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#keri i still love you

jacobgregg · 2 years

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If anyone can hear this... My name is Jacob Gregg... I’m from Earth-616... I was sent to this world by this “Keyblade...” It told me to find a boy named Sora. If anyone out there hears me, send me your light, as mine is fading into the darkness...

#vr chat dating #mukyduck #keri i still love you #georgia born and raised #teriyaki fed boy

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khattikeri · 18 days

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drives me nuts when people treat jin guangyao or wei wuxian like they're socialist revolutionaries like no! they're not!! in fact their respective roles in society and complacency regarding its hierarchies is why ANY of the story even happens to begin with!!!

jin guangyao doesn't hold bitterness just because he was born lower class. he is bitter because others deride him and his prostitute mother in spite of both their intelligence, skills, and efforts to climb the ladder.

why do you think we were shown scenes of other prostitutes in the brothel deriding meng shi for being literate, for "trying" so hard? why do you think we were shown scenes of anxin taunting meng yao and throwing shit at him because he was trying to learn cultivation at his mother's behest?

why do you think jin guangyao arranged for the arson of that brothel, burned to the ground with everyone except sisi inside? that's not the behavior of someone who believes in true equality and the inherent worth of sex workers as human beings!

that's the behavior of someone who thinks he's better than them. the behavior of a man who already came up on top through political games and war crimes, backstabbing and spying for the sake of the "greater good".

i won't rehash his argument to nie mingjue that he didn't have a choice-- he had some choice, but no matter what he does his class will come up and people will always assume the worst and try to hurt him for it, which forces his hand to do whatever will protect him best (hence 'no choice').

jin guangyao did everything he could to secure his own safety and a place among those already higher up. and by that point, he'd won it.

the fact that the temple rebuilt on the brothel site is to guanyin, the goddess of mercy, is even more ironic! the fact that jin guangyao has the goddess's statue carved to look like his own mother is proof that he viewed both her and himself as higher than them. more worthy than them.

of course he cared about the general welfare of others (read: the watchtowers). but consider also that there is no watchtower near yi city, which ended up being one of xue yang's playgrounds. jin guangyao can and will turn a blind eye to certain sufferings if it is convenient to him.

sure, jin guangyao made undeniable contributions to cultivation society and accessibility, but he is not at any point trying to topple existing class structures. his adherence to them is in fact integral to his own downfall in the end.

it brings with it the inevitability of society conveniently ignoring his triumphs and genuine moments of humanity to deride him once more as an evil, disgusting son of a whore once his crimes come to light.

now for wei wuxian. he's the righteous protagonist of the story and he doesn't give a fuck what society thinks, yes, but he wasn't out there trying to cause an uprising so that all the poor servant classes and lower could become cultivators. he wasn't trying to redistribute wealth or insinuate that those who are lower deserve to be viewed as equal to the gentry.

the most critical and non-explicitly stated fact of mo dao zu shi is that wei wuxian has always been resigned to his position in the social hierarchy.

his unreliable narration, especially regarding his own past and thoughts, is so damn important. he doesn't EVER tell the reader directly that people treated him any which way at their leisure because of his parents' differing social classes.

no. instead we are shown how much prestige he is afforded as cangse-sanren's son-- reputation as a talented and charming young cultivator, made head disciple of Yunmeng Jiang-- and how little respect he is given in the same breath, as the son of servant wei changze.

the way he is treated by others is as fickle as the wind. if he obeys and does as told, there is no reward. of course he did that, that was the expectation to start with! if he does anything even slightly inconvenient, there is a punishment. of course he has no manners, what else would you expect from an ungrateful son of a servant?

wei wuxian's righteousness is not a matter of adhering to principles he was explicitly taught, the way nie mingjue values honor or the way jiang cheng always tries to prove himself. wei wuxian does the right thing regardless of what the consequences are to him because his good deeds are always downplayed and his bad deeds are always singled out, no matter who or how many people were doing it with him.

he has faced this double standard since childhood. there are points in the novel where it's clear that this sticks out to wei wuxian, but does he ever fight back against that view of himself? does he EVER, at any point in the story, explain his actions and choices to jianghu society and try to debate or appeal to their sense of reason?

no. because he knows, at his very core, that any explicit deviation from their interests whatsoever will be punished.

slaughtering thousands of people is fine when they want him to do it, and when the alternative is unjust torture, re-education camps, and encroachment upon other sects' lands.

slaughtering thousands of people who are trying to paint him as evil for not going along with their genocidal plans, however, is punished.

wei wuxian knows his acceptance among the higher classes is superficial and unsteady. from the age of 10, when jiang fengmian took him in, he knew subconsciously that he could be kicked out at any time.

he knows that cultivation society doesn't care about war crimes and concentration camps and mistreatment of the remaining wen survivors of the sunshot campaign. but the right thing to do now that they aren't at wartime is to help them, plus they'd punish him either way for it, so he will.

in this regard wei wuxian is more self-aware of his position than jin guangyao. he does care about common people and he does try his best to help them as an individual. even if that ends up with him disabled, arrested, targeted in sieges, or dead.

but is he revolutionary? in the full equality, fight the establishment, rewrite laws, change social structures and people's perceptions of class sense?

no. no. he isn't.

now my knowledge of chinese society and history is fairly limited to my hindu diaspora upbringing and our shared cultural similarities ... but speaking to what i absolutely know us true, adherence to one's social class is expected.

this is rigid. efforts and merits might bring you some level of mobility, but in the end, the circumstances of your birth will always be scrutinized first, and your behavior compared to the stereotypes of where and how you originate.

mdzs is not about revolution, and none of its characters are able to truly change its society. there is no grand "maybe cutsleeves aren't inherently bad" or "i'm sorry for persecuting you and believing hearsay, you were truly a good person all along!" at the finale.

people ignore history and repeat it again with the next batch of ugly gossip and rumors.

wei wuxian, lan wangji, and luo qingyang find peace only by distancing themselves from cultivation society and its opinions.

jin guangyao and wei wuxian both cannot ever escape from others' perception of their origins and actions. regardless of their personal beliefs, they are not revolutionaries.

#keri chats #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #long post #mdzs spoilers #wei wuxian #jin guangyao #mdzs meta #the untamed #cql #i know it's funny or fanon to call them commies but it's so deeply fucking important to me that ppl understand they CANONICALLY are NOT #AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #this is messy and unedited and rather surface level but again if you read this post i love you lmao #wwx did the right thing in the xuanwu cave by helping mianmian and fighting back against wen chao BUT he was punished for it #through wang lingjiao's visit insisting he be whipped for it + the fall of lotus pier #like if wwx'll be punished either way ofc he'll do the righteous thing. but he is undeniably resigned to the fact that they won't change #wwx doesnt TRY to change THEM. he just does what he wants & believes is right himself #big difference & while jgy is often easy to clear up i still see so many people say that wwx is different and im like. YES but also GOD NO

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ghoss · 8 months

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Asura Appreciation Week - Day One (belated)

GUESS WHO FORGOR ):

Anyway of course my asura of choice is Alchemagician Ghoss!

Bossy, overconfident, a little annoying, she is the current Pact Commander and it stresses her OUT. She took over after the last commander vamoosed (during HoT storyline), only in part because of her skill - she will never admit it to anyone else, but she knows a lot of her appointment was simply right place, right time, and becoming Aurene's champion.

She is not terribly diplomatic and has a wickedly short temper, so he often relies on her cohorts to help ease tensions when she's run her mouth. She's made strides over the years, but it doesn't stop her throwing a fit when things don't go her way.

BONUS SHOTS BC I LOVE HER

and one with all her usual infusions on:

@asura-appreciation-corner

#AsuraAppreciationWeek #oc: ghoss #she's my little baby #ofc with the API not working rn i can't CONFIRM but in the space of a year i'm pretty sure she's taken the no 2 slot in playtime #overtaking old mains and inching ever-closer to my MAIN old main (Keri)#love u tho Keri i'm still making verdarach for you one of these days

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lethalchiralium · 1 year

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He needs to let us lick his body

REAL REAL REAL REAL

#whoever sent this in i love you #i’m not drunk anymore but you’re still right #simon ghost riley #simon riley #keri speaks

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wardenparker · 10 months

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If You Were Mine, pt 1

Javier Peña x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: Mature. But this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 15.8k Warnings: Mentions of sex work, smoking, food/alcohol, mentions of past Steve x reader, angst, yearning, the love in requited but they’re both idiots, there’s only one bed, Chucho is the best, this fic has a cockblocking dog and I’m ecstatic about it. Summary: When you and Javi are both suspended and deported from Colombia pending investigation, the truth about what got you into trouble and the onus of trying to decide what comes next hangs over you like a black cloud. Out of guilt - and maybe something else - Javi invites you to stay at the ranch with him while you wait for your hearings. And that’s when things start to get more complicated. Notes: Part one of two! I told Keri that I wanted to write a little wedding date one shot and it got wildly out of hand. And I’m so glad it did, because I love these two idiots.

“So, uh, call me when you land.” Steve Murphy looks decided unhappy, maybe a little nervous as he looks between you and Javi. It’s all out in the open now, the secret spilled, but he’s still not sure how his other partner feels about the revelation that had been the nail in the coffin for sending you back to the States. “Gonna miss you both.”

“I’ll miss you, too.” What had passed between you and Steve didn’t damage your friendship with him or change your working relationship in any way, although it had threatened to. Now, though? Now that everyone knows? You had no work at all. “I’ll let you know where I end up. Don’t know how long it will take me to get back on my feet.”

Guilt is a heavy thing, weighing around Javi’s neck as he shuffles and shifts his bag on his shoulder. You’ve been suspended indefinitely and he doesn’t know what that means for you. Although there’s a long flight back to Miami to talk about it.

The time is ticking by interminably slowly, but you swallow and give Steve a tight, brief hug. “We should go.” You’re on the same flight, so there’s no escaping having to talk to Javier, but you’re not looking forward to it. The whole thing has been a whirlwind.

Javi watches you hug Steve, wondering if there was anything there beyond what had been said. A drunken, sad night where partners decided to fall into bed together. The pang of jealousy is surprising and unwanted.

"Call me when you get back to Texas?" Steve claps Javi on the back and clears his throat, holding back the fact that he's actually pretty fucking emotional about the whole thing. Both of his partners being ejected from the country in one fell swoop isn't a good situation to be in.

“Get the bastard.” Regret laces his words, hating that he had worked so fucking hard and done so much only to be kicked off the team here at the end. He can feel that it’s close, Escobar is backed into a corner.

"Promise." One more pat to his shoulder and Steve is stepping back to shove his hands in his pockets. Colombia is going to be a hell of a lot more lonely without you and Javi here to keep him sane. Or, at least, mutually insane.

The call to board the plane comes over the airport speakers and Javi looks at you. “Looks like that’s us.” He murmurs, hating how defeated you look.

One more round of goodbyes and you’re picking up your purse to hand your ticket to the gate agent. You and Javi have seats right next to each other because the secretary who booked them had thought she was being nice, but the fact that you’ll have hours to talk might not be the best thing in the world. You don’t know yet. There’s a lot Javi doesn’t know about you still – after all, you’d only been in Colombia for a year. Less time even than Steve.

There’s a certain familiarity with storing the bags, getting settled into a seat. You are on the inside seat with Javier sitting on the aisle; but he wonders if you are comfortable with that. “Do you want to swap seats? Or are you good being by the window?”

"I like the window." It's a kind of meditation, but you don't know if he would understand that or not. "Unless..." You glance up at him from your place a few feet away. "Did you want it? I can deal with the aisle."

“No.” He shakes his head and steps back to allow you to move into the seat. “I’ll put your bag up.”

"Thanks." Your oversized tote bag goes to him and you keep only a book for yourself, knowing you won't be able to concentrate on much. The two of you settle into your seats as the other passengers file in and settle down around you. "So you're going back to Texas?" It's what Steve had said, so you figure it must be the case.

“Yeah.” Javi taps his fingers, wishing he could smoke but they had stopped that years ago. “Where are you headed?”

"I'll find a hotel when we get to Miami." There's nothing for you to go home to even if you did go back to your hometown, so you'll have to figure out how to start fresh. Your job experience is intensely specialized, but you'll figure something out.

“You—I’m sure they will call you back to D.C.” he offers quietly. “You’re too good of an agent to let you go. It’ll probably be some bullshit slap on the wrist.”

"Then I guess I'll find a place in DC if they decide not to kick me out on my ass." You shake your head and sit back, shrugging a little when you look over at him. "There's no guarantees in life, Jav. You know that."

“Give it a month.” He predicts with a very guilty conscience. Barely able to look at you. “You don’t want to go home?” He asks. “Visit with your folks?”

"Can't." The fact that he can't even meet your eyes stings more than it should, and you look out the window at the runway instead. "Sister says I'm ungrateful for not dropping everything and coming home when our Mom died, and Dad left when I was a kid. So a heartwarming family reunion isn't exactly in the cards."

“I’m sorry.” He winces slightly and swallows. “That’s– that's shitty. Not the welcome home I guess you imagined.”

"I kinda didn't think I'd be going back at all," you admit with another half-hearted shrug. "At least...if I did it would either be with a job or in a bag, ya know?"

A real possibility in the line of work that you’ve chosen. He musters the courage to finally meet your eyes. “Why did you do it?”

"Which?" The hammer had come down on you for two reasons, but he hadn't known about either of them. "Why did I get drunk and sloppy, or why did I get sentimental?"

“Whatever it was that made them send you home.” He doesn’t believe it’s all because of fucking Steve. There’s something else that he hasn’t been told.

"I'm surprised we got separate meetings, honestly." Sitting back, you tilt your head at him and wish like hell that you could still have a cigarette on an airplane. Or that they would hurry up and start serving alcohol already. "I went to Judy and Don Berna and tried to bargain for your safety," you tell him quietly. "After you told me...about everything. When it was getting bad. And Judy threw me under the bus right along with you." It had been an impulsive move, trying desperately to get Javi a grasp of freedom after getting in bed with Los Pepes, but it had ended up just backfiring spectacularly and getting both of you kicked out of the country instead. Suspended pending investigation, and then they had tacked on the charge of interdepartmental fraternization to boot. Steve got a slap on the wrist. You got a plane ticket.

“Fuck.” Javi squeezes his eyes shut and sighs. Regret souring in his stomach and he desperately wishes he had a whiskey, or something to drink. “You shouldn’t have risked your career for me.” He responds, voice raspy with unspoken emotions. “I’m not worth that.”

"Too late now." He doesn't need to know why you did it. That you had developed feelings for him slowly but surely over the course of the year you had worked together and had been trying to talk yourself out of it unsuccessfully since you know he has no interest in you. "I did what I thought was right. It's not your fault that it bit me in the ass."

The doors to the plane close and Javi leans back in his seat. “Shit.” He hisses, shaking his head. “I'm sorry.”

"It's not your fault, Jav." It isn't. Not really. He didn't ask you to try to help him or involve you in any of the dealings with Los Pepes. In fact, he had actively warned you against it. "I made my decision and now I'm living with the consequences."

“I’m sorry I dragged you into my shit.” He slides his hand over his face and sighs, closing his eyes as the weight of the fallout from his mistakes bleakly shoves themselves into his face again.

"We're both adults, you didn't drag me into anything." Your own stupid sentimentality did that, but he doesn't need to know it. He doesn't need to know the details. "I'll find something new. Get back on my feet. The DEA isn't the end of the line for me."

“Come to Texas with me.” The offer pops out of his mouth, but in reality, it’s a good idea. It's not like there isn’t room at his Pop’s and that way you aren’t spending money you don’t need to until the DEA is done punishing you.

"You don't have to do that." When you look back up at him he looks surprised to even have said it and the small spark of hope that he might have meant it fizzles immediately. "Pity is worse than hatred, ya know."

“It’s not pity.” He immediately argues. “I just hadn’t – it’s a good idea.” He shifts slightly and turns in his seat to face you. “The ranch isn’t luxurious, but it’s comfortable.” For him, it’s home. “Pop has a spare bedroom that is never used. He’d probably be grateful to have more than my sullen ass to talk to.”

It's not that you don't want to say yes. To spend time with him or at least around him. To get to know his family and see where he's from. The problem is that you want to do those things for all the wrong reasons. "I don't know what help I'll be," you warn him, like reminding him that you grew up in a very different way than he did might somehow deter him. "But..." But you could have just a little more time with him before never seeing him again. You deflate a little, knowing that your only other option is throwing money at a hotel for a while. It's not like you can just knock on Connie Murphy's door when you get to Miami – she certainly won't want to see you. "If you don't think your father would mind too much? I'll stay out of both your hair."

“Nah, he won’t mind at all.” Javi promises. He had too many cousins or friends stay over when he was younger for the elder Peña to care about his house being used as a way station. “I’ll give him a ring when we land in Miami.” He promises. “Just so you know it’s okay.”

"Okay." Suddenly you wish you had a drink even more. More time spent with your partner – former partner? – before you let go of him altogether might be more than you bargained for. But still, you don't think you could pass up the chance. Even just a few more days. "As long as it's okay with your dad."

He relaxes slightly, shooting you a small, rare grin. “Okay.” He nods, feeling better about the entire situation. He wouldn’t want to leave you in Miami by yourself even if he knows you are more than capable. Hell, you’re a better agent than him and Steve, but he would still feel uneasy about it.

******

The flights are long, and you end up buying a new book in Miami just to have something to read on the way to Texas. Being back stateside isn't the triumphant return that Javier wanted it to be and his father didn't seem fazed at all by the idea of him bringing someone back to the ranch so you had nodded gratefully. By the time you land at Laredo International Airport you feel about ready to drop but Javi seems as near to relieved as you've seen him in months.

“I need a fucking cigarette.” The non-smoking rule in the airport had killed him, the idea that you couldn’t light up at the restaurants in the States had been irritating and he anxiously waits for his checked bag so he can hopefully get one before his dad shows up.

"You and me both." At least you'd been able to drink on the flights. A steady stream of scotch had kept both of you from getting too irritable.

He spots your bag first, a hideous maroon color that he had teased you about, but it’s handy for spotting it as the conveyor belt rolls around. Stepping forward, he grabs it and turns back to you. “That all you checked?”

"Yeah." You shoulder the bag before he can tease you about the color again and shrug. "Murphy said he'd ship me the rest of my shit if they decide to fire me." Technically you're just under investigation, but anything could happen. "It's boxed up at his place for now."

Javi nods, frowning slightly as he waits for his own bag. Wondering what prompted you to sleep with Steve. Not that it was his business, but you never seemed like you were interested.

"Here." His nondescript black bag swings around the carousel and you nab it for him, not mentioning that the reason you have such an awful colored bag is so you can actually recognize it. His stupid black bag had probably passed by you four times before you had even recognized it. "We, uh...we're waiting for your father to pick us up?" Surely that's enough time for a cigarette, isn't it?

