All Yours to Ruin

Pairing: Lopez x Brown

Warnings: Smut, Nsfw, MDNI

A/n: Hiya my love thank you for your request 😊 I hope you enjoy ☺️.

"You're still thinking about it, aren't you?" Brown murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he traced idle circles on Lopez's thigh. The dim light of the barracks cast long shadows across their faces, the hum of distant machinery the only sound breaking the silence.

Lopez didn’t answer right away, just exhaled slowly through his nose, fingers tightening around the edge of the bunk. Brown knew that look—the way Lopez’s jaw set, the slight flare of his nostrils. He was holding back. Again.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t done this before. Brown had lost count of the times he’d dropped to his knees for Lopez in some cramped corner of Bridgehead, quick and dirty, stolen moments between drills and patrols. But this wasn’t about urgency. Lopez wanted something *filthy*. And Brown had spent all damn day wondering if he could give it to him.

"You want me to beg?" Brown asked, shifting closer, his breath warm against Lopez’s neck. He let his teeth graze skin, just enough to tease. "Or do you just want me to shut up and take it?"

Lopez’s hand snapped out, gripping Brown’s wrist hard enough to bruise. "Both," he growled, and the word was rough, raw—like it had been clawing its way out of him for hours.

Brown grinned—sharp, knowing—and let his wrist go limp in Lopez’s grip. He could feel the pulse thudding under Lopez’s fingers, the heat radiating off him like a damn furnace. "Yeah?" he murmured, dragging his free hand up Lopez’s thigh, fingers skating over the rough fabric of his fatigues. "Gonna make me work for it?"

Lopez’s grip tightened, his other hand fisting in Brown’s hair, yanking his head back just enough to sting. "You know what I want," he said, voice low, rough-edged. Not a question. A demand. Brown exhaled, slow, and let his knees slide apart on the cold floor.

The first touch was always the best—Lopez’s cock heavy against his tongue, the salt-bitter taste of him, the way his hips jerked when Brown hollowed his cheeks. But tonight wasn’t about quick and dirty. Brown took his time, tracing the vein with his tongue, teasing the head until Lopez’s fingers twisted tighter in his hair. "Fuck—Brown," Lopez gritted out, thighs trembling.

Brown pulled off just enough to smirk up at him. "Yeah?" he breathed, swiping his thumb over the slick tip. "That what you wanted?" Lopez’s answering snarl was all the answer he needed.

The barracks were empty—most of the squad was on night patrol—but the thrill of getting caught still curled hot in Brown’s gut. He let his jaw go slack, took Lopez deep, throat working around him, and Lopez’s groan punched out of him like a bullet. "Christ—keep—" Brown didn’t let him finish, just sucked harder, lips tight, and Lopez’s hips bucked up, driving into his mouth.

Brown let Lopez take control completely, his throat relaxing as Lopez’s grip in his hair tightened, guiding his head with rough, unapologetic tugs. Spit dripped down his chin, slick and messy, but he didn’t bother wiping it away—just let it smear across his lips, his jaw, the sticky wetness adding to the filthy drag of Lopez’s cock sliding in and out of his mouth. The sounds were obscene, wet and sloppy, echoing faintly in the near-empty barracks, and Brown reveled in it, in the way Lopez’s breath hitched every time he swallowed around him.

Lopez wasn’t gentle, and Brown didn’t want him to be. Every thrust was deliberate, driving deep, the head of Lopez’s cock bumping the back of Brown’s throat until his eyes watered. Brown’s fingers dug into Lopez’s thighs, not pushing him away but anchoring himself, surrendering to the rhythm Lopez set. His own cock ached where it strained against his fatigues, but he ignored it, focused only on the heat filling his mouth, the salt-tang of skin, the way Lopez’s thighs trembled under his palms.

“That’s it,” Lopez gritted out, voice rough like gravel, his free hand fisting in the thin fabric of Brown’s shirt. “Take it.” Brown moaned around him, the vibration pulling a choked curse from Lopez’s lips. He could feel Lopez’s control fraying, the way his hips stuttered, losing their rhythm for just a second before he regained it with a growl, shoving Brown’s head down harder. Brown took it, throat working, letting Lopez use him exactly how he wanted—no resistance, no hesitation, just wet, sloppy submission.

