with a mock-condescending pout on his lips. All you can think about in that moment is how you want to take that pout into your own lips and bite.

“Darling, you left this downstairs and I had to retrieve it. I think I may need to teach you to take care of your belongings. You only have two of these, my love, and I know you would be so desperate to find them if they were permanently lost, wouldn’t you?”

You nod as you reach for your bandana, but Astarion is faster and pulls it away just in time, smirking at you all the while. “Come to think of it… where is your other bandana, my sweet?”

"It's in here." You murmur, lips already swollen from the rough kiss he'd pulled you into. You turn to the nightstand and withdraw your second bandana, an identical twin to the first. Astarion quickly takes it from your hand and grins mischievously, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as the silken fabric glides from your fingers.

“Good girl. Now, give me your hands.”

You oblige and the rogue deftly binds your wrists together with an expertly tied knot. He tugs at the bindings, testing their strength. Astarion lifts your hands to his lips and presses a kiss to the back of one before taking the second bandana and folding it into a long strip. Your eyes are fixated on his lithe fingers. Then he presses forward, face mere inches from yours. His eyes are dark and intense, but glimmering with adoration all the same, in a way that floods you with the overwhelming sensation of excitement and safety all in one.

“You’ll let me know if it’s too much, won't you, my love?”

“Y-yes.” You whisper, almost breathlessly and wholly impatient for what is coming next. Your body still burns with desire and Mermaid Whiskey. The last thing you see is Astarion’s eyes before the second bandana shrouds you in darkness.

Cool hands guide you to lay back onto the mattress and soon enough long, nimble fingers languidly trace their way down your body. You feel Astarion’s hands ghost over your arms, down your collarbone, and then trail circles around your breasts where he gives both nipples a gentle, teasing tug before moving on. His fingers brush your abdomen, around the curve of your hips, down the tops of your thighs, and finally to your calves. Then his lips press to your foot, and he works at pressing feather light kisses up your leg.

He continues kissing up your right leg for what seems like forever, fingers still moving tantalizingly along your calf and thigh. By the time the vampire makes his way back up to the top of your thigh, you are wiggling and keening in anticipation. He hovers over your still-clothed mound for a few beats before shifting slightly and returning to kissing down your left leg. You whine in disappointment, your bound hands straining against the fabric as you try to grip your lover. A dark chuckle is all you get in response as Astarion continues to kiss your opposing thigh, nibbling here and there, at a rate that seems somehow even slower than the first leg he worshipped.

By the time he’s placing a kiss to the top of your left foot, you’re writhing wholeheartedly, pressing your thighs together in an attempt to give yourself more stimulation. You don’t dare use your bound hands, knowing the punishment would be further binding and teasing. Astarion unhurriedly runs his hands up your legs once again, stopping to draw leisurely circles at the apex of your thighs before tracing one chilled finger along the waistband of your underwear.

“A-Astarion!” You choke out with another whine, just as the vampire runs that same finger down your still-clothed slit, feeling the wetness now soaking through the fabric from his torments.

Your lover chuckles in dark delight. “I’ve barely even touched you, my needy little love, and yet here you are, positively soaked. Your lesson is far from over, darling.”

There is a moment of silence apart from soft rustling; you cannot see anything, but your ears pick up the sound of Astarion’s buckle coming undone. And then you feel his weight on top of you. You can tell he’s still wearing his briefs as he presses his groin against your sex, legs straddling either side of your hips. Suddenly you feel a sharp pinch on both your nipples. Your back arches in response to the sensation while a pleading groan shoots from your mouth.

“Mm… I think you quite like that, don’t you?”

“Y-yes!” Is all you can reply as you feel Astarion's cold hands kneading the flesh of your breasts before he resumes pinching the swollen buds.

You try to buck your hips, but the bastard knows what he’s doing, and he’s got you pinned perfectly beneath him in a way that renders you all but helpless. Your bound hands search for Astarion’s body, and you barely graze against his abdominals before the vampire rips your hands away with a little tut, laying nearly all his body weight atop you as he raises your hands up over your head. You can feel his breath against your ear before he takes the lobe in his mouth and nibbles. Gods the torture was becoming unbearable. You buck again, another frustrated whine escaping your lips.

“Shhh now, darling. Shame we don’t have a third bandana or you would be gagged. We are quite impatient today, aren’t we?”

You whimper as he continues the abuse to your ear before trailing his tongue down to your neck. “My little whiskey girl…” His lips hover over that familiar little spot on your neck, his breath tickling your skin. Your pulse jumps to greet your lover. “May I?”

You barely nod, “Yes. Please.”

Astarion groans at your response, thrusting his hips forward to press his rock-hard bulge into your folds. You feel a sharp, icy sting in your neck before your body gives way to the delectable ripples of pleasure. The vampire laps from you lazily, rutting against your mound, the still-clothed underside of his cock sawing torturously between the folds of your still-clothed but now dripping slit. He continues suckling, not really drinking for sustenance but more for his own pleasure, his hardening member abusing your swollen clit. You’re keening again, and one of his hands moves to tease your nipple while the other gets lost in your hair, holding you in place as he takes his lazy laps.

“A-Astarion. Astarion! Please, I’m gonna—“

But before you can finish, you feel the wave of pleasure crashing over you and your legs are trembling as you find your release. The elf groans again as you orgasm, now suckling and rutting with more fervor as the taste of your ecstasy courses through your veins. When the crescendo wanes and you’re left panting, Astarion retracts his fangs from your neck with a pleased little hum.

Suddenly the bandana is pulled from your eyes, and you blink, adjusting to the light. The vampire is still straddling you, an arrogant smirk plastered across his face as he wipes the final rivet of blood from his mouth and licks it off his thumb. “Satisfied, darling? Have I paid enough attention to you now?”

You groan and buck your hips again, your drenched undergarments barely rubbing against the rogue’s stiff cock. “No!” You shriek as your bound hands pound back into the mattress.

Astarion’s lips are on yours anew, swallowing your protests as he delves his tongue into your eager mouth. You taste the iron of your own blood and groan, writhing against him and desperately pulling at your bindings. When the rogue pulls back he chuckles before easily delving two fingers inside your ruined undergarments, curling his fingers to barely strum against your swollen clit. You try to arch to meet his digits with a desperate, pleading moan, but the weight of him on your legs keeps you pinned, and you cry out.

“Please, please, please.” You whine in a soft chant coming from your lips, still using all of your strength to barely buck your hips. Your hands are twisting desperately in their bindings. “Please, please, please.”

“Such a needy little thing, aren’t you, my love?” He coos, continuing to barely tease your throbbing clit with expert fingers. “What is it that you want?”

“You know what I want!” You hiss through gritted teeth, your frustration bubbling over as the rogue torments that sensitive nub between your legs.

“Hmm… perhaps I do. But you need to ask for the things that you want, my sweet. The parasite is gone and I’m no mind reader.”

“Please put your cock inside me! Please.”

“Hmm... there we are. That’s my good girl. Now, was that really so hard, little love?"

Before you can answer, Astarion’s mouth is enveloping yours as he works to quickly remove his own undergarments. The feeling of his barren member on your mound renews your desperation and you keen into your lover's mouth, causing him to smirk into the kiss. He quickly maneuvers his knee to the inside of your thigh, hitching his own leg up to spread you wide, granting him full access to your sex. Deft fingers slide the thin, arousal-soaked cloth of your underwear aside and then you feel the head of his cock pressed just against your entrance.

“Who do you belong to, my love?” The vampire asks when he pulls away from the kiss, scarlet eyes peering into yours. He’s rocking his hips just slightly, the tip of his member barely teasing in and out of your desperate pussy. He brings his hand to the side of your face, stroking his thumb along your cheek.

“You, Astarion.” You whisper, so entranced by the look in his eyes and the feeling of his cock pressing into you that you can barely think or breath. You try to thrust down to meet your lover's miniscule ministrations, but his other hand has your hip pinned in place.

“Give me your hands again.”

You oblige, and the rogue quickly undoes your fastenings, gently pressing his lips into the angry red marks around your wrists. He takes one of your hands and interlaces your fingers in his. Astarion pins one hand back above your head, but allows you the freedom of the other hand, which you bring to the side of his neck.

Then the vampire kisses you once more. As his lips press into yours, his cock slides into your eagerly awaiting cunt. Every ripple of Astarion's thick shaft makes your body sing in delight, and you're groaning into the elf's mouth as he begins to make fervent love to you, hips snapping with vigor as he sheaths and unsheathes himself in a steady rhythm.

“You are… entirely infuriating… and vexing, sometimes. Do you know that, little love?” He purrs between his lips enveloping yours, tongue exploring your mouth. The vampire plunges into you with steady determination, slowly picking up his tempo.

You’re breathless, rolling your hips to meet the rogue’s. Your eyes are shut as you smirk at his comment. “I know.. I just think you’re so sexy when you’re frustrated.” You respond between panting breaths, and that earns you a rough thrust that hits your cervix and knocks the air from your lungs as you moan in surprise.

Astarion’s hand that isn’t intertwined with yours comes under your chin and takes a firm hold, pressing just enough on your windpipe to create the delicious feeling of breathlessness without actually preventing you from breathing. Your eyes snap open from the sensation.

“You. Are. A. Naughty. Girl.” He hisses, eyes boring into your own, face mere inches from yours, and each word punctuated by another forceful snap of his hips. You moan at the feeling of his length slamming into your cervix. By this time, he’s panting and the flush on his ears is rising, and you know he’s close to his own release. One of Astarion's fingers is lingering dangerously close to your mouth as he clutches your neck; you take the digit between your lips and begin to suck.

As the vampire sees your tongue snake around his finger, he’s done for. All resolve is gone, and your lover fucks into you with reckless abandon as you moan around his hand. The grip on your neck tightens as he starts to emit his own cries of pleasure, and your hand wraps tightly onto his neck in response, nails digging into cold flesh.

“Do you see what you do to me?” He asks through gritted teeth as his thrusts become sloppy. You’re seeing stars, and the friction of his pelvis paired with the intense throbbing of your abused pussy is sending you towards a second climax. As your body reaches its crescendo, you release Astarion’s finger from between your lips and cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. The rogue hears your beautiful cry and feels the pulsing of your sex, which finally pushes him over the edge as he spills into you, cock twitching with every new stream of seed.

His mouth is on yours before you finish your strangled cry of release, and Astarion’s works to kiss you down from your incredible high. The vampire releases your neck, and the passionate force of his lips slowly ebbs into a gentle, lazy kiss. Eventually, with both of your bodies fully spent, the rogue rolls onto his side, sliding himself from you and spilling the evidence of your love making across the silky sheets.

Astarion rolls from the bed, and you whine, but he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear as he promises he will be right back. He slips his trousers on and exits the room for a minute, only to return with the book he seemed obsessed with. Part of you is annoyed when the rogue settles back into bed, opening his arm so you can nestle yourself in the crook.

You give him a little pout. “Do you not love me more than you love these books? I’m beginning to worry I’ve coupled myself to another Gale. I was sure that tonight would distract you and I would have you all to myself.”

Astarion chuckles, shaking his head slightly before turning to kiss you on the forehead. “My sweet, surely you know the depths of my love for you far surpass the pages of a book. And you are always distracting... even when I am thinking of something else, I am also thinking of you.”

He shuts the book and taps his hand on the cover, lithe fingers moving to trace the embossed words of the title. “I apologize if I’ve been consumed and you’ve felt neglected, my darling. This book is just… intriguing.”

You turn your head and for the first time, read the title: ‘The Creation of Dhampirs: A Guide.”

Oh.

Your brow furrows as you turn to look at Astarion, and you see a wistful, faraway look in his eyes. This look was different from his unfortunately familiar one that he displayed during flashbacks and night terrors… this one contained hope.

“Are you imagining your future, Astarion?” You ask, sitting up just enough to place a kiss on your lover’s cheek and brush a few wayward curls back into place. “If you are, then I’d better be there by your side.”

The rogue snaps out of his reverie and turns to look at you again, his expression laced with love. He extends his long arm backwards, dropping the tome on the nightstand before placing his hand on your face. Astarion’s thumb strokes your cheek and he sighs happily before whispering, “Yes, you’d better be.”

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strawbeerossi · 6 months

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All Hallows Eve

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid x Derek Morgan x Luke Alvez

Description: You and your three very attractive coworkers get to talking about sex and kinks whenever you are left alone at David’s Halloween party.

Content/Warnings: Alcohol mention/consumption, kink discussion, just a pinch of peer pressure when it comes to Spencer opening up, some germaphobic mentions, MMMF foursome, oral (f + m rec), face fucking, anal fingering (f rec) , double penetration, cum play (various types including: creampie and cum swapping), unprotected sex, some nice Spencer aftercare.

Word Count: 5.6K

Kinktober Day Thirty One: Foursome

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

This one is fucking filthy. Thank you all for coming on this Kinktober adventure with me!

Halloween parties were typically held at Dave’s house. It just made sense considering how big the place was and the amount of space he had not only in the house but also in the backyard. Besides, David Rossi would never turn down hosting a party at his place. He enjoyed throwing any kind of event right in his own backyard. That also meant a few extra guest rooms for the wasted adults that would be at said event.

It was Halloween night, everyone gathered at their coworker’s house and settled in the backyard, enjoying the heat of a fire that the guys had all set up. JJ and Matt were absent, spending the night at home with their children to celebrate the spookiest holiday of the year. Drinks were flowing, Spencer even partaking in just one drink for the night as opposed to his normal sober status, allowing himself to join in the festivity that he was normally left out of. However, he could argue that he liked being sober on nights like this. There was always something comical about someone in the team getting inebriated to the point that they act like an absolute menace to society.

Thankfully, tonight wasn’t too bad. Despite Emily and Penelope indulging in the liquor that their host never seemed to run out of. It had gotten to a point later that night where you had to wrestle both women into bed in one of the many guest rooms already set up for the adults staying over. You’d managed to get the two plastered women settled into bed — Mainly because you laid horizontally over both of their bodies to keep them in place. It took about twenty minutes, however it wasn’t long until you’d heard the soft snores of Emily while Penelope was sleeping soundly while snuggled up under the sheets.

You had to lay there for a moment to collect yourself before pushing yourself out of bed, heading out of the room while gently pulling the door shut. Last thing you needed was to make too much racket and have to chase those two around again. “I feel like you all owe me for that.” You commented as you’d pulled open the back door, Spencer’s head lifting up from a book in his hand. “Better you than us.” He commented, which had the other men outside laughing. “Rossi turned in early. It’s just us.” Luke informed you, the absence of Dave being noticed. “Fun. What are you three doing?” You asked, heading to the chair closest to Spencer as you were sitting down.

“Nothing really. Derek and I were just talking while Spencer is too interested in,” Luke paused and leaned over the table to inspect the book cover. “Quantum Physics..” He crinkled his nose. There was never a dull book choice with Spencer, that was for sure. “Most guys would probably be talking about their sexual experiences by now. But our lovely Spencer Reid is reading about physics.” You teased, all in good fun as you teased the male sitting beside you.

“I prefer not to talk about sexual experiences.”

“Because he hasn’t had any.”

“Derek!”

The table had erupted into laughter minus Spencer who had the look of a kicked puppy. “I’ve had sex before.” He grumbled while putting his face back in his book. “You have? Really?” You asked while letting your eyebrow raise. “Why is that a surprise?!” He asked, suddenly taking offense as he was closing the book. “No! I’m not saying it’s a surprise but you just don’t look like the type!”