“Yeah.” Javi guides you towards the revolving door and sighs as soon as the warm night air hits him. The airport was artificially freezing. “He should be here soon.”

"Is it bad that the heat is actually comforting?" Colombia might have varying climates, but you had gotten used to the damp heat of the jungles and busy sunshine of the city. "The office is always way too fucking cold."

“Why do you think I kept a jacket around?” He huffs with a grin, fishing in his pockets for his pack of cigarettes. When he finds it, he pulls out the lighter and offers you the pack to take one if you want it.

Humming in thanks, you take a cigarette from the pack and easily lean forward so he can light it after he does his own. It's a practiced ritual, something the two of you have done a hundred or a thousand times before, and a calming one. The air is warm here but it's dry, and seeing that it's the end of the day you can tell it's going to start cooling off quickly. "So this is where you grew up, huh? The original hunting grounds, so to speak?"

He blows out the first, satisfying puff of tobacco and nicotine and chuckles. “You could say that.” He hums, looking out to watch as the last plane of the night takes off. Watching the blinking lights lift into the sky. “Got into a lot of shit around here.”

"I bet." It isn't hard to imagine him as a charming trouble-maker of a teen, talking circles around the adults in his life and pitching that signature Peña smile at anyone with a grudge. "A whole line of swooning country girls left behind you when you took off for bigger things." It wouldn't be that different from all the swooning women he had left behind in Colombia. After all, he has no idea that he brought one of them with him.

“One very bitter, jilted fiancée.” Javi confesses. He had told Steve about Lorraine but he hadn’t said anything to you about her. It had seemed wrong for some reason.

"No." You practically choke on an inhale of smoke and whirl around to look at him instead of watching the parking lot. "You were engaged?"

“Yeah.” Javi admits it wasn’t his finest moment, leaving her at the altar but it was better than the alternative. “I was.”

It casts things in a different light, to think of him that way, but you nod and pretend that you don't have a single care about it in the world. When you had thought of him as having no interest in marriage before, that had been a presumption based on what you had seen. Now, it seemed to have slightly more concrete evidence to support it. "She doesn't still live around here, does she?"

“Think so.” He rolls his eyes slightly. “Her husband Randy is some kind of investment banker.” He scoffs, never having much use for them. They are right up there with used car salesmen and pimps.

"Randy?" You snort at the name, letting it conjure images of either an idiot in a garish suit or else that actor whose last name you always forget from National Lampoon. "Sounds like she traded pretty far down. Might be glad to see you in spite of the break up." Imagining him with just about anyone hurts at this point, why not add insult to your own injury by picturing him getting back together with his ex?

“Doubt it.” He eyes you, waiting to see your reaction. “Left her at the altar with about a hundred of our friends and family.”

"Madre de Dios, Javi!" The Spanish curses are far more fun to use and roll off the tongue more often after having spent so much time in Colombia, and when you swerve to look at him with your cigarette hanging out of your mouth you nearly punch him instead of just shoving him in the arm. Your usual playfulness comes out when you're surprised, apparently. Even if that surprise is tempered with a bad situation. "That woman is gonna murder you if she ever sees you again!"

He shrugs, having accepted that as his fate a long time ago. “She’s moved on, got two kids with her husband. Better with him than me.”

"God forbid the great Casanova himself, Javier Peña, should ever settle down." You nearly huff when you roll your eyes, but a truck in the distance saves you the trouble. "Looks like your dad is here."

He doesn’t know why that comment makes him frown, but he tosses down his cigarette and grinds it under his heel. Annoyed that your off hand teasing has him defensive. “Can't wait to take a shower.”

"Can't wait to sleep without worrying about getting shot or kidnapped," you gripe before painting a smile onto your face. Is your work important? Of course it is. But they took it away from you and branded you the office slut when that title clearly already belonged to someone else, so you'll take whatever comforts you can get at the moment.

He can agree with that, although he never slept well anyway. There was too much on his mind in a constant stream of worry and regret. The pick up truck rolls to a stop and Javi steps forward to open the door. “Pop.” He greets his dad and then turns towards you for a proper introduction. Telling his father your name and that you are his partner, he looks back at you. “Chucho Peña.” He flashes a small grin. “Just call him Pop.”

“It’s really nice to meet you.” Chucho is jovial and friendly, offering you a hug immediately and getting borderline emotional to see his son after you-can-only-guess how long. He hushes you when you try to thank him, ushering you into the truck instead and promising you that he’s glad to have the company.

It doesn’t take long for bags to be thrown into the bed and for the three of you to be loaded up in the truck. “Thanks for picking us up, pop.” Javi knows he could have rented a car, but he doubts the counter is even open at this time of night and the one taxi service that Laredo has is notorious for not answering the phone after 10pm.

“Mijito, I’m not going to leave a beautiful woman stranded.” The elder Peña aims a wink at you and chuckles as he turns over the truck’s engine. “It’s been far too long since we had a face this lovely at home.”

His brows arch up at the flirtatiousness of his father. For a moment, it’s the perfect example of where Javi learned his smooth moves.

“Don’t look so shocked.” Chucho laughs when his son tilts his head and laughs straight from his belly to see your amusement when you snicker on the bench seat next to him. “Your mamá was much too good for me. I had to get her to stick around somehow.”

“Don’t believe a single second of that surprise on his face,” you tell the older man, still laughing. “The flirting is genetic in Peñas, apparently.” Not that he ever aimed it at you. As his partner you might as well have been completely sexless to Javi - a fact which bothered you far more than you would like to admit.

Chucho chuckles again and looks over at you and his son. He’s surprised that Javi had finally brought someone home. “Then I taught him well.” He teases.

The bench seat of Chucho’s truck keeps you tucked neatly in between the Peña boys for the drive home, and the warm air from outside the truck swirls around each of you while the radio plays ranchera and Javier’s father gives you both a rundown of how things are running on the ranch these days. The ride isn’t long, but it’s enough for Javi to get updates on some family members and such, and to find out that his dad’s got a new pair of dogs that he’s doting on.

“That sounds good.” Javi’s never been opposed to dogs and he knows that Chucho has been lonely the last few years. He hadn’t been able to come home often.

"They tend to get up early," he warns his son, laughing at the idea of his puppies waking Javier up when he knows his only boy is not a morning person at all. "Just so you know."

“Great.” Javi rolls his eyes and sighs. Not even one day to sleep in. “Don’t shoot the dogs when they wake me up, got it.”

“We’ll train them to make your coffee,” you tease, knowing that Javi before caffeine and nicotine is barely Javi at all.

“You’re worse than I am.” Javi reminds you with a grunt. He always treads warily before 9am around you.

“I am not!” The tease does make you laugh, though, and you end up shrugging in between the Peña men. “Maybe a little.”

Chucho grins, admiring that you have no issue with Javi’s sarcastic sense of humor. You’re good for his boy, he can tell.

When you pull up to the house it’s smaller than you expected at first but it’s obvious that the ranch house rambles on. Rather than being tall it is long, a sprawling thing that seems to carry on to room after room instead of room on top of room. It’s welcoming and homey, and the two dogs out front are most definitely the puppies that Chucho had talked about on the way here.

“Home sweet home.” Javi is conflicted, opening the door to the truck and stepping out. He turns towards you and reaches for your handbag so you can climb out.

“And with playmates!” The dogs perk up immediately upon seeing two new people, and rush over to you with tails wagging and tongues lolling from happy mouths. “Hi boys!” Without hesitation you’re on your knees in the dirt giving them all the pets and cuddles they could possibly want.

Raising his brow, Javi’s surprised at your enthusiasm for the dogs. Not like there was much time for animals in Colombia. “She’s going to fit right in.” Chucho hums in approval, getting the bags out of the bed of the truck.

“Shit, let me get those, Pop.” Javi hurries around the truck to take them from his father.

“Leave mine, Jav.” Scattering the dogs’ fur with kisses, you flash both men a smile before reaching to take your suitcase from Javi. “Sorry, I just…I grew up around dogs and I miss them like hell.”

“I’ve got it.” He insists, “The bedroom is going to be the first door on the left.” He tells you, imagining that you would be in the ‘guest bedroom’ rather than the old room Javi had grown up in.

“Second.” Chucho turns halfway to the horse with confusion on his face. “Have you forgotten where your room is?”

“No,” Javi shakes his head, now confused himself. “I thought you would put her in the spare bedroom.”

“Mijo…” The elder Peña furrows his brow in confusion. “Why would I put your girlfriend in a different room? You’re not sixteen anymore.”

Javi’s eyes widen, realizing the mistake his father had made. He thinks you are with Javi. That he’s brought you home to meet. “Pop—”

“Danny is getting married in a couple of weeks.” Chucho remembers suddenly. “I told him that you will be bringing your girl.”

“I don’t think that’s—” Standing up fully, you look between both men and clear your throat awkwardly. Javier’s father has made the jump - the assumption - that partner meant in business and in pleasure, and you’re the only woman in the world he hasn’t tried to fuck. “It’s not…” You should never have come here…

“Don’t worry.” Chucho doesn’t want to embarrass you; but he wants you to know it’s okay. “The boy has been charming girls into his bed since he was sixteen, I know what he gets up to. But he’s never really been one to bring someone home, so you’re special.”

“Less special than you think I am.” You mutter under your breath, looking to Javier for help in clarifying the situation without being rude.

“Pop…” Javi frowns slightly. “I think she’d be more comfortable with her own space. She didn’t, we didn’t live together.”

“The second bedroom is basically a junk closet,” Chucho admits, looking a little sheepish. “I didn’t think you would be needing it.”

Shit. Javi knows you aren’t happy but he can talk about the sleeping arrangements when his father isn’t listening. “Okay.” He agrees, pointing you down the hall. “Last door on the left.”

Standing in that room with him ten minutes later is more awkward than the first time you had to go to a brothel with him in Medellín, finding that he knew the name of every girl there and discovering exactly how jealous that made you. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” you tell him without hesitation.

“Don’t be stupid.” Javi shakes his head. “We can share. Or I’ll sleep on the couch if that makes you uncomfortable.” There is no way he would let you sleep on the floor when you are a guest in his house. Or, technically, his Pop’s house.

“I’m not stupid.” Even if he doesn’t mean it, the offensive comment does make you bristle and you frown. “And I’m not uncomfortable.” Daydreaming is what you’ll be, but you’ll be damned if he finds that out. “Fine. We’ll just let your Pops think we’re sleeping together, if that’s what you would prefer.”

“He already thinks we are sleeping together, muñeca.” He reminds you, tossing his bag down on the bed and rubbing his neck. It’s awkward and he doesn’t want to think about why his father would think he was sleeping with you. “We are adults. It’s a big enough bed to share.” It’s not a king like his bed in Colombia, but he had shared a queen-sized bed with plenty of women before.

“Just tell me you don’t kick or talk in your sleep or anything.” You’ll just stay on one far edge of the mattress and find someplace else to stay ASAP. That’s all there is to it, you tell yourself firmly.

“Not that I know of.” No one has told him about shit like that, but it’s been awhile since he’s slept beside a woman. “I’ll even wear underwear to bed.”

“How noble of you.” You huff and roll your eyes.

“If you don’t care…” he chuckles quietly, wondering if you're annoyed or embarrassed.

“Poke me with that thing in the middle of the night and you’re gonna wake up without it.” Better that he should never know what your real reaction to his cock would be. Let him think you don’t want him like he doesn’t want you.

Javi frowns and looks away. “Don’t worry about that.” He grumbles, never happy with the idea of losing his manhood.

“Fine then.” Even with knowing that he isn’t interested in you, it still stings when he assures you that you are safe from his attention. Why are you the one woman Javier Peña won’t put his dick near and why do you still want him to so badly? It’s like a sick joke from the universe.

He can tell you aren’t happy with the current arrangement and he knows that he will be busting his ass to make sure the spare bedroom gets cleaned out. “It’s late.” He bites his lip. “I’ll shower and you can…settle in.”

“I shower in the morning.” He knows that. You’ve had plenty of long stake outs and hikes through the jungle and fuck only knows what else — shared hotel rooms where Steve always took the pull out couch and gave you the second bed. He knows you shower in the morning. But still, when you open your bag to pull out clean pajamas and your toothbrush, you pause. “Unless that would weird you out? Some people think it’s gross to sleep on clean sheets without showering. And it’s…it’s your bed.”

“Whatever you want to do, muñeca.” Javi murmurs quietly. He tries not to think about you in a shower, focusing on unzipping his own bag to pull out clothes. It’s late, so any unpacking would need to wait until tomorrow.

“Tomorrow, then.” You have a feeling you’re going to need a cold shower after sleeping next to him anyway. “And I’ll write your dad a check for having to call long distance. But I promised Steve I’d check in.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He shakes his head and turns to look at you with clean boxers and his toiletry bag in his hand. “I’ll pay the long distance bill. Phone is in the kitchen.”

“We’ll figure it out later.” You tell him with a shrug, not wanting to think about Javi naked or Javi wet. Or Javi all clean and shiny crawling into bed with you. You’re never going to get any sleep tonight. “Now go so I can put my pajamas on. I’m still exhausted from that kid screaming all the way from Miami to here.”

“Yeah,” Javi winces. “The kid had a set of lungs on them.” He motions towards the bed. “Take whatever side you want.” He offers. “Not picky.”

The awkwardness of changing your clothes in Javier Peña's childhood bedroom is very real, but you stack your things up neatly in one corner and slip under the crisp, clean covers and put your head on one of his pillows without letting yourself wonder too often how many girls were in this bed before you. And for very different reasons.

He doesn't take too long in the shower, even though he's tempted to jerk off. Knowing that it will be awkward if he wakes up with his cock pressed against your ass. It's not like you would want that. You wanted Steve. Once clean, he steps out of the shower and towels off, swiping the deodorant under his arms and slipping on a pair of rarely used boxers to sleep in. It was better than sleeping naked, like he normally does.

Javi returns to you leaning half out of the bed petting one of his father's dogs that had nudged its way into the room while he was showering, and you're giggling like an idiot with all awkwardness forgotten at the way the sweet cattle dog is giddy to be getting so much attention.

Javi shakes his head, tossing his dirty clothes into the basket that is near the closet door and he does double back to open the door to the hallway so the pup can leave again. "Why do I feel like the dog's gonna end up in the bed?" He asks.

"He's a good boy," you insist with the most dedicated talking to a puppy voice you can possibly manage.

He rolls his eyes, but it's not in annoyance. Even offering to pet the pup when he comes over to curiously sniff Javi before rejecting his affections to return to the woman who is just basking in his presence. "I'm sure he is."

"You gonna come snuggle up with us, MacGyver?" Javi's father has a habit of naming his dogs after television characters, and these two are no exceptions. MacGyver the cattle dog jumps excitedly before bounding up onto the bed and wiggling right up next to you. "See, Jav? He's a sweet baby."

He sighs, but doesn't protest as the dog wiggles happily and licks you repeatedly as you giggle. You laughing and enjoying doggy kisses is much preferred over the depressed moping that had come with your suspension. He doesn't blame you, his moping just isn't as obvious. "The 'sweet baby' better not hog the bed." He grunts, lifting the covers to get in beside you. Maybe having the dog between the two of you would be a good thing.

"He won't," you promise, even though you have no idea what this dog's sleeping habits are like. You do know that getting cuddles from a dog is the best and happiest you've felt in months, so you're just going to accept it and let the good boy snuggle up to you. "See? He's my snuggle buddy."

“I see that.” It’s impossible to be jealous of a dog and Javi isn’t that ridiculous. His watch and wallet set down on the nightstand, he sits up in the bed and reaches down to pat him a few times and scratch behind his ears.

MacGyver might be the happiest dog in the world right now, and you laugh again before settling down. Tucked down under the blanket with a sweet dog between you and some distance from everything that has happened today, things don't seem quite as helpless as they did this morning. "Thanks for this." As ridiculous as everything is, it's thanks to Javi that you have a place to sleep tonight and a soft place to land. It's not his fault that sleeping in the same bed as him is your own personal hell.

“No problem.” Javi nods and then thinks about something. Hopping out of the bed. “I’m going to get some water.” He tells you. “Want some? So you aren’t searching in the middle of the night?”

"Sure. Thanks." As long as he's offering, you're not going to turn it down. Especially since a tour of the house was waiting for the morning.

“Be right back.” Javi disappears down the dark hallway, sure of his footing and the layout of the house he had been born and raised in.

The light in the kitchen at the end of the hallway is still on, illuminating the large room where Javier's father is babysitting a pot of milk on the stove with Matlock halfway through destroying a chew toy at his feet. "Javi?" He barely turns around. "Need something, mijo?"

“Getting some water.” He knows his Pop has a problem sleeping most nights. It’s gotten worse since his mamá passed, the warm milk helping the older man settle down. “Don’t want her trying to find the kitchen in the dark and tripping.”

"Probably for the best," Chucho chuckles. "Can't find where MacGyver went, she might trip over him in the night."

“Dog’s curled up to her like they are best friends.” He snorts, walking over to the cabinet next to the sink where the chipped glasses from his childhood still sit on the shelves.

"Well, damn." That makes him laugh a little harder, and he ends up leaning back on the counter a little with a contented sigh. "Might be for the best." He can't resist needling his son a little. "Keeps the moaning to a minimum if there's a dog in the way."

“Pop.” Javi groans, feeling like he’s fucking fifteen again, being teased about Mary Louise from his class. Of course his dad had known about the groping and experimenting in his barns after school, but there’s no chance of moaning with you.

"I'm not wagging a finger at you, mijo, I just don't want to be woken up in the middle of the night." He laughs, taking his pan off the stove to pour its contents into a mug. Normally he carries it back to his room to sip while he reads, but it's so nice to have his son in the house again. "She seems nice," Chucho commends. "And she's a knockout, to boot."

Javi grunts, aware of how attractive you are. He moves over to the sink and fills the glasses halfway with cool well water. “She’s a good woman.”

"Hell of a lot sweeter than that Lorraine." Chucho remarks sharply, but he shrugs immediately after. "But that's just a first impression. I'll get to know her well enough soon. Y'all stay as long as you want or need to. It's nice to have life in the house again."

“Thanks Pop.” He means that. Both of you need a place to lay low and rest. Once he gets you into your own bedroom, the uneasiness will pass. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”

"Night, son." The nod Chucho gives Javier as he ambles from the room comes with a pat on the younger man's shoulder, and soon enough Javi's father has disappeared out of sight with Matlock right at his heels.

Javi sighs, carrying the two glasses of water to the bedroom and contemplates going outside for one last smoke. Pop doesn’t condone smoking in the house, a rule set by his late wife and Javi respects it. In the end, it’s the hassle of brushing his teeth again so he doesn’t accidentally breathe cigarette breath into your face if he rolls over during the night, that convinces him not to. “You two look comfortable.” The dog is halfway sprawled over you, greedy for your pets and praise like he was a lap dog.

“I miss having a dog,” you admit with a sheepish, sleepy grin.