The scent of sweat and musk filled the space between them, thick and heady, and Brown inhaled sharply through his nose, his own pulse throbbing in his ears. He could taste Lopez on his tongue, bitter and familiar, and he hollowed his cheeks, sucking hard just to hear Lopez’s breath catch again. Lopez’s grip on his hair was punishing now, yanking him back just enough to expose the flushed, swollen head of his cock before shoving him back down. Brown’s jaw ached, his lips bruised, but he didn’t stop, couldn’t stop, not when Lopez was panting above him like that, not when every ragged breath sounded like it was being torn from his chest.

Pairing: Poly recoms x Y/n

Warnings: MDNI, talk about trauma

A/N: Hiya thank you for your request my love 😊 I hope you enjoy ☺️

Miles Quaritch

The argument starts small. Y/N refuses an order during a tense moment and Miles snaps. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” His voice is sharp, commanding. Too sharp.

Y/N’s head jerks up automatically, but instead of defiance, her eyes are wide with panic. Her breathing becomes shallow, hands shaking slightly at her sides.

Miles notices instantly. He’s seen fear before — but this isn’t battlefield fear. This is something deeper. “Hey,” he says, voice lowering. She takes a small step back like she expects something worse to follow.

That’s when he understands. Quaritch exhales slowly, rubbing his jaw. “Alright. That’s on me.” His tone changes completely, quieter now. “I ain’t the one who hurt you before. And I’m sure as hell not gonna start now.” He gives her space, but his voice stays steady.“You’re safe here, soldier.”

⸻

Lyle Wainfleet

During a sparring session, Lyle Wainfleet grabs Y/N’s wrist to stop a strike. It’s meant to be playful. Training. But the second his hand closes around her arm, she panics. Her body locks up and she yanks away so violently she stumbles backward, eyes wide like a trapped animal. Lyle freezes.

“Whoa— hey.” He immediately steps back, palms raised.“Easy, easy. I’m not grabbing you again.” His voice is calm now, a huge shift from his usual cocky tone. Y/N looks embarrassed, breathing uneven. Lyle shakes his head softly.

“Don’t apologize,” he says quickly. “Seriously. That’s on me.” He sits on the ground nearby so he’s less intimidating. “Next time I need to stop you, I’ll use my words. Deal?” When she nods slightly, he gives a small reassuring grin. “No more surprise grabbing.”

⸻

Prager

Prager slams a crate down during a supply run, the loud bang echoing through the room. Y/N flinches so hard she drops what she’s holding. The noise clearly triggered something.

Prager looks over immediately, his usual confidence disappearing. “Oh— shit.” He crouches beside her, careful not to move too fast. “Hey, hey… you’re alright.”Y/N’s breathing is shaky, eyes unfocused.

Prager’s voice softens in a way the squad rarely hears.“Just a crate. Nothing else.” He gently nudges the dropped object closer to her but doesn’t touch her. “We can take a break,” he says quietly. “Mission can wait.”And he means it.

⸻

Mansk

Mansk jokingly sneaks up behind Y/N during downtime and claps a hand on her shoulder. She reacts instantly. Spinning around with a wild swing that nearly hits him. He dodges, but the look on her face stops him cold. Pure fear.

Mansk raises both hands immediately. “Okay— nope. My bad.” The joking tone disappears fast. “I shouldn’t have done that.” Y/N is still breathing hard, shoulders tense.

Mansk awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. “I forget sometimes not everyone likes jump scares.” He keeps his distance but stays nearby. “Next time I wanna scare you, I’ll just tell a bad joke instead.” The corner of her mouth twitches slightly. Mission accomplished.

⸻

Brown

During drills, Brown barks an order too aggressively.“Move faster!” The harsh shout makes Y/N freeze completely. Brown notices right away that something’s wrong. She isn’t just pausing. She’s shutting down.

Brown immediately lowers his voice. “Alright, stop. Drill’s over.” The others glance over in confusion as he waves them off. When they’re alone, he keeps his tone calm. “I shouldn’t have yelled like that.” Y/N stares at the ground, embarrassed.

Brown sits on a crate beside her. “Take your time,” he says quietly. “No rush.” He doesn’t push for answers. He just stays.