“How does one look like a virgin?” He quizzed you, hazel eyes narrowed as he stared at you, head tilted to the side slightly. He had you there. What were you supposed to say? You cleared your throat as you lifted up your nearly forgotten glass of wine, swirling the red liquid around the glass. “I’m not sure how to answer that.” You admitted, making the genius smile triumphantly. “Exactly. You don’t know.”

“Okay, Casanova. Tell us about it.” Derek was intrigued as he leaned against the table. Spencer wasn’t one to share his personal life as often, so maybe that one drink he had in the night could’ve loosened him up even just a little bit to talk about it. “What?” The curly headed male squeaked, now looking between the three of you as you all seemingly waited patiently for a story.

“I’ve had sex more than once.” He huffed.

“Okay. So pick a good experience to tell us about then.” Luke chuckled as he raised an eyebrow, elbows propped up on the table.

With pursed lips, Spencer was crossing his arms. “I have to?” He asked while you nodded. “Oh yeah, you definitely have to. You’ve got some secrets that we need to know right now.” You giggle. Even with his apprehension, the brunette took in a breath. “Okay.. I guess I could share it. I mean, I have been wanting to get out of my comfort zone so maybe this will be good?” You highly doubted that he’d jump from being nervous like this to being able to talk about sex explicitly. It would take him a bit.

“Come on, pretty boy. I'm bored to death.” Derek sighed dramatically while you were punching his shoulder with a loud, “Shush!!”

“You remember Max, I’m sure.” Which yes, everyone did. His short-term girlfriend who had her family taken hostage a while ago. “We do, go on.” You urged him on, arms crossed on the table top. “I think you’re a little too into this,” Luke commented, the commentary being met with a swift kick to his leg under the table.

“I really don’t know how to describe it? Like, sex is sex, right?”

“Any interesting kinks? Come on, kid. We know you aren’t as innocent as you think you are.”

“Interesting? Not really. I mean, I am a fan of face sitting but I think that is standard, right?” The words escaping his mouth had Spencer’s face bright red as he leaned back against the chair behind him. There were wolf whistles at the admission. “Doesn’t matter if it’s standard or not.” Luke chuckled while holding his glass up as if he were toasting to him while chuckling.

“Well, what’s not considered normal?” Now Spencer was curious as he looked between the three of you. He wasn’t a big kinkster, as anyone would imagine. The question had you, Derek and Luke exchanging looks. “Well. Mixopholia isn’t common, I don’t think. Which that’s enjoying watching yourself have sex. Could be in front of a mirror, recording it, anything like that. It can be really fun, in all honesty. Especially if you record and play it back.” You responded, only raising an eyebrow at the gaped mouths of your male coworkers. “What? You’ve never done that? Derek, come on. You can’t lie.”

“No, mama. I never had that idea.” He chuckled while shaking his head. “It’s good to know now, I’m gonna need to try it.” He added while Luke was too busy thinking of things he liked. “It’s probably not abnormal but I really like thighs. I feel like that would be the body part I’m most obsessed with, especially when it comes to thigh fucking. It can be better than penetration.” He hummed. Which, they were pretty standard things to be sexually aroused by, even if Spencer would’ve never thought of the two ideas.

“I think I like group sex. I don’t have it a lot, however it can be pretty great when you have the right group. I know it’s nonconventional. I’ve had all sorts of sex but I think I’ll always go back to that.” Derek spoke up while shrugging his shoulders. “A group?? Do you know many germs are exchanged in encounters like that?” Spencer asked, dumbfounded while the man in front of him waved him off. “It’s a good time. If you don’t believe it, then I highly suggest you at least try it before denying,” He chuckled.

Judging by Spencer’s look of morbid curiosity, he was considering it. “How does one even do that? I feel like you need to have connections..” Was Spencer really considering it? “You just have to find people you’re comfortable with.” Derek shrugged while tapping his hand against the table. There were a few moments of silence while Spencer’s brain was working overtime, you could swear smoke was coming out of his ears.

“I trust all of you.”

The words had your throat running dry. “Is that supposed to be an invitation?” You asked, your own curiosity shining through. You’d always considered Derek, Luke and Spencer as attractive, however you never considered having sex with all three of them. You had to admit, you really did enjoy the idea of getting passed around by some of the most attractive men on the team. The idea was enough to cause goosebumps to spread across your body. Surely it would be a bad idea to have sex with a coworker, much less three of them.

Spencer’s face was bright red as he put his hands up in self defense. “You don’t have to say yes but I would say that I wouldn’t mind sharing.. Germs..? With you guys.” He shrugged while shyly looking away. What a compliment from Spencer Walter Reid. The man who wouldn’t even give handshakes was willing to throw away his typical formula for three coworkers. “I am just saying!” He rambled on, now feeling self conscious at his admission.

“Now hold on. I think this idea could be beneficial.” Luke spoke up while chuckling. “I mean. We are all grown ups, right?” Your head nodded immediately after Luke put in his own two cents. “I agree with Luke. I mean, where’s the harm?! We are all friends anyway, I couldn’t imagine this being awkward for us.” Realistically, there were many issues with the idea of having sex with coworkers. You didn’t even care about them right now.

“Are you guys serious?” Derek asked, wide eyes from shock. “Why not? You mean to tell me that you’re gonna pass up sex?” You asked curiously while raising an eyebrow. “Well, no. I just.. Damn, I didn’t know tonight would end like this, that’s all.” He explained, being so flabbergasted at the idea of a foursome with his coworkers. “Might I suggest we move inside? I mean, the last thing we need is Rossi looking out the window and seeing us out here.” Luke began while nodding towards the window overlooking the backyard.

So, you did.

You had never been this excited before, your body buzzing with arousal and excitement. This was a sexual bucket list type thing for you, not something you could imagine doing regularly. Plus, having it be with Derek, Spencer and Luke just made it twenty times better. The minute you were closed in the guest room furthest from everyone else in the house, there was a bit of awkwardness as the four of you looked between each other. How does somebody kick something like this off? With strangers, it would be different but you all worked together.

This was a lot harder to start than you thought it would be.

“How about we ease ourselves into this?” Derek suggested, now looking between the other three people in the room. “Why don’t you give us a show?” He hummed while looking in your direction, your face flushed. “Like a strip tease?” The nod of his head solidified your suspicions, your head nodding as you watched the three men sit on the edge of the bed to face you. The intense gaze of three men was intimidating as all hell, especially when they had the look of hunger and desire burning holes through your skin.

Your movements were slow as you pushed the Halloween sweater up your body, tugging it over your head before tossing it somewhere else in the room. You hadn’t planned for this so you couldn’t get too dressed up, however the Halloween themed bra and panty set was cute and got the job done. Next was your leggings, which were slowly being pushed down your thighs as you were revealing the thin panties, a nice wet patch darkening the cotton. You liked this attention. You liked the idea of being ravished by three men who wanted to use you for their own pleasure.

It was exhilarating.

“Come here.” Derek was the first to speak up, his finger making a gesture to get you to come closer. You obliged, only letting out a squeak of surprise when you were being tugged in the man’s lap. You could feel the bulge in his pants pressed against your ass, brain clouded with arousal as you were letting your arms wrap around Derek’s shoulders. His hands were gripping your ass, eyes scanning over your body as he let out a low groan. There were no words exchanged, the man mesmerized by your nearly fully exposed body, his hands running up your hips before cupping your clothed breasts.

You let his hands continue to caress and explore every inch of skin, face hot as you were rocking your hips against his strained cock in his jeans. “You like this, don’t you? Like the attention of your friends and coworkers?” He questioned while an eyebrow raised, your head nodding as you let out a shaky breath from the friction of his jeans against your clothed clit, the roughness of his pants felt like heaven through the thin fabric of your underwear. “Who knew you’d be a whore? You want us to record this? Give you something to look back on whenever that little pussy of yours is desperate to be stuffed?” The words elicited a moan, your head nodding. “Fuck. Yeah.” You whined.

Luke was the one who was getting his phone, setting up the device on a lamp on the bedside table to get a clear view of the bed. You were caught off guard though when you were quickly pushed to the mattress, your back hitting the smooth sheets. Using your elbows to prop yourself up, you watched as Derek was patting Spencer’s shoulder. The brunette was already overwhelmed seeing you in your underwear, his face bright red as he could feel the tight constriction of his boxers around his cock.

“Go on, kid. You wanted to try this, didn’t you? Only fair you get to go first.” Derek commented while nodding his head to urge him on. The awkward male was clearing his throat as he was approaching the bed, your legs wrapping around his waist to welcome him as your hands then gripped his arm, gently tugging his lanky frame closer to you as you let your lips press against his. The sudden action had him taken aback, however the shock wore off rather quickly as his lips slotted with your own.

It was calm at first, until the desperation set in as the male above you. That was when the kids had grown messy, your fingers tangled in his brunette curls as his hips were grinding against you. Spencer would be the first to say that he was going to drink in the moment, to enjoy this while you allowed him to touch you in any way he pleased. It was no secret that the awkward, shy genius had a small crush on you, his behavior making it apparent more often than he realized. That was why he was taking his time, his tongue in your mouth as the germaphobe was surprising himself with his loss of apprehension to swap spit with you.

Much to both of your dismay, he was pulling out of the kiss. He made up for it though as his hands were coming up to cup your bra-clad breasts. A low groan left his lips as he kneaded at your soft, plush tits. One hand was slipping under you, his fingers quickly unclasping the article of clothing in his way and throwing it off to the side. He groaned, eyes fixated on your bare breasts. “You’re so pretty.” His voice came out in a pitiful whine, head dipping down to take your right nipple in his mouth.

The warmth of his tongue swiping over your hardened nub had your eyes fluttering shut, the man sucking and nipping at your sensitive nipple while his other hand was working to massage your other breast, nipple rolling between his fingers to give it the equal attention that it deserved. As he’d done his best to alternate, it wasn’t long until your chest was glistening with the remanent spit from his attack on your tits.

With his hungry eyes trailing down your body now, he was leaning down to press a few warm and wet open mouthed kisses down your stomach. Your fingers were quick to tangle in his soft brunette curls, head tilting back as his tongue trailed slowly down your stomach, nipping at your skin to leave a nice and big purple mark on your hip. The other men in the room had not been forgotten about however, your head tilting to the side to look at both Luke and Derek, the two men watching the scene play out in front of them, eyes blown out with lust and desire.

In a way, you felt like a gazelle in the presence of three starving lions, one already making his pounce onto you while the other two had calculated plans of their own. Spencer was blowing cool air on your glistening pussy, a satisfied hum leaving his lips as you clenched around nothing from sheer desperation. “Hold on,” Luke spoke up, his silence being short lived as Spencer was letting out a whine from his spot between your thighs. You didn’t expect Spencer to actually listen, however you weren’t able to question it as the other male was approaching the bed. “I have an idea. No need to get all teary eyed, Reid.” He spoke with a chuckle, the male between your thighs huffing as he backed away momentarily in order for Luke to throw you into a position.

The stark contrast between Spencer and Luke was something you were gracious for. The genius had a since of desperation, everything about him screaming that he wanted to drink in your essence and bask in the warmth coursing through his veins. The other had a clear motive in mind, the confidence to pick you up and move you into a position that he wanted you to be in. Both so different and yet so alike in the fashion of your thighs being sticky with your own arousal. With your body being turned horizontal, your head was now hanging off the bed which left very little to the imagination of what was coming next.

What you weren’t expecting though was Luke to nudge Spencer to the side when he was between your legs again, your left leg hanging off Spencer’s shoulder while your right was hanging off Luke’s. “Let’s put your germaphobia to the test.” Alvez just had to tease Spencer, a chuckle leaving his lips as he was leaning closer to your aching core. His tongue licked a fat stripe up your slit, a soft breath falling from your lips. You’d never thought of two men licking your pussy at once but the idea of it had butterflies going crazy in your belly.

Spencer was hesitant, looking at the spit mixed with your arousal. Before he could talk himself out of this idea and hide in the corner, he was leaning forward to lick the same spot the other man did. The comfortability was soon setting in as Spencer let his tongue flick over your clit, a sharp breath leaving your lips as you let a hand tangle in the mop of curls. Whenever the male began to suck and toy with your clit, Luke was bringing a hand to his mouth as he sucked at his fingers, eventually getting them settled at your entrance before pushing one of the digits inside of your desperate cunt, eliciting a moan as your head tilted back, still hanging over the edge of the bed.

As the two men between your legs alternated between licking at your weeping pussy or fingering you, Derek got a little bored of watching. While your head was tossed back, eyes fluttered shut as both skilled tongues were licking and sucking at your sensitive center, Derek worked on unbuttoning his pants as he approached where your head was hanging off the bed. “Alright, pretty girl. We are gonna put that mouth to good use.” He spoke, voice low and husky as he was retrieving his hard cock out of his pants.

Your mouth was practically watering as you took in the sight of the leaking tip of his cock, the shaft glistening from the beads of precum that were dripping from his slit. There was a lot going through your mind, however your body worked as if it was going off muscle memory.

As your desperate pussy clenched around someone’s fingers, your mouth was falling open to give the male above you the access that he needed. “That’s what I thought. Who would’ve known that you’d be such a whore?” He asked, an eyebrow raising as his hand tugged at his cock, slipping his cock past the threshold of your lips while his hand was running over your chest.

You were on cloud nine, even through the gagging on your coworkers cock to the point tears were brimming your eyes. There was a lot going on, so much that you couldn’t focus on everything at once. That was what prompted Derek to take control. With his body leaning at a certain angle, he didn’t hesitate before thrusting into your mouth to elicit a moan as your eyes were screwed shut.

The thrusts were rough and precise, the male abusing your throat and surely rubbing it raw as he used your mouth like a fleshlight. “She’s gonna cum. Do we let her do it, doc?” Luke’s voice spoke up, your pussy clenching tight around his fingers as your walls fluttered around the three fingers pistoning in your swollen, desperate cunt. Spencer was all for it, pulling off of your throbbing clit with a ‘pop’. “I think she’s been good enough to deserve it.” He confirmed, watching as Luke pulled his fingers out of your pussy, eliciting a whine from your lips being muffled around Derek’s cock. Luke was gripping the back of Spencer’s hair, catching the man by surprise.

The next movements were quick, Spencer having his face pushed into your pussy once more while Luke kept an eye on your mannerisms. With Spencer licking and sucking at your sweetness and Luke practically jerking his head in different ways to take control himself, it wasn’t long until your legs were shaking. With your orgasm building and Spencer sensing you were close, he didn’t need Luke's guidance to push his face further in your warmth, the sinful sounds of slurping and sucking filling the room.

“Fuck. Cum on his tongue, make a mess of his face.” Derek growled as he glanced down at you, his cock twitching in your mouth. Whenever you were hitting your orgasm, the man fucking your throat followed right behind. You did your best to swallow what you could, however he was tapping your cheek after his cock was pulled from the warmth of your mouth.