He hands you the water for your side and nods. “Grew up with dogs out here.” He knows that it’s common, but there hasn’t been time for a pet with the work in Colombia.

Even a single sip of the cold water is refreshing, and you put the glass down on the nightstand beside you with a hum. “There were always a lot of animals around when I was growing up. Dogs, cats, the horses, a goat for a while, a bunch of chickens…” You shrug a little and settle down under the covers with the dog still sprawled out over you. “Guess I missed it more than I thought.”

“Goats are funny things.” Javi chuckles as he gets back into the bed. The door is still open to let the dog out when he wants but he’s not worried about it. “We used to have some that would fall out, stiff as a corpse.”

“We had one that did that whenever my sister got near it. Funniest fucking thing in the world, it made her so mad.” The memory makes you giggle a little, but you’re also pretty punchy from being tired and upset all day, so you scratch lazily behind MacGyver’s ear and blow out a breath. “We should get some sleep.”

“We should.” Javi pushes down and twists his body so he can turn off the bedside lamp and plunge the room into darkness. “I know you are tired, muñeca.” He murmurs as he wonders how long it will take him to fall asleep beside you.

“Mmm.” You are, but you doubt you’ll do anything tonight but pet the dog and stare at the wall. His age-old habit of calling you ‘doll’ seems so much more intimate when it’s said in a shared bed and you can’t do anything about it. Masturbating four inches away from him on the same mattress is out of the question. “Night, Jav.”

“Night.” Javi shifts, settling into the bed and sighing softly, tucking his arm behind his head as he looks up at the ceiling fan spinning lazily overhead. The next few days until that room can be cleaned out will be interesting.

******

The most interesting part, unfortunately, was finding out that the old guest room bed hidden underneath ten years of clutter was broken in two places, making it completely unusable. After more than a week of pulling things out of that room, you and Javier had stood in dusty clothes and looked down at the frame in defeat, deciding to deal with it when you got back from your hearings in Washington, which would begin after the next weekend. A few more days in that bed together with the dog between you wouldn’t kill you — although you were increasingly frustrated at this point — and you would be in DC for however long they saw necessary. After that? After that you would know if you were headed back to Colombia or another field office. Or if you still had a job at all.

“At least we have Danny’s wedding this weekend.” It will be an opportunity to see a lot of family, although there has been a steady stream of visitors to the ranch after word got out that Javi was home.

“Right.” Wincing slightly, you nod and sit back in the chair you parked yourself in when MacGyver came bounding into the house to demand attention. “I should probably make sure I have something other than jeans to wear to that.” The idea of shopping for Javi’s cousin’s wedding is vaguely outlandish, but you’re not sure you have much of anything in your bag from Colombia that would be appropriate.

Javi chuckles and shakes his head. “I’m wearing jeans, I don’t think you’d be out of place.” He honestly doesn’t know if he’s ever seen you in a dress outside of work.

“I think the ghost of my granny would rise up and smack me upside the head if I wore jeans to a wedding.” You laugh at the image and sigh, pushing up from your seat. “C’mon, sweet boy,” you coax the dog. “Let’s go see what’s left in that suitcase that I haven’t unpacked.” Over your shoulder, you throw Javier a familiar smile. “Maybe I have something from that undercover stint I did a couple of months ago.”

His brows rise and he stares after you for a moment. That undercover stint had not been family friendly and he had tried so hard to ignore how good you looked.

“What?” When Javi’s reaction is the opposite of what you were expecting, you stop halfway down the hallway and turn. “Too inappropriate? I might not even have anything with me, anyway.”

“It was…a nice dress.” He comments, shaking his head. “It will look good.” You would be the sexiest woman there, though that wouldn’t be hard when everyone else is either family or lifelong friends. His problem is that every person there believes that you are his and he will be fielding ribald jokes all day.

“Wouldn’t want you to be embarrassed to be seen with me.” It picks at you in a way you haven't expected, that he has just let everyone believe you’re together. Even Chucho is still convinced of it and at this point there is probably no telling him otherwise. Every subsequent night you spend in his son’s bed is proof to him, even if you sleep with the door cracked open and the dog between you, and have never shared physical affection in any way.

“Never be embarrassed about being seen with you.” He frowns, wondering where that comment came from. You’re a good looking woman and know that. You got hit on all the time, the men around the embassy and the members of the Bloc. You are probably the one embarrassed to be seen with him. “You call Steve?”

“Yeah.” It’s awful when he bristles at you like a cat with its fur standing on end, but since you have no clue what you did to deserve it this time, you just turn into his room to look at what’s left in your suitcase. “He’s gonna hang on to my stuff until I know if they’re transferring me or outright firing me.”

“I’m sure he misses you.” The close proximity to you is starting to gnaw at him. The ache in his cock matches the hollowness in his heart. Reminding himself that this isn’t what you want, he sighs at the broken bed, putting on his gloves again to toss the ruined item into the large pile of junk that’s been amassed to take to the dump.

“Sure. I mean…that’s what you do with friends, right?” Rummaging in the bottom of his closet, you come out of your suitcase with a little black dress and a pair of stylish high heels that you’d bought for the op, using it as an excuse to get something nicer than what you wore for work everyday. Telling yourself that you’d kept them on the off chance that you ever got asked out on a date. “Are these okay?” You ask, appearing in the guest room doorway a second later. “I have some colorful jewelry so I won’t look like I got lost on my way to a funeral.”

“Whatever you want to wear.” Javi doesn’t know much about women’s fashion besides how to peel a woman out of her dress, but it seems fine to him. “You will look good.”

"Okay." It was an attempt to engage with him, to maybe hear an anecdote or get encouragement, but he's closed himself off again. It just makes you want to shrug it off and walk away so you go back to his room to put the clothes away and grab your book off the nightstand. You'll go read and get out of his hair for a while. Clearly spending so much time around you is grating on him.

Javi sighs again when you walk away, watching you and he can’t help the way his eyes tip down to your ass. It’s a nice ass. Making him frown when he remembers Steve saw it. He’s never been a jealous man, but fuck if he’s not jealous of that fucking hillbilly right now.

Finding Chucho out in the garden shouldn't have been a surprise, but when you flop down on the porch swing in back of the house with your book and look up to see him smiling and waving from the herb pots, you still startle a little. "H-hey Pops." You wave back awkwardly and silently congratulate yourself on being dumb enough to accidentally trade one Peña for the other. There's no escape though, because if you flee Chucho's presence you'll just have to explain yourself later.

“Mija.” Chucho notices the unhappy look on your face that you quickly decide to suppress. “My son giving you heartburn?” He asks, swiping his hat off his head to wipe the sweat. “I keep telling him that he does not have to be so glum all the time.”

"It's nothing, Pops, I promise." The last thing you want is for him to be thinking that you and Javi are having relationship problems when you have no relationship to begin with. "I'm just a little anxious." Good. You'll go with that. He knows the hearings are coming up anyway.

“They would be fools not to take you back.” Chucho grunts, although he keeps his opinion on whether you should go back to himself. “If they don’t, you can stay here as long as you want. Javier likes you here.”

"The standards are different for me." It's bullshit, but it's true. Being a woman, you have to out perform every single one of your male coworkers in order to just keep your head above water. And you had let yourself get sentimental over Javier - the one man in your universe who never seemed to care what you thought of him in the first place.

“They know that one day you will be telling them that you are carrying Javier’s baby.” Chucho huffs, shaking his head. “Stupid men believe women cannot carry a child and do a job. Even though women are stronger than men.”

"That—um—" To hear that from his father flusters you beyond imagination, and you nearly vibrate in a very uncomfortable way. "That isn't...Chucho that's not...Javi and I don't have that kind of relationship." You hate feeling like you're lying to the man when he's been so incredibly kind to you. Maybe it's better that he knows the truth. If you're not Javi's girlfriend he might not want you here — and that's something you need to know.

“Not now.” Chucho huffs. “When the boy gets his head out of his ass and decides to make an honest woman out of you, he will want babies.” He leans against the railing and smirks. “He’s actually good with the bebitos.”

"No, that's not what I—" You stop though, tilting your head slightly in confusion. "I've never seen him look anything but terrified in the presence of babies or small children."

“Really?” Shock turns to amusement and Chucho nearly doubled over laughing. “He said he was going to pretend he knew nothing.” He gasps as he chuckles after a long minute. “Mija, Javier is the oldest of all the cousins. He was changing diapers before he was eight. His tía swears he was the only one who could get Danny to stop crying.”

"Really?" The idea of Javi taking care of any kid is unexpected to you, and you hate the way it warms through you. The way it makes you yearn.

“He is a good boy, a bit stubborn.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “But throw a baby in his arms and the boy would light up.”

"Not in Colombia." You shake your head a little. "Our other partner...he and his wife had adopted a baby while she was in country with us. I don't think I ever saw Javi go near her."

“Olivia.” Chucho nods. “Javier blames himself for what happened to her mother.”

"Sometimes the best thing we can do is work toward the best solution for a bad situation." Sweet little Olivia is with Connie now, and although you don't know what will happen between Connie and Steve, you know that baby will be loved and looked after. That's all you can really hope for sometimes. Love and care.

“That is a good way to look at it mija.” He nods, looking back out at the garden. “You will be good for him.” He promises you. “Everything he’s ever told me about you is true.” He reaches over and pats your hand before he turns back to go down the porch steps and back into the garden.

He's talked about you? Maybe Chucho just means the things that Javi has told him since you've been in the house, you really can't be sure. The best you can do is try to push it out of your mind and open your book.

******

Once the bed frame and mattress are tossed, Javi strips down and climbs into a cold shower. Groaning at the refreshing feeling of the water as it calms his overheated skin, he leans against the wall. You are upset at him, and he wonders if he can take you into town for a meal or something to get you to forgive him.

It's been almost an hour before Javi emerges again, looking very much like himself in that blue shirt with the pinstripes that makes him look taller and crisp, clean jeans. The dogs are the first to notice him, woofing excitedly and jumping up onto the porch to get dusty pawprints on his thighs before you can even turn around.

Javi snorts and shakes his head as he scratches the dog's ears. “Do you want to go into town?” He asks casually. “Get a drink and a meal no one in this house cooked?”

Though the voice in the back of your head wonders if he's asking out of guilt, it does sound nice to get out of the house and you had started feeling hungry about a half hour ago. Cleaning the guest room had been a bigger task than either of you expected and you're pretty sure you skipped lunch most days by accident. "Sure," you nod, plucking your bookmark out of the back cover of your book and saving your page for later. "Sure, that sounds nice."

“Okay.” Javi nods and shoves his hands in his jeans. “I’ll — you go get ready and I’ll get the truck keys from Pop.”

"Okay." You nod in return and disappear back into the house to wash up and change into clean clothes. That black dress is the only nice piece of clothing you managed to pack, but the jeans you routinely wore to the office were decent looking and several of the blouses that you had brought back to the States were nice, soft, floral things that you had bought in Colombia. So when you reappear a little while later in clean clothes with your face washed and hair tamed, it almost feels like the date you know you're never going to get with him.

“Ready?” Javi pops up from the rocker and he swallows harshly at the sight of you all cleaned up. He’s going to need a double in order to not say something stupid. “Got the keys.”

"Okay." Yeah, this feels exactly like getting ready for a date, and you seriously hope that wherever he's taking you has a liquor license because otherwise you're gonna make an idiot of yourself. "Where are we going?"

“There’s this bar in town.” Javi saunters down the porch steps and out to the truck. “Looks like shit but they serve the best damn food.”

"That's usually how it goes." You follow him out to the truck and hide your surprise when he opens the door for you. The dogs are pouting from the front door to see you go but you settle back in your seat when he climbs behind the wheel. Town isn't too far of a drive and it isn't like you've never been alone with Javi. You've just been alone with him a hell of a lot more since getting suspended from the DEA than you ever were when you were active agents.

“Wings are good, but the chili rellenos are probably the best in town.” Javi throws his arm on the bench as he backs the truck up to turn it around. “And add it to a burger? I used to live off of them when I was a sheriff’s deputy.”

"A chili relleno burger?" The idea has you nearly drooling, but you tilt your head at Javi as he starts to drive. "You were a deputy? Seriously?" As much as you know him as a law enforcement officer, he's so prone to break the rules that imagining him as a small town cop just seems so unlikely.

“Yep.” He shrugs and continues to guide the truck down the long drive from the house to the road. “A million years ago when I got out of college.”

"I wanted to be Secret Service." There's no reason to tell him this, but you find it rolling off your tongue anyway as the truck rumbles down the dirt road. "I started the process and ended up with the US Marshals instead. The DEA is where I went afterward. We worked a big joint operation with the DEA in LA and they offered me a transfer for my good work." Sometimes you wonder what would have happened if you had never taken that transfer at all, if you had stayed with the Marshals, but it's too late to do anything about it now.

“No shit?” Javi is impressed, looking over at you with a grin before he hums. “No damn wonder you run laps around us.” He had always admired your work ethic. It was one of the reasons he had kept clear of you, wanting to make sure you weren’t smeared by his reputation, although the joke was on him since you were fucking Steve.

"Yeah." You nod your head and shrug like it doesn't matter, because to some degree it doesn't. After all, Javi had been DEA for far longer than you. "Doubt they'd take me back, though."

“They’d been fools not to.” Javi sighs. “I think they will. Maybe some shit hole assignment for a few years. But you’ll overcome that.”

"You'll get to go back to Colombia. I know you will." For some reason you're certain of it. Not only because Javi tends to overcome his own shitty hardships pretty well through charm and perseverance, but because he's a damn good agent. He worked that case against Escobar longer and harder than anybody and he damn well deserves to get to go back.

“Doubt it.” He frowns and shakes his head. “It hurts not being there. Knowing that they are close to getting the bastard.”

"You will." Your hand rests on his arm on the back of the seat and you give it a supportive squeeze. After all, regardless of what else you feel for him, he's your partner. Your friend. "I can feel it."

“Thanks.” Javi sighs again and tries to shake off the glumness. “Maybe after Escobar is caught…you can figure out what you are doing with…Steve.”

"I really wish you would stop bringing that up," you tell him, letting your own sigh loose. "It was one time, we were drinking, and it was a mistake. That's all. He missed Connie and I—" He doesn't need to know, you remind yourself sternly. "I let it go too far."

He didn’t know that. He had assumed that it was something more. At least more than once. “I’m sorry.”

"We were never going to tell anyone." It feels like an explanation is warranted, since you snapped a little, and you sit back in your seat. "I don't know what happened. Somebody found out and it got back to the higher ups." Stupidly, you shrug. "Sometimes you do shit you shouldn't have for dumb reasons. That's all. He's my best friend, and it shouldn't have happened."

“I thought you two were having— that it was something more.” He admits, shrugging slightly. He doesn’t want to admit that he was jealous. He’s not your best friend.

"You thought we were having an affair." You swallow a sigh and wish you had brought your cigarettes. "It wasn't that. We just...neither of us could have what we wanted, so sometimes when that happens you make the dumb decision to cling to whatever is closest."

“Why couldn’t you have what you wanted?” He catches that and frowns slightly. Wondering what you couldn’t possibly get.

"Doesn't matter now." He's perceptive as hell as an agent, but shit sometimes Javi is oblivious. And the last thing you want is to make shit awkward between you by admitting that you want him and pretty much always have. Since you met, at least.

He frowns and wonders why you are being cagey. Unless it was someone in Colombia that you had left behind. “Well, I’m sorry.”

"You didn't do anything to be sorry for." It's not his fault that he doesn't want you. It's not like he sat back and consciously decided not to be attracted to you. That would be kind of insane, to be honest.

“No, I did.” Javi snorts. “Spent so much time making sure no one thought you would sleep with me, I didn’t notice you and Steve.”

"You made it very clear that you didn't want to sleep with me." And it fucking stings that he would be so casual about bringing it up. Maybe dinner was a mistake. Maybe this whole thing was a mistake.

“Oh I wanted to sleep with you.” Javi snorts. “That’s why I made sure everyone knew I wasn’t.” He taps his fingers on the steering wheel. “There was a betting pool on how long before I fucked you when you showed up.”

"You–I–there was a what??" There is no way to disguise the shock in your voice, and you probably should have taken a breath before you opened your mouth, but you're too dumbstruck for logic at the moment.

“Yeah.” Javi shakes his head in disgust. “Bastards, every one of them. Acting like it was just some kind of game. That you weren’t an agent and just another worker at the brothel.”

"Okay, but–" Your mind is spinning a little and you reach to shut off the truck's radio, hoping that it will help you think a little more clearly. "But you–you said that–Jesus fucking Christ this can't be happening..."

“You didn’t know?” Javi looks over at you and wonders why this seems to be rocking you so harshly. “Even the damn ambassador had a stake in the pool.”

"No I didn't fucking know!" And right now it feels like it's going to drown you, the disbelief and the frustration crashing over you in equal measure. "And Steve sure as fuck didn't know. Otherwise he should have fucking said something instead of sleeping with me."

What the fuck does Steve have to do with it? Javi frowns and shakes his head. “They all talked about it in Spanish. You know he can’t fucking understand half of a conversation on a good day.”

"He can't even order in a restaurant." Which was a source of endless amusement, but it doesn't answer your biggest question. The one that has you turning to watch him while he drives with exhausted curiosity. "So...you were protecting my reputation? Is that it?"

“You’re a good agent.” Javi insists. “If they thought you were fucking me, they wouldn’t give you any of the respect you are due.” It’s bullshit and completely wrong, but it’s what would have happened. “So I just….acted like you were a man.”

That makes you groan, and you cover your face with both hands as he drives. “Fucking, of course you did.” That certainly explained a hell of a lot, even if you’re not thrilled about the answer. He had done it out of respect, knowing that you couldn’t get both. Meanwhile, you would have gladly taken the option to be banged like a screen door in July.

You don’t sound happy about his decision as you groan and he is utterly confused. “Sorry?” He practically asks it, unsure why you are annoyed. You know how men act.

"You didn't do anything wrong." In fact, he did less wrong than you had originally thought, which makes it so much more difficult to be mad about.

“You sound pissed.”

"I'm surprised." Pissed is the wrong word, although you're not exactly excited to find out after the fact that you didn't have a chance for entirely different reasons than you thought.

Silence falls in the cab of the truck and Javi feels you shifting beside him as he drives. It’s probably that it was kept from you, he decides. You never like being kept in the dark, but he had never shared anyone’s proclivity for locker room bragging. The awkwardness and discomfort of the whole situation makes you feel like you’re walking on eggshells, until eventually you shift one too many times and can’t stand it anymore. “I thought you didn’t like me,” you murmur, staring out the window.

“Oh.” Javi is shocked you would feel that way, but he guesses it’s not too much of a stretch. “I thought you didn’t care. You never seemed to think I was anything but a manwhore.”