⸻

Ja

Ja is usually calm, but during a mission he grabs Y/N’s arm to pull her out of danger. The sudden force makes her panic. She jerks away from him instantly, breathing uneven. Ja stops in his tracks. “Oh.” Realization hits fast.“I scared you.” His voice drops to a quiet, apologetic tone. “I thought you were about to get hit. I didn’t think.”Y/N still looks shaken.

Ja carefully gives her space. “You don’t have to explain anything,” he adds gently. “But I’m sorry.” After a moment, he quietly offers his hand — not touching her, just offering. “Friends?” She hesitates… then nods.

⸻

Fike

The mission had already been stressful when Fike lost his patience. Y/N hesitated while crossing a narrow ridge, and the delay made Fike turn around sharply. “For god’s sake, move!” His voice echoed across the rock.

The reaction was immediate. Y/N stopped walking completely. Her body stiffened like the sound had locked every muscle in place. Her breathing quickened, and she stared at the ground like she was somewhere else entirely. Fike blinked.

At first he thought she was just upset. Then he noticed the shaking. “…Hey.” His voice softened quickly. The irritation drained from his expression as he stepped closer, but carefully — slow movements, like approaching a frightened animal. “I didn’t mean to snap like that.” She still wasn’t looking at him.

Fike rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look… I get loud sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “Doesn’t mean you did anything wrong.” When she finally glanced up at him, eyes still uneasy, his tone became even gentler. “We’ll slow down,” he said. “No rush.” And for once, Fike was the one waiting patiently.

⸻

Lopez

It happens during maintenance in the hangar. Lopez walks up behind Y/N while she’s focused on repairing a weapon. Without thinking, he places a hand firmly on the back of her shoulder. “Hey, you forgot—” Before he can finish, she flinches violently and shoves his arm away.

The reaction is so strong that Lopez immediately steps back. “Whoa.” Y/N looks mortified, breathing unevenly. Lopez studies her for a moment, quickly realizing that wasn’t just surprise. Something deeper triggered that reaction. He lowers his voice right away. “Alright… that’s on me.” He lifts both hands in a calm gesture. “Shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”

Y/N shakes her head slightly, clearly embarrassed. But Lopez doesn’t let her blame herself. “Hey,” he says firmly but gently. “Nothing to apologize for.” He leans casually against a nearby table, giving her space.

“Next time I’ll make some noise first,” he adds with a small grin. “Maybe stomp like a titanothere so you hear me coming.” It earns the tiniest hint of a smile from her.

Pairing: poly recoms x y/n

A/n: Hiya my love thank you for the request 😊I hope you enjoy ☺️

Here’s how each of them finds out — not as part of a group moment, but privately, with their own partner. Each one different. Each one personal.

⸻

Miles Quaritch

He finds out by accident. You’re both reviewing old files when a name comes up — a woman — and he notices the way your expression softens. “You knew her?” he asks. You hesitate, then nod. “We dated.” He looks up slowly. Not shocked — just recalculating. There’s a quiet pause before he leans back in his chair. “Alright,” he says. Later that night, when it’s just the two of you, he asks in that low, careful voice of his, “You ever feel like you had to hide that before?” When you nod, his jaw tightens slightly. “Well,” he mutters, pulling you closer, “you don’t have to now.”

⸻

Lyle Wainfleet

Lyle finds out when he’s teasing you. He’s complaining about some old guy you dated — joking about how you clearly had questionable taste before him. You laugh and say, “At least my girlfriend before you had good fashion sense.” He freezes. “…Your what?” You blink. “My girlfriend.” There’s a long pause while his brain catches up. Then his eyebrows lift. “Huh.” Not upset. Not threatened. Just surprised. Later he admits, quieter, “I kinda like that you’ve lived more life than I thought.”

⸻

Mansk

He notices something before you say anything. The way you react to a female scientist passing by — not romantic, but familiar. Later, when you mention casually that you used to date women too, he doesn’t even look surprised. “I figured,” he says. You stare. “How?” He shrugs. “You observe differently.” That’s all.

⸻

Fike

Fike finds out during a story. You’re both trading embarrassing past relationship moments when you mention an ex — using “she” without thinking. He pauses mid-laugh. “She?” You wince slightly. “Yeah.”Then comes the grin. “Okay, that’s actually kinda badass.” He’s curious — not judgmental.

⸻

Lopez

Lopez finds out when you talk about your past openly. You’re discussing old life memories, and you mention a woman you loved. He listens quietly. No interruption. No tension. When you finish, he just nods. “Thank you for trusting me with that.”

