#where they’re investigating something together
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"The way you flirt is shameful,” Erestor said, but there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he was more impressed than anything. The tavern was bustling that evening, and despite the elf’s best efforts the busy barkeeper hardly looked at him for more than a moment. Yet the counsellor’s traveling partner was like a drop of sunshine in the dingy bar, and he suspected the man would be easily distracted her charm.
“But by the smirk on your face I suspect he told you what we needed.”
{ @sashaofravenlock }
#:D#i thought this might also work conveniently for the other meme you sent#where they’re investigating something together#I’m not sure what#perhaps someone from Sasha’s realm crosses into Arda and it’s Not Good?#and they need to get them back where they belong?#answered#sashaofravenlock#i left it ambiguous to leave room for more decision making
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I recommend to everyone online to follow at least ONE (1) weirdo. Not a qanon conspiracy flavor weirdo, I'm talking follow furries with specific fixations you've never even heard of (I just saw a post about paranormal investigator bear furries but with no context or explanation and, sure, fuck it, why not), follow artists who use materials you've never heard of before and have barely any aesthetic interest in, follow writers whose work confuses the fuck out of you but makes you pause and think.
And the next part, and this part is VITALLY important... shut the fuck up
DON'T constantly comment "what does this mean", "I don't get it", "explain it to me", "ok but why", etc
Just shut up
There's a time and place for questions and I think it's HEALTHY to have AT LEAST one place where you COMPLETELY STOP YOURSELF from questions.
A place where you sit, stare, and let yourself Not Get It.
One of the biggest problems I run into with people is their entitled expectations to Understand everything, or at least they want to THINK they understand everything (so they're a lot more likely to fall for batshit conspiracy theories because, well, pointing at a Shadowy Group Responsible For Everything is pretty easy to understand). They see something they don't get and they flip out, they want to label it, diagnose it, make panicked laws about it.
You need... NEEEEED... for the sake of your own maturity and mental health... to know when it's okay to sit there in silence and go "hm. I don't get it. Cool."
You need to know how to sit in silence in some one's art and worldview and words and think to yourself "all of this is put together in a reasonable way, but I am not connecting with it"...
GOOD.
You shouldn't HAVE to! You shouldn't be in this world thinking EVERYTHING in it is accessible to you, is understandable to you. You NEED to embrace the idea that SOME things will always evade your understanding. The universe is unfathomably huge and it's absolute NONSENSE to think to yourself that you can fathom everything in it.
Find the harmlessly weird shit to follow IN SILENCE and let yourself not understand. It's good for you.
#your own personal shinga#now for me to sit and wait for some one to maliciously read this post#and ignore how i specified harmless weirdness
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(based on this post. it ended up longer + less lighthearted than i anticipated)
The ding as the microwave timer finishes lines up perfectly with a frantic pounding on the front door, and it makes Steve jump.
He just got home from the championship game twenty minutes ago. Now he’s heating up a TV dinner because he forgot to eat beforehand. He spends about one and a half seconds dithering over whether he should get the tray out of the microwave before or after answering the door, but the pounding has only gotten louder. So he leaves it where it is.
“Alright, I’m coming,” he mutters as he heads for the front door. “Goddamn.”
When he opens the door he barely even has time to process that it’s Eddie before the other man is tumbling inside, jetting out of sight back towards the kitchen.
“Eds?” Steve calls after him, shutting the door and locking it. “What’s wrong?”
There’s no answer. Back in the kitchen, Steve can’t see Eddie at first. Then he hears the shallow breathing coming from under the table. Steve leans over and sees Eddie curled up there, arms wrapped tight around his knees, eyes wild.
“Baby, what happened?” Steve asks. He gets on the floor and crawls under the table, pushing a chair out of the way so he can sit next to Eddie. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s shoulders, pulling him in. Eddie’s shaking like crazy and as he leans into Steve, his shallow breaths turn into sobs.
At a loss for what else he can do, Steve strokes Eddie’s hair, murmuring soothing things in his ear. He doesn’t know what caused this, but he’ll do everything he can to make it better. Eventually, Eddie’s sobbing subsides and his breathing evens out. He’s still shaking, but this is progress.
He lifts his head and looks at Steve. His eyes are puffy and red, cheeks streaked with tears. Steve brushes them away, tucking a lock of Eddie’s hair behind his ears. “Can you tell me what happened, sweetheart?” he asks softly, “It’s okay if you don’t want to.”
“I—” Eddie says, eyes welling up again. “I don’t—” He shakes his head sharply.
“Shhh, it’s okay,” Steve says, “You don’t have to.”
Eddie shakes his head again and takes a shuddery breath. “I don’t understand what happened,” he says, voice strained. “It was like—shit from a movie. It shouldn’t be possible.”
Something about that is a cold drop of fear in Steve’s belly. Impossible things that happen in Hawkins are never short of catastrophic.
“What was it?” he asks.
“She—she started lifting and—and breaking—”
“Who?”
“Chrissy,” Eddie whispers, voice tiny and fragile.
Steve rubs a hand up and down his arm, trying to transfer comfort through his fingertips. “Cunningham?”
Eddie nods. Steve sort of knew Chrissy when he was still in school, only because she was on the cheer squad so they ran in similar circles. He thought she was sweet, but didn’t really know her that well other than that. He definitely didn’t know that she and Eddie knew each other.
“So—” Steve shifts. “When you say breaking��”
Eddie lets out a distressed sound, somewhere between a whimper and a sob. “I don’t know how else to explain it,” he croaks, shaking his head. “It was like someone was pulling on her, lifting her up, and—I don’t know how, Steve, because there was nothing touching her but she just lifted off the ground and then—all her bones—”
He cuts off as the tears take over again. Steve holds him tight as he cries, his own dread pooling in his stomach. This definitely sounds like some Upside Down shit. He needs Dustin, or Robin. Someone who can investigate this and figure out what’s happening. But for now, Steve can hold his boyfriend, do what he can to help.
When Eddie’s breathing starts evening out, he lifts his head off Steve’s shoulder. “The cops—they’re gonna think I did it,” he whispers, “I—I don’t know what to do, I don’t—”
“Eds, breathe,” Steve says, running his fingers through his hair. “You’re safe here. No one knows we’re together, so they won’t come looking for you here. You can hide out here until we can clear your name.”
“But—how is that even possible?” Eddie asks, eyes wide. “What happened—no one will believe me. I don’t know why the fuck you even believe me.”
Steve nods. “I can’t really explain it, like, literally, I don’t know how to, but this kind of thing has sort of happened before,” he says. He takes Eddie’s hand and squeezes it. “There are people who are smarter than me who can help. I promise.”
Eddie keeps watching him with those big eyes.
“Do you trust me, Eds?” Steve asks softly. After a moment, Eddie nods. Steve smiles. “Good,” he says. He kisses Eddie’s forehead. “We’ll figure it out.”
After a while, he coaxes Eddie out from under the table and sends him upstairs to change into pajamas. Steve takes Eddie’s keys and goes outside to pull his van into the garage. Dad’s car is currently at the airport, so there’s an empty space. If this is still going on when his parents get home in three weeks then he’ll just have to figure something else out.
Back inside, he spares another second and a half’s thought to the TV dinner still languishing in the microwave. It’ll have to wait. His boy is more important.
He takes the stairs two at a time, only slowing when he hits his room so he can ease the door open. Eddie is in bed, curled up under the covers, staring blankly at the wall. Steve changes quickly into pajamas and then gets in bed next to Eddie, pulling him into his arms.
“You’re safe, Eds,” he murmurs against Eddie’s hair. “I promise.”
The problem is, he can’t really promise anything. If the Upside Down is open again, Steve can’t guarantee anyone’s safety. He thought it was over, that the gate was closed for good when Joyce blew up the Russian machine. He thought he could keep Eddie away from this dark and twisted world. But if Eddie has to be dragged into it, then Steve will do everything he can to make Eddie feel safe.
They fall asleep clinging tight to each other, like maybe it’ll stave off the shadows.
“Hey!”
Steve looks away from the TV at Family Video to see Dustin and Max barging through the door. “Steve,” Dustin says as they approach the counter.
“Did you guys see this?” Steve asks, gesturing to the TV. He’s not sure he can reveal how much he actually knows without revealing how he knows it, but it’s definitely important to get the kids aware that the Upside Down could be involved.
“How many phones do you have?” Dustin asks, completely ignoring the news broadcast.
“Someone was murdered,” Steve says.
Dustin gives him an exasperated look. “How many phones do you have?” he repeats.
The hell is this about? “Uh, two,” Steve says, glancing at Robin. She looks just as lost as he feels. “Why?”
“Technically three if you count Keith’s in the back,” she adds.
Max and Dustin share a significant look. “Yeah, three works,” Max says.
Nodding, Dustin slings his backpack off his shoulder and plops it on the counter. Steve frowns. “What are you doing?” he asks just as Dustin shoves the backpack hard, sending it tumbling to the floor inside the counter along with several tapes. “Whoa, what are you—”
“My pile!” Robin shouts as they back away and Dustin launches himself over the counter.
“No, no, no, no, no!” Steve says, throwing his hands up as Dustin’s feet knock over another stack of tapes. “Not my tapes!” Dustin completely ignores him, heading straight for the computer. “Dude! What are you doing, man?”
“Setting up base of operations,” Dustin says matter-of-factly, typing away on the keyboard.
“Base of operations?” Robin asks as Max joins them behind the counter, having gone the long way around.
“Stop,” Steve tells Dustin, “Get off of that.”
Dustin doesn’t budge. “No,” he says, “I need it.”
“Need it for what?”