“Hold on, keep some of it.” He spoke, which had you nodding slowly as you pushed yourself to sit up while glancing at the men between your legs. “Why don’t you share with Spencer?” He asked, arms crossed as Spencer looked at the man with wide eyes. “Huh?!” you were following the instruction, your hands cupping Spencer’s cheeks before you were pressing your lips against his. In the process of the male getting comfortable enough with the idea, you were pushing the remnants of Derek’s cum into the brunette’s mouth, slowly pulling out of the kiss while wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb.

Spencer wasn’t really fond of it, however he knew this was for the sake of experimentation and he wouldn’t have to do it again. Luke was the first one to stand up as he worked on getting his clothes off, not being able to stand being fully clothed and constricted any longer. “Come here.” He mumbled, now moving to sit on the edge of the bed while tugging your body into his lap, his cock against your wet cunt as you weren’t hesitating to roll your hips slowly. “Fuck.” You breathed, feeling the hardness of his cock slotting between your slick pussy lips as you were grinding against his lap.

“That’s right.” Luke purred while his hands were reaching behind to grip your ass, a soft hum leaving his lips as he squeezed the plushy skin into his hands with a bruising grip. With one of your hands reaching between the both of you, you were positioning the bulbous tip with your leaking hole, you were sucking in a breath as you were slowly sinking down on his hard cock. Much like Derek’s, Luke had a good amount of length and girth, his fat cock stretching out your walls with a pleasurable burn.

His hands were gently guiding your hips, starting the process of working out what was most pleasurable for the both of you. The movements were slow, your hands holding his shoulders in order to brace yourself as you surrendered control to Luke for the time being. “Ah!” You squeaked, a certain angle making him hit the perfect spot. “There it is.” He smirked, the next thrust being a rough snap of his hips that had your body bouncing in his lap, a drawn out moan falling from your lips. Your hands rested gently against his broad chest, nudging him to lay back as you got into a more comfortable position. With your hair falling over your shoulder, your head was tilting forward as your hips were rocking at a steady pace while the large hands were now moving up your torso to fondle your breasts in his hands. While his fingers pinched and stimulated your sensitive nipples, you were reduced to a whining mess as your hips picked up their pace in sloppy movements.

The sensitivity from your previous orgasm had you feeling overwhelmed, just the feel of every ridge and curve of Luke’s cock had your body with satisfaction. Of course, he had learned your tell when it came to you about to cum, the way your greedy pussy tried pulling more of his cock even though he gave you everything you could take. Right whenever your second orgasm was in your sights though, you were stopped. The firm grip on your hips weren’t Luke’s, no, they were Derek’s. He’d managed to get on the bed behind you at some point. “I feel like Spencer has been completely neglected.” He tsked, his head shaking. “I think I know how you can make it up to him though.” He mused.

You were confused and deprived of an orgasm, a whine leaning your lips as you were pushed forward, your bare chest smashed against Luke’s as your ass was in the air, giving the other two men a tasteful view of your pussy stuffed with Luke’s cock. Derek took initiative, reaching around your body as he was pushing three fingers into your mouth. You weren’t really aware of what the game plan was, however you were happy to suck and lube up his fingers for whatever he had planned. With one lubed up digit tracing the ring of your other hole, you were letting out a gasp of surprise. “Think you can handle it?” Derek asked.

It was the bare minimum, however you appreciated the search for consent before he went any further. “I-I think so? What’s the harm in trying?” You were pushing your ass back against Derek’s fingers more, anticipating how this was going to go. You’d experimented plenty, however you’d never thought to try anal. With everyone trying all sorts of new things tonight, you figured it would be fun.

You were holding tightly to Luke’s arms whenever the other man’s finger was gently pushing into your ring of muscle, a few tears being wiped away from his hand as he helped soothe you from the foreign intrusion. “Doing such a good job.” Derek’s voice spoke up, Spencer’s gaze being all too fixated on the way his finger was being tightly gripped. It made his cock twitch in his pants, his hands working to quickly get them off for after Derek got you fully prepared.

One finger turned to two, then two turned to three. You wouldn’t lie, you never expected to like the aspect of anal sex this much. Especially while being stuffed full of cock in one hole and getting fingers in another. It made you feel like a cock hungry whore, something that had your pussy clenching tight around Luke’s cock.

When you were considered prepared enough, Derek’s fingers were gently being pulled out of your hole. “Alright, Reid. Go for it. Think she’s ready to have both of her holes stuffed.” He chuckled, watching the brunette quickly getting on his knees on the mattress behind you when Derek moved. “You’re sure this is okay?” His voice was shaky as he asked the question, his dick throbbing from being neglected for the past few activities. “It’s okay. Please.” Your voice was in the form of a whine, feeling a whole new level of intoxication as soon as his slick tip was coming into contact with your asshole.

Spencer was groaning as he watched the way the hole was embracing the tip of his cock, his head tilting forward to send a string of spit to your desperate asshole. It was an action you hardly expected but you were embracing it as soon as you felt his cock pushing into you, a cry leaving your lips as a pool of drool was falling from the corner of your mouth and on Luke’s chest. This was too much, however you didn’t want it to end.

The two men had to come to an agreement, setting a pace where they wouldn’t rip you in half. Spencer’s large hands were gripping tight to your hips, nails digging into your flesh and surely leaving crescent indents in your soft skin. That was when Derek was retrieving the phone on the bedside table, approaching the bed as he played cameraman. “Look at her taking two cocks at the same time. Can you believe how much of a whore she is?” His voice was cold, yet not enough to be outright hurtful.

As Spencer was thrusting, your body was moving slightly as you were pretty much reduced to a little fuck doll that both Luke and Spencer were using for their own gratification. Your body was reduced to a pile of malleable clay in their hands, both men working out a system where they could reduce you to a crying and whining mess. You knew you wouldn’t last much longer, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you were whining and moaning with each rough thrust. “You look like an angel. So pretty when you’re fucked out.” Derek cooed, the phone being moved to reveal your wet chin from drool, your eyes glossed over from the tears from overstimulation, even the way you laid all your weight on Luke’s chest as you were reaching your orgasm, walls clamping down onto the male’s cock.

There were a few more thrusts from Luke before you could feel a fish of warmth, his cum filling your spent pussy as you were shivering from the sensation. Spencer was the next one to reach his orgasm, spilling his seed into your tight hole as he was letting out a guttural groan. It was something that didn’t even sound like Spencer. You were so blissed out that you didn’t even remember whenever Luke gently lifted you off or his softening dick, laying you back on the mattress while your head was resting against the fluffy pillow that Spencer propped it up with.

“We should get you cleaned up.” Spencer cooed, his hands moving to gently rub your inner thighs to help relax your aching muscles from the new position you were just put into. Derek was nodding as he was getting himself dressed again. “We can run her a bath and help her get cleaned up. The bathroom is just next door.”

Spencer was the one to head out, reaching the bathroom and getting the bathtub ready with some bubble bath he found in one of the bathroom cabinets. Derek and Luke were both helping you stand and walking with you to the bathroom since you were still quite out of it. “Do you want all of us to stay here with you?” Luke asked while lowering you into the water once your bath was ready. For the first time in ten minutes, you were looking up at the three men with the same fucked out look in your eyes. “Spencer.” You whined gently, while the other two men were patting the brunette’s back before heading out of the bathroom to get the room cleaned up.

“Get in.” You slurred, the man not having to be told twice as he was stripping himself down once more and gently lifting you in order to get into the water before letting you lean back against his chest. “Thank you.” You yawned, feeling the warmth of his hands as he was massaging your body to help relax you even further. “You don’t have to thank me, silly. I’m here to help.” He assured you while pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Good. Hopefully we can relive this night in the future. Just the two of us.”

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kiwisbell · 6 months

Text

Las Mañanas || Chapter 4 [javier peña]

She’s a waitress in a little café. He’s a DEA agent who likes the coffee. Just the coffee. That’s all. Or, slices of life (and sometimes pie) shared between Javi and his wife, including his tireless journey to making her his wife.

series masterlist | my masterlist

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags/warnings: javi getting the fucking love he deserves, coffee shop AU if you squint really hard, technical infidelity, reader still has a shitty husband, mentions of sex work, soft and sweet!javi, protective!javi, grumpy!javi, simp!javi tbh, alcohol, smoking, gun violence, so much fluff, nobody fucks with javi's girl, overuse of spanish pet names, poorly-translated spanish, "she" pronoun used throughout, unprotected PIV (get used to this, these two are rabid), fingering, oral sex (m and f receiving), descriptions of violence against women, kidnapping, mentions of rape (not committed against reader), guilt & shame, angst, stakeouts, angry javier, cleaning wounds, heavy on the hurt/comfort

word count: ~ 7.7k

a/n: please mind the tags/warnings for this chapter. less smut and more *feelings*, along with some upsetting descriptions of violence. you will not hurt my feelings if that's not your cuppa.

chapter four: to live without love

It’s quiet on the street when she locks up for the day. She has dinner plans with Javi, an unspoken celebration of their second year together. He’s taking the time off work to really wine and dine her, and there’s already a dress laid out on the bed for her to wear out.

His moustache tickled her neck as he nipped at her throat. She laughed breathlessly when he rolled them over and he pressed his body up against her. “You’re not a vampire, Javier,” she gasped into his hair, grabbing a fistful of it and tugging playfully.

“Taste so good, baby,” he mumbled, landing a smack to the side of her thigh. She yelped and let her head fall back against the plush pillow. He was insatiable in the mornings, when he wasn’t quiet yet awake but his cock had a definitive mind of its own.

“You’ll be late,” she sighed, pulling his head back just so she could kiss him. She loved the feeling of his lips parting against hers, his tongue tracing her mouth. “We have plans, remember?”

“Mmm.” He leaned back, pulling her up to sit with their legs tangled together. A grin split his lips. “Two years.”

“Two years.” She felt as giddy as he looked, melting against him with another kiss to his mouth. “Pick out my dress for me.”

He grabbed her thighs and squeezed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, honey,” she said. “Whatever you want me to wear. I’ll wear it.”

He tackled her back down to the mattress. “I’m going to fucking marry you someday.”

It starts to rain. She stuffs her keys back inside her purse and shrugs it up over her shoulder. The air picks up a cool breeze that ruffles her hair, and she’s so high with the excitement of getting to see what he picked for her that she doesn’t hear the footsteps behind her until there’s a hand covering her mouth.

She kicks out, screams, tries to wrestle her pepper spray from her purse, and fails on all fronts; whomever’s hand it is must be connected to a strong body. He breathes into her ear, “Don’t fucking move. Don’t fight. Be a good girl and I won’t fucking kill you.”

She knows when thrashing is useless. She’s been under plenty of men who take what they want. So she stills, quiets, and waits for the words she already knows are coming.

“Let’s go home to your husband. You can tell him how sorry you are for your behaviour.”

He’s been looking up at the clock so often he might pinch a nerve in his neck. There’s a little under an hour until he gets off work, and she’s already promised him that she’s going to be wearing the dress by the time he walks in the door. Before her, he would work late just so he wouldn’t have to come home to the quiet, distant stranger that was his apartment; he had left every piece of decor the way it was and moved right in. Then, he’d go to work every day and kill himself trying to get nowhere. But it was always better than home. Now, the apartment is theirs. It’s decorated with touches of her—bright throw pillows and blankets and a new couch that doesn’t fuck with his back, hanging plants and lilies and the faint scent of her everywhere. He has to admit, it no longer looks like it belongs to a dead man who never left the fifties.

It makes his head spin, how much she trusts him, how excited he is over a fucking date. No woman’s ever made him so happy about just living his goddamn life.

His telephone rings and he picks it up before the first one ends. He needs a distraction.

"Peña."

The voice on the other end of the line—he's fairly certain it's Penny from the front desk—is wary. "Javier, there's a girl coming in to see you."

He frowns. "Name?"

When Penny says his girl’s name, Javier thinks all the blood has drained from him. "I wanted to warn you, sir... She doesn’t look so good."

And that is how one of the worst days of Javier's life begins.

"Thanks, Penny," he says absently, even though his ears are ringing something fierce.

He's already trembling with rage when she walks into the bullpen, her purse clutched in front of her like a blast shield, a faraway look in her eye. In the same skirt and sweater she wore when he dropped her off at work, apron and all, she favours her right leg. She is shaking, and her face—her pretty fucking face—is split by a large cut from her left eye to her jaw. There are deep purple bruises around the wound. Javier wants to go blind.

He's in front of her in a second: a protective guard against the eyes of his colleagues. Not that a battered woman is new—still, Javier glares at them hard enough that they try minding their own shit. He gently brushes a palm over her shoulder and squeezes to ground her. "Baby," he whispers, and her eyes are wet with tears when she lifts her gaze. His heart shatters.

He wants to fucking murder somebody. He wants to scream. Cry. Lock himself in a room with her: the only two people he trusts not to hurt her the way someone already has. You were too late. "Fuck, baby," he says, "who did this to you?"

Still dripping with rainwater, she scrapes her damp hair behind her ear and shivers. There are bruises and divots in her wrist. He realises with a plummeting stomach that she's been tied up. "Can we... Can we go somewhere else? Everyone's looking at me."

Javier plucks his jacket off the hook nearby and drapes it over her shoulders, leading her through the bullpen. Murphy emerges and stops halfway to his desk when he sees her. "Holy shit. Sweetheart, what happened to you?"

Javier shakes his head. "Not now. Answer the phones?"

Murphy nods. "Yeah, man." His hand briefly touches her shoulder and she smiles wearily, distantly, before Javier is taking her down into the evidence room. She'll be more comfortable here, where it's warm and dark, instead of the cold interrogation rooms.

"Out," he says sharply to the agents combing through evidence. They scurry away like rats behind the door and Javier lets her lead. She looks questioningly at him. "Wherever you'd like," he tells her. “Sit wherever’s comfortable.”

She sits at the very edge of a table piled with boxes, her hands folded in her lap. Javier mirrors her. He wants to explode, but his urge to make her comfortable, to ease her pain, overwhelms everything. "Can I take your hand, baby?"

She reaches out and threads her fingers through his. Javier presses a kiss to her knuckles. She sniffles, but a smile breaks through. "They dropped me off. Like it was an appointment or something. Fucking weird."

Somebody took her. Someone plucked her from her life, her routine, and bound her, helpless, just to beat her. They beat her. His girl. On their fucking anniversary. He’s freefalling with dread and terror, his chest so tight he wishes it would burst, so blind with rage he can’t clear the red fog in his brain. The glimmer of tears in her eyes swells the knot that festers in him. He’d run headfirst, unarmed, into a goddamn firefight with guns and bombs and landmines if it meant she wouldn’t be in pain. A chunk of him withers away. He couldn’t be there. Couldn’t save her. He didn’t even fucking know about it until she was dropped off at the DEA’s doorstep.

"Cielito..." He tilts up her chin and winces. "That's a deep cut. They use a knife?"

He doesn't want to know the answer, but he has to clean her up. Silently, she nods.

To occupy himself, he crosses the room and opens the corner cabinet to fish out a first aid kit. He wets a washcloth in the bathroom sink adjacent. She lifts her arms to tie her hair back, but her sleeves shift to reveal the topography of cuts and bruises on her arms. Javier looks away sharply, clenching his jaw, regretting it. She lowers her arms and hugs herself. "I'm sorry, Javi."

That makes him look up. "Don't apologise. Don't. Seeing you hurt fucking kills me, baby, but it's not your fault." He tucks away a strand of her hair. "Not your fault. Hear me?"