⸻

Prager

Prager finds out during a late-night conversation. You’re talking about identity, belonging, where you fit. You mention being bi. He goes quiet for a moment. Then nods. “Okay.” It’s simple. But later he admits, “I’m glad you told me.”

⸻

Brown

Brown finds out through photos. You show him an old picture from Earth. He notices the closeness immediately. “That your ex?” he asks. You nod. “She was.” He hums. “That makes sense.” No awkwardness.

⸻

Ja

Ja hears it in a story. You mention loving someone who taught you patience. When you refer to her, he doesn’t react — just listens. Later, he smiles softly. “Love doesn’t change shape because of gender,” he says. And squeezes your hand.

⸻

Pairing: Lopez x reader

Warnings: dark themes

A/n: Hiya thank you for the request 😊I hope you enjoy ☺️

"You gonna eat that?" Lopez leaned across the diner booth, fork already hovering near the untouched slice of pie on your plate. His grin was all teeth, the kind that made waitresses reflexively step back when taking his order.

You pushed the plate toward him without a word. The date had been a disaster since minute one—him showing up twenty minutes late reeking of gunpowder, the way he kept "accidentally" brushing your thigh under the table, the unnerving way his eyes never quite blinked at the same time as a normal person’s. Now, three hours in, you just wanted to melt into the sticky vinyl seats and disappear.

"Damn, you’re quiet." Lopez scraped the last of the custard off the plate, then sucked the tines clean. "Thought chicks liked guys who listen. I’m *all* ears, baby." He waggled the fork at you like a conductor’s baton before letting it clatter onto the Formica.

Outside, a streetlight flickered, casting jagged shadows across his face. You fumbled for your purse. "I should—"

"Nah, nah, sit tight." His hand clamped over your wrist, warm and slightly sticky from the pie. "We’re just gettin’ to the good part." His thumb rubbed circles against your pulse point, slow and deliberate, like he was counting each beat. "See, I been thinkin’. You walk out that door, I ain’t the type to chase." His smile didn’t reach his eyes. "But I *am* the type to make sure you don’t got anywhere else to go."

The waitress chose that moment to drop the check between you. Lopez didn’t let go.

The check fluttered slightly under the ceiling fan's lazy rotation—$28.75 for coffee, pie, and the distinct pleasure of Lopez’s company. You reached for your wallet with your free hand, but his grip tightened just enough to make the veins stand out on the back of your hand. "My treat," he said, tossing a crumpled fifty onto the table without looking. The waitress scooped it up like it might bite her.

Lopez leaned in closer, the scent of grease and gun oil clinging to him. "See, here’s the thing," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "I don’t do second dates. Ain’t my style." His thumb pressed harder against your wrist, enough to bruise tomorrow. "So we’re gonna make this one count." The vinyl seat creaked as he shifted, blocking your path to the aisle with his broad shoulders.

You swallowed hard, the diner suddenly too bright, too loud—the clatter of dishes, the hiss of the coffee machine, all of it sharpening into needles. "Lopez, I’m not—"

"I know what you’re not," he interrupted, chuckling low in his throat. "But I *know* what you *are*. You’re the kind that thinks you can walk away." His free hand dipped into his jacket pocket, and for one wild second, you imagined a knife, a gun, something to make the other patrons gasp. Instead, he pulled out a crumpled photo—you, laughing with friends outside a café, sunlight catching your hair. "Took this Tuesday. Cute, right?"

The air left your lungs. He’d been *watching*. The pie in your stomach turned to lead. Lopez traced the edge of the photo with his fingertip, humming softly. "Thing is, darling, I don’t like sharing." Outside, the flickering streetlight finally died with a pop, plunging the booth into deeper shadow.

The diner door chimed as a group of college kids stumbled in, laughter ringing like broken glass. Lopez didn’t even glance their way. "So here’s how this goes," he said, folding the photo neatly into your palm and closing your fingers around it. "You’re gonna give me your number—*real* one this time—and tomorrow, you’re gonna answer when I call." His smile was all edges. "Or I start showing up places uninvited. And trust me, *mami*—you don’t want that."

Your fingers trembled around the crumpled photo, the edges digging into your palm like tiny teeth. Lopez watched the movement with the focus of a predator tracking prey, his thumb still pressed insistently against your wrist. The diner's fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting his sharp features in a sickly yellow glow. "Well?" he prompted, voice dripping with false patience. "Gonna make me ask twice?"