“Looking up Eddie’s friends' phone numbers.”
Steve’s stomach drops. What the hell does he know about Eddie? Why does he need to get in touch with his friends? Shit, Max lives across from Eddie at the trailer park. Maybe she saw something. Maybe they think Eddie’s guilty.
“Seriously, guys,” Robin says, collecting tapes and rearranging them on the counter. “Maybe on a Monday you can play around in here like toddlers, but it’s Saturday. It’s our busiest day.”
“Alright, look, Robin,” Dustin says, putting up a finger in her direction but not turning around. “I totally empathize but this cannot wait until Monday.”
“What, ‘cause calling all of Eddie’s friends is an emergency?” Robin asks.
“Correct!” Dustin says.
Shit shit shit. What do they know? Steve needs to get them the hell out of here before they decide to go calling the cops on Eddie.
“Do you want me to strangle them or do you want to do that?” Steve asks Robin, trying to distract himself from his panic.
She grins at him. “We could take turns.”
Dustin turns to Max. “Can you just fill them in while I do this?”
“Fill us in on what?” Robin asks. She and Steve both turn to look at Max, who sighs.
“We think there might be something going on with the Upside Down,” she says.
Steve feels Robin’s hand shoot out and lock around his wrist. He glances at her and sees the panic on her face. Weirdly, all he feels is relief. So Max and Dustin’s investigation is about the Upside Down, not about accusing Eddie. That’s definitely positive, all things considered.
Max glances at Dustin and then back at Steve and Robin. “The murder happened right across the street from me,” she says, “The girl that got murdered was Chrissy Cunningham, and I saw her going in with Eddie. Honestly, he might be guilty, but the lights were flickering around when it would have happened. And when he left, he looked terrified.”
Yeah, Steve can vouch for that. Who wouldn’t be?
“So, we’re trying to track down Eddie to find out what really happened,” Max says, gesturing to Dustin. “We need to use your system and your phones to call around and see if anyone’s heard from him.”
Steve swallows. “Uh, that might not be necessary,” he says.
“I know you have a weird vendetta against him,” Dustin says, not looking away from the computer as he keeps typing, “But it is imperative that we find Eddie immediately.”
“No, I get that,” Steve says, sighing. “I’m saying I know where he is.”
Dustin stops typing and turns around. “What?” he asks, looking dumbfounded. “How?”
Steve scratches the back of his neck. No taking it back now, he guesses. “He, uh, came to my house last night,” he says, “That’s where he went after Max saw him leave.”
“Did he tell you what happened?” Max asks.
“Sort of,” Steve says, “He was really upset, obviously, so he couldn’t really—”
Dustin waves his hands frantically. “Hold on, wait,” he says, shaking his head. “I thought you and Eddie didn’t even know each other. Now suddenly you’re close enough that he went to your house?”
“Long story?” Steve offers weakly.
Robin nudges him with her elbow and gives him a significant look. “One that I would really like to hear,” she hisses. Okay, so she’s on to him. Maybe that’s not so surprising; they basically share a brain. And he came out to her a few months ago, so the pieces are all there.
At the very least, the kids accept that Steve and Eddie know each other and abandon their ridiculous scheme to call all of Eddie’s friends. They want to go to Steve’s house right away to talk to Eddie, but Steve refuses to drive them until his and Robin’s shift is over. They threaten to bike there, but Steve eventually manages to convince them that there’s no way in hell Eddie is opening the door for anyone.
So once their shift wraps up, Steve, Robin, and the kids bundle into the Beemer so he can take them back to his house. He’s apprehensive about this, not sure exactly how Eddie will react. But he knows Dustin well and will probably recognize Robin and Max by sight, so surely he’ll know Steve didn’t bring strangers around. Right?
He parks in the driveway on the off chance that someone drives by at the exact wrong moment and sees Eddie’s car in the garage. Urging the others to be gentle, Steve unlocks the front door.
“Eddie!” he calls, not wanting to worry him with the sound of the door. “It’s me!”
“Hi!” Eddie’s voice calls from the kitchen, sounding significantly less distressed than he did this morning. “Baby, did you know you left a TV dinner in the microwave?”
He appears in the entryway looking soft and a little rumpled in a pair of Steve’s sweatpants and a green crewneck. His eyes widen in surprise and horror as he sees the others, but their heads have all snapped to look at Steve. Dustin’s eyes in particular are bugging out of his skull.
“Did he just call you baby?”
#everyone take bets on whether they try to play it off or own up to it#never used a TV dinner as a motif before that's a first for me#steddie#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#stranger things#ficlet
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The sheer development of botw/totk zelink…
Zelda didn’t originally like Link. She outright avoided him at all costs and wasn’t particularly nice to him. And despite her own efforts, Link’s own determination and devotion to his role finally wore her down to the point where she realized how wrong she had judged him.
Link was a prodigy, he had the sword that would seal the darkness already (had since he was a mere preteen) and was known for besting adults in duels as a literal child. She was born with powers she couldn’t unlock despite all the effort she put in. She thought he was simply handed his fortunes in life with no consequences, while she struggled daily to uphold her father’s expectations for her and neglect her own hobbies.
But when Link steadfastly protected her in a place she had specifically gone to in order to escape him, she sees the truth behind it all. Link is determined. He never backs down from a fight. He’s also reckless and she understands this as she chastises him and worries over his well-being. He’s knowledgeable about horses and has good advice, always willing to share it when someone (aka Zelda) needs to hear it. She learns bit by bit about Link until she outright questions why he doesn’t talk much. And he genuinely hesitates but decides that he can share this with her. She’s the only one he ever has. Because she asked.
And he tells her. The sword on his back brings a great responsibility and massive burden to bare. He feels the need to be strong and to be the stoic perfect knight to take on the role everyone expects him to play.
They become much closer after this and there’s multiple times we see Link actually neglect his role as her protector in order to just be there for Zelda as her friend. Once in the spring memory where he turns after Zelda berated her inability to awaken her power and the second when they’re literally running away from murder bots and he doesn’t force her to continue when she slips but rather kneels, listens, and comforts her.
And to find out that Zelda’s love for Link is the reason she awakened her powers and that it’s canonically proven through Kass’ song? Wow. And that doesn’t even BEGIN their story and how it ends in totk.
In botw, the Japanese original logs are written by Link himself and it’s revealed that one of his motivators in saving Zelda was to see her smile once again. Just. Remember that.
Of course the game end and we do see Link and Zelda planning on traveling to investigate Vah Ruta. And we find out in ToTK that the two are inseparable, so much so that without Zelda by his side no one recognizes Link beyond the characters that genuinely know him through the story.
They’ve traveled across Hyrule and helped numerous people, no matter what it was. They live together in Hateno, where they helped to build a school and even teach the kids there. They founded expedition and research teams, reformed a guard, and even found the time to ‘vacation’ at Lurelin where they would go up to Lover’s Pond in the evening.
Zelda and Link create a home out of Hyrule. It’s no longer a desolate, sparingly populated land. It’s being reformed. It’s being cared for. It’s their home. They lost theirs 100years prior but they’ve steadily worked to make it a home once again. They were healing. Together.
So losing Zelda again, being unable to reach her, and also losing his sword. . . It’s a lot. But the thing he knows he must do— Find Princess Zelda. Despite knowing exactly where Zelda is after you finish the Tears of the Dragon Quest, Link does not complete it. Because he hasn’t found his Zelda. The one that rambles on about everything and gets excited about history and new discoveries. The one that tried to make him eat a frog (albeit she was on to something). She isn’t home.
Meanwhile Zelda. . . Zelda goes on about Link, enough for Sonia to know all about him and his tendency to worry over Zelda’s well-being. And then we have memory eight that has Zelda practically gushing about him to her pseudo-parents and promptly being teased for it. Then, as Zelda finally understands why she is in the past, she ensures Link has everything he could need in order to win. Because to her, Link and Hyrule surviving is a must. She sacrifices herself to ensure that.
And yet. . . Link is determined to bring her back. Hyrule won’t be the home they’ve worked so hard to make it so without her. He can’t quit until they find a way to revert her back. So when Rauru and Sonia channel their power through Link, it takes a moment for him to understand by when he does… WHOOH boy does the determination SHINE in his eyes.
And he gets her back. He reaches her. Protects her just as she did for him in the form of restoring the Master Sword. And she immediately rambles.
We don’t get to see Link’s reaction to any of this. But then we end with “Link, I’m home” and a SMILE. Because that’s all Link wants. For Zelda to be safe and smiling.
Ultimately, they just want to be home. And home is with the other.