The times you had teased him about it or made side comments were very definitely not your finest moments, and if you could fold up into a pretzel in this truck as he pulls into town, you would. “Of course I care.” This is barreling dangerously close to a confession, but you don’t know what else to say. The idea that you don’t care about him is absolutely the furthest from the truth.

He had thought that you were judging him for how he spent his time and who he slept with. There had seemed to be an edge of disdain to your barbed comments, so he had assumed that you hadn’t approved. “Well, it doesn’t matter now.” Javi huffs. “I’m not sleeping with anyone.”

“That’s…technically not true.” And the realization makes you huff at your own ridiculousness and even roll your eyes. “You’re just actually sleeping with me, not the euphemism.”

He chuckles and shrugs. “And the dog.” He reminds you, MacGuyver deciding that his favorite sleeping spot is between the two of you. Javi slept on the edge of the mattress most nights.

“I love that dog but he is a bed hog.” It’s sweet, though, and has kept you from doing anything stupid, which you have to stay grateful for.

“So it’s not just me?” Javi grunts. “I’m almost falling off the damn bed by morning.”

“We’re both sleeping on the edge and MacGyver’s got the whole bed to himself.” A half-laugh makes it out of you as he pulls up in front of a nondescript building and you shake your head. “This it?”

“This is it.” Javi puts the truck into park and shoots you a grin. “Just say no to the Hellspawn Boilermaker.” He advises you before he climbs out of the truck.

“Why would you tell me that?” You’re out of the truck and onto the sidewalk in an instant and throwing him a pout. “Now I have to know!”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He cautions, striding up to the door and holding it open for you.

Inside is dimly lit and a little on the loud side, with plenty of people drinking and just as many eating while the jukebox plays and the pool tables in the corner stay active. It’s a hole in the wall for damn sure, but an inviting one. “Do you want to sit at the bar?” Javi asks, spying a small table in the corner of you don’t.

“Wherever.” This is his town - his place - and you are flexible as long as he feels comfortable. You’re going to be in your head the whole dinner now that you know he used to want you anyway, so you truly couldn’t care less.

“Let’s sit at that table.” He would rather not answer a dozen questions on being home. So he guides you over to the small table.

A waitress notices you quickly enough, bringing over two thin menus and taking your drink orders while simultaneously making it obvious that she finds Javi extremely attractive. Not that you can blame her, but she is awfully blatant about it. What if you were on a date or something?

Javi studies the menu quickly before setting it aside and leaning back, reaching for the ashtray. He has been dying for a cigarette and needs one now.

"So this is an old haunt?" The menu is nothing surprising - basically barbecue and some house specialties, but it all sounds damn good.

"Pretty much." Javi smirks slightly. "We all used to drink underage here, back when that wasn't horrible." He explains. "Then most of us became solid citizens. Half the police force in Laredo used to come here."

"Boilermakers for all?" You guess, shooting him a grin.

Javi chuckles and shrugs slightly. "I'm surprised that it wasn't offered when we ordered our drinks. Wonder if they still do it. It was a tradition."

"When I was in the Marshals, we used to do these awful tequila bombs after missions." For better or for worse, you haven't had one in years. Although it almost feels like a sentimental memory now, it was more like hazing back then. "Thank god we could get good tequila in LA. If I had tried that where I grew up, it would have been cheap shit and bad beer and tasted even worse."

He chuckles again and nods. "This is a habanero infused whiskey with a shot of pickled jalapeño juice dropped in it, all dropped into a glass of Budweiser. Have to drink it all in one shot."

"Ugh." The grimace on your face is immediate, but still you're laughing. "So the kind of thing Milgroup would make their boys drink and tell them it's a Colombian specialty?"

"Yep." The waitress swings back by, dropping off drinks and lingering for just a moment, so Javi picks up his whiskey and looks up at her. "You still offer the Hellspawn?" He asks curiously before he downs the shot in one toss of his head.

"Only to people brave enough to try it," she simpers, clearly meaning dumb instead of brave, but not wanting to put him off.

Javi smirks and looks over at you. "Give us two and a basket of cheese fries to cool down with." He orders.

"We're both going to do the barbecue burger." There isn't even a debate on that – the burger boasted cheddar cheese, thick cut bacon, house barbecue sauce, and onion straws with house-made pickles on the side and that has both your name and Javi's written all over it like a neon sign. When the waitress nods and walks away with your menus, you sit back and laugh at his expression. "You didn't think we'd both gravitate toward the same thing? That's the quintessential burger for us."

"I expected you to go for the chili relleno burger." He admits with a small grin.

"I thought about it." You really did, especially since he had mentioned it on the way here. "But...onion straws. You know I'd probably climb through the jungle in high heels for anything having to do with fried onions."

"That is true." He frowns. "Haven't you already run through the jungle in high heels though?"

Only once, but it had been early on and Javi had made you out to be something of a legend for managing it. "Yeah, so I know what a pain in the ass it is."

"I wouldn't want to find out for myself." He picks up the glass of water that had been delivered with the other drinks and takes a sip. "Word of advice, don't try to drink water after the Hellspawn. Makes it worse."

“Noted.” Although that has you morbidly curious, you don’t ask questions. He ordered the cheese fries, that’s what is going to happen after the drink of doom.

The jukebox starts to play and Javi looks around the bar again. Noting that not a lot has changed over the years. "So we just need to get through Danny's wedding." He broaches the subject. "I'm sorry, but I think pop has told the entire family that we are together. So expect questions and tales about the wedding that wasn't."

“Why didn’t you ever tell them that we aren’t?” It is such a point of curiosity and frustration that you need to ask. As much as you don’t want to upset him, you need to know why he never just told his family that you aren’t his girlfriend.

He sighs and shakes his head. "It's–" He doesn't want to admit that he had talked a lot about you with his Pop, giving the man the impression you were very important to him. Because you were. "I don't know." He admits with a shrug, figuring that it was easier to say that than to admit that he wondered what it would be like to be in a relationship with you.

“Bullshit.” It is, and you’ll call him out on it any day of the week. There’s apparently shit he’s been hiding from you, but this isn’t going to be on that list anymore.

He frowns, lips curled unhappily and he reaches for his cigarettes again after crushing out the one he just finished. "What the fuck do you want me to say?" He demands, shoving the cigarette between his lips and flicking the zippo open.

“The truth.” Your beer is going to be empty pretty quickly at the rate you’re drinking it, but fuck it. You’re annoyed after everything that got said in the truck. “I’m not gonna get mad, Jav, whatever it is. But I just found out you’ve been keeping shit from me and you’re lying about this and I hate being lied to.”

"I haven't lied." Javi shakes his head, lighting the cigarette and taking a long drag off of it before blowing the smoke up into the air. "Not to you. And I've kept plenty of shit from you." It's not the best argument but you don't let it go, just staring at him and waiting for your answer. He sighs and catches the waitress's eye, lifting his glass to indicate he wants another drink and sighs again. "Because I didn't want to tell them you weren't my girlfriend."

“But I’m not.” The lackluster explanation has only made you more confused, and you drain the end of your beer with your eyes pinched closed. “You just don’t want them to know you’re single? Jav, I would have given you shit about it but I would have played along. You could’ve just asked. I get having an invasive family.”

"I don't give a shit about that." Javi scoffs and shakes his head. Looking away from you in embarrassment. "You– you're the closest I've been to a relationship since Lorraine." He admits quietly, shrugging one shoulder. "It's kind of nice."

“Lorraine is…the fiancée you left at the altar?” If you’re the closest he’s been to a relationship since that, he’s even worse at them than you thought.

"Yep." Javi huffs and leans back when the woman brings over his next drink.

"Those Hellspawns are almost ready." She tells him with a wink.

He nods but he doesn't watch her walk away, finding your eyes again. "Talked about you enough that Pop thought...well, he thought I was hesitant to admit we were dating."

“You talked about me?” All of this is news to you, but at least you can keep your voice down with that no one is looking your way. “Like…before you told him I was coming here?”

Javi frowns again, picking up the new glass of whiskey. "Of course I did." He tells you. "You didn't ever talk about me?"

“I don’t talk to my family.” They don’t want to hear from you and you don’t want to fight with them, so it was just easier to avoid by not calling. “The people I talked to most were you and Steve.”

He rolls his eyes, aware that any conversation with Steve about him wouldn't be a good one. "I–" He tosses back the drink and shakes his head. "It's nice, okay?" He hisses. "Fucking normal. I feel normal. Imagining that we– that you–" He breaks off and slumps back. "I'll tell them."

“He wanted me to tell you.” The words come blurring out of your mouth like you had tried to swallow lava, and it’s immediately too late to take it back.

"Tell me what?" Javi barely pays attention to you, clenching his jaw as he thinks of how to break it to his Pop that the woman who is 'perfect for him', isn't even someone he's ever kissed.

The waitress comes back, this time with a tray with six items on it. Two shot glasses, two whiskey glasses and two beer glasses. The makings of the Hellspawn. "Here we go."

With the moment broken, your sudden burst of bravery deflates and you sit back, very nearly pouting sullenly. “Right. Let’s just drink.”

"Okay." Tessa sets the tray down and smiles at Javi. "You know how this works right?" She asks, sure that he might be the most handsome man she's ever seen. "Drop the jalapeño juice into the whiskey and then drop both glasses into the beer." The glasses of beer were only half full, making sure that it's not too messy. "And those cheese fries are coming right up."

“Can’t take the barely legal waitress home if you’re still fake-dating me,” you mutter after she walks off, feeling bitter at your own stupidity at this point.

"What?" Javi frowns, confused at what you are talking about. "I– her?" He shakes his head. "I haven't even looked at her."

“Until twenty minutes ago in the truck I was under the impression that your rule was anybody but me, so I’m still adjusting,” you tell him curtly before dropping your drink together with determination and putting the concoction to your lips so you can’t say anything else stupid.

"Fuck you." Javi drops the juice into the whiskey and glares at you before he picks up that glass to drop into the beer. "I always wanted you. Still do." He picks up his own drink and starts to down it.

It isn’t until your glass is down – the foul drink being oddly tasty at first but soured by the mood that you find his eyes again. “I slept with Steve because I was depressed that you never looked at me twice.”

Javi grimaces and coughs slightly at the burn of the capsaicin in the drink before staring at you. "Probably because when I looked at you, you were walking away from me."

“He told me to tell you.” You repeat, wishing you had another drink to down, like maybe you could drown yourself in them. “Said you deserved to know. So there. I’m telling you.”

"So there?" Javi reaches for the water out of reflex. "Like I was expected to know you wanted me to look at you when you scoffed every time I left the office." You knew where he was going, what he was doing. He hadn't hidden it. You had made your feelings about his affairs very clear.

“Shockingly,” this time your sarcasm is aimed at yourself. “I didn’t handle being in love with you very well. Being jealous of every other woman in Colombia grated on me just a little.”

The water is halfway gone when Javi realizes his mistake. The burn of the peppers in the whiskey immediately increases and he feels his tongue start to burn. "Shit."

“Shit?” Not having registered the drink or the water or any of it, you sigh only so you don’t scream and squeeze one hand into fist as hard as you can. “Forget it. Never mind. I’ll get my shit out of your Dad’s house and find a hotel tonight. I’ll get out of your hair.”

Eyes watering, Javi squeezes them shut and prays that the fries come quickly. "H-hot." He wheezes after a moment of trying to speak but being unable because of how bad his mouth is watering.

“Wha—oh!” When you finally realize what happened – remembering what he said about water making the drink hotter and realizing that he had half of his glass – you are up and out of your seat in a heartbeat to go straight to the bar for a glass of lemonade or juice or even tomato juice. Anything with acid. The confused bartender gives you a glass of tomato juice with lemon and says he’ll put it in your tab in the same breath that you’re thanking him and bringing it back to the table.

Breathing hurts and Javi's trying not to inhale too much as you rush back over with the glass of juice. Shoving it into his hand as he greedily starts to gulp it down in an effort to quell the burning of his mouth and esophagus.

Acid helps heat. Carrillo told you that once when you had dinner with him and his wife and got in over your head with his wife's fantastic and incredibly spicy salsa. It won't cure him instantly but it will help, and now you're sitting at the table feeling like an idiot for getting mad about his reaction when he was in pain.

Once every drop of the juice is gone, Javi sighs, setting it down and cursing himself for being so unnerved by you and this entire situation and he had fucked up and done exactly what he had warned you again. "Thanks." He grunts, reaching for a napkin to wipe his mouth and wishes he had another beer to wash down the taste of the tomato juice.

"Sure." The awkward shuffle of two people who can barely look at each other is mercifully interrupted by the waitress arriving with the plate of fries and two more beers, and she takes your glasses away silently after reading the tension between you.

"So." Javi takes a large swallow of his beer. "Let me lay this out. I made sure not to hit on you so it wouldn't ruin your reputation. And you were mad at me for not hitting on you?" He asks, finally glancing back over at you.

"Not...technically?" Thank god there's food to concentrate on right now and you can be justified in not looking at him. "I was jealous and frustrated. Not quite mad."

"And I'm jealous that you fucked Steve." He confesses. "When I found out, I figured that was why you never seemed to like me."

"He was upset about Connie and I was upset about you." You poke at a few cheese fries with your fork and try not to curl in on yourself. "I said your fucking name in bed with him Jav, it's not like I'm not fully aware that I fucked up."

"Oh don't tell me that." Javi winces, his own fries halfway to his mouth. "I– that's– ouch."

"I just said I fucked up." You point out. "I did. And we both knew it. That's why he told me I should tell you."

"You have told me." He murmurs, shoving the fries in his still overheated mouth. "And look like you want to be anywhere else but here."

"I'm not chomping at the bit to be rejected, that's all." There is a difference between wanting someone and you just admitting to being in love with him, and you are absolutely as fully prepared to be told that he doesn't feel the same way about you that you have been the whole time. It's just that now he actually knows the extent of how you feel.

He never thought you were dim witted. Out of the three of you, Javi had personally felt you were the smartest agent there. Yet you still have not made the connection despite all the pieces being in front of you. "And you are here because I could not admit that you and I aren't together."

A long moment of silence passes between you before you close your eyes and sigh, feeling even stupider than you had a minute ago. "...fuck."

Javi doesn't say anything. Letting the moment hang between you. If you want to clarify, to ask something, you can.

"I honestly can't decide which one of us is more of a dumbass," you mutter, wiping one hand over your face. "Probably me, honestly. But fuck..."

"Did you work with Los Pepes?" Javi snorts, shaking his head. "I think that honor would go to me."

"No." The shift at the table is only your awkwardness, and you gulp another breath. "But I did go to them to beg them to let you out of your agreement, so I guess I'm specifically a sentimental dumbass."

"You shouldn't have." Javi insists. "They would have just slapped you on the wrist for fucking Steve if that hadn't come out. You would still be there. In the hunt for that bastard."

"Well, I did." The things you do for love apparently include tanking your career. "You had been there a hell of a lot longer than any of us. You deserved to see it through."

"Apparently not." Javi grumbles, shaking off the sense of disappointment. "That's life though."

"I'm sorry." It's not as though you made it worse, but you certainly didn't make it any better.

"It's not your fault." Javi knows he has no one to blame but himself. "I'm sorry." He is the one who is ultimately responsible for you being sent back to the States. He is the one who needs to apologize.

"You didn't make me go to them. For that matter, you didn't make me get drunk and stupid with Steve, either." You sigh, shaking your head. "I did what I did for my own dumb reasons and you have nothing to apologize for."

"You felt like you had to protect me." Javi hums quietly. "You put your career on the line for me."

Picking up your beer, you stare into the golden bubbles for a second before nodding. “The shit we do for love, right?”

"You don't love me, muñeca." Javi shakes his head. "You don't know all the things that I've done. You think you love me.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” You tell him flatly. “You don’t have to feel the same way, and you don’t have to be my friend, or even my partner. But you definitely don’t get to decide how I feel about you.”

That shuts him up. Staring at you for a moment before he frowns, nodding at the truth in your comment. "I am– I am not a good man."

“Does that immediately disqualify you from deserving every morsel of happiness?” Some people might say that it does, but you’ve never believed that.

"I will let you down." He sighs softly, revealing his worst fear.

"How do you know that?" Considering you haven't actually asked him for anything, the possibility is extremely miniscule. The worst he can do at this moment is tell you no, and that's what you're fully expecting. So it can't be a let down at all.

"It's what I do, muñeca." Javi snorts. "My mother, Lorraine, Helena, Oliva, Horatio, Steve, you, I let everyone down."

"And you don't deserve a chance to redeem yourself ever?" That makes you put your drink down again, and actually hold his gaze across the table. "I can't decide for you, Javi. I never thought in all the time I've known you that I actually had a chance at all, so you telling me 'no' is exactly what I expect. But if you want to give whatever this could be a chance, you very literally know where to find me."

“Don’t turn this into me rejecting you.” Javi shakes his head and leans back, folding his arms over his chest. “This is me protecting you.” He insists. “Don’t you see that?”

"I'm not trying to pick another fight." There has already been plenty of that for today. "If forgetting we ever had this conversation is what you want, that's fine. I'll smile pretty and play your fake girlfriend at your cousin's wedding, and I'll get myself out of your hair just as soon as Washington decides what to do with me. Seriously, Javi. It's fine." You've dealt with plenty of heartbreak in your life. Javier Peña won't be the first or the last person to break your heart, but you're a big girl. You'll carry on.

Javi frowns, unhappy with your answer but he can’t blame you. He’s pushing you away. “It’s not smart.” Javi shakes his head. “We’ve been drinking.”

"Fine." Despite the fact that you can feel your heart breaking in your chest, you just shrug and fold your hands in your lap under the table. "The dog takes up the whole bed anyway."

“Muñeca.” Javi murmurs quietly, his dark eyes fixed on you. Sighing softly when you won’t look at him. Hating how much you look like he’s crushing your heart.

****** To say the meal is tense is a bit of an understatement, but you pick up your book for a few hours when you get back to the house and mercifully find that Chucho has had some friends over to play poker tonight so no one is paying much attention to you or to Javi. It's just you and the dogs for a while before you figure it's safe to go to bed, seeing as you haven't seen hide nor hair of Javi since you got home.

The barn has always been a place where Javi has been able to think. The monotony of manual labor helps clear his mind and just work. Even after years away, he knows how to clean out a stall and lay fresh bedding. So the animals are getting it tonight instead of tomorrow morning? What’s a few hours when he can exhaust himself instead of going inside and begging you to let him touch you. To burn off this need that is clawing under the surface and threatening to overwhelm him.

"Looks like it's you and me, bud," you tell MacGyver, placing a kiss between his ears and shutting the bedroom door temporarily so you can put on your pajamas. It takes just a couple of minutes before you pop the door open again and crawl under the covers to give him your undivided attention. Five or ten minutes of devoted petting before shutting your eyes is good for the soul, and maybe tonight you won't end up crying yourself to sleep.