The college kids' laughter swelled as they slid into a booth across the aisle, oblivious to the tension coiled tight in yours. You forced air into your lungs. "What makes you think I won't just call the cops?" The words came out weaker than you intended, barely above a whisper.

Lopez threw his head back and laughed—a loud, grating sound that made the waitress flinch by the counter. "Oh, *mami*," he wheezed, wiping imaginary tears from his eyes. "You kill me." His grip on your wrist shifted abruptly, yanking you forward until your chest brushed the sticky tabletop. His free hand came up to cradle your jaw, fingers splaying possessively across your cheekbone. "You really think some badge with a beer gut's gonna scare me?" His thumb brushed your bottom lip, rough and insistent. "Nah. Only thing that scares me is you walkin' out that door."

The vinyl seat groaned as you tried to lean back, but his grip was iron. Across the diner, one of the college boys glanced over, his smile faltering. Lopez caught the look and bared his teeth in a mockery of a grin. The kid turned away fast.

"See that?" Lopez murmured, turning his attention back to you. "Smart kid." His fingers tightened slightly on your face. "Be a smart girl. Give me what I want." His voice dropped lower, a husky rasp that sent ice down your spine. "Or I start takin' it."

The check lay forgotten between you, the ink smudged where Lopez's elbow had pressed into it. You stared at the grease-stained paper, mind racing. Every instinct screamed to run, but his grip promised violence if you tried. Slowly, you reached for your phone with your free hand, the screen blinking awake to reveal three missed calls from your roommate.

Lopez's eyes flicked to the notifications, his mouth twisting into something ugly. "Who's *Maddie*?" he demanded, the name spat out like a curse.

"My roommate," you managed, throat dry.

His grip on your jaw tightened painfully. "Delete her number."

"What?"

"You heard me." His breath was hot against your face, laced with the metallic tang of old blood. "Anyone gets between us, they disappear. Starting with her." His thumb pressed harder against your lip, dragging it down slightly. "Or... you could be real nice to me, and maybe I forget her name."

The threat hung in the air, thick as the diner's fryer grease. Your fingers hovered over the screen, shaking. Lopez watched, unblinking, as you deleted the contact.

"Good girl," he purred, finally releasing your face to pat your cheek like a dog. "Now mine." He plucked the phone from your grasp, his own fingers flying over the screen before slipping it into his jacket pocket. "I'll hold onto this. Keep you outta trouble."

Hope you’re doing okay 🫶

Pairing: Lopez x reader

A/n: hiya my love I hope you enjoy and as always feel free to request

"You’re gonna pay for that," she said, not even looking at him as she uncorked it with her teeth. Her hands were steady, but her voice had that edge—the one Lopez knew meant trouble.

"I already did," he shot back, kicking a shard of glass toward her boots. "Twice."

She snorted, taking a long swig before slamming the bottle down hard enough to make the counter rattle. "Bullshit. You owe me for last week’s ammo, the broken comms unit, and now my best whiskey." Her grin was sharp, predatory. "Unless you’re planning to skip out on me again."

Lopez leaned forward, elbows on the sticky bar. "Wouldn’t dream of it, *hermanita*."

The nickname made her scowl, but he saw the way her fingers tightened around the bottle—not in anger, but something closer to anticipation. They’d been doing this dance for months: her pretending she wasn’t smuggling supplies to the resistance, him pretending he didn’t know, both of them pretending they weren’t keeping score.

She wiped her mouth with her sleeve, eyes flicking to the RDA patch on his jacket. "You’re late," she said, changing the subject like always. "Again."

Lopez shrugged. "Had to dodge patrols. Your friends are getting bold."

"My friends?" She laughed, tossing her braid over her shoulder. "You mean the ones you’re *supposed* to be shooting at?"

He didn’t answer. They both knew where his paychecks came from. They both knew where his loyalties *weren’t*.

The bar’s neon sign flickered overhead, casting her face in shifting shades of blue and red. For a second, she looked younger—less like the thorn in his side and more like the kid he’d pulled out of a firefight two years back. Then she smirked, and the moment shattered.

"Next round’s on you," she said, sliding the bottle toward him. "Unless you’re scared."