#just some late night thought about zelink#zelink#botw zelink#loz botw#botw#link botw#botw link#the legend of zelda#zelda botw#zelink botw#the legend of zelda breath of the wild#totk zelink#loz totk spoilers#loz totk#loz tears of the kingdom#loz tears of the kingdom spoilers
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— 𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝓀 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 ౨ৎ
boothill x f!reader. 2k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ injuries ﾉ pet names ( darlin', sweetheart, doll :3 ) ﾉ mentions of food
so i wrote about horse riding but. . . know very little about horse riding! i did my best to research but there may be some details i got wrong so apologies in advance!
previous part ౨ৎ masterlist ౨ৎ next part
“that’s it, pretty girl, nice and easy.”
the horse beneath you sighs and you do the same, relaxation and contentment in the breath you let go of. it’s been a while since you’ve gone riding, a few years at least, but being sat on a saddle with reins in your hands feels as natural as it used to when you’d ride nearly every day of the summer. you’re lucky that your favorite mare—clover—is still healthy enough to take out.
you gently squeeze your legs into clover’s sides in a silent signal for her to move from a trot to a canter. the sequence of her hoof beats effortlessly switches from the two-beat gait to one of three beats and her pace quickens. the wind against your face is stronger now but you welcome the sensation, a small smile making its way to your face.
as a kid, riding was fun and exciting more than anything else but as you’ve grown into an adult, the activity has become something more cathartic—a release of sorts. your stress slips away when you’re on the saddle, lost in the summery breeze. you don’t allow a second for the thoughts that constantly nag at you to linger. all of your focus is granted to clover and the field ahead, to how you feel here and now and how you wish you could feel like this all the time.
unfortunately for you, nothing lasts forever.
you hear the dog before you see her, barking discernible in the distance. clover must, too, her ears pointing back to listen more closely to the sound approaching from behind. as the barking grows louder, the horse’s neck tenses, and it only takes a second more for her to decide that the noise is worth investigating. you’re in alert mode now, too—no, it’s probably closer to panic mode. it’s been a while since you’ve had to worry about the horse getting spooked and even then you had your grandpa or parents to rely on to make sure nothing got out of hand.
you don’t have time to even think about what the right thing to do in this situation is before clover spots the dog bounding towards the both of you.
“clove—!” you try to calm her down, to let her know that the dog isn’t a threat that she should be scared of, but it’s far too late. before you can comprehend what’s happening, clover is rearing. the motion combined with your loose hold on the reins is enough to send you flying off the horse’s saddle. a scream is ripped from your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut at being in the air, destined to fall.
you hit the ground with an audible thud.
pain courses through your body—your back, your shoulders, your head. everything hurts and hot tears spring to the corners of your eyes but they pool there, refusing to stream down your cheeks. despite all the pain, the growing soreness, you find your mind wandering. where did clover run off to? what was the dog doing out here alone? she rarely leaves the house by herself. someone is yelling, they’re calling your name. is it boothill?
“shit, little lady,” he shakily breathes, “you okay?”
relief washes over you and for a short second, you think that you’ve never been happier to hear the farmhand’s voice. it’s tinged with concern, a characteristic you have yet to see him display—especially for you. it doesn’t stop in his voice either, you can feel it in how he takes a hold of your shoulders, his grip firm but not tight enough to cause you any unnecessary pain.
you take the risk of finally opening your eyes and instead of being met with the sun’s blinding rays, boothill’s face crowds your vision. his eyebrows are pulled together and for once, there’s no smirk or grin playing at his lips. upon seeing that you’re conscious, the tension in boothill’s forehead lessens. “there she is.”
his voice is soft, like if he speaks too loud he’ll break you. though it’s unlike him to be so mindful, you appreciate what you imagine is the temporary change. he opens his mouth to continue but before he can get another word out, the border collie, missy, nudges between the two of you as if she senses something is wrong. boothill shoos her away before turning his attention back to you. “you okay? what happened?”
you think back on the moments that led to this—you laid out on your back in the grass. “missy… i think she scared clover. she threw me off.”
that’s right, you have no idea where she went after being so startled or if she’s okay, at that.
“where is clover?” you dart up into a sitting position, palms against the grass. it’s a bad idea and you face the consequences of it immediately, head throbbing and the dull pain throughout your limbs becoming all the more noticeable. you suck in a sharp breath in response to the discomfort but realize that the pain you’re in doesn’t top your concern for the horse. “is she still around here? i need to go find her.”
“woah, woah, woah, hold your horses.” boothill frowns. he stands up and holds both of his hands out to help you do the same. for once, you don’t think about the underlying meaning of having your hands touch his, you just grab a hold and let him pull you up. you turn your head in every direction you can in search of clover, readying to pick any of them to start walking in. though, you can’t, not with the way boothill is holding your hands hostage. his gray eyes bore into yours. “you aren’t going anywhere but to the hospital.”
“what? no.” you shake your head and try to pull away but boothill doesn’t budge. the longer he holds onto you, the more aware you become of his touch—how warm his hands are and how, even though they’re rough and calloused, his palms are more comforting than you care to admit. “i don’t need a hospital. i’m fine.”
“listen darlin’, people who have just been thrown off horses ain’t known for their good judgment.” he squeezes your hands but then seems to think better of it, loosening his grip but continuing to hold them. he gets his message across though, with the hand squeeze and the almost desperate look in his eyes. you’ve never seen him so uneasy, heard him speak so seriously. his new demeanor has your feet glued to their spot on the ground and your gaze glued to his. “you’re going to the hospital.”
you’re rarely one to jump at the opportunity to agree with boothill but maybe he’s right. you’re running on adrenaline right now and your mind isn’t in the best place—you’re worried about the wrong things. and if the topic is important enough to have boothill practically pleading with you, you should take it just as seriously as he is.
“fine, i’ll go, but you need to find clover before we do.” that came off a little more demanding than you meant it to. you add, “please.”
he clicks his tongue and groans before telling you, “alright, i’ll find your damn horse.”
● ● ●
boothill is a man of his word and tracks down clover, putting her back in the stable before whisking you away to the hospital. the ride there feels like a visit to the doctor itself with the way the farmhand practically interrogates you about your symptoms. he’s concerned but can’t help but laugh when you tell him that he’s exacerbating any head trauma you may have sustained by making you think so hard.
despite your initial resistance to boothill’s insistence on going to the hospital, you’re thankful for his urging. turns out he was right to be worried—you got a concussion.
your helmet helped soften the blow but the physician who explained your diagnosis still recommended a few days off work to rest and recover. it’s not the best news to receive but considering things could have been much worse, you’re grateful to walk away with a relatively minor injury.
and if your doctor had any anxiety about you ignoring his advice, it was misplaced. because boothill has personally made it his responsibility to be sure you get better.
as soon as the two of you arrived back at the house, he steered you into the living room, sat you on the couch, and disappeared into the kitchen with a demand for you to stay put. you’re tempted to argue but your head hurts too much so you cross your arms instead, closing your eyes and resting your head on the couch cushion.
it doesn’t take long for him to return and his hands are full when he does—a glass of water in one, an orange precariously rolling on a plate in the other, and a bottle of pain medication tucked under one of his arms. he sets the drink and pills on the coffee table before plopping down on the couch beside you, the dip in the cushion enough to make you open your eyes.
upon grabbing your attention, boothill jerks his head in that direction. “take a couple of those.”
you sit up and unscrew the bottle, shaking out two of the pills and popping them in your mouth before taking a few sips of the water he grabbed for you. a beat of silence passes before you speak up. “you know, i could have done all this myself.”
“i’m sure you could have,” he tells you with a grin, hands busy peeling the skin from the orange. it’s still all in one piece. impressive, you think, but you aren’t surprised. it seems like boothill is good at everything he does. “just thought you might enjoy having me at your beck and call.”
you frown. what does he think you are? some princess who needs a servant? “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“nothin’, darlin’.” he slides the plate of peeled orange slices across the coffee table so you can eat them when you’re ready. he wipes his hands on his jeans before standing up and stuffing them in his pockets.
the farmhand is on his way to the door when he says, “i’m off, but holler for me if you need anything, sweetheart.”
you never thought you’d see the day you would stop boothill from leaving.
“wait, before you go…” he stops and turns around, eyebrows slightly raised in silent question, urging you to go on. you had more courage to say what was on your mind when he wasn’t looking at you. though, you know it’s only right to let him know that you appreciate all he’s done for you today. so, you turn your gaze to the floor and let it spill out. “thank you for finding clover. and for taking me to the hospital. and for this.” you gesture to the fruit.
there’s a flash of sincerity that passes over his features before that annoying smile makes its way back to his lips. “so you can say thank you.”
you don’t know what kind of response you were expecting, but you should have seen this coming. it’s like he’s hardwired to tease you, even when you’re being genuine. “you can leave now, boothill.”
“yeah, yeah, i’ll get out of your hair.” in contradiction to his words, he stays put. and you can’t find it in you to be upset that he does because the humor has left his face, replaced by earnestness. “but you’re welcome, doll. it was really no trouble.”
he finally takes his leave and when you hear the door close, you let out a frustrated groan and lay your head back on the cushion. that nasty fall must have done more damage than you thought. why else would your heart be working overtime over a simple change of expression?
you shake your head to get rid of the unwelcome thoughts—thoughts of how generous and caring he actually might be—before you think better of the motion. it hurts your head and makes you wonder how long it’ll take before the pain pills kick in. they’ll probably work better if you have something on your stomach.
your eyes fall to the plate boothill left for you.
orange slices should do.
thank u for giving this a read! reblogs and comments are appreciated -`♡´-
#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: honkai star rail#boothill x reader#hsr x reader#honkai star rail x reader#boothill drabble#hsr drabbles#boothill fluff#hsr fluff#honkai star rail fluff
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kinktober <3
wearing the others clothes
oscar x reader
Oscars POV:
It was along day of of going over data and Andrea making me and Lando color in the lines. Track limits were a bitch, but I felt worse for Lando than me. I already texted Y/N that I was on my way back to the hotel, and I would bring dinner. She hadn’t texted back but, it wasn’t out of the ordinary. Working remotely had it’s perks, like getting to travel with me to almost every race.
I struggle to open the door with everything in my hand, and I expected for Y/N to run and help as soon as I was through the door. Instead, I was met with silence, the lights were dimmed and I didn’t see her anywhere. I set things down on the dresser and called her name a few times. “Babe? Y/N?” I sat on the bed heavily, and heard a small groan. I turned to face the lump on the bed, that I missed the first time, and saw her head poking out the top. I pulled the blankets away from her face and saw a familiar number on the back of her hoodie. My number to be exact, she’s wearing my hoodie. We haven’t been together long, well, 10 months to be exact. I guess that could be a long time. Either way, she hasn’t worn anything of mine yet, I mean she has her own Mclaren merch and she looks amazing in it. But it’s a different feeling when she’s wearing my clothes, and she smells like me. It makes me chest warm and fuzzy.