Her bottom lip, scored with blood, trembles. "Javi, I thought I was going to die. I was... I was so scared. I didn't want to die."

"Hey." He brushes a knuckle over her chin. "You made it out. You're out, and you're safe. My girl's a fucking soldier, right?"

She inhales, but it courses through her like a shudder. "Someone grabbed me outside the café. He took me to Nicolás’s place. I thought he'd just threaten me, or—or you, but he looked fucking crazy. Javi, I think he was on drugs. There were men with him, some I knew worked with his prostitutes. He took me to his basement and—and hit me, and cut me, and he kept saying if I didn’t go back to work for him, if I didn’t break things off with you… Fuck, he told me he would kill you, and he meant it. I didn't tell him anything, Javier, I swear. I wasn't going to sell you out, I—I just..."

The thought that she would ever put him in harm’s way never crossed his mind—not even once. She shakes her head and drops it into her hands, sobbing. Javier blinks hard so he can see her clearly, wiping underneath his eyes. He hates himself for not being there, for not finding her earlier, for everything he didn't do.

“Honey,” he says softly, lifting her trembling hands to his mouth and kissing her knuckles again. “I know. I know you’d never, baby. But you should have. Fuck, if it would keep him from doing… doing this to you, you should have told him every fucking detail about me.”

She blinks. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I would’ve known they were coming.” He smooths over the frown in her brow. “And you wouldn’t be hurt.”

The last words are quiet when his voice breaks, catching in his throat. “I love you, Javier,” she whispers. “You're the best part of my life. You're everything to me. I closed my eyes in there and I saw you, and you were hurt, and I couldn't say anything. I wouldn't.” Her smile is so feeble it crumbles right away. "If I can't blame myself, neither can you."

Her voice floats into his head, clears the clutter like it always does. He takes the damp washcloth and begins to tend to the cut on her face. He tries not to stop everything and break down into helpless tears when she visibly stiffens, pained but not letting him hear it. “I know, baby,” he says, watching blood stain the washcloth. She grips his free hand hard. “I know it hurts.”

She sniffles. “It’s okay. It’s you—it doesn't hurt.”

“Has he ever—” He cuts himself off so he can start again when the thought alone fills him with terror, rage. “Has he ever hurt you like this?”

She seems to sense the tension in him because she shifts closer, lifting her hand to brush his hair back from his eyes. “He couldn't afford to send me to clients with bruises. Would harm his reputation.”

He must be frowning deeply enough to make it permanent. “Don’t dwell, mi amor,” she says. “You’ll make yourself sick. He never cared about me. You do. You keep me safe, you make me happy. Yeah, everything hurts, but Jesus, Javi, I was so happy when they dropped me off in the street. I was just happy to get out. To see you again.”

Javier finishes cleaning the wound and clenches the washcloth into a crumpled ball. “I want to kill him.” Saying it makes him feel better, somehow: picturing him shooting the piece of shit between the eyes, replicating every injury he gave her and then some. “I want him fucking dead.”

She huffs out a wrecked laugh. “You know I wouldn’t tell a soul.” Her lips find his clenched fist and ease it open with her gentle kisses to the knuckles. “But we have nothing.”

Javier kisses the corner of her mouth, the side that's unmarred. “I’m gonna find something,” he promises. “He's going away, baby. Swear it on my fuckin’ life.”

“I love you,” she tells him, firm and real and with every ounce of energy she has left. “And for what it's worth, I was really looking forward to our date.”

He slides off the table and helps her down, cradling her to his chest. “He’s not gonna ruin your life,” he promises. “You’re gonna wear that dress, mi amor. Can I take you home?”

She sits right up next to him in the truck, wrapped around him with whatever flexibility her seatbelt allows. Her thumbs rub soothing patterns on his arms to ease the tension in his knuckles. He always drives a bit safer with her in the car, but tonight there’s an air about the world: like she could slip from his fingers any second.

Today reminded him of that. He could lose the love of his life in an instant. She could have died today. He would have never known what happened, never seen the body. The panic of that thought settles deep inside him until he’s officially in his own head when he opens his door and leads her inside. There’s so much stiffness in his body he could explode. He double-checks the locks, tries to sweep the apartment with some degree of subtlety, and doesn’t let her out of his sight. Not once. She sighs, resigned as he leads her through each room to check there’s no one inside, even though his brain knows there isn’t. That doesn’t matter; he needs to be thorough. She needs to be safe.

“Want to finish cleaning you up, baby.” Javier caresses her arms with the lightest touch. “Can I do that? Can I take these off?” He tugs on the hem of her sleeve. He needs to make sure there isn’t anything of concern beneath her clothes.

She nods, but her eyes won’t meet his. “Of course,” she says, barely audible. “It’s just… I’m not gonna look pretty, Javi. I’m all black and blue. Some red.”

“You’re the prettiest thing on this goddamn planet no matter what some fucking malparido does do you. Hear me?” He’s seen every inch of her body. He worships at her altar. A couple of wounds will do nothing to change that except make him all the more furious.

He’s right about that. When he gets her clothes off and takes her to the bathroom so he can prop her up on the counter, he sees fucking red. Nicolás didn’t just bruise her arms and cut up her face. There are bruises on her collarbones, her thighs, even her hips. He’s slashed her perfect skin, left scabbing cuts all over her legs and a single long gash down her left thigh, which must be why she’s limping. Javier can’t breathe. He can’t hear. His mouth is dry.

He feels physically nauseated to be relieved there are no signs of any violence where her thighs meet.

“He didn’t.”

Her voice cuts through the ringing silence in his ears, and it’s like his blood comes crashing down in waves when he blinks back into the real world, where she’s safe in his bathroom and holding his hand. “He didn’t… didn’t rape me.”

He can’t say, That’s good. None of this is good.

Javier says nothing. He works in silence, cleansing her wounds, listening to her breath. It reminds him she’s still here. He didn’t lose her.

When he’s done, he presses a kiss to her bruised collarbones, the little perches you could rest a bird upon, and cradles her face in his hands. He can’t summon words. He doesn’t know what there will be to say when he can.

She realises. So she puts her hands over his and whispers, “Happy anniversary, mi amor.”

When they finally get a breakthrough, it’s Murphy who finds the key.

“Holy fuckin’ shit.” He’s bent over a pair of manila folders on his desk. Javier looks up from massaging the headache in his temple. “Here’s a riddle for you: what do the narcos who raided your girl’s apartment and her piece-of-shit husband have in common?”

Javier jolts up from his desk and stares down at the files. His heart stutters. “Holy fuckin’ shit,” he echoes. “The whorehouse.”

Nicolás Reyes’s whorehouse. Javier’s staked it out more times than he can count, probably at the expense of his job. He’d recognise the guards, the customers, the girls, anywhere. It’s how he recognises the address beneath the profiles of the narcos who worked with the dead home intruders; they visited the brothel, frequently, before they went off the grid.

She told Javier that Reyes looked like he was on drugs. What if Reyes wanted to move up in the world? If the owner of the whorehouse has struck some sort of deal with narcos…

Javier snatches the folders and stops himself from running to his truck. Murphy follows, grumbling something that includes the word “asshole.”

“How is she, by the way?” asks Murphy an hour later, peering through binoculars at the entrance to the whorehouse. “Gotten any trouble since she went back to work?”

Javier adjusts the aperture on his camera. So far, nobody of significance has arrived, but it’s early. Even he would never have entered a brothel at three in the afternoon. “No,” he says. “She’s… she’s doing fine. ‘Least, that’s what she says.”

Murphy snorts. “Uh-huh. Look, man, you didn’t want her to go back, you fought about it, she won. Can’t exactly blame her for wanting to feel normal.”

“It’s not safe where she is, Steve,” he says, taking a test shot of the door to make sure the light is good. He’s using his own Polaroid since he can’t exactly ask Noonan for surveillance equipment without explaining to her this little peripheral mission he’s taken on. The picture develops well, and he tosses it in the box between them. “I see her sometimes, jumping when the toaster goes off or when you or Connie knock. She’s fuckin’ scared for her life, and it… it just—”

“Makes you want to kill him,” finishes Steve. “Can’t say I’m happy about the guy walkin’ around without so much as a limp, but you know she’d be pissed off if you got yourself in trouble over her. Better to do it legally, y’know.”

Javier huffs. “Tell that to my Polaroid and my shitty surveillance truck.”

Steve punches him in the shoulder. “I mean, get him locked up, man. For good.”

Javier has to agree. It’s more effective than killing Reyes, but it’s a lot less satisfying and it’s taking a lot fucking longer than he’d like. It makes him ache to watch her fall into the daze she does sometimes, like she’s lost in the memory; when she gets scared of the mundane noises or forces a smile at a comment he makes even though he knows she didn’t hear him. She’s scared that he’ll come back; finish the job, or hurt Javier.

He wants to make sure she never has a reason to be afraid. That’s his job. He’s her fucking partner, in all things. Watching those moments, seeing her so void of the bright life she gives the world, takes some of his own life away. He feels like his insides are being dragged out of him, slowly, like someone’s wrapped them around a pencil and pulled. It gets slower, more painful, with every day he doesn’t put Reyes behind bars.

Javier and Steve wait four more hours. Nobody comes. Nobody they give a shit about. They part ways with the mutual understanding that they have women they’d rather be seeing than each other.

“I’m home, baby,” he calls out when he opens the door.

What hasn’t changed is the way her face lights up when she sees him. She rounds the corner from the kitchen and gives him a big grin, her arms winding up around his neck so she can dig her fingers into the scalp at the back of his neck. His tension seeps away instantly, and he pulls her closer, kissing her cheeks, her forehead, her lips.

It’s been two weeks. The bruises on her body have faded to a green-yellow, except for the lingering purple on her cheekbone. The two large cuts on her face and thigh have faded to pinkish scars, and she still limps on bad days. She’s as radiant as the day he first saw her. “Mi alma,” he says lowly, nudging her nose with his. “¿Cómo te sientes? (How are you feeling?)”

He’s asked her three times a day, every single day since the attack. She never acts frustrated or gets impatient with the pestering. She just smooths the frown in his brow with her thumb and smiles softly. “A lot better today. Jorge’s been going easy on me. Oh, and Connie stopped by work before she went to the clinic this morning.” She takes his hand and pulls him into the living area, where there’s a basket filled with food, bath supplies, and a Get Well card.

Javier’s heart swells at the kindness Connie Murphy has shown her; she’s visited twice already with a basket like this. It’s a relief to know there’s someone else out there who wants his girl to feel loved and safe. “This is real nice, baby,” says Javier, reading the card (Sending you all our love! - The Murphys). He knows damn well Steve doesn't know shit about the card, but God bless Connie for trying to fool them.

He offers to make dinner (she's taught him how to perfect her paella recipe, even though he thinks it tastes better under her hands), and lets her sit at the counter while he fills her in on their failed mission. “I’m sorry, cielito,” he tells her, brushing her chin with his thumb as he passes her on the way to the stove. “We couldn’t find them.”

She shrugs. “You will. If…” He watches her eyes dim a little. “If he’s working with them, that's the first time we've had a real reason to put him away.”

It settles between them: the harsh reality of what she's said. The restraining order was luck. But Reyes never gave a shit about it. And nobody else gave a shit about the man who terrorised and beat his wife, not when the police are getting baited and killed by narcos. Unless he's really in bed with narcos, she’ll have no leverage. There's no proof of the assault; no proof he's been tormenting her. It’s all narcos. It's all they've got.

“Baby. Look at me.” He can tell she's shrinking in on herself, remembering the day. Remembering how hopeless she felt. Her eyes slide up from the counter. He leans over it and holds her chin. “Un respiro. Dos respiraciones. Mírame.”

They've done this before. She takes in two deep, shaky breaths, centering herself by looking into his eyes, keeping herself grounded in the reality that she's not in that basement. She's here. He loves her. She's safe.

“Lo siento,” she whispers.

Javier pins her with a halfhearted sternness. “Hey, now.”

She takes in one more breath and shakes her head. “Not sorry. No reason to be sorry.”

“That's it, honey.” He swipes his thumb over her bottom lip. The cut healed a week ago, and he can see the white scar when she grins. “Hungry?”

She leans over the counter and brings his face close to hers so she can kiss him. “Very”—she nips his bottom lip and tugs it teasingly—“hungry.”

It doesn't take much from her to send all the blood to his dick. He's just a guy.

“Bonita… ” He grunts when he looks at the clock. It’s already late. He has to make sure his girl is fed. They’ve skipped dinner for one another’s bodies one too many times.

But she's moving her lips along his jaw and sucking on the spot below his ear, and he physically staggers. “Get over here,” he says. “Don't be shy, cielito. You started this.”

She slides around the counter and he crowds her instantly, keeping her in place with a hand on the counter behind her and another on her lower back. Her back arches up into him when he kisses her, deeply.

He takes his time with it. He loves the taste of her; she's showered, her hair is still damp, and she glows, smelling of fresh linens and jasmine. Her breath is minty with his toothpaste and her skin is so soft. He slips his tongue into her mouth and pulls gasps, gentle moans, and giggles from her when he works her just right, playfully smacking her ass or squeezing her side.

It took a while until she was no longer too sore to have sex. Even then, in the early days, he wouldn't dare to even think of touching her like that; he would hold her close to him at night, every single part of one another touching somehow, and he would go to work late fretting over her comfort, worrying about the security of his apartment. She never treated the topic of sex with hesitation, like she was afraid to have him touch her; they both knew he took care of her in bed, and would never think to harm her. She was just in pain, dazed from the assault, and needing more sleep than the average human to let her body recuperate. He’d put their rule on hold for the first few days: if he came home late and she was asleep, he wouldn't wake her. He’d make dinner and keep it warm, slide into bed with her, and they would both sleep until she was ready to wake up and eat.

She rediscovered her sex drive before four days were through. Javier lay her down, spread her out, and ate her pussy until she was sobbing, boneless, weak from pleasure.

He’s been enjoying the slowness of sex with her. The buildup, when he wants to keep kissing her for hours, when he can make her melt into him like butter, when he can feel every inch of her body: trace the scars on her skin, the smooth curves of her body, whisper how beautiful she is when she gets in her head about the bruises and the cuts. He loves her so fucking much it hurts.

But isn't that the point of all this shit? It’s supposed to hurt when they hurt, just as it's supposed to feel so good when they smile, warm your chest when they walk in a room. She's the beacon he looks for when he's uncertain of the path he needs to tread. She's the last thing he’ll see before he dies.

Javier’s hand follows her spine from her lower back upward to her neck in a languid motion, falling back down and then performing its slow crescendo once more. She sighs into his mouth, lets him take his time with her body, scratching at the back of his neck in the way that gets him worked up. He migrates down her jaw to her neck, growling into her throat to make her laugh. His lips find her shoulder, her collarbone, her sternum. Her skin erupts in goosebumps under the heat of his mouth, the scratch of his moustache. This is where he wants to die: buried in the feel of her body.

“Up,” he says against her shoulder, patting her thigh. She jumps and he catches her legs, locking them around his waist as he carries her out of the kitchen. He makes it to the bedroom and pins her against the wall, at the perfect height to yank down the front of her dress and grasp her breasts.

She grins and leans in to kiss him, pinching his ass because she can. “Ten cuidado,” he warns, but he doesn't put much heart in it. He’ll let her do whatever she wants.