By the time that Javi closes the barn door, it’s late and every muscle in his body aches. Sweaty and needing another shower, he quietly makes his way into the house and into the bathroom. He can’t climb in the bed filthy, that wouldn’t be fair to you. Quickly showering, he wraps a towel around his waist and makes his way to the bedroom.

The dog is snoring soundly but you barely managed to stop the tears when you heard him start up the shower across the hall. With your eyes closed and the blanket pulled up to your chest you hope you look convincingly asleep, just trying not to get into another argument before sleeping.

Pushing the door open, Javi stops, listening to hear if you are still awake. “Muñeca?” He whispers softly. “Are you awake?”

It's better not to answer, you decide quickly. Better to let him think you've already drifted off so he can just settle in and fall asleep. For that matter, maybe pretending will actually help you fall asleep.

He sighs softly, unsure of why he even bothered. You hate him now. Moving over to the dresser, he pulls out a pair of boxers and slides them on. Easing his way into the bed so he doesn’t wake you, he fights for the tiniest piece that he can squeeze onto, pushing the dog over. “I wish you knew how much I love you.” He murmurs after a long moment of staring into the darkness. “How much I want to be with you.”

It's too late to say anything now, but at least you're facing away from him so he can't see that you're tearing up all over again. Of all the men in the world, you had to go and fall in love with an emotionally closed off idiot who talks to you when he thinks you're asleep. And you know for damn sure it's love because you catch yourself thinking it's cute.

“You’re going to be reassigned somewhere else.” Javi whispers. “You’re too good of an agent not to be. And if I’m– if we are together, you won’t take it. You’d give up your career for me. Again. And you’d hate me for it.”

Barely suppressing a sniffle, you squeeze your eyes shut facing the windows and say nothing. You don't move and don't make a sound, listening to him pour his heart out when he thinks you can't hear him.

“Every damn day I want you. Crave you like you’re the purest fucking cocaine that has ever come out of Colombia.” He sighs. “I’m fucking tired of jerking off in the shower, imagining how you would feel, how you would sound. But I can’t touch you and lose you. I can’t, muñeca.”

A tear actually escapes this time, damn him and his sentimentality, but you don't move to wipe it away or even flinch. His confessional is his alone. You're not supposed to be hearing a word of this.

“If it takes you hating me to keep you safe, to keep from hurting you, I’ll do it. I’ll sacrifice my own happiness for you. Anything for you.”

A sob nearly shakes you, and it takes biting your lip to keep still and silent. Thank god for MacGyver, that dog could drown out anyone with the sounds of his sleeping. He's trying to protect you. And as noble as that is, you'd rather have him than safety any day of the week.

He had imagined it would be cathartic to confess this to you. That it would be a weight off his chest, but it’s not. He doesn’t know why, but the hollow ache is still there, the weight pressing down on him. “You asked me why I didn’t tell my family that we were together.” Javi has to add one last thing and then he will bury these feelings. “I wanted to imagine what it was like for a while. Pretend that you are mine. So I could go on without you when you leave.”

Biting your lip, squeezing the pillow, muffling your mouth with your hand, none of it could possibly be enough this time. With those words out of his mouth and the raw sob that wracks through you, the best you can do is hope that he doesn't feel the bed shake - or maybe that he isn't looking at you while he's talking. Otherwise the ruse of being asleep is completely useless at this point.

“Goodnight, muñeca.” Javi whispers again, feeling the dog shake the bed. “I always called you ‘doll’ because you are precious to me.” He closes his eyes and sighs, turning towards the door so he can try to sleep even though he knows he won’t.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord

My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanficition #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Javier Peña #Javier Peña x reader #Javier Peña x you #Javier Peña x female reader #dea reader #past Steve x reader #Narcos #Narcos fanfic #the love is requited they're just idiots #THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED

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theclairvoyage · 21 days

Text

Centrifugation: Chapter 7

Series Masterlist

Chapter Warnings: Reader takes pain pills, somno if you squint, a bit of dacryphilia, shower sex, rough sex, a little bit of dom!Joel, lots of soft!Joel, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), fluff that'll make your teeth disintegrate, mentions of violence, reader's mom makes an appearance

WC: 6.3k

Dividers courtesy of the lovely @cafekitsune <3

Thursday, October 21st | 2131

Groggily, you wake in Joel’s dark room, air icy from his ceiling fan. You’re lying on your right side, heavily bandaged arm propped up on a pillow draped over your left. You sit up slightly and open your eyes fully, trying to accustom your tired eyes to the minimal lighting in the room. A strip of light on your left attracts you. The LED mirror light must be on in his bathroom, and the door is shut. You hear Joel’s footsteps pattering around the tile floor.

Now somewhat awake and equipped with better vision, you scan the room. His computer is stashed on the nightstand opposite the one on your side of the bed—he must’ve been working while you cozied up next to him and dozed off. You get up from the bed slowly, standing in place while your head recalibrates itself—the stars in your vision fade quickly, but your head is heavy as a rock. Joel must’ve given you one of your pain pills. You remember giving the orange bottle to him and telling him to put it where you can’t get to it—opioids are new to you, and you don’t want to risk dependence or nasty side effects.

You approach the door and tug lightly, the LED light blinding you momentarily. A fuzzy, curly-haired blur of a man turns to look at you from one of the sinks.

“Mornin’, sleepyhead,” Joel says softly. You’re cute – eyes squinting from the light, face flushed and patterned from your slumber. You’re still wearing the outfit you had on when he drove you from the hospital—baggy tee, baggy cotton shorts, patterned crew socks. He walks over to you and pulls you into a warm embrace, laying your head on his shoulder. You mumble something in response, causing him to chuckle.

“Someone’s high, eh?” he asks in a playful timbre, pulling back slightly to look at your face. Your gaze is foggy, pupils shrinking from the light as you look up at him. You smirk and let out a small whine, like a child woken up from a nap. He pulls you back in and breathes in your scent of gauze and hospital room.

“Let’s get you showered, baby,” he murmurs into your ear. You nod and lift your arms, giving him room to pull your baggy shirt over your head. The cool bathroom air licks at your nipples. He pulls down your shorts and underwear in one swoop while you lean on his arms for support. You watch him undress, the sight of his bare skin resurrecting your earlier arousal. Poor Joel has been wanting you since you teased him in the hospital room, and you can tell when you see the half-swell of his cock poking up as his boxers fight to slip over it.

He pulls you in close again, fingertips tracing patterns on your lower back. You pull your chest flush to his, pebbled nipples dragging on his skin. He leans in to kiss you—it’s slow and long, sleep still draining itself from your system and Joel keen on his promise to you from the hospital room. He’s going to make your body and mind feel good—help you start to recover from the events of yesterday.

While he was working, he watched you sleep, occasionally sneaking a hand over to stroke your temple as he recollected the events from yesterday. When Keri called him, he didn’t answer at first because the number was foreign to him—it was her frantic, mumbled voicemail that kicked his panic into overdrive. He called back immediately, needing to know if you were okay.

“Joel, she’s alright for now. That nut gashed her arm pretty good.”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill him, swear—,”

“He’s already dead. Idiot tried pulling his knife on the cops that showed up. Three bullets. All for a fucking permanent deferral.”

“Where is she? I need to—s-see her, be with her, where—,”

“Immanuel Hospital on 72nd and Sorensen. Call me when you get here, I’ll bring you up. She’s out of surgery.”

“On my way.”

Rage coursed through his belly at his reminiscence of yesterday, hands balled into trembling fists. He cried on the way to the hospital, worried that you might not wake or that some freakish sepsis accident would threaten to take you forever. Joel admits he doesn’t know much about medicine, and most of what he knows has been from Sarah’s Grey’s Anatomy binges. But he knows pain and loss—a road he couldn’t bear to travel, not with you. He had kicked himself two-fold: for letting himself get so attached so quickly, and for thinking that being attached to you like this was a bad thing. His past threatened to cloud his future, and that wasn’t an option with you in his life.

Mind snapped to the present, he puts on the cast protector he bought for you at the store and guides you into his palatial shower, steam wrapping the walls and the hum of water relaxing you instantly. You remember that there’s a large seating area in this giant ass bathhouse-disguised-as-a-shower. He sits you down and moves to redirect the flow of the two showerheads, so the streams hit your feet and legs. You lean back against the tiled wall, and he kneels in front of you. His hair is wet, but not quite drenched, droplets cascading down his tendrils and the bridge of his curved nose.

“I’m so happy you’re alright, sweetheart… wanna make you feel good,” he coos, leaning into place soft kisses on your neck and collarbone. You sigh and arch your chest into his mouth, craving his attention and devotion, a warm envelope you need to be sheathed in. His mouth moves down to your breast and licks the swell before swirling his tongue up to your nipple, mouth closing over the bud softly.

There are no teeth, no lingering marks as he continues his trail down your curves—just a man selflessly (sort of) pouring his affection for you on your body, hoping to make the day after one of the worst days of your life a better one. You card the fingers of your free hand through his wet hair as he descends to your navel, the only sounds being the steady stream of water and wet attention of his mouth echoing throughout the shower. He reaches your mound and you let out a low, long sigh. He spreads your thighs apart further and scoots down, hooking his forearms around your hips as he pulls you down slightly. You’re forced to use your good arm to prop yourself up. Now panting, you look down at him, water droplets from the condensing steam blurring your vision.

“You want this, baby?” he asks, beaming up at you from the apex of your thighs. Is he asking if you want him to continue, or if you want him? Either way, you nod feverishly.

“Tell me,” He pleads, licking up your inner thigh as his eyes are still locked on yours.

You whine in response. “Need you, Joel—all of you, please,” you beg quietly.

He places a wet, open-mouthed kiss on your cunt, and you cry softly, back arching and head tilting back. He groans into you, the sound and taste of you making his cock twitch. His tongue swirls over your clit and he sucks lightly. You gasp, the pressure setting your nerves ablaze. He continues slowly, alternating between flat licks—your favorite—and soft suckles of your clit. His tongue is strong and firm, soft and sweet all at once. You’re moaning his name as he continues licking you, each flick of his tongue casting more sparks in the inferno that is your orgasm—one that grows quickly. He’s moaning as he eats you out, only pulling away to tell you how good you taste, how wet you are, how much he enjoys doing this to you. He slides two fingers through your slick and pumps them into you languidly, fully intending to drag this out until you’re screaming.

“Oh, Joel, fuckfuckfuck—feels so good,” you pant, syllables coming out as heavy breaths. He groans into your core again, delighted to hear your feedback. He’s so fucking turned on by the taste, smell, sound, and look of you as he gives you raw pleasure, and he reaches a hand down to stroke himself. You notice the loss of his free hand on your thigh, his other hand still pummeling into you. You’re close—your quick huffs and intensifying moans let Joel know, too. Your pussy is squeezing his fingers so tightly that he has trouble pulling them back out. The edge is near, and you frantically rut your hips against his mouth and nose as you chase your high. Joel swears he could come right then and there, but before he can think of it further, you let out a wail and your legs spasm uncontrollably. Your orgasm is intense, strong leg muscles clasping around his head and neck. He’s not done, though—his tongue and fingers don’t slow until your hand is pulling his hair, coaxing him up to your mouth for a wet, messy kiss.

“Want you inside me, Joel,” you heave, looking at him with lust-blown pupils. He doesn’t need to be told twice.

“Stand up,” he commands. As soon as you do, his firm hands grasp your hips and rotate you so you’re facing the tile wall of the shower. Joel presses down on your back, urging your top half down. He rubs his hands up and down the landscape of your back, admiring the curve of your waist juxtaposed with your hips.

“Fuckin’ beautiful—tell me you’re mine,” he growls, hand fisting in your hair and pulling. You whine roughly, the upward crane of your neck compressing your vocal cords.

“Yes, Joel, fuck—I’m yours,” you cry, turned on by his dominance. He releases your hair and guides himself to your center, the swollen head of his cock gathering slick in your folds before slowly pressing into you.

“Shit—ah!” you cry, his cock at this angle nearly splitting you in half. He continues digging into you, and your breath is stuck in your chest, only coming out in sparse squeaks as he expands your walls. He grips your ass hard and spreads you open for him, salivating at the way your pussy grips and creams him. When he finally bottoms out, your vision blanks momentarily. Your organs feel shifted, like he’s quite literally rearranging your guts.

“Y’alright, babygirl? Is it too much?” he asks, a hand smoothing up and down your back as he waits for your cue to move. Your right hand is stuck to the wall, your forehead pressed against it for support as you try to regain your breath and relax your muscles. “Need to hear you’re alright,” he reminds you.

“Please move, Joel—oh!” the end of your sentence a response to the sudden removal of his cock. He pushes the tip into you again, slowly, hissing as you grip him.

“Ohhhh, baby—so goddamn tight,” he groans, and with no warning, he slams into you fully. Eyes rolling back into your head, you scream, overwhelmed by the sharp pain and pleasure of his entrance. He continues this punishing pace—out slowly, tip in, bam. You don’t even feel the dull ache of your arm anymore, only the delicious stretch of his cock and the painful aftershocks of his tip careening into your cervix. Hell, you might even bleed from this, how rough this sex is, but it feels so fucking good—his ravaging your body, hands squeezing your ass and hips so tightly you’ll bruise, him spitting your name and various expletives—you don’t want it to stop. It’s like he’s punishing you for not-quite-almost-dying, overcome by the emotions of what happened to you and seeing you broken but alive. Like he’s making sure you are alive.

“Perfect fuckin’ pussy,” he cries, thrusts losing their mojo and growing erratic as you continue to grip and soak him. “Baby, I’m close—need another one from you,” he pleads, hand grabbing your wrist to keep your torso up.

“Faster, Joel, please, I’m there—,” you moan. He obliges, and five quick thrusts in, the world bleeds white and your body fades into euphoric oblivion. Your ears are ringing, vision blank, body in overdrive from the sheer pleasure and intensity of your orgasm—you can’t hear him curse and groan as he comes inside you, breath knocking through his teeth as he spits your name. You feel his warm chest fold over your back, feel his soft lips and tongue on your shoulder, neck, ear, and when he turns you around so he can kiss you, you finally regain your hearing. The spray of water and your breaths are a noticeable contrast to the skin slapping and loud cries from just moments ago. The kiss is passionate, soft, slow, like he’s trying to tell you something—you can feel how much he cares for you in the way his arms embrace you, the way his lips revere your skin. He pulls back and looks at you with that… look. Again.

“Seein’ you come is somethin’ else—never seen anything like that,” he admits, eyes boring into you. You feel yourself suddenly become shy, his praise chipping down stone walls you have built inside. He kisses your forehead.

“C’mon, lemme wash you up,” he says, leading you to one of the showerheads. He washes your hair with some of Sarah’s shampoo that was here last time—his long fingers massage your scalp with perfect pressure and rhythm. You might fall asleep right here, fucked-out and exhausted from the pain meds filtering through your system. He rubs body wash over you, making sure to get all the crevices, and pulls some giggles from you in the process. You want to wash him in return, prove you’re not totally useless with your arm wrapped up in the cast cover. He picks up his shampoo and opens the lid, and you hold your right hand out.

“Y’sure, baby?” he asks, wet hair covering his face and eyes. He looks so handsome like this—curls dripping on his face, chest, and neck, squinting at you so he can see.

“Let me. Please.” He nods and squirts soap into your palm and a little more on his scalp. You do your best to massage his scalp with your free hand, but your arm gets tired fast.

“Sit down, Joel,” you offer. He prods over to the seating area, giving you a full view of his cute butt. You smack it lightly and laugh.

“Watch it, sweetheart—I ain’t got the energy to chase ya,” he warns, smirk on his face and eyes playful. He sits, eye level at your chest. He’s staring at you, hard. You’re trying not to get flustered, but his intense gaze is not helping.

“Close your eyes, babe,” you command softly. He smiles at you calling him that.

“Can’t look at my girl while she washes my hair?” he says. My girl. You ignore the fluttering of your heart.

“Nope, I have stage fright. Shut ‘em,” he rolls his eyes and obliges.

You work your fingers into his scalp, noticing how entranced he is by your touch. It’s nice—domestic, almost. Once you’re done with his hair, you walk back over to grab his body wash and massage his shoulders, chest, and back, pulling some moans and groans from him. Eyes still clamped shut, you lead him back to one of the shower heads and help him rinse. You watch his muscles flex as he rinses his hair, and you wrap your arms around his midsection when he’s done. He’s quick to return the favor, fingers gently rubbing the muscles of your shoulders and upper back. You two stand there for a moment before he leans in to kiss you gently.

“You’re so good to me, baby,” he murmurs, smoothing your wet hair back.

“Me? I think you have me confused with yourself,” you say, surprised. “You’re the one taking care of me.” He scoffs.

“You don’t realize what you’re doin’ to me, darlin’—just you bein’ here is takin’ care of me,” he says, tone sounding almost afflicted. You’re almost caught off guard by his affectionate words. He’s doing that thing again, trying to tell you something without saying it explicitly. His amber eyes are glowing at you. He’s happy. You believe him, that just being here with him is enough.

Fuck. You clamp your lips together, making sure you don’t say something you’ll regret and kiss him instead.

“Been in here long enough, you hungry?” he says, pulling away after a bit. You nod.

“Let’s eat and do whatever ya want—watch a movie, anything,” he offers, leaving your embrace to turn off the shower heads.

He helps dry you off and leads you downstairs. You insisted on wearing his clothes, again, which he couldn’t complain about. You decided on watching some Netflix, needing to distract your brain with some trash TV. Joel makes popcorn and gives you a big glass of water as he snuggles up next to you on the leather couch, throwing a big fleece blanket over both of you. The couch is fancy, of course—it’s a three-part sectional, and each section can recline almost completely horizontal. He lets you scroll through Netflix aimlessly for a few minutes before snatching the remote from you.

“Hey! I was just getting to the good stuff,” you complain playfully. He tsks at you.

“Takin’ too long, pretty girl—when Sarah does this, I know we’re about to watch somethin’ cringy,” he says, finally picking NCIS. He’s never watched this before.

“Season 8, Joel,” you direct him. You’ve seen most of these episodes at least twice. He picks a random episode and leans forward to put the remote on the coffee table in front of your feet before sinking back into the couch with you. The theme song starts playing and you immediately bob your head from side to side—it’s so catchy, you probably do it every time it plays. Joel looks down at you and laughs.

“Take it you’re a dancer, then?” he asks.

“Depends on the type of dancing. Not a square dancer, that’s for sure,” you say with a playful snub, knowing already that that’s the only dancing Joel does. He feigns offense, mouth dropping open.

“That’ll change, baby – I can guarantee you that,” he says with a smirk.

“Fine, but then you have to go to a club with me—only fair,” you challenge him, shrugging matter-of-factly. He raises his eyebrows at you, expression saying this girl is losing her shit.

“They have an age limit, darlin’,” he lies, one side of his mouth stuck in a half-smile. You smack his arm playfully.

“They’d only know how old you are if you showed them your ID,” you remind him. He scoffs and points to his greying curls. “They’d see these and know immediately.”