Instead of waking her, I change out of my own gear and climb into bed next to her. She makes a small noise when I pull her back against me, but settles as soon as I kiss her temple and squeeze her waist. I push my face into her neck, taking in her scent mixed with mine. This…this was a different feeling then just seeing her in my clothes this was..this stirred something new in him.
He didn’t ponder for long, the alluring smells and feelings pulled him into sleep.
He texted her the next day to let her know that a car would be there to pick her up before the race started. He had to be in the garage extra early to meet with Zak and his strategist. Starting P1 was big, huge even. As a rookie I was not supposed to be having this great of a season, 2 podiums in a row? Unheard of.
It was 15 min until the race started and I made my way out of the garage to see everyone before I started my last minute prep. I spotted Y/N talking to one of my engineers and laughing and fuck me did she look gorgeous. She’s wearing my team shirt with my name and number on it, how do you know it’s yours do you ask? Because it’s about three sizes to big on her-and she’s got my favorite pair of jeans she owns on, they’re baggy and they make her look quite tall. And her hair is in a little half do thing, she’s got braids framing her face with ribbons tied at the end. She knows I love when she uses bows in her hair, makes her look so innocent and pure.
She found me and waved me over. “Osc!” My legs were on auto pilot, my body magnetized to hers and she wrapped me in a hug. “Hi baby, glad you made it. Is that my shirt?” I asked nonchalantly. She pulls away, “yeah sorry, the rest of my papaya things were dirty.” She frowns and looks down. “I should have asked first I’m sor-”
“No hey, I love it. You don’t ever have to ask to wear my clothes baby.” She blushed and looked down at her feet. I giggled at her reaction, and I lean forward to kiss her forehead. One of my hands found it;s way under her shirt (read: mine) to rest along her stomach. It was nothing new for either of us, it was a comfort to both. However, what was new was a thick band where her underwear would be. Upon furher investigation, oh fuck oh fuck she’s wearing my boxers. For fucks sake mate do not get a boner right now, it is not the time.
“Is there anything of mine you aren’t wearing? Your dedicated, boxers and everything.” She looked up at me with a guilty look. “I was in a rush this morning, I over slept big time, and it was the first bottoms I found. The jeans are mine and my soxs-well the socks are Lando’s merch. The white ones with the ‘LN4’ stitched on the side.” As she lifted her pant leg so I could see, a nasty feeling bloomed in my chest. I didn’t like that she was wearing anything associated with Lando.
“You know what, I have some socks in my drivers room, you can wear those. No need to wear those pesky things.” I started to pull her towards the hallway that led to my room when she stopped me once we were out of earshot of people. “Oscar! What is going on love? You seemed fine just a minute ago, now your in a tizzy.” She had that stance, the mom stance is what I affectionately called it. Hands on her hips, one leg popped out, not good.
I sighed, “I just, your MY y/n, not Landos. I want you to wear my things.” I mumbled the last part, as if she wouldn’t catch on.
Y/N pouted and cupped my cheeks, pushing up on her toes to kiss me.
“Your y/n, my ozzy. Always.” She scrunched her nose as she rubbed it with mine. “And I will totally change into your socks if it makes you feel better.”
I laughed at her statement. I was being stupid, I was the one that went home with her every night, not Lando, not anyone.
“Nah it’s fine, you’ve got a big 81 on your back, I think everyone knows who your here for.” And with that, I leave her to get ready for the race.
P2, P fucking 2. The gap between me and Max was still big but, managed to defend myself against my own teammate.
After the podium celebrations and I had packed up my things to leave, I found Y/N consoling Lando, giving him a small sympathy pat. She said her goodbyes and made her way over to me, taking her bag and coat from me.
“Everything okay?” I nodded over to Lando. “Yeah he was just giving me more socks, you jealous?” Y/N wiggled her eyebrows and giggled. I laughed along with her, shaking my head, and started to pull her towards the waiting car. “Good because you, get to pull all your clothes off me when we get back.” I whipped my head towards her. She already had a slight flush on her cheeks, rocking on her heels as we stood outside the car. I didn’t even know what to say yet, I just ushered her in the backseat and urged the driver to move as fast as he could.
I pushed Y/N through the door of our hotel room, locking it and using the DND sign. I was about to wreck her and I did not need anyone knocking in the morning.
I had her up against the wall, opposite of the bed. Her hands were in my hair, tugging every which way, taking control of the kiss. I let her think that she was in charge for a couple of more kisses before I pushed off the wall and pulled her onto the bed. Y/N squealed as I landed on top of her, my hands went under her shirt, pushing it up her chest and leaving small marks as more skin was exposed. “Baby… need you inside me please.”
How could I say no? I groaned and got her shoes and pants off, leaving her in my boxers and shirt. “Is it..is it bad that I kinda wanna keep you in this?” I took a step back and looked down at the love of my life. She laughed and wiggled her hips. I watched her hands go under her back, and pulled her bra off her body.
“How about..I take these off,” Y/N said as she seductively slid my boxers off. “and I’ll keep this on so you can see just who I belong to. Because it’s your number I wear every race.”
She smiled up at me, that god damn smile. Could make the whole world fall at her feet with that smile, and that sparkle in her eye. And the way she looked naked with nothing but my shirt on. The shirt she wants to wear, just to let everyone know that she’s mine.
She beckons me over, opening her legs further. I glide my hand down her leg to meet at her sickly sweet opening, dripping just for me. “Do you need me to…or can we skip it tonight?” I asked sheepishly. Not that I wouldn’t love to finger her until her legs went numb, I’m just to worked up for it.
She laughs at my sudden shy demeanor, I’ve blown her back out many times before and I was never shy asking about prep. “Yeah Osc, I’m good. Have been since you practically were feral at the fact that I wasn’t wearing your socks. Didn’t know you were so possessive.”
I laughed and starting stripping myself of my clothes and grabbing a condom. Wrap it before you tap it kids.
“Yeah I didn’t either.” I push the condom over my aching member and rub the tip against her clit. Getting back at her for the teasing earlier. I looked up at her as I paused at her hole, silently asking for permission. She nodded meakly and I slowly pushed in.
Y/N gasped and held onto my forearms for a moment. “Osc, baby…take the condom off.”
My eyes widen. “W-what?” Was she insane? Yeah she was actually insane. “Mhm, I’m on birth control, you know this.” I just stared at her. We, in all of our month of dating, have never fucke raw. Hell I’ve never done that, with anyone. “Are you sure? You know the pill isn’t always affective.” Y/N rolled her eyes and pushed on my stomach so I’d fall out of her. She slowly pulled the condom off and stroked my dick a few times. “That’s what the morning after pill is for.” So much for wrap it before you tap it.
She guided me back to her pussy and just the feeling of her soaking me put me on edge. Without a single warning, I thrust into her. And fuck me was it perfect, she was perfect. We both couldn’t breath for a minute. She had her head push back into the pillows and I grabbed her jaw and forced her to look at me. “Eyes on me sweet girl.” I wish I could take a picture, capture the pensive look on her face. The scrunch of her nose, the way her lips part to say my name. She grabs the hand under her jaw and slides it against her own, intertwining our fingers and laying them against the bed. Ah, now i get it.
“Oh sweetheart, you need me to hold your hand huh?” I fake pout down at her as I start a slow rhythm. “Shut up, oh fuck Osc.” Her back bows as I lift her legs over my hips, making me hit deeper.
All that can be heard throughout the room is skin colliding and y/n’s whines of pleasure. Watching her like this, wearing my number, my winning number, fuck me I don’t know what heaven looks or sounds like but it’s this. “Jesus Christ, this was such a b-bad ah! Bad idea, fuck I’m gonna cum to quickly.” She smiled and brought my hand to her throat, knowing how much the control turned me on.
“C’mon Ozzy, baby, cum in me. please god want it so bad.” Y/N gasped out as I lightly squeezed her throat. The pace I set was bruising, the thought of getting to cum inside my girl, my Y/N-
With my free hand I reached down to play with her clit, determined to get her to cum before me. She pushed her throat against my hand as she moaned my name and came. I could see the white ring form around the base of my cock, that pushing my to cum in her.
let’s just say it’s not the last time she’ll be wearing my number.
#formula one#oscar piastri x y/n#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri smut#oscar piastri x female reader#mclaren#formula one imagine
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I'm a sucker for Twin Reveals, idk if you know that. So I have to ask about "you're joking, right? gala pranking turned twin reveal"
ngl this is the flavour of the month for me rn, I've really hopped straight back on the demon twins au with a passion! you get 500 words of the intro here because I have no restraint :)
———
Tonight is becoming, as often happens with a gala, a dismal affair.
Bruce has (finally) managed to extract himself from a torturous conversation with Mrs. Johnson, and is allowing himself a quiet breath with a glass of apple juice masquerading as whiskey when someone taps him on his shoulder.
“Mr. Wayne?”
It’s a voice he recognises, despite only meeting the man once. He doesn’t groan—he even resists the urge to throw his glass at him and make a break for it—but it’s a close affair. He’s not Superman, after all, and there’s a limit to his strength.
With a deep breath and the customary ditzy smile of Brucie Wayne plastered on his face, he turns towards Mr. Masters.
Only to immediately freeze.