“I need you, Javier,” she says, holding onto his shoulders. “Now, please.”

He’s an accommodating partner. He lets one of her legs slip down as he unbuckles his belt and takes out his cock, achingly hard and leaking for her. Then, he's lifting her back up against the wall and guiding her on top of him, sinking her onto his length slowly. She mewls, biting down when she buries her head in the crook of his neck. They’re so close when she sinks all the way down that their breath mingles when she pulls back to look in his eyes. She cups his cheek. He holds onto her ass and grinds his hips into hers.

It's so intimate like this that it overwhelms him. Their eyes are locked as he gets a rhythm going, pushing up inside her and making her toes curl from the slowness of it. He can feel every ridge, every pulse of her. She's warm and wet and it blinds him, and it's gorgeous to watch her fall apart, so closely entangled in one another. Her eyes droop with the grind of his cock up against her g-spot, her mouth falls open, and her head thunks gently against the wall. But she keeps looking at him. He doesn't want to look away, either. He’s encased in her body, enraptured and wholly consumed by her.

He knows she's close by the way her torso tightens, the way her pussy clenches around him in a rhythm that makes him gasp from the tightness of her. She makes soft noises of pleasure that uncoil into his ears and settle the tension in his body. When she comes, so does he.

“Fuck,” rasps Javier, keeping himself locked deep inside her cunt as he slumps forward, his tongue dipping into her mouth while they both gasp, the lightning of their orgasms crackling up their spines. He knows she feels it, too, her hands desperately clawing at his back to keep him close. His cum fills her, but he stays pressed against her, their sweaty bodies a tangle of limbs on the wall.

“Fuck,” she echoes. “Can’t… can’t walk yet. Don’t let me down.”

“No fuckin’ way,” he grumbles. He didn't even think about it. He stays nestled inside her and she strokes his hair back from his damp forehead.

They don't eat dinner until ten o’clock. Neither of them complain about it.

Another stakeout leads them nowhere. And another. And another. It’s only two months after the assault that something finally fucking happens. And it has nothing to do with the expertise of the DEA.

“Peña,” says Javier as he tucks the phone between his cheek and shoulder, smoking and typing the last line of his report.

“Agente Peña,” says an unfamiliar voice. “I’ve got information about the man you’re looking for.” Javier’s ready to take another useless tip from a drug pusher’s second cousin’s girlfriend’s neighbour, but the man says, “Nicolás Reyes,” in a hushed, hurried voice, and Javier sits upright in his chair.

Javier snaps his fingers to Murphy and mimes for a piece of paper. The redneck flips him off as he tosses a notepad and pen across their desks. “Sí,” he says into the receiver. “And you know about Reyes, how?”

“I work for him.” The man’s tone becomes harsh, edged with jagged lines. “And I've been following your girl.”

Javier’s good-natured willingness to entertain a dead lead after a slow day fizzles out. He isn't amused anymore. “Think this is funny?”

“What's funny is you DEA hijos de puta getting nowhere with all those stakeouts you think are stealthy. You've got a loud, ugly truck, Peña. And you need me.”

“Then give me what you have,” says Javier, teeth grinding around his cigarette.

“I want immunity,” the man is quick to clarify. “and a visa.”

Javier wants to laugh, but he's too pissed off. “Fuck your immunity. You get jack shit from me until I find out you're useful.”

“I'm not giving you anything else over the phone. Meet me in the café,” the man tells him. “You know which one.”

It's like someone has poured blood into his eyes. He sees only red. “No fucking way.”

“I want her there, too.” There’s the sound of a lighter flicking. “That's my price. To start.”

Murphy is staring a hole in his head. Javier’s ears are ringing. This might be their only lead: someone who was there. Someone who has the tools to take Reyes down. This is bigger than his rage. This is for her. “Fine,” he grits out. “Tomorrow, seven o’clock.”

He slams the receiver down and goes right to nursing his oncoming headache.

He hates this. He really fucking hates this.

The man’s name is Ricardo Chávez. He looks Javier’s age, with short dark hair and green eyes, a moustache and five o’clock shadow. He's muscled and tall. He sits at the table with his arms folded over his broad chest, a comically small mug of coffee steaming away in front of him. Javier blows the smoke from his cigarette in Chávez’s face and leaves the table.

His girl is behind the counter, refilling the coffee pot. Her hands have been shaking since the man walked in.

“Baby,” he says under his breath. “Look at me.”

“I know him.” She looks ashamed of the fact, not quite meeting Javier’s eye. He has to guide her chin upward so he can look into her wide eyes. “He works with Nicolás. He—he was a client.”

He blows out one last puff of smoke and tucks her hair behind her ear. He doesn't give a shit about that; it was a job, it paid. But he's got a problem if this asshole is going to make her uncomfortable. “Do you want me to tell him to fuck off?”

She shakes her head. “He could have something good. We need something good, right?”

Javier sighs through his nose. “Yeah, we do. But if he looks at you wrong—”

She kisses the corner of his mouth after looking around to make sure no one’s looking. “I know, vaquero.”

“Señorita,” says Chávez as a way of greeting. She sits down next to Javier, who takes hold of her hand beneath the table. He lights another cigarette and doesn’t offer one to the other man. “Long time, no see.”

“Ricardo,” she says pointedly. “How’s your wife?”

Chávez just chuckles. “Oh, I wouldn't talk if I were you. Aren't you fucking the DEA agent who wants to take down your husband?”

She doesn't stiffen or cower. “He isn't my husband.”

“And you're the one who told me you could help take him down.” Javier lifts his brows behind his sunglasses. “So let's hear it.”

Chávez doesn't look once at Javier while he speaks. “Nicolás paid me extra to keep an eye on you. He told me if you ever went back to your place, we were to bring you home to him.”

“We?” Javier keeps his lips around the cigarette while he picks up the manila folders from the bag at his feet. He slaps it down in front of Chávez and gestures with his head: open them. “You mean you and Luis.”

Luis Fuentes: another of Reyes’s men. He works security while Chávez moves money behind the scenes. “Me, Luis, and Stick.” Chávez shrugs. “Don't know where Luis disappeared to. Figure he caught wind of your stalking, or wanted out before Reyes got too big for his own head. That's why I’m here now.”

“Because he already is.” It’s she who speaks first, before Javier opens his mouth. “He always talked about moving up. Thought whores weren't good enough currency.”

“If you ask me, women are what make the world go ‘round.” Chávez eyes her, and it's Javier's learned self-control that keeps him from putting his jacket over her to hide her body from his gaze. “Reyes thinks he can outdo the doer. He’s planning to expand into narcotics, and he wants the girls to move the money for him, or they’ll lose their jobs. Maybe their pretty faces.”

Javier can't help but look at the scar on her face. Chávez notices and lifts his hands. “I didn't see that happen,” he says. “Don’t have much taste for beating women. But if you're looking for someone to kick the shit out of, it's Stick who kidnapped her. Brought her to Nic’s and helped fuck her up.”

“Who?” asks Javier, a little too eagerly.

Chávez nods to one of the pictures before him on the table. She sees the face and sucks in a breath. “He came in here,” she tells Javier in a quiet voice. “And he… he was—there, when it happened. I thought I recognised his voice. I knew Nicolás wanted me to work for him again, but… He doesn't want me. He needs bodies to move cash.”

“And to stick his cock in when he feels like,” offers Chávez. Javier makes a gruff growling noise behind his cigarette. “When he realised he couldn't trust you because of where you sleep at night, he decided to send a message.”

The face they're looking at belongs to Santiago Ortiz. Nickname: “Stick,” apparently. Opposite of scrawny. General henchman and intimidator, if Javier and Steve are right about their intel. Offers Reyes protection wherever he goes.

This is the man who took her. Javier’s spine is taut. He thinks he might book a massage soon.

Stick chose the wrong guy to work for. Chose the wrong fucking woman to lay his hands on.

“Chávez,” he says. “Mírame. No ella.”

The man’s eyes slide to his with a hint of mockery. “Agent Peña, I don't expect to give this information for free.”

“What information have you given me besides shit we could have already guessed at? I need times and places, Ricardo, or you get shit from me.”

Chávez places a hand atop the picture of Ortiz and drums his fingers. Javier’s stomach is twisting with unease. “And if I give you Santiago?” he muses. “What do you give me?” His eyes are on her again. “Do I get you for another glorious night?”

“En tus sueños (in your dreams),” she spits, at the same time Javier decides to stop fucking around.

He pulls his gun from his waistband and points the barrel underneath the table, right at Chávez’s crotch.

“Inténtalo de nuevo (Try again).”

The man rolls his eyes. “Jesus, I knew you DEA bastards were uptight. I told you, Peña: I want out of this fucking country. I’m taking my wife and we’re leaving.”

“Unless you can prove there's a tie between the narcos and Reyes’s operation, my hands are tied.” It’s the truth. The only way he could convince Noonan to get involved in the case is if Reyes has his hands in the narcotics business, or is planning something. So he’ll get Chávez his damn visa. If—

“You give me where I can find Reyes and Stick,” says Javier, “and the time and place to drop in on the next meeting between Reyes and his narco buddies. ¿Claro?”

Chávez sighs hard through his nose, jaw working. “Stick will be at the whorehouse tomorrow morning to stand guard while Nic meets with the Castillos. Eight-thirty.”

The Castillo twins were two of the men who, according to Javier and Steve’s snooping, worked with the dead asshole who broke into her apartment and shot down three policemen. They don't have quite the reputation their boss does, but they know how to scare people. They're big and tough, and it's going to be a miracle for Reyes if he can convince them to invest in his whorehouse.

This is it.

The something they needed.

“If this plays out, you get your visa.” Javier crushes his cigarette in the ashtray and stands. His girl wraps a hand around his arm. “Don't ever fucking look at her again, or your wife won't have anyone to go see the world with.”

Together, they shower while the television drones about bad news and more bad news in the next room. Her nails massage shampoo into his scalp, he takes his sweet time washing her body, and they both end up kissing, feeling one another up. They barely make it out of the shower safely before he's on her again, fucking her from behind as she watches their reflection in the bathroom mirror.

Her hair is wrapped around his fist and there's steam fogging up the glass, but he can see her. He sees the way her eyes are half-closed and her lips are parted. He can see the way she holds onto the counter so her hip bones aren't pummelled each time he thrusts into her. He sees the bounce of her tits and his own hand snaking around her waist from behind, splaying his fingers across the ribs on her right side. All the noises she manages to make are small gasps or whines.

This angle is deeper, closer, tighter. He has to keep his teeth clamped together to keep from gasping raggedly like a real old man while he does his best to make her feel so fucking good. And he does. Her eyes roll back when he grinds his hips against her, and his hand slides up her sternum, her tits, before landing on her throat and angling her jaw to keep her watching him in the glass.

“Harder,” she begs, white-knuckling the counter. “I need it. Please.”

His back will scream at him later. But she feels so fucking soft, so hot and tight around him, and her voice sounds so sweet even when she's being wrecked, that he doesn't think twice about obliging. He slams into her hard, pulling back out until it's only his tip lodged in her entrance before he pushes back in, past the way her pussy clenches.

And, oh, it's good. It’s incredible like this. Saliva clicks in her throat and he feels his balls tighten with the need to pump her full. He lets go of her hair and reaches down to rub her clit, and she's trembling, every part of her body losing control as she finds the voice to scream his name. He grunts when he comes, keeping her back flush against his front as his cock twitches with each pulse of cum he spills into her.

She cuts his hair. She stays naked in the bathroom, proudly dripping his cum down her thighs, but she does put a towel around his neck so he won't itch. She's not an expert with the scissors, but she's cut his hair before, and she knows what looks best. She knows he won't let her go near his moustache, but she sings Selena in his ear as she works. He feels her voice settle in his bones and melt them to warm goo.

She kisses him when she's done.

They lie in bed together. Her hand is on his heart, and his hand is atop hers, thumb rubbing circles over her skin. He kisses the top of her head, which rests on the other side of his chest, and she smiles when she shifts to look up at him.

“Javi?”

“Mmm.”

“I’m going to say yes.” She settles back down and closes her eyes, pressing a kiss to his chest. “If you ask me to marry you, I’ll say yes.”

They raid Reyes’s whorehouse in the morning. Fifteen people die.

The DEA and the police only lose four men, but it's the narcos and Reyes’s people who suffer the most. They rely on Chávez’s intel, and it's good intel—they storm the place in an ambush and open fire.

Murphy locks down the Castillos. Javier finds Santiago “Stick” Ortiz. The man wants to go down fighting, to his credit. He fires until the clip is empty, but it only gives Javier permission to shoot. Flanked by two policemen, he lunges out from behind his cover wall and lands a shot to Ortiz’s thigh. The man crumples. Javier shoots him in the chest twice. He’s on the ground, on his back, bleeding out.

Javier leans down, grabs the man by the jaw, and wrenches his head to make him meet Javier’s eyes. “Know who I am?” he asks.

Ortiz spits blood. “¿Como esta tu puta?”

Javier tucks the barrel of his gun underneath Ortiz’s chin. “Good. You do.”

He takes out a cigarette, lights it, and takes a single drag before he puts it out on Ortiz’s cheek. It hisses, music to Javier’s ears. The man gurgles in pain.

“Nos vemos en el infierno,” he laughs, teeth red with blood.

“Maybe,” muses Javier. “Not for a while. Espero que veas sus ojos cuando mueras (I hope you see her eyes when you die).”

He shoots. Ortiz dies, mouth still open as the hole in his chin trickles blood down his throat.

The police capture Reyes, who couldn't run fast enough. His girls are rounded up for questioning.

Javier smokes out the window in the conference room a couple hours later. Murphy enters, rubbing his forehead. “Hey, man,” he says. “You get Ortiz?”

Javier huffs. “Yeah. Got him.”

“Good.” Murphy nods. “I know you wanted to do more, but he’s dead. Can’t hurt her.”

“And Reyes?” Javier hasn't sat down since they got back to the Embassy. “Tell me good news, Steve, please.”

“He's going away,” Murphy confirms. Javier might vomit from relief. “The narco link is solid. He wanted to make a deal, let them use his whorehouse as cover for smuggling the money. So long as he got a cut. Not enough friends in high places; he’ll get life.”

Javier rubs out the ache in his chest. “Fuck. Fuck, man.”

Murphy claps him on the shoulder. “About fuckin’ time, right?” He glances down and then gives Javier a grin. “Get a ring on your finger, brother. It’ll be good for you.”

The divorce is finalised a month later. The ring has been burning a hole beneath the mattress for two.

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#kiwisbell's fics #las mañanas #javier peña #javier peña smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fic #javier peña x reader #narcos #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction

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arabellasleopardcoat · 6 months

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The Devil (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: The corpse in your bathroom is not a corpse, but rather a pure blood fanatic with a penchant for child brides. You are not impressed.

Warnings: Violence, sexual thoughts, mature language.

A/N: Part of my Halloween celebration! Part 1 here.

There is a girl screaming, somewhere. It forces Daemon out of his slumber, groaning. Gods, what in the Seven Hells had he done to deserve such a rough awakening?

“Ugh. Stop that, girl.” He says, getting up from the wet stone floor he lays on. It's oddly smooth under his palms. Daemon braces himself for the wave of nausea that will surely follow, expecting the horrible hangover he has gotten every time he drinks ever since he turned thirty.