“What, your hair or your perpetual scowl?” you tease, finger rubbing the wrinkles in his forehead. He emits a loud, guttural laugh and grabs your hand, giving it a quick kiss before he releases it.

“Fuckin’ comedian over here, god damn,” he says, chuckling and shaking his head. “Eat your damn popcorn before I shove it in your mouth,” he warns jokingly. You’re in a goofy mood.

“Shove what in my mouth, Joel?” you tease, eyes glued to the TV. His breath hitches for a moment and you see him lean toward you in your peripheral vision. His lips rustle the hair by your ear, making you shiver.

“Don’t get me started, baby—you know how much I love your pretty mouth,” he rasps in your ear, Southern accent laced with a lusty warning. Your core tingles and your face heats up. You’re not exactly sure what it is about him that does this to you, but you’d let him have his way with you anywhere, anytime. He kisses your temple and pulls you into him as the episode continues. He sneaks a hand up your shirt and rubs your back, the warmth and comfort lulling you to sleep.

Friday, October 22nd | 0643

The sound of skin sliding on leather pulls you from slumber. You’re on Joel’s couch, snuggling into his warm chest. He must’ve turned over on the couch, causing the noise—his shirt has ridden up just enough for you to see his happy trail cascading into his boxers. The couch is reclined all the way down, forming a makeshift bed in his living room. You must’ve fallen asleep, and you bet Joel was too tired to carry you up to his room—there was no way he was going to try and wake you. You tighten your grip on him and take in his scent—cotton, sandalwood, spice. His body wash mixed with clean laundry. You could lie here forever, but he’s a light sleeper and notices you’re awake.

“S’early, baby—go back to sleep,” he says, eyes still shut and voice grumbly from sleep. You giggle softly.

“What are you, Father Time? You haven’t even opened your eyes yet,” you tease. He chuckles and pulls you on top of him, your head still tucked into the nook of his neck. His warm hands slide under your shirt and scan your back softly.

“Don’t need to, I know it’s before 7,” he murmurs. His sleep-soaked voice is enough to arouse you right now—raspy, deep, sexy. You’re tired, though, and your arm aches. You roll off him and sit up, wincing audibly at the throbbing of your arm.

“Need medicine?” he asks you, leaning over to put his head in your lap. You smooth a hand through his stubble and admire him, sleepy eyes struggling to peek at you. Soft morning light outlines his cheekbones, nose, and chin. He’s quick to tell you how beautiful you are, but he’s a stunner in his own right. You brush some stray curls from his face and stroke his cheek with your thumb. A soft mmm escapes his throat as he leans his head into your touch.

“Don’t wanna get up,” you whisper, still staring at him. Finally, he opens his eyes and deep chocolate stares back at you. His gaze is longing, tired, happy.

“Kiss me,” he pleads softly, placing a warm hand over yours, still busy caressing his face. You oblige and lean down to press your lips softly to his. Neither of you try to deepen it just yet—you’re both cherishing these softer, more domestic moments between the two of you. Your lips are communicating what your words can’t just yet—but you both understand. After a while, your arm starts bothering you again, prickles of pain dancing up your arm to your shoulder. You pull away and start massaging your shoulder with your free hand.

“Yeah, y’need your medicine, baby. Hang tight,” he says, rolling off your lap and standing up from the couch. Your soft kisses clearly drove him crazy—there’s a tent in his boxers. He catches you staring at it and smirks at you.

“Once you’re feelin’ better, it’s all yours,” he says with a tired wink. Fuck. You already know you’re wet and ready for him. This man is so good to you in all ways, you can’t tell if your arousal is from seeing him turned on, or from the way he cares for you.

He grabs the now-empty glass of water from the coffee table and pads into the kitchen to retrieve your pills from their hiding spot. He comes back, glass full and half a pill in hand. You pop the pill onto the back of your tongue and chug until the glass is half empty.

“Good girl,” Joel praises as he watches you. His words make you choke a bit and you sputter, some water spilling out of your mouth. He laughs and leans in, kissing the drops of water leaking down your chin and neck. He continues kissing down your neck, pulling your collar down so his lips and teeth can graze your collarbone and top of your chest. Your body responds quickly, breaths quickening and pussy throbbing.

“Darlin’, I don’t know if I can wait. I want you,” he says, pulling back to look in your eyes. He looks fucking wrecked again.

“Fuck me, Joel,” you plead, staring back at him. His eyes widen slightly, then flash with mischief and lust.

Suddenly, your sweats and panties are gone in one swoop, tossed into a pile on the floor with his boxers. He’s slotted between your legs, tongue licking into your mouth ravenously. He pulls back and rubs the head of his cock on your clit, watching your slick coat him with a moan.

“Fuck, baby— ‘s’all this for me?” he groans.

“Yes—all of it. Need you, Joel,” you whine impatiently, craving him inside you. Your clit is on fire from his teasing and you’re dripping for him.

“Okay, okay. I got you, angel,” he soothes. He pulls your shirt up over your breasts, leaning down to suck one of your needy nipples into his mouth. You gasp at the sensation. It’s not enough, though—you need him to fill you up. Now. You reach down with your good hand and tug on his curls, pulling his mouth up to yours. He moans as your lips mesh with his and he lines his cock up at your entrance. He pulls back to watch where your bodies meet and groans as he slowly enters you.

You gasp again at the stretch, still not used to his size and girth. Your eyes attempt to squeeze shut, but you remember how much he likes seeing your eyes and try your best to keep them open. Salty tears sting as they well up in your eyes.

“Good girl, baby, shit—I love those beautiful eyes,” he croons. He fills you to the hilt and pauses, feeling your pussy contract around him. His neck is flushed, veins popping out—he’s trying so hard not to let go and just fuck you senseless. You want him to, though. You reach up and touch his cheek. He looks down at you, surprised.

“Take what you want, Joel,” you tell him. He turns his head to kiss your palm.

“Not yet. Need you to come for me first,” he says, slowly pulling out of you, eyes still locked on yours. He presses himself flush to you and cradles your head in his hands. Your fingernails are glued to his broad, strong back, digging half-moons into his skin. He starts a quick and hard rhythm of thrusting in and out of you, pulling deep moans from you every time he bottoms out. The pressure and stretching are so intense, it feels like your body is incapable doing anything except gripping Joel’s back muscles, staring into his amber eyes, and taking his hard thrusts. Your chest and stomach tighten, breaths escaping at quick intervals. You’re at a point now where you can’t make much else noise—the pleasure is stealing the air from your lungs. You’re close. He knows it—but needs to hear it from you.

“Tell me, darlin’—tell me how it feels,” he urges, eyes squeezing shut as you clamp down on him.

“Feels so good, Joel,” you finally huff. He growls and slots his lips onto yours, sucking on your bottom lip as he pulls back.

“Perfect as fuck,” he curses, trying to maintain rhythm. You’re squeezing him so tight and you’re so wet, he won’t last much longer. He licks his fingertips and reaches down to rub your clit in circles that correspond with the timing of his thrusts.

“Oh, god!” you cry out, shockwaves of pleasure reverberating through your body.

“C’mon, baby—come for me,” he pleads, watching your facial expressions as you approach orgasm. He swipes his fingers around your clit a few more times and your world shatters. Your vision fades to black as you climax. He continues to fuck you through it, slowing his pace as he praises you. That’s it, baby girl. Fuck, you’re beautiful. Best pussy ever. You’re so fucked out, you don’t even register when he cries out your name and latches his mouth on one of your nipples as he empties himself inside you. He lies his head on your chest and rests on you for a moment before pulling out of you and standing up to throw his boxers back on. You grunt at the loss.

“Shit… can’t keep my fuckin’ hands off you,” he says, panting and staring down at you as he pushes some stray curls off his sweaty forehead. Your breasts are still exposed, nipples taut from the cool air. Red marks from his mouth dot your chest, droplets of sweat gathered in the middle. His eyes swipe down your figure and continue their admiration. Your mound is covered in short stubble—you haven’t shaved in a while, with everything going on. Joel looks forward to it scraping his face the next time he tastes you. You’re watching him stare, a smirk creeping on your face.

“Take a picture,” you offer, winking at him. His eyes widen and he chuckles, shaking his head. “I’d never be able to stop lookin’ at it—might get me fired.”

“Well, the offer still stands. Expiration date is never,” you say with a sly smile. His eyes rake over your body once more and he whistles before going into the kitchen to find a towel to clean you up. You pull your phone up from the coffee table and check the time. 0716. Still early.

“D’y’want coffee, darlin’? Or d’y’wanna go back to sleep?” he asks as he wipes up your thighs. You shrug. It’s not like you have anything pressing to do today. He walks back into the kitchen and starts a pot of coffee. You stand up slowly and put your panties and sweats back on, stretching once you’re fully clothed again. Joel calls out to you from the kitchen.

“Got ya somethin’,” he says. You make your way to him, yawning and rubbing your eyes. You look on the counter and see a stainless steel frother, humming softly as it spins around some half and half. You smile and pull Joel into a hug, kissing his neck as you embrace.

“Thank you—you’re so thoughtful,” you whisper. His hands rub your back, and he turns his head to kiss you chastely.

“Anything for my girl,” he whispers back, soft brown eyes flicking between yours. His eyes are so emotive—he’s always telling you so many things simultaneously. Even though it’s been a short time since you’ve known him, you know that he does love you. He wouldn’t ever need to say it out loud—the eyes would always let you know. He kisses you again before releasing you from his embrace.

“So… coffee and sleep. That’s what I choose,” you tell him as you get mugs out for both of you from the cabinet. He laughs softly and takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Sounds good t’me—gotta do some work later, but I got all day for that. Y’want me to arrange have your car brought here? I know y’can’t drive yet, but I don’t want you to feel like you’re trapped… Y’got the garage code and can come and go whenever you need to, darlin’,” he says, watching you bring the mugs over to the table. He looks apprehensive, worried—like part of him thinks he’s suffocating you. You frown at him as you set them down.

“I’m in no hurry to be anywhere, Joel, but you can have it brought here. I really appreciate you taking care of me, seriously,” you say as you sit down across from him, reaching to embrace his forearm in a reassuring manner. “I don’t plan on driving until I’m done with these pain meds, anyway—my first psych appointment isn’t until next week.” He nods and reaches for his mug, eyes never leaving you as he takes a sip. He sets his mug down and laces his fingers with yours, eyes still blazing into yours.

“Just wanna make sure y’got everything y’need, baby,” he says softly. He brings your hand up to his lips and kisses the back of it tenderly. His phone rings from the other side of the kitchen, interrupting your sweet moment. He apologizes and releases your hand as he stands to go find his phone. He picks it up and stares at the caller ID.

“Sarah,” he mouths, showing you the screen. You nod. He walks into the living room and answers with a “Hi, sweetheart.” You grin at his greeting. He’s a sweet man who loves his daughter—and you, clearly, given the fact that he also greets you the same way. They chat for a bit, and it reminds you to check your phone for any notifications. Your mom has called about a dozen times. Fuck. She’s probably listed as your emergency contact, so no doubt the hospital called her after the incident. You decide it’s probably best to call her back and let her know you’re okay. She picks up after the first ring.

“Thank goodness you’re alright,” she exasperates, voice clearly panicked.

“Hey, Mom. Yeah, I’m good. Crazy donor came back to get his vengeance,” you say with a sarcastic tone. To your surprise, she laughs.

“I hear you got some stitches—are you alright? Is anyone helping take care of you? I can drive down and h—,” she stammers quickly. You interrupt in a calm voice.

“I’m okay, Mom, really. I had fourteen stitches and yes, I am being well taken care of,” you promise her, choosing your words carefully and peering over to Joel. She’s going to ask anyway.

“By whom? Anybody from work?” You swallow nervously and prepare to tell her the truth. Wait, why am I scared? I’m an adult—she can’t do anything.

“No, actually… I sort of have a boyfriend, and he’s been taking care of me,” you reply, voice slightly hesitant. The line is quiet for a few seconds.

“Oh—boyfriend? I had no idea. Hopefully he’s a nice young man,” she says. You smirk. Young man. She’ll find out eventually.

“It’s fairly new, but yes—he is awesome. Met him at work. He has a contracting business here in Omaha,” you add, careful not to add too much information.

“Wow—successful, then. Hopefully you bring him out here to meet everyone,” she says, clearly surprised. You feel your cheeks turning hot at the prospect of Joel meeting your crazy family.

“Yep. He’s going to come with me to visit Grandma at the beginning of November.”

“Ah, good. So, you have dates? I’ll let your aunt and the hospice home know in advance. Do you know where you are staying?”

“November 1st through the 8th, I believe. And no—not yet. Might just find an Airbnb out there,” you add cautiously. You don’t want to stay with her—she’d probably make you and Joel sleep in separate rooms.

“Well, you’re welcome to stay here or at Grandma’s—I’m sure the place needs some tidying up, but nobody is there now. I go out each week to make sure everything is in order,” she says. That’s not a bad idea. Your grandma has a nicely sized farmhouse. The animals have long been gone since your grandpa passed, but the scenery is gorgeous. And—you and Joel would have the house to yourself.

“Maybe we’ll do that. Joel can probably fix up some things around the house, too,” you offer, realizing after the fact that you shared his name with your mom.

“That would be lovely, and your grandmother would appreciate that. The house will have to be put up for sale at some point, I would assume,” she says. You see Joel come back into the kitchen out of the corner of your eye. You turn and look at him, and he gives a questioning thumbs up and raises his eyebrows at you. You close your eyes and give him a quick close-lipped grin and nod.

“Sounds good. Well, I gotta get going, but I’ll see you soon,” you tell her lightheartedly, hoping you don’t sound eager to get off the phone with her.

“Okay, dear. You let me know how you’re recovering, alright? I worry,” she adds, tone stern but caring.

“I will. Bye, Mom,” you say, hanging up after she parrots her goodbye to you. Joel comes over to the table and starts rubbing your shoulders as you set your phone down.

“Sounds like a civil conversation,” he croons, leaning down by your earlobe. His velvety voice tickles your eardrum and sends goosebumps down your neck and arm. He kisses the soft skin anterior to your tragus and continues working his mouth down your jawline and neck. You moan softly and reach up to grip his hair. He growls at your noise and touch.

“Hmm… reckon we’re teenagers, eh?” he says into your ear, deep voice muddled with lust. “Can’t go two fuckin’ seconds without you makin’ me hard as a rock, sweetheart.” He sucks your earlobe into his mouth with a quiet moan, and your stomach drops with excitement. He stops kissing you abruptly and stands up straight, adjusting himself in his boxers. You turn and look at him inquisitively, raising one eyebrow. He grins—he loves that he does this to you, makes you squirm and lust for him just like he does for you.

“Soon, baby. Y’need to get some rest. Sarah is coming up tomorrow ‘n’ I want you to meet her.” Your stomach flips. You’re not nervous that she won’t like you or that you won’t have much in common, but this is a big step in your relationship with Joel. You puff out a deep breath.

“I’m in no condition for visitors, I’m afraid,” you say sarcastically, lifting your bandaged arm. He spits out a laugh.

“I’ll make sure you’re in tip-top shape, baby girl. Promise,” he says with a wink. Yeah… you believe him.

Taglist: @burntheedges, @syd-djarin, @anoverwhelmingdin <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #centrifugation #pedro pascal fandom

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blackdragoness · 1 year

Text

⛽GASING YOU UP, BABY⛽

YALL NOT READY FOR ALL DIS' GASSSSS. Lemme gasssss yo lil fat head up, okayyyy. This PICK-A-PILE is for you!

"somebody call 911, shawty fiyah burnin' on da dance floor." -sean kingston

Pile 1 -

Pile 2 -

Pile 3 -

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Pile 1: Show Stunnah 🌻

Overall Tarot Card: The Devil 😈

Channelled Song: Pretty Girl Rock by Keri Hilson

⛽ The gasssss on you is....⛽

🚨🚨ALARMS GOING OFF. YOU SHUTTING THIS SHIT DOWNNNN. LESSSGOOOO 🚨🚨

First of all, you muthafucka's is FINE as hell! I'm talking about FOIIINNEEEE as hell. Body on fleek, face card never declines. As soon as you walk into the room, all eyes are on you and all your competition starts to die a little inside 😂 You are the talk of the town, the talk of every circle, babbyyy 🤤 But y'all been knew dat, 😏

"BEEN that bitch, still that bitch" - Megan The Stallion

Natural beauty with the confidence to match

Confidence of a lion(ess)

Honestly, physically, you got it muthafuckin' going on dawg, what the fuckkkkk. Out of all the piles, this one wins in the Looks Department LOL sorry to the other piles

I'm seeing a face that is so fucking beautiful and angelic. Forever youthful.

Your beauty never dies and it never ages.

I have this huge urge to gasp in awe! You make people gasp with your beauty, ermagerrrdddd this is too cute! I feel like I'm melting in your presence 🫠. It's like everytime people see you in person, you take their breathe away and all they can do is gasp in awe at your undeniable beauty 😂😂😂 it's so fucking corny bro, but damn. That was a channelled message for someone's fine ass out there. You got it like that Mami/Papi, *snap snap snap*

A literal fucking goddess/god. Like you make men want to turn all romantic and old school, writing poems and singing outside your window in the middle of a full moon & shiiit. Or for my men, you make a girl wanna break all her rules and go buck wild for you!!! Like this shit crazzzyyy!! But this is what you be doing to these people lmaoooo!

I'm sure you're a great person on the inside and all, but there is so much emphasis on your physique that I apologize if you feel exploited right now 😂😂 and tbh, you might know the effects your body causes on people so you might be a person with strong boundaries. But damn Papi, what dat body do? 😏

With the devil card crowning your reading, people are OBSESSED WITH YOU!!! Bitch, who tf are you? Why is everyone so fucking obsessed with yo ass!? Lmao

"I can do bad all by myself." You're very independent but you may have many friends too.

Imma just say it flat out: YOU GOT THAT GOOD WAP BABYYYYYY. THAT GOOD WOOD, ya know what I'm sayin' 😂 rumor has it, you can fucking werkkkk it. You got people THIRSTY AF out here, mayneee. Chilllllllll.

You got this hella chill vibe to you though. Like laid-back. Relaxed. Not about the shits or the drama. People can try to ruffle your feathers to get any type of reaction out of you but you stay unbothered AF and that's what draws them nearer to you.

You have a gift for social interactions. Most people have social anxiety but you maneuver and work the room with ease and calmness. It's very admirable.

So many people want to marry you dude, I'm not even kidding. But I'm sensing that you are just focused on yourself and your goals. Relationship isn't a priority in your life right now. But that also is what turns the thirst factor UP when it comes to you.

SEXY, SEXY, SEXY, SEXY, SEXXXXX-Y.