“Ah, yes, I don’t believe you’ve met.” Mr. Masters turns and presents a young boy to him, gently pushing him forward slightly. His dark hair is ruffled and there’s a thunderous look on his face as he flashes Bruce a glare before stubbornly fixing his gaze back on the floor. “May I introduce to you my son, Daniel Masters?”
This is the fourth gala Vladimir Masters has been to since his reintroduction into high society, only the second one he and Bruce have attended together, and, as Bruce is silently lamenting, there is still so little known about the man. Yet, he doesn’t strike Bruce as someone that would pull a joke like this.
After 20 years locked away in his house suffering from an unnamed illness, his return had been completely unexpected and not entirely welcome, from what Bruce has heard. Too many years spent away shrouded in mystery has people weary about forging new connections, but his recent successes with his business might persuade a few brave—or foolhardy—individuals into making some investments.
Which must be why he’s now back on the gala scene.
Which must be why he’s chosen to become Mayor of a little unknown town in Illinois, as baffling as the choice may be.
Which must be why he’s pulling this stunt. This practical joke. Something to break the ice, to share a laugh with Bruce. To start a conversation.
The only real question is why Damian is going along with it.
“I’m sorry?” Bruce says, chuckling awkwardly.
Poor Damian looks just about ready to pull out a sword and start swinging, so perhaps he’s not as comfortable in going along with it as Bruce first thought. There's a tension in his shoulders, his whole body as taut as a bow string. Did Dick put him up to this? It’s definitely something his eldest would find funny.
“My son, Daniel. Daniel, say hello to Mr. Wayne.” There’s a flash of annoyance in Mr. Masters’ eyes as he gives Damian another nudge to introduce himself.
“Hello, Mr. Wayne.” Damian growls out, eyes still stubbornly lowered, his jaw tensing painfully. His voice sounds different, almost like he’s affecting Mr. Masters’ accent. Just what is he playing at? Bruce is struggling to find the funny side in all this.
Is this a case they’re working on? Not a prank, but rather some investigation that Bruce isn’t privy to? It wouldn’t be the first time his children have kept him out of the loop, but to do it in a gala, and a Wayne gala at that, where they’re sure to be recognised…
No, it has to be a joke. They’re planning to embarrass him, they have to be.
#dpxdc#i chickened out and put it under a read more which then made me add more to the snippet haha#i was 'working' on this in the shower and then got out and immediately forgot everything i thought should happen next 😔 rip me#demon twins au#oh man it gets so juicy it gets so juicy vlad is a dick and bruce's 'dad-vision' is activated fairly quick ahhh!
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Howls in the Heights
Art and story by me, for the TF anthology Shifts from the Shelves.
Story:
Smoke hung in the air like an unanswered question. Between the blotchy wallpaper and the liquor-stained floorboards, the poker room couldn’t accurately be described as “nice.” But Donovan owed me a favor, so for the time being this space in the back of his bar was mine. The faint music of a jazz combo leaked under the door, distant and a little sad. I stretched, twine running through my fingers as I looped it around the tack pinning a balding man’s mug-shot to the wall.
“That one’s kind of handsome,” Rita mused from behind me.
I scoffed and shot a glance over my shoulder. Rita stood close enough that I could smell her perfume. She was watching me map my thoughts on the wall with casual amusement, her dark eyes skimming lightly over the collection of newspaper clippings and photographs.
“Maybe he was. But he’s not looking so good anymore.” I uncapped a pen and drew a large red X over his face. “Handyman Wharton was a real piece of work. But no one deserves to die like that. These murders… in all my years of investigating, I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“Mmm, sounds to me like he had it coming,” she breathed as she leaned her chin on my shoulder. Rita was beautiful in a way that made it hard to think straight. She had wavy hair that fell like a black curtain on one side of her face, eyelids and lips done up in a matching smoky coal. Tonight she wore a cocktail dress that poured smoothly down her curves. The thin fabric left very little to the imagination.
Rita and I had crossed paths in a couple chance encounters over the last couple weeks. She had a habit of turning up just as things were getting interesting, and making just about everything a little more complicated. For some reason she seemed to take a shine to me. We’d started spending nights together, and she proved as enthusiastic between the sheets as she was on the dance floor. Maybe more so.
“I’m getting close,” I murmured softly. “All these bodies—there’s a pattern here. Crime barons, crooked cops… someone is making a power play for this city’s underworld. Whoever they are, they can’t hide from the truth.”
Rita slid off my back and glided over to the card table where she’d left her lighter. She sat, one leg crossed over the other, and took a long drag from the mouthpiece of her cigarette holder.
“I like watching you think, Detective. It’s like watching an old car struggle up a steep road.”
“This car still has some miles left in it,” I chuckled. “See here—Wharton was a regular at the Glass Eye. You remember, where we met at the craps table. And here, if my sources are right, Wharton was smuggling ammo for the Pinstripe gang. They’re based out of Turnstile, where you took me to see that boxing match. Hell, if I didn’t know any better Rita I’d say…”
Something cold ran down my spine. Old instincts flared to life, telling me I’d just stumbled into something big. My eyes flitted from headline to headshot, arcs of twine adding up in an intricate equation. My thoughts clicked like a typewriter, checking hunch against evidence, step-by-step. It was impossible but… the data points aligned. How could…
“Ahhh… starting to put the pieces together, are we, darling?” Rita’s voice found me from far away, as if I was at the bottom of a well. I turned to face her, limbs numb.
“You…”
She smiled, white teeth flashing in the smoky gloom. “Of course it was me, dear. It was all me. All along.”
“But… the bodies. They were torn apart. How did you…”
She laughed in that pitying little way she did when she knew something I didn’t. The melodic sound of it almost made me want to laugh with her.
“Mhmhmm aww, you still look so confused! Don’t worry sweet thing, this one is above your pay grade.” She stood with a little flourish, like a magician’s assistant. “Here. Perhaps a demonstration will make you understand.”
A part of my mind, not sure which, suddenly sounded alarm bells. An instinct to run pumped through me, made my heart beat fast and my perception sharpen. Rita was just standing there, but some awareness deep in my hindbrain was screaming danger. Predator. Flee.
I gritted my teeth. Not yet. Not when I was so close to the answer.
A shiver ran across Rita’s pale skin, starting at her back and working out to her limbs. I could see her hair stand on end. She stretched, luxuriating in the movement. Her lips parted, and a long sigh streamed from her throat like a release of pressurized air. “Hahhhh… You’re about to see who I really am, dearest.”
A quiet snapping noise, then another. Dozens of meaty clicks inside her like the sound of dislocating joints. Rita pitched forward, bending double in a violent motion that knocked the card table behind her slamming to the floor. She gasped, lurching upright with an ecstatic grin on her face. Her eyes! They had changed, darker around the edges and brighter in the middle. Her pupils reflected light like burning headlights. I couldn’t look away.
“All the rest, it’s an… affectation. Like a favorite dress that I wear around town.”
Her elbow-length gloves were starting to tear. I could see dark fur through the rips, black claws cutting neatly through the satin fingertips. She groaned, and I could hear the timbre of her voice roughening. Something cracked in her legs. Her feet shifted, pushing her taller inch by inch as they extended into long sinewy paws.
Her dress clung tightly to her curves as her frame broadened. The cloth strained, her collar line deepening as the flesh of her shoulders and chest rippled with new bulk. I could see her nipples pressing through the black cloth, erect with sensation.
She gestured to the dress, to her glittering necklace and sheer stockings. “This, all these pretty things. It used to be me… Gruuhh.” Her voice faltered as an involuntary growl rattled through her. She smiled sweetly, regaining her composure. “But not anymore.”
The fabric gave with a loud tearing noise as a large tail, black and shaggy, thrust out behind her. She took a few balancing steps forward, then reached up to brush the hair out of her face with one clawed hand. Her breathing was coming deep and heavy now, hot fog mingling with smoke in curls around her smile.
“Don’t get me wrong, darling. I do love our little song-and-dances. Being the stunning vision on your arm is a treat! But the real me can’t dazzle a cocktail party in quite the same way.”
She grimaced, and I could see her teeth lengthening into interlocking fangs. Fur crept down her face, pressing in at the edges of her cheeks and trailing down her nose.
She blinked and stared deep into me with those burning eyes. “I clean up pretty nice, wouldn’t you say? I certainly had you fooled!” She cackled with a wild abandon that approached madness.
Her shaking laughter choked off into gasps as she convulsed with another surge of growth. The wet sounds of her bones rearranging were almost drowned out by the noise of her widening hips and shoulders finally tearing her dress to ribbons. I could just see her face masked in shadow, distorting and stretching as her mouth extended into a snout full of pointed lupine teeth. Rivulets of saliva dripped from her black lips.
I stumbled away instinctively, felt the pins of my map wall dig into my back. Stray clues drifted to the floor like leaves. I could feel my cheeks burning hot as I tried to look away, but I couldn’t pull my eyes from her nakedness as it was torn free before me.
Between gasping breaths, she laughed violently. “YOUR FACE!” she snarled, muzzle curling into a feral grin. “You weren’t this SHY when we MADE LOVE LAST NIGHT!”
She was right, of course. I had seen every inch of her in our evenings together. But there was something about seeing her this way—it was rawer, deeper, more intimate and carnal. I was enraptured with a fascination that had never possessed me during our previous dalliances. I couldn’t understand it. I was hopelessly lost in the rhythm of her shifting flesh. Why? The scene before me was horrific, so why was I feeling this way?
“You’re… I just… I…” I stammered, struggling to put words in order.
“You still WANT me, DON’T YOU?” She was shouting now. “I can smell your desire… What is it you always say? YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM THE TRUTH, DETECTIVE!”