One would think it gets easier, with age. It does not. And surely, if he had drank enough to not remember where he is or how he got here, this was going to be the mother of all hangovers.

Much to his astonishment, it's not. There is no pounding headache, nor is there a wave of nausea that follows his movement. Daemon is unable to marvel at it, though. The vague sound of a girl whimpering and cowering forces him to stop his pondering and instead focus on the problem at hand.

“Stop that, you little fool. I am not going to hurt you.” Getting up was much harder than he thought. His body feels heavier than it should. It's only as he looks down that he realizes that he is still in his armor, covered in blood.

Daemon understands it, then. He remembers the battle at the Stepstones, and his triumph over that damn crab. He looks you over and smiles.

You are a pretty thing. Younger than him, and terribly shy, you cower in a corner of what appears to be a bathing room. Someone has made sure that you bathe, as you stand before him in only a flimsy towel.

His men have always been a loyal bunch. Daemon had chosen them well. They didn't disappoint, anticipating his needs and sending someone to serve him. And not just anyone, but a woman who is exactly to his liking.

The bath is already drawn. He cannot wait to get inside it.

“Come here.” He orders you, and your face scrunches up in displeasure. “Help me get out of my armor.”

You take a hesitant step towards him before halting.

“I… I… You… There is blood.” And it's quite a dumb comment, but what else can he expect? He doesn't blame his men for not having found the epitome of wisdom here. There are barely any women at all. It's commendable enough that they have managed to find someone as sweet looking as you are.

You cower more. Your eyes shift to the door of the bathing room. That, he cannot have. Daemon wonders if you have been instructed already on what is expected of you, or if they had just shoved you into this room and ordered you to obey.

He steps closer to you, crowding you. The warm light compliments your skin, making you glow under the candlelight. You have an innocent air about you, all big eyes and pouty lips. The skin of your shoulders and arms is soft and unmarred. A perfect maiden, just in the bloom of youth.

“My men chose you well. You are a pretty one.” His dirty, bloodied hands come to grasp your pristine towel, pulling it away. You are naked as the day you were born, all displayed for his hungry eyes.

Gorgeous breasts. Lush hips. All smooth, perfect skin. If Daemon were a lesser man, he would be slobbering at the way your bosom bounces with your struggles, how your skin flushes and shines with the exertion.

“What are you doing? Leave me alone, leave me alone!” You are a feisty little thing, trying to wrestle your towel out of his hands. You are also slapping at him, everywhere you can reach.

Seven Hells. You are perfect for him, aren't you?

Daemon pulls you closer, hugging you to him. This close, he can smell the herbs and oils in your hair and skin, and it is heavenly. You smell clean and pure. Good enough to eat.

“You are so soft.” He trails kisses along your neck, keeping your wrists pinned down to your sides. You squirm, making faces and aborted noises. “And for how you struggle, you are pure too. Oh, I haven't seen a woman in months.”

“You are disgusting.” You finally manage to push him away, and you move towards a corner of the room. There is a bunch of fabric there that you quickly snatch. It's not a color he has ever seen before. You pull it over your head, and it's only then Daemon realizes it is a shirt. “Get out!”

“Don't be like that, little girl. You will be rewarded handsomely.” He says, half-heartedly. While play fighting might be fun, Daemon is too tired to truly fight you. Besides, he finds it distasteful. He might coerce, but rape is another matter altogether.

“I am not a sex worker!” You complain, from your corner in the room.

"Not for sale, huh?” Daemon smiles. He is amused at your refusal. Most serving girls would trip all over themselves for a night with him, especially if he was offering money for it. Not you, though. You were awfully proud for a commoner. It would only make seducing you more sweet.

“Who the hell are you?” Your voice is snappish. It seems like you finally lost your patience. It's not the tone that makes him pause, though. Daemon has realized from early on that you are quite spirited. No, instead, it's the fact that you don't know him.

“Daemon Targaryen.” He offers, after a pause. The idea of not being recognized in sight is one that is deeply confusing to him. Even here, so far from his home, he is known by the men and women that serve his army. For the Seven's sake, even the Crab King's men shudder at the mere mention of his name.

Something must be wrong. Daemon is somewhere he shouldn't be. There is no other explanation for this, and it makes his skin crawl.

You stare at him, in silence. Your lips purse. There appears to be a storm raging behind your eyes. Whatever confusing thoughts you are having, you do not share them with him. Instead, you point towards the door.

“No. Nope. Out!”

And Daemon, after realizing something is very wrong, does not have the heart to argue. He walks out of the bathing room, head hanging low. He is not ashamed, but he's not sure of what he feels, either.

When he crosses the threshold, the feeling of wrongness intensifies. There is a bright, white light illuminating the space he finds himself in. It doesn't look natural, it is much too harsh for it.

The furniture in the room is all wrong, too. There is nothing made of wood in sight, the love seat is shaped wrong and there is some strange artifact resting on it. Everything he touches seems to be made of a lighter material than wood and rock, that feels off against his skin.

Daemon grabs a small rectangle, covered in raised numbers. He presses down on them, curious about their texture.

Something on the wall lights up. People appear on the walls. Daemon screams, startled by their sudden appearance.

“Who are you? Identify yourselves!”

The people on the wall ignore him. He takes out Dark Sister. Now that he looks at them, Daemon realizes they are not people. They are too small for it. They must be something different. He thinks of the beasts of Old Valyria and comes up blank.

“Are you trying to stab my TV?” Your voice makes him turn, swinging his sword. You are gaping at him. Somewhere along his journey through this strange room, you seem to have found some men's underclothes that loosely cover your legs. You still wear the same shirt, which does nothing to support your bosom. It should make you look deeply unattractive, yet somehow, it does not. Perhaps, because Daemon knows exactly what hides under those clothes.

“Seven Hells, girl.” Daemon rubs a hand over his face. He is starting to get a headache. “Why are there tiny people on the wall?”

“It's…” You grab the rectangle from his hand and press something. The people on the wall disappear. “It's not real. It's like a picture.”

“A painting, you mean?” Daemon frowns. He had never heard something like it. You seem about to explain, so he shakes his head. “It's no matter. I see you traded your clothing for something that hides your charms. Good thinking. It will make it easier to focus around you. ”

“Excuse me?” You cross your arms over your chest. Daemon can't help but leer. You are just too damn easy to rile up.

"Rather unfashionable, though.” He adds. “And it doesn't hide your chest fully.”

“This is nonsensical.” You say, sitting down on your strange love seat and pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. “Fucking witch.”

“Witch?” Daemon sits next to you. The love seat is made of dark leather. He guesses his armor won't stain it too much. It's awkward regardless, the joints in the metal not meant to bend that way. He starts taking off the chest plate, only paying you half a mind. He figures the venting that will surely come will bore him to tears.

Listening without hearing it's an art Daemon perfected a long time ago. Entertaining young maidens is no hard task at all. Mostly, they are pleased with hearing a few awed sounds here and there and some insightful questions.

Most men, they don't bother pretending to listen to women at all. It is what makes him so successful when it comes to courtship. You don't actually have to listen, it's enough just pretending to do so. Girls like you, they are just like flowers. Pay them a little attention, make them feel seen, and they will open up their petals. Then, it's not hard at all to pick one.

“Oh, forget it.” You mutter, and it's so bitter it takes him aback. It occurs to him, you were probably not about to air your grievances about someone, but perhaps alluding to a true witch.

“You consort with witches? Is that the reason for these strange artifacts?” Daemon raises his eyebrows. If any, it would make some sense.

"I do not.” You answer, nose scrunching up cutely. You look rather young, but he has met whores who look like girls barely out of childhood and are old maids already. There is a certain innocence to your demeanor, though, that indicates either a sheltered life or youth. “I am about to sound insane.”

“Go on.” He stops trying to remove his chest plate and turns towards you. This time, he gives you his full attention. Your eyes are wide and earnest, not a hint of dishonesty in sight. It's very refreshing. As a Prince, he is used to people lying to him to try to gain his favor. You don't look capable of it.

“A woman, she gifted me a love spell. Unblock my path, give me my other half and all.” You give a small groan, rubbing your eyes again. Embarrassment makes you sweet, it appears.

His other half. Hm. Daemon gently cradles your jaw in one of his hands, ignoring your squeals of protest. Pretty, for a commoner, and obedient, too. Your struggling stops as soon as his grip turns harsher. You look up at him, making a face.

“You are getting blood on me.” Your voice is shaky. Daemon has always enjoyed intimidating others. There is something so delectable about seeing fear overtake someone's face and knowing he is the one in control. It's even better with women.

But with you? It's not good. It's positively delicious. Your eyes lower in submission just the barest hint, before snapping up to meet his, angered. You bite your lips, as if unsure if you should be excited or scared of the display.

It's not like it's the first time a woman shows excitement and admiration over Daemon's prowess. But it's not a common reaction. Most women, they recoil at the barest hint of a threat or complain about his brutality. Those who mix excitement with fear, in his experience, are a special type of women. One that is very fun to play with.

“A bit late for that.” Daemon gestures at the love seat, carelessly. He is not very interested in discussing this, really. He is more interested in the fact that there might be some magic at hand. And not only that, but that you might be his fated half. “I have smeared it all over your chambers already.”

“Home. Not chamber.” You correct, haughtily. It's a sad thought, that these little rooms are all you have. Yet, what else could he expect from a commoner? No matter how pitiful, though, there are more important matters.

Focus. He needs to focus and get the answer he needs. But your body is tensing up, eyes darting towards the door. You look about to try to slip out of his grip, perhaps put some distance between the two of you. Daemon can damn near taste it. So to make sure you do not move, he gets bolder.

His hand goes lower. From your jaw, to the side of your neck. Not yet at the base of it, as not to choke you, but pressing hard enough you could imagine the threat. Think about how his hand could slip a little lower, or he could press a little harder.

Your pulse jumps rabbit fast under his fingers. Your lips part. They, they close. He wonders if that is the face you would make, were him to silence you with a kiss.

“Let's not get sidetracked. You? My other half?” Daemon frowns. You are pretty enough, with an edge of wordly innocence that would lead even the most pious man to sin. But you are not Valyrian. Your hair is too dark, your eyes are not purple. Why would you be his?

When Daemon thought of settling down, he always thought it would be with a Valyrian woman. While you were a far cry from his current wife, the Bronze Bitch, you were not exactly what he had in mind.

Daemon has always wanted a Valyrian bride. It is the way things should be. The only way to honor his heritage, keep his bloodline alive, ensure his children are special. How could a Targaryen claim a dragon if their blood was so diluted they barely looked like a Targaryen anymore?

Yet, Daemon is not blind. You seem to fit him in ways he could have never expected, as if you had been made for him. If your witch, or the gods, had brought him here, there had to be a reason.

“I think the same, trust me.” You roll your eyes, a bit too cheekily for someone whose windpipe he could crush at any second. It reminds him of a puppy or kitten, trying to seem ferocious. Daemon allows it only because it is endearing.

“What's so bad about me? I am a Targaryen prince, I own a dragon, and not to mention, I am extremely handsome.” He is half joking, half serious. Daemon is a tad offended, in truth. If any, he should be the one having all sorts of qualms about you being destined for him. You are a commoner, with nothing to your name, and from an absolutely unimportant family.

“The fact that you are fictional, for starters.” You jerk your pretty little head away, scoffing. That has to be the oddest thing he has heard you say all evening. And you have said plenty.

“Fictional?”

“In books only. And a TV adaptation.” You mutter, getting up from the love seat. You grab a blanket, thrown over one of the other seats, and wrap yourself in it.

“Huh.” Daemon's mind is working faster than ever, trying to decipher what you mean. This is not Westeros. That's clear. But what is it? Is this another world where he is only a story to you? Or is this some distant future, where tales of his name and deeds have spread?

“Huh, what?” You turn towards him, all wrapped up in your blanket. You look like an empress of old, blanket over your shoulders trailing after you like a cape.

Daemon takes a step towards you. Then another. You do not move, pinned to the spot by his gaze. Your lips apart again, as if to say something. This time, he does shut you up with a kiss.

Your lips are soft against his. Your mouth is pliant, and you open up for him beautifully. One of your hands tangles in his hair, pulling to keep him close. Daemon doesn't care that your grip is bordering on the painful. If any, it makes him more excited.

His hands go to grasp at your hips, greedily. Your flesh yields like soft butter under his touch, and you give just the smallest sigh against his mouth.

He crowds you, walking you backwards towards a table. Your mouths are still locked together, your breath coming in hot little puffs of air against his. It's a perfect fit, and as the back of your knees hit the table, and you let yourself be lifted onto it, Daemon wonders how he could ever question you being destined to be his.

“Does that feel fictional to you?” He asks you, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. Your lips twitch upwards.

“I am not certain.” You grin. “You would have to kiss me again, to be sure.”

“Just to be certain.” Daemon repeats, grinning back. “We can't have you having doubts.”

“Of course.” You answer, leaning closer. Your hand goes to cup his jaw. Your palms are tinted with blood. He has gotten you all dirty. The idea of you being bathed in blood, just as he is, from just being close to him is intoxicating in a way Daemon can't yet name.

He gives you a passionate, harsh kiss. Your head sags softly, until it hits his collarbone. Daemon decides it then. He is not going back alone, not to the Bronze Bitch, not to that damn war. He will have you, one way or the other.

Daemon gathers you up in his arms, walking back to the bathing room.

“Come. We need to get cleaned up.”

You nuzzle into him, soft as a kitten. You let him take your clothes off, then his. The water in the tub is lukewarm. One of your hands comes to rub at his shoulder blades, holding a rag.

Daemon grabs your wrist and presses a soft kiss to your palm. You look at him, eyes filled with lust. You are perfect for him.

You have always been.

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cwwl · 2 months

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youtube

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lotsofcelebs · 2 months

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Jade Cargill

#jade cargill #wwe #aew #celebrity #hot celebrity #hot celebs #celeb #celebs #lotsofcelebs #daily celebs #sexy celebrities #womens wrestling

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acerockswwe · 4 months

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Brandi Rhodes

#brandi rhodes #so hot 🔥🔥🔥#beautiful model #celebrity #actress #fashion model #sexy tease #sexy content #sexy pose #nswf selfie #wweedit #wwe womens wrestling #wwe women's division #black actresses

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vibezzonerrythang · 2 years

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Yes!!!!!!!! LIV MORGAN DID IT!!! LIV MORGAN WINS HER FIRST WWE TITLE AND IT’S THE SMACKDOWN WOMEN’S CHAMPIONSHIP!!! ❤️‍🔥 | MITB (July 2, 2022)

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theanticool · 2 months

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Happy International Women’s Day

Here’s a handful of my favorite active martial artists to celebrate!

MMA - Natalia Silva

Boxing - Caroline Dubois

Wrestling - Yui Susaki

Kickboxing - KANA

Muay Thai - Smilla Sundell

Judo - Clarisse Agbegnenou

(I’ll probably add more later)

#mma #boxing #kickboxing #wrestling #judo #women’s day #combat sports

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wheneclipsefalls · 1 day

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Grovel Part 2

Pairing: Aged Up Lo'ak x Fem Omatikaya Reader

Part 1

Summary: Lo'ak needs a plan. A plan that will bring you back to him.

Warnings: aged up characters, eventual smut, lust, pinning, angst, past relationship, mentions of war, injury, etc.