Lopez caught it mid-spin. "Of you?" He took a drink, slow, watching her over the rim. "Never."

She leaned in, close enough for him to count the freckles across her nose. "Liar."

The bottle paused halfway to Lopez’s lips as her knee bumped his under the bar—too deliberate to be accidental. He arched an eyebrow, but she just grinned, all teeth and challenge, like she was waiting for him to flinch. That was the thing about her: she fought dirty, even when there wasn’t a fight. Especially then.

"You’re staring," she said, plucking the whiskey from his grip and taking a swig without breaking eye contact. The RDA patch on his jacket caught the light as he shifted, and her smile turned venomous. "You know, for a corporate lapdog, you’ve got shit taste in allies."

Lopez leaned back, stretching his arms along the bar’s edge. "Says the woman who keeps selling me grenades."

"*Loaning*," she corrected, kicking his boot. "With interest."

The air between them crackled, charged with the same unspoken tension that had been building for months—ever since he’d dragged her out of that burning supply depot and she’d repaid him by stealing his sidearm. They were a mess of contradictions: she hated the RDA but loved their creds, he worked for them but sabotaged their ops, and neither of them could decide if they wanted to strangle each other or—

Her boot hooked around his ankle, yanking him forward until their noses nearly touched. "You’re *thinking*," she accused, breath warm with alcohol. "That’s never good."

Lopez didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. Not when she smelled like gunpowder and cheap synth-leather, not when her pulse jumped under his thumb where he’d somehow ended up gripping her wrist.

The bar’s door hissed open behind them, flooding the room with the metallic stench of rain-soaked pavement. Three RDA grunts stomped in, their chatter grating against the quiet. Lopez felt her go rigid, her fingers twitching toward the knife strapped to her thigh.

"Easy," he murmured, thumb stroking her wrist once—too soft, too telling—before letting go.

She exhaled sharply, then snatched the whiskey back and drained it. "You’re buying me another," she declared, slamming the empty bottle down.

Lopez watched the grunts from the corner of his eye, already calculating the quickest exit route. "Only if you promise not to stab me this time."

Her laugh was sharp, bright, and for a heartbeat, he forgot they were supposed to be enemies.

"*Promise*," she echoed, rolling the word like a grenade in her palm. "Where’s the fun in that?"

The knife appeared in her hand before Lopez could blink—not aimed at him for once, but palmed discreetly against her thigh as the RDA grunts bellied up to the bar two stools down. Her posture stayed loose, relaxed, but Lopez saw the way her spine straightened just enough to keep them in her periphery. Like a kid pretending not to watch her older brother’s poker game while memorizing every tell.

"You’re *adorable* when you’re protective," Lopez muttered, deliberately loud enough for the grunts to overhear. He dragged his thumb through the condensation on his glass, then flicked the moisture at her face. She didn’t flinch, just narrowed her eyes in a look that promised retribution. That was the thing about her—she’d rip out a man’s throat for looking at Lopez wrong, then turn around and steal the last bullet from his magazine while he wasn’t looking. Sibling logic at its finest.

One of the grunts elbowed his buddy, nodding toward Lopez’s patch. The woman’s fingers twitched, her knife catching the neon glow. Lopez sighed, reaching over to casually fold her hand in his, pressing the blade flat between their palms. "You’ll get your cut," he said loudly, playing to the room before dropping his voice. "And I’ll get your *ass* out of here alive if you stop eyeing them like they’re payroll."

She bared her teeth at him, but her grip softened. "Fine. But you’re carrying the next crate yourself." The unspoken *and I’m not bailing you out when you trip the sensors* hung between them like always. Lopez squeezed her hand once—too hard to be mistaken for affection—before letting go.

The grunts lost interest, turning back to their drinks. The woman exhaled through her nose, then snatched Lopez’s glass and downed it in one go. "You taste like cheap synth-gin and bad decisions," she announced, wrinkling her nose.

Lopez watched a droplet slide down her throat. "And yet you keep drinking after me."

Her answering grin was all mischief, no malice—the same one she’d worn after reprogramming his coms unit to play nothing but 200-year-old boy band music. Lopez suddenly wanted to kiss her. Wanted to shove her into a wall harder. Wanted *both*, preferably while she was mid-insult.

Instead, he tipped his chair back, deliberately putting himself between her and the grunts. "Next round’s at my place," he said, just to watch her eyes flash with equal parts suspicion and interest.