That was it. I was more attracted to her now than I ever had been before. What was wrong with me? Why did my heart feel like it was about to pound its way out of my chest? I shut my eyes, turning away with a strangled cry.
“I don’t understand! Please… I can’t, I don’t…”
“LOOK AT ME, DARLING.”
I blinked toward her, seeing only blurred glimpses. I saw the fur bristling from muscle-laden thighs, the tattered sweat-soaked remnants of her dress stretched over her rippling abdominals. God, parts of her were still so human. She wasn’t an animal or a person - she was something monstrous in-between. She was a terrifying beast, but she was still recognizably… her.
“LOOK AT ME!” she roared, and the room shook. I cried out, and opened my eyes to behold her entirely.
She was beautiful.
She was so beautiful it hurt.
I stepped toward her, and fell into her arms as she embraced me. We fell together to a gasping heap on the floor. We began anew, pressing ourselves into one another with bestial fervor.
The case would have to go on a little while longer.
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congrats!!!! how about fade into you with tasm!peter and touch starved!reader, in an established relationship???
Thanks honey!!
join the party
tasm!Peter Parker x touch starved!reader ♡ 960 words
When Peter gets home, you’re in another long, hot shower. With no one to witness how pathetic it looks, you’ve taken to sitting on the floor, letting the scalding water wash over your back and drip from your lashes. Your skin will be pinkish and puffy when you get out, but it won’t matter; you’ve got nothing to do other than wrap yourself in blankets and sit on the bed for the rest of the night.
When Peter’s voice comes, it sounds muffled, faraway, but you snap to attention nonetheless.
“Sweetheart?” A faint knocking. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah,” you say without hesitation, scrambling up and shutting off the water.
“Shit, it’s steamy in here,” he says as the door opens. “Want me to pass you a towel?”
“That’s alright.” You grab the towel you’ve hung by the shower, hastily scrubbing yourself dry and wrapping it around you.
Peter’s hands are on either side of the face the second you turn around, pushing your wet hair out of the way so he can kiss you properly. It’s a sweet, brief thing, and your chest aches slightly when he pulls back.
“Ouch, babe.” His hands feel cool as they move down to your shoulders. You shiver pleasantly. “Your skin’s burning hot. How long were you in there?”
You really should get another towel to stop your hair from dripping all over the floor, but you can’t stand to move away from Peter’s touch. “I was bored,” you reply, “and the hot water is nice.”
“Seems like it was more than just hot,” he murmurs, grabbing the other towel as if he’s heard your thought and beginning to squeeze the moisture from your hair. “Sorry I was gone so long. I never know how these things are gonna go, you know?”
“I know.” Peter had been attending a weekend conference on some scientist’s new research at a university in Chicago. He was supposed to be back days ago, but apparently he saw some fishy things while he was there that Spiderman felt an obligation to investigate. “Did you find the mutants?”
Peter shrugs, taking you by the shoulders to walk you into the bedroom. The air feels shockingly cold outside of the bathroom, but the warmth of his touch is enough to keep you from minding. “Sorta. It was a group of guys pretending to be mutants. Projectors and stuff combined with actual explosives to make it look like superpowered attacks.” He sits you down and begins digging through drawers, tossing you a pair of sweatpants and one of his shirts. “It was super sophisticated, had to take a ton of planning. Honestly, if they weren’t, like, bad guys, I would’ve been really impressed.”
You shrug the shirt on. “Sounds like you were impressed anyway, honey.”
“Well.” Peter makes a sheepish face. “Just because they’re assholes doesn’t mean they’re not smart assholes, right?”
“Right.” You say, standing to get the sweatpants on. You don’t know where to go from here, feeling oddly hollow but with no good reason. Peter’s here; your loneliness should be vanquished. You hold your elbows awkwardly. “So, how was the conference?”
“Baby.” Peter sounds almost disappointed, and hurt hooks its claws in your gut before you can even figure what you’ve done. “Why’re you all the way over there, huh? You haven’t even asked for a hug yet. Is something wrong?”
You hadn’t realized you were so predictable, but it is a bit odd for you not to tackle him the second he comes through the door. “I don’t think so,” you say, and Peter’s brows twitch together at your uncertain tone. “I just really missed you, Pete.”
He makes a pained, sympathetic sound, opening his arms and stepping toward you. “C’mere, sweetheart.”
And apparently that’s the permission your body was looking for. You meet him in the middle, his arms coming up slow and firm around your shoulder blades. Your chest aches again, but this time it’s almost pleasant, though you feel suddenly like you could cry. Peter seems to know, one arm tightening across both your shoulders while the other hand begins stroking up and down your back.
“Did you have a bad week?” he asks softly, breath tickling your ear.
“No,” you reply honestly. “I think…I think I just needed this.”
Peter gives you a squeeze in response, and you tighten your grip too.
“Let’s just do this forever,” you say, only half joking. “Think you could come to work with me tomorrow to hold my hand all day?”
Peter doesn’t seem willing to roll with your lightness. “Nobody else hugs you when I’m not around, do they?” he asks, and when you don’t respond, he pulls back slightly, taking your face in his hand. “Do they, sweetheart?”
“No,” you say, and you’re not sure why it feels like an admittance. You’re not touchy with your friends, and your coworkers aren’t close like that. When else would you have the opportunity for hugs?
“No wonder you get so lonely when I’m gone.” Peter’s voice is fraught with tenderness, and he pulls you close again, petting your damp hair. “I’ll hold you as long as you like, babe, but after that, we should look into getting you a cat or something.”
“A cat?” You twitch in his hold, perking up hopefully. “I thought your landlord didn’t let you have pets.”
“He doesn’t, but he also doesn’t have to know,” he says easily. “If it’ll keep you from getting sad like this while I’m away, a cat is a small price to pay. Gotta keep my girl happy, you know?”
“I think,” you counter, “that we should get a cat and you should never leave again.”
Peter chuckles, kissing the top of your head lightly. “Deal.”
#moonstruckme 1k celebration#tasm!peter parker#tasm!peter parker x reader#tasm peter parker#tasm spiderman#tasm!peter x reader#tasm!peter parker imagine#tasm!peter imagine#tasm!peter x you#tasm!spiderman x reader#tasm!peter x y/n#tasm!peter parker x fem!reader#tasm!peter parker x y/n#tasm!peter parker x self insert#tasm!peter parker x you#tasm!peter parker fanfiction#tasm!peter parker fanfic#tasm!peter parker fic#tasm!peter parker fluff#tasm!peter parker drabble#tasm!peter parker scenario#tasm!peter parker oneshot#the amazing spiderman
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It is I! ready to tackle stoles because he’s the easiest:) (in my opinion)
It’s established that stoles is.. lonely, especially growing up, he has influence and knows many people but he doesn’t have many friends, the only relationships he has is his sexual and somewhat romantic relationship with Blitzø and his love for his daughter, everyone else is an acquaintance.
So naturally he doesn’t want his daughter to have that life, and when he hears Octavia has a buddy he’s thrilled, and he somewhat likes the reader for it, he’s never met and might not get to meet them for awhile but based on what Octavia shared about the reader he’s pleased that they aren’t a bad influence.
Of course he allows Octavia to invite reader to their house, and the first time the reader arrives to hang out with Octavia, Stolas notices that the Imps dropping them off work for blitzø, this makes him trust the reader a little more, but also this causes Stolas to call Blitzø and talk (question) him about this mysterious human.
Now stolas isn’t full on interrogating Blitzø, even then Stolas notices how defensive Blitzø gets, but most importantly Blitzø swears he had nothing to do with this human entering hell. Of course after his conversation with Blitzø he gets curious about the reader’s situation and wants to investigate but he also values readers friendship with his daughter, and doesn’t want to scare them off.
Stolas likes the reader, they seem to greatly improve his daughters mood and is also extremely important to Blitzø, so this makes them someone important in his life, two people he cares for greatly loves them and so he wants the best for them, it also helps that the reader is a great guest (a skill they learned from Rosie and Alastor) as they’re well mannered and extremely respectful. Also sometimes Blitzø picks them up so that’s a bonus (he wants any excuse to see Blitzø)
As the reader shows up more to hang out with Octavia the more opportunity Stolas gets to talk to the reader. Usually the reader’s at the entrance waiting for Octavia and while they’re waiting Stolas might have a small conversation with them. Or another example during dinner (if the reader is staying at their house) stolas might converse with them. Also I picture Blitzø often calling stolas about the reader’s whereabouts and emotional and physical state as he isn’t there, and if Blitzø is ever drunk he’d likely go on personal tangents about how great the reader is to him and share things about the reader that might be private.
I think Stolas before meeting the reader fantasized having a family with Blitzø, but now that the reader is around, and is extremely important to the people he loves in his life, he starts to imagine the reader in the picture, and I think this is where he becomes obsessive.
He starts to think that the reader is tying his relationships together, he might think that the reader will be the person who helps Blitzø get with him. He starts to maybe misinterpret some of Blizø’s rare drunk rants in favor of the theory that the reader is somehow pushing the two together.
This delusion of the reader kinda builds up over time, I don’t ever expect it to just show up. But it’s also not like anyone notices he thinks this way, because the way he acts with the reader is pretty normal, there’s small chatter then Octavia shows up and drags the reader away.
Anyway that’s my interpretation I hope you like it :) and I’d also like to see you expand on anything/share your thoughts:):)
Have a lovely day/night :)
Yay, finally! I'm so happy you sent something in.
So I totally agree that Stolas doesn't want Octavia to have the same life that he had as a child, super lonely, neglectful parents. So when reader comes into her life he's super happy. He's definitely super overbearing and wants to know everything about her new friend. I don't think it comes from a place of protectiveness, but more from a place of just wanting to understand his daughter.