“Stop whining.” Neteyam groaned, watching as Lo’ak secured another tie around the fabric’s base. The kelku was coming together nicely.

“I didn’t say anything.” Lo’ak all but huffed, lips turned downwards in the same fashion they had been since the celebration. He adjusted the straps of his loincloth, a trail of sweat racing down his spine. Oh how he already missed the refreshing waves of salt water.

“Your expectations were truly far too high, brother. What did you think she would do?”

Lo’ak shot him a seething look, one that warned against pushing it further, but brothers were immune to such limits.

“You’re lucky you made it out of there without injury. And now knowing what you did I can’t say I would have blamed her otherwise.”

“Yes Neteyam, I understand. Now can you shut up and help me lift the other end?” Lo’ak stomped past him, preparing the right side to be lifted. He didn’t wait for Neteyam to join him before using his own body weight to heave the heavy fabric into place. The younger Sully brother had been hyper fixated on his kelku since their arrival, even going as far as asking Kiri for advice on potential decoration.

This home had to be good enough to meet your fancy, an objective that he now understood to be much harder than originally anticipated.

“Mawey, baby brother. I am only trying to get your skxawng ass to understand.”

“Okay then fine!” The fabric was dropped to the floor in a heap. “Tell me what I should do. Since you know the ins and outs of wooing women, tell me how I am supposed to win her back.” His brows lifted, hands placed on his hips as he feigned bracing for his answer. Neteyam was not fazed by his younger brother’s outburst. After seeing Lo’ak’s restlessness the whole trip home in anticipation of seeing you, he was surprised the male was holding up as well as he was.

“I may just be a simple gentleman, bro, but I think an apology would be a good place to start.” He squeezed his brother’s shoulder, surprised when Lo’ak was too lost in thought to bother wrestling him off.

“I’ve tried. Everywhere I go she is avoiding me. I don’t even know where her kelku is or her routines. Otherwise-”

“Maybe I can help with that.”

Lo’ak sent him a skeptical look.

“What?” He deadpanned.

“She has a sister, right?” A completely rhetorical question that had Lo’ak knowing exactly where Neteyam was going with this. “Say the right words and maybe I can get some valuable help from Talu.”

“Wow. How did I deserve a brother like you?” Sarcasm dripped from his tone as he ran a hand over his face. It was no secret that Neteyam had taken a liking to Talu. The future Olo’eyktan was neither bashful nor shy when it came to playing the golden suitor.

Neteyam simply grinned before slapping him on the back and helping to hoist the kelku side once more.

You were impossible. So hard headed and stubborn that even knowing your route and home was not enough to get in a good apology. He was sure by now that Talu knew of his intentions with you, that giddy smile forever present whenever she announced his presence to you, but there was always an excuse to cut things short. Only a few minutes and you would be running off to aid at the healer’s tent or pick up the hunting gear you had left behind.

There was no end to the list of excuses you could formulate.

And it didn’t matter that neither himself nor Talu were fooled. You simply weren’t inclined to put more effort into hiding your disdain.

Lo’ak couldn’t remember you being this difficult before. When the two of you were younger you had handed your heart over to him on a silver platter. Of course your weird friendship had been full of teasing, pranks, and insults but that was only part of the fun. Once romance had been initiated, you took everything he gave with warmth and affection.

And he had ruined that.

He let out another sigh, trying to play it off when his mother gave him the side eye. His new bow was almost finished, surely the right weapon he would need to fetch an impressive kill. Perhaps he would use his spear too just in case. If he was going to win you over, it would need to be something extreme. Something that said all the words you would not let him get out.

At this point he was willing to take down a Palulukan if that is what it took.

He snorted at the thought. It may have been a few years since hunting on Omatikaya soil but he knew that thing would have him torn in two. Maybe then he would get your attention, whatever remained of his body finally being enough to crack your tough composure.

And then….

What started out as a ridiculously funny thought transformed into a new idea. A new plan. There was in fact one place that you could not run away from.

The healer’s tent had been slow in mid afternoon but luckily you were the only one on duty. When he walked through the tent flaps reverently, not bothering to hide the wince as his freshly torn up skin brushed the fabric, your lips parted. For a moment it seemed that concern swam in those beautiful eyes but then they were turning back into cold steel like that night at the festival.

“Kind of underestimated the swoop-”

He was cut off by your stern point to the space in front of you. He followed obediently but on the way he couldn’t help but let his gaze roam over your exquisite form. He had meant what he had said that first night. You were more beautiful than the day he last saw you, a goddess-like creature even his wildest dreams could not have imagined.

Today you wore a turquoise top made of small beads that were strung together to hang like vines. The color reminded him of the waters in Awa’atlu. Could that be your favorite color now? If so, he knew of so many places such gems and shells of that color. He could collect more for you. The beads mocked him, however, as their light weight cover just barely fell over your pretty nipples, one breath away from revealing the prize.

Hell, he was sure the right puff of air from his lips could push away those teasing beads.

As you began to work on applying ointment to his wounds Lo’ak forced himself to look away. However, he couldn’t find reason to not occasionally peak back and get a look at your pretty face. By Eywa, it was a true miracle that no one had snatched you up yet. Maybe he would thank the Great Mother for that gift at the Tree of Souls later.

At one point your diligence fell and strayed from the wounds to glance at him instead. He flashed a grin, one that didn’t match the state of his bloody back. You shoved his head to look forward roughly but he had already caught a glimpse of your rosy cheeks.

“You got injured how again?”

“Flying error, it’s been a while. Why?”

“No reason.”

Silence fell and Lo’ak had to keep himself from fumbling with his messy bun. You may be difficult now but one thing was still true. You always wore your heart on your sleeve.

“You don’t have to be worried, sevin-”

A sharp smack to the back of his head and Lo’ak couldn’t hide his surprised laugh.

“Damn, you’ve got a pretty good backhand.”

“Hush. I am trying to concentrate.”

It was sure to be a lie. His wounds were nothing in comparison to what you must have encountered during the war and with your experience you would have him healed and out in a few minutes. But then that meant he only had a very small window to squeeze this apology into.

“Don’t worry, I will behave.” He raised his hands in surrender but received only a little hum from you in response. “But while we’re here there is something I’ve been wanting to say.”

Lo’ak hissed when the ointment was applied harshly to his deepest cut. It was nothing he couldn’t handle after so many war wounds but it did manage to lose him a few seconds of precious time. Had that been your intent?

“When we were kids I was…an absolute skxawng.” No argument came from you and Lo’ak glanced back from the corner of his eye. “I was more than a skxawng actually. I was reckless and angry and I didn’t even think about how my actions would affect others. Especially you and-”

“I don’t care. It is done.” Without Talu’s presence there was no incentive to dampen the ice in your voice.

“Y/n,” He called your name softly, turning to grab your wrist and stop the movement. “I am sorry. I never should have hurt you like that. I knew better, especially….” He let out a deep sigh through his nose. “Especially considering how much I truly did love you.”

You yanked your wrist back as if his grip was red hot. Scrambling away slightly, he could see the control you had over the moment slipping. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to push it further, get you to accept his apology.

Unfortunately for him, Eywa must have decided that it was also the perfect time for the next healer to enter the tent.

“There were hardly any herbs left by the river. Next time we try the mountains instead.” Penyau said, the smile on her face slowly dropping once sensing the tension in the room.

“Great. Lo’ak needs patching up, sister.”

“Oh, well then-”

“No, no. Y/N is already on it-”

“I’m passing you over.”

“You truly don’t care to finish healing the Na’vi that was put under your care?” Not the angle he wanted to take, but he was panicking. So desperate to get a few more minutes with you that he had to stop himself from using his grandmother as a scapegoat to keep you here.

From the way your jaw clenched and tail curled he knew those cards would not have played well for him.

“Talu is waiting. I leave.” You gritted out. Not a second to make another attempt or ever apologize before you were past the threshold and leaving him in the dust. Or at least, leaving him with Penyau who looked confused but more than happy to assist him. The smile she gave, however, did not hold the same sweetness as yours.

Or at least the smile he remembered from all those years ago.

He prayed he would see it again soon.

A part of you wanted to insist upon staying home. Well no, all of you wanted to insist but if there was one thing you had learned from working with Mo’at is that there was no hope in defying her. If she saw it fit to bring you to the council meeting then that is exactly what you would have to do. Jake Sully was back as Olo’eyktan and with that came his sons’ attendance too. You were not foolish enough to hope otherwise, but there would surely be others there you could occupy your time with.

Even Tarsem had become a close friend of yours, as close as a clan member can dare to get to an Olo’eyktan, but conversation would be light and easy with him. If you were lucky perhaps you would be able to leave the meeting early as your sector of concern was far more narrow, giving you a chance to escape the inevitable small talk afterwards.

Luck, however, was not on your side. It seemed that Mo’at had deemed you her scribe for the meeting and that meant taking up every single detail presented. It was borderline impossible with the way Lo’ak’s eyes constantly strayed towards you. You’d think the male would have the decency to keep his staring at a minimum for public appearance.

Of course Lo’ak had never been afraid of attention.

That trait evidently had remained with him after all these years.

“Morning shift can circle northbound while overlapping with the afternoon watch.” Jake continued, using a twig to draw over their makeshift map in the dirt. It felt like he was speaking another language with the way your brain refused to concentrate. Jake might as well have switched into English with the rate you were comprehending.

“Lo’ak and Neteyam will be available by the end of the week once everything is settled in.”

You were so lost at this point it wasn’t even funny. Mo’at was going to have your head. As if sensing your confusion, the younger Sully brother said softly, “yes, for teaching.”

It didn’t clear things up much but Lo’ak had decided to start tying his hair back up into that damn bun again and you found yourself more dazed than in the beginning. Out of pure will power you resisted the urge to watch him dead on, unlike him. Watching those biceps stretch as he worked to wrestle those braids was still possible from your peripheral.

Another twist in your stomach.

Lo’ak relaxed backwards, long legs stretched out in front of him as Jake Sully continued his long speel. The meeting could have dragged on for centuries for all you knew and yet that twisting coil in your stomach never loosened. You felt like you were about to snap when the Olo’eyktan finally called for dismissal.

Up to your feet in a matter of seconds, Mo’at shot you a strange look. The tips of your ears burned as you tried to play it off and wait patiently for her. The meeting may have been over but that didn’t mean you were meant to leave her side. Most likely she would have other work for you to accomplish this afternoon and even if not it would be rude to not walk your Tsahik back to Home Tree.

“I’ve got it, grandmother.” Lo’ak easily switched Mo’at’s basket over to rest on his own hip. She gave him a nod and pat on the shoulder.

Swinging the netted bag of herbs and medicinals over your shoulder you focused primarily on the path ahead.

“Let me get that, sevin.” Lo’ak reached for your bag but with flaming cheeks you barely managed to deflect his advances and snap away.

The effort was pointless however when Mo’at gently grabbed the bag from your shoulder and handed it to him. An almost imperceivable smirk graced her lips at your perplexed expression but otherwise she remained silent. Slightly baffled and now avoiding Lo’ak’s unrelenting attention you veered to pick up the pace.

Now that he held your bag hostage there was no choice but to let him follow you both back to the healer’s tent. At least that’s what you thought until….

Mo’at let out a tired sigh and that was all it took for Lo’ak to insist she go home and get some rest. He assured her he would get the supplies back to the tent and walk you home safely, both actions that made you glare at him over her shoulder. The Tsahik, tired or not you couldn’t be sure, bid you farewell and gave her grandson another gentle squeeze to his shoulder.

The second she was out of sight you went for your bag. Lo’ak easily swiped away from your grabbing hands.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

Despite his warm smile he was only met with unspoken annoyance that seeped into the atmosphere’s tension. If he wanted to walk you home, fine, but you were going to get it done in record time. Without another word you scrambled up the nearest tree, deciding to take the overhead route to avoid traffic.

You could hear the clanking bags and basket as Lo’ak had to find ways to follow behind with only one arm to propel himself upwards. You secretly resented the way he managed just fine, despite the obstacle, long legs rushing over branches like they had only left the forest for a day.

“Is your plan to avoid me forever?”

Teeth grinding together you grabbed hold of another branch over head and propelled yourself up the next level. This time was more of a struggle, several vials almost falling out of the basket but that only earned him one concerned glance before you were striding forward once more.

“I meant what I said yesterday. I truly am sorry.”

“Yes, I heard you.” The tempo you set with your feet borderlined running. Lo’ak’s struggle became ever more apparent as the two of you scaled higher.

“Well yes I know that…shit!” A vial slipped from the basket, Lo’ak immediately lunged to catch it. You carried forward, trying not to think about how he almost lost the precious herbs that took you weeks to find and gather. “Got it!” He called but you were already several branches above.

With this head start you may just be able to outrun the Omatikaya prince and make it home safely.

Distant curses sounded from below followed by scrambling feet.

When will he ever give up?

It’s hard to say what Lo’ak did during his time with the Metkayina but you were surprised, and slightly displeased, to see how capable Lo’ak had grown in his tree climbing. Although, now he had found a way to shimmy himself up a trunk with only his muscular legs to aid. The sheer athleticism required to do such made your head spin and cheeks heat.

Straight home.

No detours.

“Y/N, wait up.”

He was closer than you would have liked, no doubt a result of your short attention span.

“Come on, sevin. Does your determination to ignore me really warrant all of this?”

Your temper was always an easy one to flare and when it came to Lo’ak Sully it seemed he had written the manual on how to light that flame. Turning on your heel, Lo’ak had to grind to a quick halt in order to avoid running into you again. It felt all too familiar to the celebration the other night so this time you spoke before he had a chance to get a word in.

“Maybe so, but what does it matter to you?!” Nostrils flaring and breathing heavily it was no longer possible to hide how fast the male had gotten under your skin.

“It’s admittedly more difficult to court a woman that won’t even let me be in her presence.”

The savage words on the tip of your tongue stuttered and your treacherous body rippled with excitement.

“You aren’t courting me.”

“Well, I suppose that’s fair. I technically have not initiated courting yet.”

“No Lo’ak, you will not court me. Ever.” Words like unbending steel the male’s eyes locked with your own and this time you found ways to not balk under his attention. When it seemed that nothing else was going to be said you turned on your heel once more.

And then Lo’ak finally spoke.

“I don’t see how you could stop me.” He murmured gruffly but the words immediately struck your temper like daggers. A bullseye shot.

“Lo’ak Te Sulli-”

“Sevin, just listen for two seconds!”

“Do not call me that!” Your voice hitched into a higher octave.

“I’m sorry I just-”

“NO!” Your shriek echoed over the branches. Heated venom coursed through your veins. “You push and push and push but I am sick of hearing it!” More words threatened to fly free but your heart was already pounding at your ribcage. Stay one more second and you were sure to find yourself saying much more than you ever cared to.

“I’m not going to give up.”

Those bubbling truths refused to be swallowed any more.

“You say that now, Lo’ak, but just wait. Soon you will grow tired of chasing after me and when you do there will be a plethora of women waiting at your beck and call. Just like before there will be another woman to entertain you where I could not.”

Lo’ak’s eyes blew wide and tail dropped to the floor but even then it would only be a few seconds before he made another pleaful attempt. And you couldn’t take any more of that. Those golden eyes covered by his signature two braids already beseeched your forgiveness far too easily.

“And once again you will go to her.”