She kicked his chair leg. "You *wish*, corporate." But her boots followed him out the door.

Rain sheeted down the alleyway as Lopez shoved her against the rusted dumpster, his forearm braced beside her head—not trapping her, just *there*, the way he always was when things got messy. She grinned up at him, rainwater dripping off her nose, knife already pricking his ribs through his shirt. "Aw," she cooed, "did big bad Lopez get worried about me?"

He didn’t dignify that with an answer, just flicked her forehead hard enough to make her yelp. "You’re *insane*," he growled, low and furious, because only she’d pick a fight with three RDA goons over a spilled drink. Only she’d laugh while doing it. Only *his* luck to get stuck with a hurricane in human form who couldn’t decide if she wanted to rob him or ride him.

She licked rainwater off her lips, deliberately slow, and Lopez’s jaw clenched. "You’re staring again," she whispered, pressing the blade harder. Not enough to draw blood—never enough—just enough to remind him she could.

Then the sound of boots splashing through puddles sent them both still. Lopez exhaled through his nose and stepped back, yanking her with him into the shadows. "Move," he ordered, but she was already ahead of him, darting down the alley with the same reckless grace that made his stomach flip.

Her safehouse was a third-floor walkup with a broken lock and a view of the RDA’s floodlights. Lopez hated it. Hated the way she flopped onto the mattress like a satisfied cat, hated the way she tossed him a towel without looking, hated how his chest tightened when she peeled off her soaked jacket and shook out her braid.

"You’re *brooding*," she announced, kicking his shin. "Stop it."

Lopez caught her ankle, thumb brushing the pulse point there just to feel her shudder. "You’re gonna get yourself killed," he said, quieter than he meant to.

She went still, then yanked her foot free and rolled onto her knees, crawling forward until their noses almost touched. "And you’ll miss me," she breathed, all challenge and something softer underneath.

Lopez didn’t blink. "Like a migraine."

Her laughter filled the room, bright and sharp, and when she kissed him—sudden, inevitable—it tasted like stolen whiskey and the promise of worse ideas. Lopez let her. Let her shove him back, let her teeth catch his lip, let her win *this* fight because god help him, he’d already lost the war.

She pulled back, grinning. "Told you you’d crack first."

Forbidden

Pairing: Lopez X Navi

Warnings: little bit dirty but not really

A/n: Thank you for the request my love I hope you enjoy 😁

The first time Lopez saw her, she was standing knee-deep in the river, her blue fingers trailing through the water like slender reeds. He hadn’t meant to stop—just another patrol, another day of pretending he gave a damn about securing the perimeter—but something about the way she moved, effortless and unhurried, made him freeze. The other recoms would’ve called it stupid. Human instincts clinging to a body that wasn’t human anymore. But Lopez kept watching anyway.

She wasn’t like the others. Most Na’vi eyed him with open hostility or wary suspicion, their ears flattening the second they spotted his uniform. But this one? She tilted her head, curious, as if he were some strange bird that had fluttered into her path. Lopez realized, with a jolt, that she wasn’t afraid. That was new.

The radio crackled at his hip. “Lopez, status.” He thumbed it off without answering. Rules said he should’ve reported her. Rules said a lot of things.

She waded closer, water sluicing off her legs, her golden eyes holding his with a quiet intensity that made his pulse stutter. Lopez knew he should’ve walked away. He knew a lot of things. Didn’t mean he did them.

Her fingers brushed his wrist—light as a whisper, deliberate as a challenge. Lopez inhaled sharply, the scent of river-wet skin and crushed foliage thick in his nostrils. He should’ve recoiled. Should’ve remembered the scars on his back from the last time he’d broken protocol. But her touch burned through him like a live wire, and when she pressed closer, her breath warm against his throat, all he could think was *fuck the rules.*

The forest swallowed their voices—her hushed Na’vi words, his ragged human curses—as she pushed him against the broad trunk of a fern tree. Her hands were everywhere: tracing the curve of his recom muscles, tangling in the straps of his gear, pulling him down into the damp earth. Lopez had imagined this, in stolen moments between deployments, but the reality was hotter, messier. Her teeth grazed his lower lip, and he groaned, his grip tightening on her hips.