When reader finally comes over to hang out with Octavia, and he learns about their connection with the Imps, he's super intrigued and is constantly asking Blitzo how he knows you, which he never really answers. But this just makes Stolas even more interested in reader, both of his favorite people seem to like them so of course he does as well.
On the topic of Stolas learning about reader, I could totally see reader staying overnight with Octavia and eating dinner with them. Stolas is super excited and making sure everything is perfect for his daughter's dear friend, while Octavia is just super embarrassed. Reader doesn't even really mind because it's not often that an adult seems to care about them that much. While all this is happening Blitzo is just calling every 10 minutes to get an update on reader because he's super worried about them.
As time goes on, Stolas does start to have these fantasies of taking care of reader with Blitzo. I haven't talked about it much, but I think because Blitzo and Stolas are both parents of teenagers, they are kinda able to pick up on readers neglect and trauma in a way that Alastor and the other demons can't. So it could image Stolas wanting to give reader a better life, and it doesn't help that Blitzo seems to care about you just as much.
But liked you mentioned, most of Stolas's obsession is in his head. He might show some concern when you go out with Octavia or when you haven't shown up in a while, but he isn't ever overt with his feelings. However, he's constantly in delusions about reader and the life he could provide for them.
It makes him happy.
#yandere x reader#soft yandere#platonic yandere#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel x reader#yandere hazbin hotel#platonic yandere hazbin hotel
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Comfortember 2023: 20 (Barca)
20. Shopping
Kiera wakes up in the middle of the night, stumbling towards the bathroom in the dark. On her way back to bed, noticing a dim light coming from the living room, she follows it.
Upon entering the room, she sees Lucy on the sofa, laptop in front of her. The woman is clearly stressed, glasses on and hair pulled up into an extremely messy bun. She’s gripping a mug in one hand, fingers turning white from the pressure.
“You might want to put that down,” Kiera’s voice breaks the silence, the sound startling both of them.
Somehow, Lucy doesn’t drop the mug in shock, managing to set it onto the coaster on the nearby table. She looks to where Kiera’s leaning against the doorway, tiredly smiling at her.
“What are you doing up? I thought you were still asleep,”
“I was, but I needed to use the bathroom. Figured I would come investigate when I saw the light on,” Kiera shrugs, “what are you doing up?”
Lucy sighs, shutting the lid on her computer, “it’s probably silly, I don’t know.”
Kiera walks over, curling up on the sofa next to Lucy, “it can’t be that silly, it’s got you up at 3 in the morning.”
“I was just trying to order some things online,” Lucy says vaguely.
Kiera raises an eyebrow, “it’s clearly more than that.”
Lucy takes a breath, “you know the new player, Y/N? I noticed before practice yesterday that her boots were worn down, they’re so close to being held together with tape. And she put fruit into her bag during lunch- which is totally fine- but then I worried that it might be all she had to eat overnight. Cause I never see her eating any granola bars or anything before practice, like loads of the girls do. And, I don’t know, something seems off and she’s so young, Ki- I just want to help her. I was trying to get her some new boots and some snacks, some other little things like that. I’m probably just reading into it too much.”
Kiera’s face is soft watching Lucy ramble.
“I love you so much, you know that? You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met.”
Lucy blushes at the compliment.
“I get it,” Kiera agrees, “about Y/N, I mean, something does seem off. I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but I think you’re right to help. How about we have her over for dinner after practice tomorrow? Today, technically. We’ll sit down and talk with her, figure out how we can help.”
Lucy nods, thoughtfully, “I’d really like that.”
“Good. Now, let’s get some sleep and we can finish this order in the morning.”
#woso imagine#woso imagines#womens soccer#woso x reader#woso#reader insert#woso soccer#woso fanfics#woso community#barca femeni#barcelona femeni#barca#fc barca#fc barcelona#fcb femini#fcb femeni#fcb femení#lucy bronze#kiera walsh
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You know what? I’m not picking a side in this because I get where each of these characters is coming from. None of them are right and none of them are wrong.
Tim has had his entire life burned down again, so many people he loved are dead, and it feels like this is salt in the wound, that he’s being stripped of Robin when he needs it most.
Damian is a child who is saying viciously hurtful things, but he thinks he has to fight for his place in anything, he thinks he has to destroy anyone who might come for what he has, he has to destroy Drake to secure a place for himself, because that’s what he’s been taught. Dick is the only person who has shown him anything stable in this place, of course he’s going to fight with everything he has, he’ll cut open anyone who comes at him, because that’s what’s been hammered into him since he was born.
And Dick's coming at this from his own experiences--he says right there that Tim is his ally, his equal, Dick’s not his mentor. Dick is asking for someone to help him, not be someone else he has to take care of, because when is it Dick’s turn to mourn his father’s loss, too? When is it Dick’s turn to mourn that he’s been forced to put on the cape and cowl that he hates wearing? When is it Dick’s turn to have someone acknowledge that he had to give up his entire life to pick up Bruce’s? And what is he supposed to do, when he’s trying to hold everything together because everyone else is pulling things apart?
Tim’s at the age (and possibly older) than when Dick knew he himself needed to become his own person, to step up into a role that was uniquely his--and I don’t think he’s wrong about Tim being ready for that, either. Tim is traveling around the world as Red Robin here, he’s doing his own thing, he’s doing his own investigations, Tim is ready to be his own superhero, not the role of Robin.
Tim’s holding onto this for what feels like less because he needs the role of Robin specifically, Batman’s protege, and more because he wants to hold onto something familiar. I keep thinking of that scene in Adventure Comics where he tells Kon about how he tried to clone him, that he knew it wouldn’t be his Kon, but at least it would have been something. This feels similar, in a lot of ways.
Tim wants the familiar, he feels like he’s losing everything he loved, and he just wants something, regardless of whether or not it was the true thing that he was actually longing for. That’s why he can’t have any sympathy for an eleven year old child who needs a lifeline. That’s why he can’t see that Dick needs help, rather than help from Dick. Because Tim’s losses are mounting too fast and too high and it’s ripping him apart.
They’re all just barely holding on by their fingertips and have so little left over to give each other, Dick doesn’t have time to be gentle with Tim, Damian doesn’t have the emotional tools to be gentle with anyone, Tim doesn’t have the emotional resources to do more than just make it through the day, they’re all a mess, they’re all not right and they’re all not wrong.
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For ghost lights prompts: eldritch/creepy/weird Danny + shy/flustered Duke + hand holding
Your ghostlights fics are giving me so much joy RN I cannot express how much, if this prompt doesn't spark a brain worm for it I get it but I'm excited to read all the others you may wind up posting
There’s a new kid at West Robinson High School.
This normally wouldn’t be a big deal. They get plenty of new students, being an average high school; not prestigious like Gotham Academy, but not terrible like some of the schools in the lower South Side. New kids are hardly anything to make note of, but something about this student has everyone paying attention to him.
It’s not charisma. The guy doesn’t talk to anyone. It’s not attractiveness, because no one really knows what he looks like under the tattered hoodie he wears all the time. It’s not curiosity, not really, because the student body moves around him like he’s dangerous, not like they want to pry all his secrets out into the open.
It doesn’t help that Duke sees things around him.
He considers briefly telling someone about it, but then remembers having to argue for returning to West Robinson High School instead of being put in Gotham Academy and decides that Bruce can continue to mind his own business. It’s not like this new kid has done anything bad (yet) and Duke can handle investigating this on his own.
So he watches, catching glimpses of the new kid—Danny Fenton—in hallways during passing period, hiding away at lunch, disappearing into the streets as soon as the school day is over. They even share a class together, French Language and Culture, but Danny is always in the back corner, ignored and made invisible by everyone else.
Well. That’s not quite true.
There are shadowy figures that surround Danny and they never leave him alone. Even when he’s got his arms folded on his desk, head down, looking as if he’s asleep, these figures pull at the hood covering his head or reach semi-transparent hands down to pet his hair. And Danny reacts to them, lightly batting their hands away or turning his head away from them.
Duke has no idea what they are. Ghosts are his best guess, but he can’t confirm it. As far as he knows, ghosts are magic and can only be seen by magic users, which Duke very much is not. They do lead to cold spots, keeping the temperatures noticeably colder around Danny, and make the shadows darker, which only makes other students more nervous about being near Danny.
Through his week of observing Danny, beyond the ghostly figures and visible unease he causes in everyone, what Duke learns is that Danny is lonely.
No one talks to him. People barely look at him. Teachers avoid calling on him when they can.
And Danny accepts it. He fades into the background, keeps out of the way, shrinks in on himself.
No one else sees it. No one else wants to see him.
It’s breaking Duke’s heart, just a little bit.
He’s lucky that he’s not an outcast at school. With his meta gene awakening and his free hours taken up by Bats and fighting crime, it’s hard to have much of a social life, but he still has a few friends during the school hours he can hang out with. Danny doesn’t have anyone, and the more Duke sees how isolated he is, the more upset he becomes.
Which brings him to step two of his investigation: befriend Danny.
So what if he has some ulterior motives! He also just wants to give this guy someone to hang out with! What little glimpses of Danny’s face he’s able to get show him a tired teenager, worn down the way Alley kids are when they’re at the end of their rope and have nothing left to give.
Duke’s first attempts at befriending Danny fail so fast it’s almost funny. It’s as if Danny knows when someone is seeking him out, because every time Duke goes to where he is, Danny up and disappears, hurrying away and vanishing in the crowded hallways, or in the alley a few buildings past the school, or into the fucking restroom, which is always empty when Duke goes in after him. Trying to use his powers to see where Danny goes next doesn’t help either; all he sees is some glowing figure resembling Danny walk through walls, which is either due to Danny being a meta or from Duke’s powers deciding to be unhelpful.