Rich girl, city girl, material gworl vibes

"You always got dem eyes on you" - people love to watch you and stare at you. Sometimes people zone out in conversation with you because your beauty distracts them 😂 you could be talking to them in perfect pronunciation and speed but they won't hear a damn thing you said lol I guess your beauty is deafening too 😂

As beautiful and as sexy as you are, you also have a tender kindness when you interact with anybody. Your beauty shines both inside and out and that's why you are the mf GOAT.

You turn heads every where you go. You got bitches jealous wishing they was you. Ermahgerrrddd, I'm getting a rush of energy from tons of people who fantasize about what it would be like if they had your life. Honestly, that sounds like I'm over hyping y'all, but it's the truth lol. Maybe knowing this information will help you see the beauty of your own life and appreciate it for what it is. Because from folks looking on the outside into your life, they would literally trade spots with you in a heartbeat. Heck, they are already doing it in their daydreams. Recognize that YOU ARE THAT BITCH.

You may come from a great family life. Or people think you come from a super good looking family judging based off of your looks alone lol

A lot of people want to be tied to you in some way. People feel that being connected to you gives them "brownie points" in popularity 😂😂 some people may try to befriend you for clout. I'm not even getting social media vibes, although y'all may be big on social media too. But I'm sensing like real life clout, which is ten times better than social media clout, ya feel me. It's almost like knowing you in real life makes people feel more important in real life.

Y'all are the IT GIRL/ IT BOY. Everyone wanna be you, do the things you do, talk like you, walk like you, fucking everyfannnggg!!! I cannot with y'all. You guys are unreal but thats why we are so fucking obsessed with you, booo. Keep doing you and keep being you 🌻

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Pile 2 - Cutie Pie 🥧

Overall Tarot Card: Ace of Cups

Channelled Song: My Bestie by Lloyd ft Sevyn

⛽ The gasssss on you is.....⛽

🍯🍯CUTENESS OVERLOAD!!!!!!! YOU ARE THE CUTEST FUCKING THING EVER 🍯🍯

Everyone wants to hug you, squeeze you, love on you. Stick you in their pocket and take you home. This vibe is so mushy and gooey!

Everybody's little sister. You provoke a very protective spirit in those around you and those close to you. You are looked at as something that needs to be protected at all costs.

I dunno what it is about you but people will go to bat for you no matter the situation or the time. If ever you are in trouble, you have a whole gang of people who you can count on to drop what they are doing and prioritize you. Even if they are pissed off at you, they would lay their differences to the side and come to your rescue.

You make people feel very emotional when it comes to even just the thought of you. You are so special to people I don't think you realize that!

You are that person in people's lives that they cannot imagine ever losing. Like an angel in disguise who needs to be protected from this cruel world.

You attract friends like flies!!!!! This pile is SOOOOOOO popular and you don't even have to try. You could actually be a more introverted and reserved person but constantly have a crowd of people with you.

Sooooo warm and soft. Feels like I'm sinking in an ocean of really warm honey. That's how you make people feel.

People LOVE hugging you, cuddling you, and feeling you. Your presence is very calming and motherly.

You have great motherly instincts and people trust you with their children and animals. Kids might naturally flock to you and easily trust you because of your kind nature.

You may only consider a small group of people as friends but there are so many people who consider you as one of their best friends. You may make some friends jealous because they envisioned some type of exclusive friendship with you. However, a lot of people need you in their life and so that's something they need to come to terms with.

A lot of people feel like they can confide in you with confidential matters, knowing it will be kept safe. You also give really great advice that helps people progress further on their life path.

You are a very necessary presence in many peoples life stories. If every human soul had a book about their life, there would be at least one chapter about you in multiple life books. While most people are only focused on writing their own book, they are scarcely mentioned in other stories. But you, you are very necessary in the development of other people's life journeys. Like you make an impact on their story for the better. Wowwwww. I can only imagine that this role comes with a lot of positive karma for you and your generations to come.

You beautify every place you enter, every floor you walk on, and every person you meet. You are a contagious ray of light that shines everywhere you go even in the darkest of places.

You very rarely compete or get jealous of people and that's why many consider you to be their best friend. They feel completely free to be themselves around you with no judgement, guilt or shame.

You are unapologetically yourself and it's a big turn on for the opposite sex.

Many people wish they could possess your unapologetic nature but they are realizing it is a lot harder to mimic than they thought.

"I walk like this cuz I can back it up. I got a big ego" -Beyonce

You been through a lot and it shows through how sweet and caring you are. And because you put out that energy, people wanna love you the same way in return.

You really tug at people's heart strings when they think of you. I'm hearing "a heart of gold and titanium". So valuable and indestructible.

You have been placed on this throne by a lot of people. Very very respected and admired. I'm hearing you proved yourself. Your true colors shown and they worked in your favor.

An example for others to follow

A true royal

SELF-CONTROL, SELF-CONTROL, SELF-CONTROL. You have so much self control and people are both envious and admiring that trait of yours. "The one with the most control over themselves is the one with the most power in the room."

You might be a very adaptable person. You literally can chop it up with anybody you want! No personality is too hard for you to adapt to.

You have such a knack for resolving conflict. You can de-escalate any situation with your soft spoken voice and level-headedness. Things always run smoother when you are around.

People take you seriously and really listen when you speak. You may not vocalize your opinions as often as others, but when you finally do, it shocks people, so they listen.

A deep well of wisdom.

Honorable. Highly respected. Highly trusted.

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Pile 3 - LEGEND ⚜️

Overall Tarot Card: 8 of Pentacles

Channelled Song: One Call Away by Bina Butta

⛽ The gasssss on you is.....⛽

🥶🥶 YOU OUT HERE GIVING US THE SHIVERS WITH YO ICY FINE ASS 🥶🥶

BOSS BITCHHHHH. I see you focused on that bag and getting that bag!!! If you chose this pile, YOU LOOK LIKE MONEY, HUNNY 🤑

"came through drippin *drip drip*"

You are a hard ass worker. I'm getting strong energy coming from the workplace you work at. You got a lot of people dumbfounded at your work ethic. For some reason, I'm getting that they didn't think you were going to be the type of worker that you are.

You may be known as someone who bosses up every time you experience a hardship in life. It's actually pretty phenomenal to watch.

Phoenix rising from the ashes.

You are that one character in a movie story that never dies 😂 it's like no matter how many battles you fight, you never fucking die lol it's annoying to your haters but so inspiring to those who witness this inner strength of yours.

You are a LEGEND! Some people think that your life experiences are too good to be true. But they just ain't ever met nobody like you before thats why. I'm hearing that behind your back people try to investigate the validity of your story just to be humbled when they find witnesses who retell the same story.

People want to know the depths of your life experience. I'm getting that people view you kind of like Indiana Jones who is well travelled with many stories and adventures to tell for many days.

You inspire people to think outside of the box. To want more for themselves and be open to newer opportunities that can make them feel free and alive again. You make them want to explore life again.

You walk around like a large ball of life force energy. Anything within a 5 foot radius of you starts to be influenced by your vibration.

A lot of people speak about you!!! A lot of people have your name in their mouth. It's very positive though. I'm hearing a lot of praise, chanting your name. Celebrating you!

I sense you might be hermit mode or really just focusing on yourself. People can see the changes that are happening through your physical appearance . Your hardwork and focus shines through your countenance.

You have a lot more people who support and love you. Im feeling that for this pile, the support isn't as apparent as it was for Group 2. I'm feeling like this pile stands alone with lots of silent supporters. Something about you being very intimidating or being closed off to a connection is what's blocking people from showing their support but it's like they understand why you are closed off and respect your boundaries.

People feel like you are going very far in life and will hit it big in the future. They want to see you win and are silently watching until then.

The way you carry yourself is top notch alpha type vibes. Specifically for my feminines, this is so sexy about you. You carry this masculine energy in such a sexy feminine way it intimidates and submits even the strongest of men. Very BAWS BOSS like.

RAWRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR 🦁

BOSS, BOSS, BOSS, BAWSSSYYYYYY

"Dat ass, dat ass, dat ass, dat ass" 🤨🤨okaaayyyy, someone clearly has a nice juicy ass that needs to be pointed out 🤷🏾‍♀️

You must have a very strong presence in your work place because the energy keeps taking me to a work environment. Either that or you think about work all the time 😂 you really are such an independent woman. Some may call it hyper independent but do you honey. Set the standard as high as you want. Don't let their intimidated ass opinion shrink you 😉

Maybe you own a lot of businesses or aspire to own your own business. People see the potential for you. But I'm getting indecisive energy. You are probably really talented at SOOO many things and are weighing out your options. However, you know that once you have made your decision, there is no stopping you from reaching the top. Everyone else knows it too and that's why they are silently watching you.

You are a rare human. You have an imagination that is so active. Anything you imagine, you create in this world. You were probably a very imaginative kid and highly active. With how hard you work coupled with your crazy active imagination, you actually have the power to manifest whatever you want into existence. Maybe you are aware of that. Maybe you aren't. But channelling this energy feels very magnetic and strong. Keep your imaginations alive. Keep your dreams alive. Chase them.

People wonder how you gained such a bright imagination. They wish they could have that light that you have. You heal a lot of people's inner child by giving them experiences to exercise their imagination. Maybe you enjoy conversations about the trendy things from people's childhoods or you like to talk about the future a lot. You spark creativity and imagination for people and it gives them motivation for life again.

You lead by example. Lots of people are out here running they mouth but you stay steady on your grind proving your worth through your life.

You have silent supporters because you are a silent leader. You don't do much talking. You just do the damn thing and later on people find out what you did and are completely shocked.

You are a bombshell. Not only do you look great but you're like a ticking time bomb in people's minds. You constantly have people stewing over you and then boom, you do something that blows everybody's minds lol. I like this vibe. Very spontaneous and fun to be around

#Spotify #pick a pile #pac reading #pick a card reading #tarot community #intuitive readings #astro community #art #astro notes #astrology #zodiac #leo zodiac sign #scorpio #taurus #aquarius #virgobaby #libra moon

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asoulwithadream · 8 months

Text

EXCLUSIVE FALL PREVIEWS

Mates. LADS. BRETHEREN.

I think I'm going to die now. AAAAAAAAAAAAH—

BUT OF COURSE WHAT WOULD BE THE SENSE OF MY EXISTENCE IF I DIDN'T SHARE MY OWN PERSONAL THOUGHTS ON THESE BEAUTIFUL THINGS BEFORE THE MEDICINE KICKS IN.

The Crew — I think this is where they see LUCIUS!!!! I'm so very convinced this is where they meet Lucius. As we can see, they're all in the same clothing as the Vanity Fair first looks, where Black Pete is visibly overjoyed. But can't you see that he is missing from this shot? Probably snogging Lucius' face off or hugging him or doing something as such.

Lucius probably popped around the corner in the Vanity Fair one, and now they're sharing an intimate moment (keeping it PG) on deck while the rest of the happy crew watches on (as visible from Roach's, Oluwande's, and Wee John's faces). Of course, Buttons has no interest in human adoration, and instead looks on towards his own lover, the sea.

Stede is looking quite perplexed, or maybe contemplatively—perhaps as a result of Lucius telling Stede what happened to him. He doesn't look directly all that happy, does he?

(OMG OMG OMG WHY DO THEY ALL LOOK SO HAPPY EXCEPT STEDE BUT OLU YOU DEAREST MAN AND THEY'RE LOOKING SNAZZY AND I LOVE THEIR SOCKS I'M AHHAHASIJDHKAE)

Stede — That's the floor of the Revenge guys. I know it well since the last time Stede was pushed onto it. (Solidarity for the harm that the foot touch caused in these trying times) He is wearing what looks to be ye olde fencing gloves, and this means that was just handling a sword. (Though, he could have been using the cannons; we all know Stede would probably confuse fencing gloves for heavy artillery)

There are a few scenarios I can find at the top of my head: he's either training with Izzy (though would that explain his terrified expression? maybe)—we also see the lack of the red ribbon, which I think he removed when he teams up with Izzy, for whatever reason—or he's been duelling with someone else, someone who is extremely better at swordsmanship, someone we know to have been excellent at both maiming and receiving stab wounds. Has he been fighting with Edward?

I think it's the former, but who knows? The best part of theorising is being wrong, after all. I guess we can just gang up and say "calm down mr wavey blade" to whoever is behind this. Plus, do I see traced of some fuzz on his chin? Confirmed baby steard, guys???

(He's such an ICON I WANT TO BREATHE HIS HAIR AND SEE IT BEHIND MY EYELIDS. In the wise words of Rhys Darby, "I wish I had his hair". BUT LIKE HONESTLY WHAT'S GOING ON HERE WHY DOES HE LOOK LIKE HE'S SEEN A GHOST)

Frenchie and Ed — This has me on actual alarm bells mode. I can't tell whether or not this is Blackbeard or post-Blackbeard era—he's not wearing any dark chunky make-up, and has his hair up in his classic, beautiful half-up half-down, and we finally get a more close-up and clear shot of his earring, which we first spotted from the Vanity Fair first looks?

A detail I spotted for Frenchie's new goth uniform, which he is still wearing in this shot (further confusing me on the timeline of this image)—I think that his jacket is the very same from the "The Best Revenge Is Dressing Well" episode, which is so incredibly sweet and a beautiful little detail to connect back to season 1. I'd like to think he customised it himself, since we know Frenchie can "sew like the wind."

That's also still the Revenge, in fact the very spot where Lucius was about to get his finger cut off in "The Art of F**kery". But what intent Ed has with this confrontation with Frenchie, who seemingly looks like perhaps he wasn't even doing anything wrong, escapes the depth of my theoretical mind. What contributes even less to this is that Ed is smiling? Rather maniacal, might I add.

(WHAT. THE. FUCK. help me why is this happening. I LIKE AM SO ANGRY AND SO HAPPY AT THE SAME TIME THAT I CAN'T FIGURE ANYTHING OUT FROM THIS PICTURE. NOT EVEN WHAT STAGE OF GRIEF ED IS IN. HELP ME)

Edward — That chair looks like it's from Stede's room, from one of the desk-like tables in the corner next to his bed, and perhaps even the only chair which Ed kept in the room after his rather ill-tasted renovations. What's he doing there without his make-up on? Perhaps this is still during the early stages of new Blackbeard, and he's just in the transit period between washing and re-application.

BUT, if we look at the background, does that look like the Revenge? Not really... There is what seems like a fireplace or some sort of stone plate in the background, with a painting on it with a man on the left side of the composition, who seemingly looks to have lighter coloured hair. So what I may be thinking, is that Edward is visiting MARY ALLAMBY! The painting in the background may be the one from Stede and Mary's wedding, and Mary might have kept it as memorabilia in ode of her now good friend. (Stede is on the left in that painting). Plus, where else would Stede get his furniture and taste for his bedroom than his own former house, which Mary currently lives at?

Even though I think David Jenkins said that Mary wouldn't be present in the season, do I believe him? No. I think I have the right for me to be delusional without external interference at this point.

(Please let me be right please let me be right I NEED A MARY / ED INTERACTION AT SOME POINT TO HEAL MY HEART. I need Mary to realise that fucking Blackbeard is the Ed that Stede was talking about, I NEED ED TO THINK THAT STEDE DIED, FOR EVEN A MOMENT. I think my brain has stopped receiving oxygen.)

Send hopes and prayers

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd s2 speculation #ofmd s2 theories #ofmd fall previews #ofmd teaser #ofmd vanity fair #edward teach #ed teach #blackbeard #stede bonnet #crew of the revenge #lucius spriggs #mary allamby bonnet #rhys darby #taika waititi #david jenkins #i need desperate help and assistance in these trying times #how am i supposed to live laugh love in these conditions

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peachesofteal · 6 months

Note

hi peachy, i have a brain blast for you

demon kings ghost and soap. unkind rulers with no hope of ever granting mercy to anyone. (view them as you will, i see ghost able to manipulate matter and soap able to manipulate electricity/fire)

and rebellion leader’s daughter, darling, who snuck into their castle during a lavish event to steal something that would help the humans against them.

it’s been on a back burner in my head, i want to see how you interpret it ☺️🫶

Keri, please. Why would you do this to me? (I love you) I’m supposed to be working on my actual WIPs 😭

18+ MDNI / little bit of non con

You get caught, absolutely. Because you’re naturally a fool, humans are slower, less in tune with the underworld, unable to navigate it’s consistent and confusing passageways that seem to always be changing.

It doesn’t take long before you’re being dragged into the throne room, kicking and hollering the whole way, body being thrown forward onto the dais, skidding to a stop on your knees before the two very terrifying rulers of this realm, and their entire royal ball.

You’re terrified of what they’ll do to you. They’re known for their cold blooded reign of terror, and you can’t imagine they’ll be particularly kind to you- the daughter of a mortal king, sent here to sneak around behind their back and steal from them.

Johnny gets up first, circling where you kneel on the stone, before crouching in front of your face and pinching your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger.

“Aren’t ye a pretty thing.” He hums, and then looks back to Ghost, who watches you with consideration, before simply giving Johnny a nod.

“We’ve never had a mortal before,” Ghost says when Johnny deposits you onto his lap, arranging your legs so they’re spread wide beneath your skirts, your body still covered but… exposed to the wandering hand that keeps sliding over your thigh. “But we’ve always wanted to share one.” His fingers find the hem of your dress, slipping underneath and over your knee, inching closer and closer to where you’re traitorous body is yearning to be touched. Other demons are watching, lust and fascination reflecting in their eyes, and your cheeks burn with embarrassment as Ghost rubs a curious thumb down your slit, and you jolt with a whine. His other hand stills you, firm on your hip, and you tremble when Johnny gets to his knees in front of you, peeling back your skirt to expose your cunt.

“Don’t.” You hiss, still trying to move, force your legs closed, but Ghost wrenches one knee wide, clucking his tongue in disappointment.

“Ah, ah. Be a good girl and let Johnny taste you, little thief.”