He called your name as you left but you were already scrambling to safety.

It was going to take a grand gesture. One that would prove his loyalty to not only you but every Na’vi in the clan. Your forgiveness was not going to be an easy thing to win over but that was okay. Lo’ak had dealt with far worse for so much less. Enduring some verbal bashing and humbling circumstances was the least he could do to win the woman of his dreams.

And yet…it still hurt.

The way you shut him out, not letting him learn even a morsel about the girl he had been missing for years. How much time had he spent imagining your reunion? Perhaps all of his dreams and hopes had clouded his sense of reality because now he stood here with only a shattered fantasy left. He had fooled himself for too long, thinking the past could be something swept away with the turning of time.

He had wounded you too deep for that.

So much deeper than he had ever let himself accept.

With a heavy sigh Lo’ak commanded his heart to settle. Today he could not afford doubts to plague his mind. Everything from here on out had to be intentional, had to send a message. Your discerning eye would be sharper to him than any other potential suitor that would court a woman. Each move would be assessed and either take him closer or further away from holding you in his arms again.

He checked over the supplies one more time, finger slipping into the pouch attached to his loincloth. Everything was in place.

“We can’t be late.” He reminded Neteyam, messing with his bun until he was satisfied with the way it sat.

“Someone is eager.” Neteyam's lips curved upwards as he leisurely took another bite of yovo. “Usually I am the one rushing us out the door.”

“Things can change. I can be responsible too.” He shucked Neteyam’s bag over his own shoulder, ready to leave with or without his brother.

Neteyam rolled his eyes, heaving himself up from his seated position.

“Yes but what good is it without her here to watch you do so, baby brother?” His fingers barely touched Lo’ak’s braids before the younger brother was swooping away and swatting at his arm. The death glare sent his way only made a deep chuckle rise in Neteyam’s chest.

Neteyam’s jesting was all in good fun but Lo’ak was far from in the mood to look at things that way. Over and over your words from the other day had echoed in his head. Your tone was drenched in steel cold enmity but even that couldn’t mask the pain that was seated in your golden orbs. His own childhood recklessness had put him at this point and now it was all he could think about.

Setting things up for today’s lesson, however, had helped. It gave him an outlet, some way to use these swirling emotions and put them into something useful. Lo’ak Sully was not one to give up easily, no matter what you said.

Gun to head Lo’ak would not be able to recite a word of what his brother spoke as they walked to the lake’s edge. The pounding of his heart was far too loud and it seemed his attention didn’t matter anyways when Neteyam’s own was easily captured by your sister. Without so much as a goodbye, he stalked towards the female Na’vi and left him behind.

The rocks were littered with various warriors and clan members in his age group. His father had thought it would be best to keep it within a demographic that they could relate to, make these lessons more personal. And yet Lo’ak had never felt more out of place. At one point in time these people had been his peers but things had been so different then. A time that was hard to remember, like a distant dream.

Only the memories of you had not been tainted with the passing of time. He blamed all of those days at the reef where his head had been filled with thoughts of you. It was hard to forget the one his heart longed for. Even his fling with Tsireya could not erase the mark you had left on him.

He finally caught sight of where you were perched next to another warrior.

Your eyes only skimmed over him for a second before turning away.

You thought that it was only a matter of time or opportunity before he would be swept away and wooed by another. Perhaps if you were right things would be so much easier. And yet the tug of his heart always brought him back to you. His inability to move on was not from a lack of effort.

So many one night stands and summer flings only for every single one to feel hollow and robotic.

You couldn’t have known that, however, and it was Lo’ak’s job to find a way to prove it to you.

There were a million different excuses you could have conjured up to avoid these lessons. Some of them had almost slipped out this morning as Talu babbled on about how excited she was to see the eldest Sully son. However, you were mature enough to face the hard truths. Coping out now would be negligent to your duties as a useful clan member. If Olo’eyktan found it vital that the next generation learned about underwater diving then it was your responsibility to add those skills to your arsenal.

It had been a couple days of successfully avoiding Lo’ak and now it seemed such a shame to break the streak. You refused to let those pesky thoughts bother you today however. You were her for one purpose and one purpose only. Master the art of free-diving and return to your new found peace and quiet.

Naturally Lo’ak was greeted with quite the welcoming party, Na’vi females coaxing him over to hear about his travels. Rolling your eyes you prayed that Neteyam wouldn’t catch wind of your sour demeanor. All your worries were for not. His charming smile never strayed from your sister. Talu was skilled at putting up a calm front but you knew her well enough to sense that she was bubbling from the inside.

You were going to hear about this conversation all night.

Relief was temporarily found when the lessons started and instruction was finally given. The water was cool against your heated skin and you enjoyed the way it made your hair dance. Drill after drill you struggled to hold your breath longer. It felt as if your lungs were about to explode as you tried to suck in more air before plunging in again.

Lo’ak and Neteyam would demonstrate then invite the crowd to mimic while they inspected and instructed along the way. It helped that you were not the only Na’vi who had no natural inclination towards these talents. Many came up to the surface choking on water and pushing hair from their face. The lake looked more like an active river with the pulsing waves and splashes that emitted from every corner.

You had to give the brothers credit. No matter how ridiculous you all must have looked they never let themselves show visible signs of judgment or even laughter.

It was far too easy to find Lo’ak in the midst. Even underwater he moved with a grace and calm that seemed so unlike him. It felt as if the water swirled to make way for him. He moved in sync with the pulse of Na’vi-made waves, cresting over them like a dance. Muscular frame floating through the abyss, he was a work of art among flailing limbs.

He looked relaxed enough to fall asleep. His descent deeper was treated like an afternoon stroll. Your own dimming supply of air faded into the background as you found yourself swimming down after him. It was hard to keep up. Every long stroke of his was at least four of yours and still it felt as if that distance only grew with every passing second.

He reached the bottom with one last kick, fingers carting through the various stones that lay there. Your brows furrowed as his own expression remained unperturbed. Finally a small smile broke loose when he caught hold of one rock in particular. It shimmered even in the daylight and Lo’ak made quick work to tuck it into the pouch at his side.

The first convulsing of your empty lungs was what broke you out of the trance. Lo’ak and his rock hunting was completely forgotten as your body screamed for oxygen. Now your turn to flail helplessly, you clawed towards the surface. Your lips pressed together, trying to focus on not giving into the urge of letting water in.

How had you gotten so far down here in the first place?

The water’s surface looked so close and yet every kick only seemed to make it further away. It was an optical illusion that had your fear spiking with every second you couldn’t take in air. You hardly registered the strong arm that wrapped around your waist until your convulsing body was flying through the water.

It was a miracle your own legs didn’t tangle with Lo’ak’s as they kicked out, but he had both of your bodies plunging upwards at a speed you could barely register. It seemed that your lungs simply could not get enough oxygen when your head finally broke through the surface. Your lungs still convulsed and your throat seized at every gasping breath.

“Just breathe. Nice and slow.” His deep voice tickled at your ear. Na’vi parted as you were floated over to the nearest shore. “There you go. In and out.”

It seemed like a simple instruction but your body refused to snap out of panic mode. Fingernails digging into his forearms you tried to dislodge the residue water from your lungs. One arm under your back and another beneath your bent knees, Lo’ak easily carried your shaking body onto shore. He sat down, gently settling you between his parted legs while cooing encouragement.

“Just focus on one breath at a time. Come on, do it with me, sevin.” His chest inflated against your back before slowly exhaling. You followed his lead. “That’s it. Try to breathe from here.” He placed his palm against your diaphragm. Eager to diminish the embarrassment that was creeping in, you zeroed in on acing his request.

Breathing this way felt more physical, stretching your lungs to a point you didn’t know they could reach but every exhale brought your heart rate one further step down.

“Very good.”

The praise washed over you like a warm flame. Finally it felt as if your body was complying with your wishes, relaxing back against his chest. Your earlier fears of drowning were quickly reshaping to seem as nothing more than overreaction. Relief was sweet.

“Slow your heart.” Lo’ak purred, tucking his chin over your shoulder as he placed one hand over your collarbones. It was dangerously close to where your breasts rose and fell.

With one swipe of your cupped hand through the water you had successfully catapulted water at his face. You dislodged yourself from his snuggling before sending him a dirty look and stomping off.

Maybe that trick worked for him back with the Metkayina girls but you knew better than to fall for his charming traps.

“Sister!” Talu shouted, darting past the crowd. You could see in the distance Neteyam standing waist deep in the lake, right where your sister had left him. “By Eywa, are you alright?”

Talu wasted no time in turning you back and forth in order to scour for injuries. Although still winded you did your best to ease her concerns.

“Mawey, I am fine.” A sharp slap to the back of your head made you hiss in surprise.

“Then what were you thinking?! Diving down like that without any experience! That was not a part of the drill!” Her nose scrunched in the way it always did when giving you a scolding.

“I know I just was…checking something…” You trailed off, feeling the heat of his gaze upon the back of your neck.

“Neteyam says that you’re not supposed to dive like that even after a few weeks of training. We have to start with the shallow-”

“I know! I know!” Your groan only earned you another glare.

“Don’t scare me like that!”

It was not a new experience to see Talu worked up. With your parents gone she was used to taking over as your caretaker and protector, although you were far beyond the years of needing such things. Regardless she had a knack for worrying. Yet another reason you had elected to never tell her about your history with Lo’ak.

“I am sorry.” It was nothing more than a mumble against her shoulder when she pulled you close.

“Thank the Great Mother Lo’ak was there.” She sighed and from over her shoulder you could see where he was now directing another Na’vi female who struggled to make it across the space with one glide.

“Yes, very lucky.” You deadpanned, rolling your eyes.

It would have been rude to leave the lesson without joining in on the following social. Or at least that is what Talu claimed when you tried to retire early. Of course you had ulterior motives for expressing how tired you were but it was not a lie either. No matter how many times you had pushed yourself to suck in greater air, to make it one more stroke, you could never get past a certain threshold. Determination and anger had only swirled higher whenever you saw Lo’ak dance through the water.

The entire ordeal had left you feeling defeated. The sooner you could crack the code on diving the sooner you could retire from these lessons. There was no denying however, how good the fire’s glow felt against your wet skin. Everyone huddled in a circle around the fire. Talu was more than happy to accept the seat Neteyam had saved for her.

If it weren’t for the fear of looking over eager you were sure she would have already been snuggled up against him for warmth. Despite your animosity towards the younger Sully brother you were happy to see Talu courted by such an honorable warrior. He gave appreciation and chivalry freely, just in the way she deserved.

You opted to take a seat at the edge of the circle, sitting close to Panyau. There was great entertainment to be found in the way some of the females slumped in disappointment when Neteyam focused his attention primarily on Talu. It took a hand to your lips to mask your giggle when one female’s tail dropped after Neteyam rejected her offering of drink.

Lo’ak was not exempt from the same attention, although he strategically placed himself among other male clan members. Perhaps it was all in your head but it appeared that for once he was getting sick of the limelight. It didn’t last for long however because sooner or later the brothers were pressed to share stories from their time with the Metkayina.

“A full grown Na’vi and he’s never flown?” Matutke questioned in disbelief, many other Na’vi mirroring his same perplexed expression.

“Never. I swear I saw his soul transcend to Eywa at first lift off. Think I still have the mark from where he dug his nails into my shoulder.” Lo’ak grinned, sounding a chorus of laughter through the crowd.

“He cried almost as much as you did your first time, baby brother.” Neteyam quipped, reaching over to squeeze the back of Lo’ak’s neck. His younger brother glared and rolled his eyes as laughter rung through the forest but he surprisingly didn’t offer a comeback.

Conversation ebbed and flowed easily among the group, old friends connecting once more. You found yourself even becoming content to sit by the fire’s glow with such jovial interactions taking place. It was nice to take the backseat and enjoy some much needed rest. Even being around Lo’ak was bearable as it seemed he had finally given up on bugging you.

That is, until things took a turn.

It all started with one of the male’s, Pe’ku, teasing Lo’ak about the new gems and shells woven in his hair. Lo’ak had playfully glared at him as his friend yammered on about how it looked as if he had taken half the reef back with him.

You did your best at tuning out the conversation when one female jumped in to defend him, talking about how particularly pretty the blue gem in his hair was. Sleep threatened to take over as Lo’ak explained how rare these pieces were, having to dive down to the deepest depths to retrieve them. Eyes rolling and head resting on your bent knees, you prayed that Talu would be ready to leave soon.

The sudden oohs and aaahs when Lo’ak pulled something from his side pouch were like lullabies to your tired ears.

And then your tail peaked with awareness. The group had grown silent and the weight of many eyes bore down on you.

“Huh? What?” You stammered, head finally lifting to take in the scene with confusion. A few giggles laced the crowd and Lo’ak gave you a crooked smile.

“Could I talk to you for a minute?” He asked gently.

“What? Why?” The sudden beam of attention surrounding you caused unease to settle.

Lo’ak gave a nervous laugh.

“Or I suppose I could ask here.” Tails and legs shifted out of the way as Lo’ak came to kneel before you. It was only then that you noticed the shimmering object in his right hand. “I started making this a few months ago, beginning when I first started to have hope of returning home.”

He laid the long necklace carefully over his thighs. These glimmering pieces were unlike anything you had ever seen and much like the blue piece in his hair, it danced under the fading streaks of the day’s light. However unlike the small piece in his hair these ones tarried among different colors. A kaleidoscope of rainbow that would never stay the same shade for long, prancing with every different bounce of light. Intricately woven into the shape of a bodice that reminded you much of the stretching branches that reached for the sun.

“It was the first time I had ever let myself imagine what it would be like to come back here. To see you again.”

The swirling gold specks in his eyes trapped your own wide eyed stare in a vice like grip.

“I thought about you every time I dove down to retrieve a piece. It was the only piece in Awa’atlu that held a flame to my memory of your beauty. Looking at the woman you have grown into today I see that it is greatly insufficient as a comparison.” A short laugh accompanied his last sentence.

The knot in your stomach flipped into acrobatics that had your heart pounding.

“For now this is all I have to offer as a courting gift. This and my vow.” The four fingered hand that rested on your thigh was warm, sending a jolt of electricity racing upwards. “Never will a day go by without my heart being full of love for you. Never a morning where I don’t ask myself what can be done to make you smile, to bring light into your life.To my dying breath I will protect you.”

It hit you then the specificity of this audience. At the sight of drooping females’ tails and piercing gazes of other males you realized that this was the mating pool. Your peers and potential suitors were all gathered here. And with them, every doe eyed female that had chased after Lo’ak since his return.

“I can not call you mine, at least not yet, but I do believe that Eywa has given me another chance to fight for that right. To fight for the honor it would be to reside by your side. So with my intentions clear and heart set I ask you to accept this first courting gift.”

The following silence was deafening. It felt as if every second ticking by was one step closer to the bomb in your chest exploding. The group enveloped you like quick sand, each lean closer tightening around you in a suffocating grip.

So when a small “yes” escaped your lips, you blamed it on the need to breathe. On the need to escape the borrading questions that would inevitably follow your rejection.

You were willing to blame it on anything.

Anything but the twinkle of excitement that struck you the second Lo’ak’s wide grin fell into place.

A/N: It has been so much fun to see y'all's reaction to this random little series I started. Please don't be shy! I love hearing your thoughts! It motivates me to keep writing<3

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