Afterward, panting in the tangled undergrowth, she traced the lines of his face with a reverence that unnerved him. “You are not like the others,” she murmured, her tail flicking lazily against his thigh. Lopez didn’t answer. He was too busy memorizing the way the dappled light caught the bioluminescent freckles dusting her shoulders—too busy pretending this could last.

The third time they met, she brought him a knife.

It wasn’t ceremonial—no polished bone handle, no intricate carvings—just a wicked, curved blade sharpened to a gleam. Lopez turned it over in his hands, his recom fingers catching on the edge. "You know what they'd do if they found me with this," he said, voice low. She smiled, slow and dangerous, her tail twining around his wrist like a living shackle. "Then do not let them find you," she replied, as if it were that simple.

It wasn’t. Every stolen moment was a grenade with the pin half-pulled. The forest remembered their footsteps; the wind carried their whispers. Someone would notice. Someone *always* noticed. Lopez had seen the aftermath of fraternization—the hangar executions, the bodies left swinging like rotten fruit. He’d scrubbed the blood off his boots more times than he could count. But when she pressed her forehead to his, her breath mingling with his, he forgot the taste of gunmetal and the weight of his rifle. All he knew was the heat of her skin, the way her pulse thrummed against his lips when he kissed the hollow of her throat.

They stopped talking about consequences. Words were too human, too clumsy for whatever this was becoming. Instead, she taught him the silent language of her people—the flick of an ear, the tilt of a wrist—and Lopez learned to read her like a map. He memorized the way her pupils dilated when he dragged his claws down her spine, the hitch in her breathing when he nipped at the sensitive spot below her ear. It was treason in every sense. He didn’t care.

The fourth time, she wasn’t alone.

Lopez froze at the edge of the clearing, his hand twitching toward his sidearm. Two Na’vi warriors flanked her, their eyes sharp as the arrows strapped to their backs. She stepped forward, her expression unreadable. "They are my brothers," she said, her voice steady. Lopez’s stomach dropped. This was it—the betrayal, the trap. But then one of the warriors smirked, tossing a woven pouch at his feet. Inside: fresh meat, still warm. "You are too skinny, sky-person," the brother grunted. Lopez stared. The girl—*his* girl—laughed, the sound bright and startling in the heavy air. "Eat," she commanded. And like a fool, he obeyed.

The meat tasted like guilt. Lopez chewed slowly, acutely aware of the warriors’ eyes on him—assessing, weighing, waiting for him to choke. His girl—*Tsawke*, she’d whispered her name against his collarbone last week—sat cross-legged beside him, her tail flicking occasionally against his thigh. A silent reassurance. Or a warning. He wasn’t sure.

Her brother, the taller one with scars rippling down his arms, leaned in. "You understand what happens if they catch you," he said in halting English. Not a question. Lopez wiped grease from his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d seen the videos from the early days of Pandora—human limbs strung up like grisly trophies, Na’vi warriors dancing in the ashes of bulldozed Hometrees. "Yeah," he muttered. "Same thing that happens if *your* people catch *her*." Tsawke’s ears twitched, but she said nothing. The second brother barked a laugh, sharp as a gunshot. "She has claws," he said, grinning. "Do you?"

Later, when the brothers melted into the trees—ostensibly to hunt, though Lopez knew a test when he saw one—Tsawke pushed him onto his back with a force that knocked the air from his lungs. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, her pupils blown wide. "You *fear*," she accused, her voice low and rough. Lopez grabbed her wrists, not to stop her, just to feel the rapid flutter of her pulse. "I’m not built for this," he admitted. Her lips curled. "No. You are built for *them*." She nipped at his jaw, then softer, at the scar above his brow—a souvenir from a bullet meant for someone else. "But you are *mine* now."

The fifth time, he brought her a grenade.

Hi everyone! 💙 It's been a minute and I hope y'all are ok. I took a little break because my cat of 15 years passed away last month and it's been a little tough, but I feel comfortable enough to start posting again. I recently started to analyze Lopez's face, specifically his left side as I could've sworn there was a tattoo there, but it was just hard to see. While looking through the 4K screenshots taken by @muhomora, I found something.

The scene where Lopez cheers the Colonel, shows the left side of his face the clearest. While I'm not 100% confident, I can vaguely make out a 1 and 4. Here it is again.

But at the same time, it also looks like the tattoo is actually 114, especially in this frame.