#peaches asks #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader

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scintillyyy · 5 months

Text

actually there is another super interesting way in which you can tell dixon is trying to narratively reward steph for her perserverence (aside from writing her to fit his sexist worldview and rewarding her for that) & almost the... "pick oneself up by their bootstraps and succeed no matter your circumstances and what barriers there may be" narrative he kind of has for her and that is with the evolving nature of her social class through her appearances while he writes her imo (the ultimate bootstraps story that conservatives love) (which also contributes to the vast difference of interpretations of steph's economic status)

so honestly, in her first appearance in detective comics #647-649 she is very much coded as coming from a background of lower class/working poor/welfare stereotypes with a criminal father and an addict mother.

their house is visibly run down & not taken care of. crystal is emaciated and wears a robe all day/doesn't bother to get dressed, doctor shops for pills, and is whiny about how she'll get sicker without the prescription pills she's addicted to (you know nothing about crystal's initial aesthetics screams welfare queen imagery to me, tbh. they certainly don't seem to be implied to be "scamming the system just to live it up on steaks and lobster" and dixon would be way more overt about welfare fraud. i would call this more "white trash poor person" imagery as i imagine he sees it.).

interestingly though is the framing of steph by dixon as incredibly positive in comparison to her surroundings. in a way she's conceived as someone who is fighting against the poor circumstances that she was born into--she's going to be spoiler and rise above her criminal father and compared to her mother who can't be bothered to get dressed because she's always high, steph's going to dress nicely. those jeans she's wearing? that back pattern pocket is pretty iconically calvin klein. those were like. status symbol jeans of the 90s. now i'm not here to argue about affordability indicating she's way richer than she actually is here, because this was the 90s and steph very much could have afforded nice clothes and a vespa for herself on her summer/part-time job (in fact the clothes she wears on her vespa are pretty implied to be some sort of part-time job uniform), but it's a very interesting contrast that dixon draws, especially considering his biases. like you can tell he thinks that steph is in no way responsible for her circumstances (it's not her fault that her dad is a criminal and her mom is an addict) & and that being born into her circumstances don't mean she's doomed to end up like them--as long as she works hard and does the right thing, she'll be rewarded. in this case, she'll present herself as higher class/act classier than her unfortunate surroundings (via her external presentation of herself--she'll work hard and get the things she deserves for her hard work and effort) & resoundingly reject following her criminal father's footsteps by becoming the spoiler in order to cement herself as Not Like That. like he went out of his way to make her circumstances be more stereotypically poor and then show her as being above all that. she's the noble poor to her unfortunate white trash circumstances. (which is in line with dixon's classism and conservative viewpoint that it's okay to be poor, as long as you're white and don't act like those people do and hate your circumstances/are motivated to rise above them).

and this thread of how crystal is/stephanie's circumstances continues through crysal's next two appearances in robin #3 and showcase '95 #5 (though this was was written by keri kowalski, not dixon). she's still presented with very stereotypical aesthetics: she's never dressed, at this point, it's not implied she works...

and again, you can tell that dixon likes steph despite the fact that he wrote her as poor in her initial appearances because he often writes her as though he considers her above her circumstances (because those aren't her fault and she's working hard to not be like that).

the interesting thing is how this evolves once crystal kicks her addiction. which. frankly, i don't believe we ever see exactly when this happens? she's still an addict in showcase '95, but by her next appearance in robin #43 in 1997, she seems to. certainly be different than she was portrayed in her few initial appearances and appears to probably be sober at this point.

she's well put together and clearly employed, a far cry from the initial imagery dixon initially used for her. now it doesn't say she's a nurse here, just that she works at the hospital, but the white shoes and dress are an imagery giveaway. and now making steph's mom a nurse is actually kind of a soft retcon of her previously implied situation and a pretty interesting one at that because nursing--nursing and teaching occupations back in the 80s and 90s (and even today for nursing) iirc were considered good jobs to the middle class, on account of them being professional and steady jobs that required a degree of some sort that couldn't be automated or sent overseas (and there's a shortage, they need nurses!), like other jobs that were being lost at the time. so by making her mom a nurse, dixon was explicitly cementing their family circumstances as middle class as opposed to implied poor like their very initial appearances (or even what might've been considered "working class" at the time by certain economic theories, given that nursing isn't necessarily considered an "unskilled" job and does require college + it may be considered a pink collar job but in general there's good job security so it's such a gray area) (forgive my use of quotations here, i don't personally believe that jobs are unskilled and that the working class is a nebulous term that is illdefined and covers many different jobs with vastly different potential salary opportunities. a union working class electrician could very well be upper middle class based on salary, low cost of living, and lack of debt compared to someone who works at minimum wage, lives in a HCOL area, and has 75k in college loans but both are considered working class because they provide labor for wages) (i'm thinking of a 90s working class that was viewed between the middle class and the poor that consisted of a lot of what people considered blue collar or routizined work, but again, that means almost nothing in terms of salary potential and economic opportunity. plumber and warehouse worker are both considered blue collar, but their economic circumstances can vastly differ, but i digress-)

which is actually a pretty interesting evolution to her initial implied socioeconomic circumstances. because if her mom is a nurse & has a middle class job, then their economic issues previously weren't necessarily just that they were poor. it's that they were middle class fallen on hard times. which also coincides with the shift in the 90s where people were starting to be frightened of the middle class getting ravaged by the opioid/drug crisis. so now crystal isn't a stereotypical poor white trash addict, she's a middle-class worker who fell on hard times. and if they were struggling with finances, it wasn't that they were poor, it was more to do with struggling on account of crystal's addictions and having to deal with steph's dad/pay for him/he used their money and house for his villainy. and you end up because of this retcon having this issue where yea, she was initially presented as poor. but for the vast majority of her appearances, when she more consistently started to have a presence, she's written as middle class fallen on hard times. and you get this dissonance in her reading where it's like, yea, at the beginning, she was poor (and in far more stereotypical circumstances), so you can't say she never struggled financially. but also to claim she's just poor is to go against a lot of imagery that indicates more of a lower middle class (middle class, but struggling/tighter finances/no significant wiggle room), such as having a mom who's a nurse, having a home computer, etc. and in this case i really don't think this was just a case of dixon not knowing how to write a poor person (though that's definitely somewhat involved, this is dixon after all), because the choice of profession for her mother and giving her access to a home computer in the 90s and the overall improvement of her perceived home environment as the series progressed do seem like a deliberate choice on dixon's part. he probably would have known that nursing was considered a "good, steady" job to have.

anyways, i don't necessarily think this retcon is. necessarily worst thing in the world. it's much less stereotypical than poor/bad people are in poor/bad situations because of their choices and it acknowledges that people in all socioeconomic tiers can struggle with issues like crime and addiction.

alright, continuing on. there's an interesting thread in the steph pregnancy arc that has crystal ruminate on how steph ended up that way because crystal was a bad influence for marrying arthur and the pills. but because chuck has decided that the browns are more lower middle class than straight lower class there's a bit of a redemption/reimagining of his initial poor view of crystal once she gets sober and a marked improvement in the appearance of their socioecomonic status. take robin #58 for example.

crystal gets to support and affirm steph, be present (unlike her initial appearances). and in robin #84 after she's aware of steph's going out as spoiler after having recently found the spoiler costume (and trying to put her down about it--compared to when steph was doing spoiler stuff in the kitchen and her mom didn't even notice because she was high) and the visual design of the inside of their their house has definitely improved from run down to standard middle class, fairly nice looking.

which again feels fairly deliberate to me. because it doesn't just seem like dixon not understanding what it means to be poor, there's a deliberate moving of steph's socioeconomic status up more towards middle class once her mom gets sober which i feel like aligns nicely with chuck's viewpoint that if you're poor, you're poor because of bad choices and once you make good choices you can settle back into relative comfort.

and notably he gives even bigger reward to crystal for kicking her habit and make better choices and renouncing her husband's criminal ways (when she found out steph was spoiler and turned him in she was like "hah, serves him right"--compare this to when she was implied to be visiting him in steph's first appearance and she was being presented poorly): she, like steph, will now get sympathy for being put in a situation out of her control and the hard times that have fallen upon them. in robin #93 and #94 arthur comes home and parks himself there and nobody likes it.

and yea, they're shown to be struggling--crystal doesn't have extra money laying around to hire a lawyer to kick our her husband--a long, arduous, expensive process (+in robin #94 she's shown as being fed up with the court process as well). but rather than her being treated bad by narrative for not having money, she's presented quite sympathetically. she doesn't want them there or have anything to do with them. she's a hardworking, middle class woman who maybe fell on hard times because of her past addictions and having a criminal husband, but because she did the right thing and got clean and renounced those ways. she's not being seen as culpable to the situation--she's being seen as a victim of it this time. anyways, dixon eventually resolves the situation by sending dinah over to kick out the villains inhabiting her home, which shows that he thinks that they're (crystal and steph) deserving of being saved from the circumstances that keep them down (because they're hardworking people who are actively trying to get out of their situation and better themselves). and it aligns quite nicely with his conservative view of the world, that people who work hard get rewarded for their hard work and good things happen to them.

like i'm not going to pretend that the browns are rich by any means. they're clearly not. but there's an interesting way in which dixon improves steph's class as a reward for her perserverence. the last mention we get of any potential class by dixon is her conversation with tim in robin #100 where tim is catastrophizing about the loss of his money (which i know is nagl), but it also doesn't exactly imply she's poor and she's not exactly mad at him for being tone-deaf. she's just matter of fact about not understanding the big deal--just that she fights crime on a budget. so it's more her way of telling tim that he doesn't have to worry about the money thing/going down to middle class when it comes to being robin--after all, she's done just fine as spoiler by being smart with her money. which is actually fairly in line with dixon's viewpoint that if you make good decisions with your money, you'll do just fine and can/should afford to do what you want.

his biases and politics are sooo obvious with the browns tbh. all in all, the way he writes the browns (crystal & stephanie) wrt class i get a lot of flavors of that stupid fucking hillbilly elegy book. they're not poor welfare recipients because they're the true, hardworking people who deserve to be middle class. they were down on their luck and made bad decisions and had unfortunate things happen to them (arthur, crystal's addiction), but they overcame that like good hardworking americans (became spoiler, got sober) and as a result their economic situation improves as god intended. anyways, like i said before. it makes it so hard to be like "yea, steph was poor!" without leaning into dixon's stereotypes of poor people (addiction, criminality) and when he does write them as poor/struggling he writes them as the "true poor" "the good poor people who would never depend on aid, they just work hard to reject their circumstances and elevate themselves as they should". but it's also hard to uncomplicatedly say she was middle class, because despite being presented as lower middle class for a lot of her appearances, it's also another part of dixon's classism that has him improving their economic class over time because it's an improvement inexorably linked to his belief that hardworking americans can just pull themselves up by their bootstraps because he shows steph and crystal doing just that.

& i think of how it was initially dixon's idea to maybe make steph robin in a storyline & i can't help but feel that's almost a continuation/conclusion of the bootstraps narrative he has for steph.

idk it's just hard for me to say that dixon looked down on steph for being poor/being lower middle class because her story of self-improvement is so tied to the conservative belief of upward mobility with hard work. it's extremely classist. and yet it's still there. on the paper.

bonus, just to prove he sees them (the browns) as a lower middle class family who wouldn't be struggling so much if the government would just stop taking all their money in taxes:

#listen tim gets to be a dixon mouthpiece a lot to extoll the virtues of the rich #but the browns are also very much written as his way of extolling the 'poor dears plighted by taxes to pay for the poors' lower middle clas #and it's hard to be like well that's unrealistic when that socioeconomic class has gotten convinced of the ideals of conservatism #it's just another one of the unfortunate realities of her creation and the fact that she was dixon's darling #no matter which way you perceive her...classism and conservative ideals of economics are involved

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oldshrewsburyian · 6 months

Note

I should not still be awake but I finally decided to watch the Diplomat and I’m not

I’m not functional

This is so good

I’ve loved Rufus Sewell since Middlemarch and the chemistry between him and Keri Russell

Why are there teen shows when there could be more of this

Yes. Fewer shows about high school drama, more shows about people reckoning with mid-life and the question of what, exactly, we can do to save a world that seems bent on ruining itself.

...Also wildly hot and talented actors.

Anyway, yes. I'm so glad you've joined me in being non-functional about all this. As you say, Rufus Sewell (!! a GIFT) and Keri Russell are both magnificent. I love Hal and Kate and their extremely chaotic chemistry so much.

#the diplomat 2023 #the diplomat #asks and answers #rufus sewell #keri russell #so many good cheekbones

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dema-heart · 9 months

Text

Enjoying the show

Hobie x reader

Sfw hobie

Hobie invites himself in through the window he keeps telling you to stop leaving open and catches you singing and dancing in the sweatshirt he left at your place last time he visited. Don't forget he was "just a friend"

Use of song lyrics

I have no knowledge of British slang or accents the most we'll get from me (for now) is the use of luv. I'm sorry Σ(＞Д＜)

Hobie slipped through your open window tsking as he closed it behind him before making sure to lock it. He'd kept telling you to stop leaving it open just beacuse you lived toward the top of the apartment building there were still people, like him you'd remind him and he'd shake his head with a smirk mumbling thats different, that would be crazy enough to come through.

He called out for you listening for any response as he walked around the corner toward your room. You didn't answer but the sound of music keyed him in to your location. Humming he strolled toward your room door, he had intended to call out to you again as not to startle you but paused at the scene in front of him.

You were dressed in his sweatshirt and a pair of sleep shorts using a pencil as a microphone while you sang and danced in front of your bed. Your back was to him as he continued to look around you'd placed the mini spider-punk plush and punkified squishmello he'd gotten you a while back in the middle of your bed, your audience he assumed. Snickering softly he went to make himself known before the next song but his words were lost as you pointed the pencil at the plushies with a wide smile.

"This next song is dedicated to Hobie fucking Brown the punk bitch who currently has my heart in knots and butterflies in my stomach. This sweatshirts his ya know...i hid it last time he was round" You announced loud and proud to the plushies laughing softly as 'knock you down' played through the speaker.

'That's why i couldn't find it the little sneak.' Hobie smiled before curiosity won him over, and he leaned against the doorway, waiting for the show.

"Uh-huh, not again. Oh, this ain't supposed to happen to me..." You started talking into the "mic" before you started bouncing simlar to what he'd taught you to do at his concerts. You laughed bouncing and head bobbing through kanye's verse. The action didn't match the song, but who cared this was your show!

You stopped, rocking now as you put your hand out to point and perform like you were in some boy band. Hobie couldn't get the smile off his face as he watched.

"I never thought I'd be in love like this...When I look at you my mind goes on a trip" Your hand shook in front of you before coming to rest over your heart. Walking back and forth on your "stage" as you preformed.

"Then you came in and knocked me on my face" you pointed to the punked plushy before dramatically raising a hand to your head.

"Feels like I'm in a race but I already won first place." You pulled on the sweatshirt showing off the prize you'd won.

"I never thought I'd fall for you as hard as I did." You paused all movement, singing this line seriously before getting hype again.

"You got me thinking 'bout our life, our house and kids" your hand was palm up and out stretched as you moved it from left to right to imply the apartment for 'our house'and then pointed to the plushies at kids. Hobie's heart stalled before it was suddenly racing. Here you were singing a love song for him, about him...he was screwed.

"Every morning I look at you and smile." Your hand was back to rest over your heart.

"Cause boy you came around, and you knocked me down, knocked me down"

You fell foward laughing as you let the chorus go a bit before getting up, out of breath from singing and moving so much you turned around to grab your water almost jumping out of your skin when you saw hobie behind you.

"Hobie what the fuck?! How long have you been standing there, shit?" You questioned quickly, hand over your racing heart as you looked at him. He'd just about scared you shitless and you'd momentarily forgotten about your little show.

You walked over to your phone, pausing the song when you'd gotten no response from him but a smile that made your heart race for other reasons. "Hobie?"

He stalked forward, long legs putting him in front of you faster than you were prepared for. You looked up at him, cranning more than normal due to his proximity. His hands came to rest on your hips before he lifted you, spinning and falling back onto your bed, which creaked at the sudden movement, your poor "audience" crushed. He laughed loudly as you sqeauled, grabbing at him the moment he'd fallen back.

"HOBIE WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON" you yelled looking up at him from his chest. You could feel your heart beating rapidly, anymore scares and you weren't sure you'd make it. Your hands still gripped the front of his shirt tightly having been the only thing you could grip before he flung himself back. You paused feeling how hard his heart was racing under your hand. You looked from your hand to him and he smirked.

"Thought I'd come around and knock you down. Like ya said." He smirked as he quoted the last bit of the verse you'd sang.

"Oh my g..." You mumbled. Paling finally remembering your lil concert. You attempted to get up quickly but hobie stopped you hands locked around your waist. You looked back at his hands trying to push up again before turning back to face him. You couldn't look him in the eyes anymore, your face was hot from embarrassment. His fingers toyed with the end of his sweatshirt you were wearing occasionally rubbing a thumb across your back.

"How long were your standing there?" You sighed giving up on escaping. Hobie chuckled watching you give up so easily.

"Long enough to know I didn't just misplace my jumper last time I was 'round. Ya little thief" He chuckled tugging on the end of the sweatshirt. He watched as your mind raced before realization hit you. He tighted his relaxed grip on your waist as you began to struggle again. He had no intentions of letting you go but he let you try for now.

"Hobart brown, let me go! Let go of me right now! so I can curl up in my blanket and die! Oh my gosh, that means you were there from the start, and you didn't say anything, you ass!" You pushed on his chest, feet kicking as you tried to escape his grip. Your chest and stomach squeezed with embarrassment as your thoughts raced. Hobie didn't budge, and you were all but ready to fight him if he didn't let you up soon. (not really, but honestly, what else could you come up with in a situation like this).

Your words and performance played on the loop in your mind as you struggled. Not helping your case at all. You wanted to curl up under your blanket and stay there after you got rid of hobie and any trace of him so you'd never have to relive this moment.

"Hobie...Please..." You whined, finally giving up and burying your face into his chest with a huff. His chest rumbled beneath you as he chuckled.

"Sorry luv, no can do. Just found out I'm the punk bitch,ouch by the way, that's got butterflies in ya stomach" He pokes your side making you flinch. "And watched an amazing show about it too."

You groaned into his chest, willing whoever's up there to strike you down now.

Hobie looked down at you, grinning at the sight of your reddened cheeks and ears. He decided it was probably time to put you out of your misery.

"Look at me ,doll" His voice was soft but teasing. He held you down with one arm prepared in case you tried to get away while using his other to help him sit up. He rested his back against the wall pulling you up so you were forced to put your knees on either side of him practically sitting in his lap.

"No" you huffed, turning your head away from him. Your mind was still racing the embarrassment still fresh.

"Get out that pretty lil head of yours and look at me, doll. please?" He tried again this time lifting one arm to grab your jaw in a firm but gentle grip, turning your head towards him. You closed your eyes with a huff refusing to look at him and he chuckled.

Hobie thought for a moment before he placed a kiss to your forehead. You gasped eyes opening as he pulled back, his eyes were already on you.

"I've fallen for you too, luv. Hard might I add. No need to be embarrassed about it" his voice sounded confident but you knew better he was putting on a front, the emotional context to his words a bit much for him. His eyes searched yours as you took a deep breath.

"Doesn't change the fact that I'm still mad at you...so I'll need another sweatshirt and we'll be even...this one stopped smelling like you awhile ago" you grinned making your demands as you watched his gaze relax.

You laughed as hobie smiled. "Whatever you say, doll but first let me make up for the scare,yeah?" The hand on your jaw moved to cup your cheek as he leaned foward to kiss you. Your eyes closed as you let out a pleased sigh against his lips. Yeah, okay, you gave up a bit too easy, but who could blame you when hobie's hands were on you, eyes promising more than just the sweet kiss he'd given you.

#hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #atsv hobie #hobie x you #hobie x gn!reader #rainbow's bookshelf #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk x y/n

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