He’s about to resort to Tim level stalking to finally have a conversation with Danny when his French teacher blessedly (and unknowingly) aids him on his mission.
“Find a partner, everyone!” she instructs with a clap of her hands near the end of class. “This is a translation project, and you’ll be doing them in pairs to check each other’s work and decide how to best interpret something into English. If you don’t have a partner in the next minute, tell me and I’ll assign you someone.”
The class is a flurry of movement just as the last word leaves her mouth, friends turning to each other or running across the room to make sure they’re partnered up before anyone else can butt in.
No one looks at Danny. Which means Duke can just skirt along the wall of the classroom until he’s next to Danny, gently knocking on his desk to get his attention.
Danny looks up, and Duke sees a flash of blue before Danny averts his gaze, tilting his head down again. “Yeah?” he says, and his voice is much softer than what Duke imagined. He expected something hoarse and rough, a little deep, intimidating. Instead, it’s gentle and quiet and smooth.
It’s a nice voice. It’s a shame that no one else has really heard it.
“Wanna be partners?” he asks, as if he’s offering a choice. They both know no one else is going to ask Danny, and if he wants to avoid talking to the teacher, then he has to work with Duke.
Danny sighs. “Sure.”
And then he puts his head back down on the desk.
Duke backs off. This is the best he’s going to get right now. Now that he’s got an excuse to spend time with Danny, he can take his time breaking down his walls and getting to know him. He watches as a figure from the usual group that hangs around Danny breaks away and gently brushes a hand against Danny’s arm. Then they turn to Duke and reach for him.
He moves without thinking, stepping out of the way. The shadowy figure fades back, almost invisible even to his eyes, and Danny’s turned his head to lay his piercing gaze on Duke.
…There’s no way that blew his cover, right?
He didn’t just reveal one of his meta abilities from taking a single step to the side. No way.
But Danny’s eyes are a deep blue that seem almost endless as he keeps his attention on Duke. It feels as if he’s staring into Duke, seeing more than what he wants to reveal.
“Alright, looks like everyone’s found a partner! As you head out, be sure to grab a practice packet from my desk to work on some translation. There are due the next time we meet, and I will be handing out your individual passages once these have all been turned in.” Their teacher sets a large stack of papers onto the corner of her desk, then gets to work erasing the whiteboard just as the bell rings.
Students grab their bags and rush to take one of the packets before heading out to their final class of the day. Duke stays behind with Danny, waiting for most of the class to leave before swinging his backpack onto his shoulder and grabbing a packet for both of them.
He hands one to Danny, who takes it with some hesitancy and a quiet, “Thanks.”
He leaves before Duke does, and though it’s only a second between his leaving and Duke stepping out the door, Danny’s already vanished from sight.
As soon as school ends, Duke heads for the Hatch, hoping a quick evening patrol will help clear his mind. It’s a quiet evening, though, so he’s left with his thoughts more often than not, staring out over the city long enough that Oracle asks him if he’s alright.
Against his better judgment, he says, “I’ve been looking into something, but I’m not finding much. Can you do some research on Danny Fenton?”
Oracle is already typing before he finishes asking. “What am I looking for?”
“Anything. He’s… strange. I don’t know if he’s a meta or just lightly haunted. But there’s something up with him.”
“Do we need to be keeping a closer eye on him?”
Duke considers. None of them ask Oracle to look into specific people unless they’re dangerous. But danger is not the sense Duke gets from Danny. It’s more like he’s hiding, shying away from the world, constantly on edge. “No. If anything, he might be in danger. Something happened to him, because no one ends up like that by living an average life.”
“I’ll let you know what I find. Turn in for the night, it’s quiet out and you’re too distracted to patrol properly.”
“You got it, O.” He salutes the nearest camera, knowing she’ll see it, and makes his way back to the Hatch to change back into civies and get started on his homework.
When he next goes into his French classroom, all the desk has been rearranged so they’re all in pairs, side by side. Already, patterns are filling up the desks, so Duke heads for the back and sits down where Danny usually hides away. He’s not here yet, which is making Duke realize that he’s never actually seen Danny walk into the classroom and head to his seat.
Did he just never pay attention? Has Danny always just slipped in unnoticed until attendance was taken? How did Duke miss that?
There’s movement in the desk next to him. Duke goes to say that he’s waiting for his partner, so please sit somewhere else, when he realizes that it’s Danny who managed to sneak in yet again.
“Hey,” he says after a moment, hoping his surprise is hidden.
There’s a pause, and then Danny returns, “Hey, Duke.”
That’s all they have time for before class is starting and their teacher goes around to collect homework. She then hands out new packets, each one a different section of L’Ecume des Jours, and gives them the rest of class to begin working on translating it.
Duke is already dreading it as he flips through the three pages they were given to translate, stapled to each other beneath the two page instructions of how to format the final translation, how to document their previous translation drafts, and what to include in the reflection essay.
There’s no way he can get all of this done in a week.
On the other hand, it gives him a week to learn more about Danny. He needs to make the most of it.
“This is a lot,” he comments, hoping to prod Danny into conversation.
Danny shrugs.
“Can we work on this together after school today? Or do you have plans?”
“We can work on it today,” Danny says, voice barely louder than a whisper. He’s already scanning the pages, underlining certain words and phrases.
Duke hurries to get to work as well, trying to parse out meaning from the text through single words scattered on the page.
Qu’est-ce que vous faites dans la vie, vous?
J’apprends des choses, dit Colin. Et j’aime Chloé.
Duke nods to himself. He definitely doesn’t know French. Well, he knows qu’est-ce que. He knows vous. He know j’apprends and j’aime Chloé. Also dit Colin. Fairly simple, but with the missing pieces to the rest of those sentences, he really doesn’t know what’s going on beyond the fact that it’s a conversation and Colin loves Chloé.
When he glances at Danny’s desk, he’s shocked to see that his partner is already translating the first few lines into something that reads like normal English.
“Oh, wow,” he says, leaning over to get a better look, “You’re definitely better at this than I am.”
“I just like languages,” Danny replies, turning his paper so Duke can read it more easily.
“Have you been hiding your French skills this entire time? I could have definitely used your help before this.”
Danny goes still for a moment, eyes flicking towards his right where a shadowy figure has placed a hand on his shoulder. Then he turns to fully face Duke and says, “Better late than never. What do you need help with?”
“Everything.”
His immediate answer makes Danny smile, and he begins talking in that soft, soothing voice of his. He talks about not trying to translate everything into English immediately, but to understand the French and take it in as a whole language itself. He talks about getting the idea of the text first, the feeling of it, before trying to fit it into English. He talks about splitting up the text into sections to make it easier.
And then he reads the text, entirely in French, and Duke did not have a thing for voices or multilingualism before this, but he sure does now.
“Qu’est-ce que vous faites dans la vie, vous?” Danny reads, reaching the end of the first page. The syllables come to his easily, his French smooth and steady. “J’apprends des choses, dit Colin.” His eyes dart up, off the page, and fix Duke in place. “Et j’aime Chloé.”
Duke has never been happier that he doesn’t blush so visibly with his dark skin because he feels downright romanced. It’s a mix of the French, of Danny’s addictive voice, of their closeness, of how intimate this dark corner of the room feels, tucked away from the rest of the class.
“We can work on the other pages after we finish translating this one,” Danny says, leaning back at bit.
Duke nods, swallowing to chase away the dryness of his throat. “Sounds like a plan!”
They work in silence for the rest of the class period, and once the bell rings, Danny says, “I’ll wait for you by the bus stop down the street,” before he slips out of reach and disappears into the throng of students heading to their last class.
He’s beginning to think that he’s in way over his head. Duke can handle being in the middle of all the action, risking his life, fighting for others. He can handle staring down rogues and criminals and Gnomon. He can’t handle feelings and romance and other such things. Those are much scarier than a criminal shooting at him. At least with the criminal, he knows what to do and doesn’t just freeze up like he did with Danny.
The school day ends faster than he’s prepared for. As promised, Danny waits for him by the bus stop down the street, where other students are also waiting.
They don’t wait for a bus, though. Danny just meets his eyes and begins walking away, leaving Duke to follow after him, matching his pace so they can walk side by side.
The shadows in the alleyway seem to reach towards them as they walk down it. Something about it doesn’t feel right, so Duke tries to quietly use his powers and force them back.
He only has time to think, Oh, that was a bad idea, before Danny is shoving him against the wall, getting them both out of the way as a shadow solidifies and lashes out at them. He’s kept in place by strong hands on his chest, and Danny’s eyes are glowing lightly as he hisses at the shadows, making them rear back and settle down once more.
As if given permission to reveal themselves, more shadowy figures and strange movements in the shadows emerge, surrounding them.
“Danny, I don’t mean to alarm you, but—”
“I know,” Danny says. “I thought you might be able to see them too. Which is not good.”
“Sorry, man, it’s not like I can turn it off.”
“It’s fine. Just be more careful. They like me because I’m like them, but you just register as a threat. Either that, or prey.”
“Great,” Duke replies weakly, “Those are my favorite things to be. Are we… are we safe to move?”
Slowly, Danny steps back, no longer pressed right against Duke. Nothing moves to attack him, but it might be due to the glare fixed on Danny’s face, eyes still glowing.
“They’ll leave me alone, so…” He reaches a hand out, looking away. The hoodie isn’t able to hide the way his cheeks go red. “Don’t let go and we’ll be fine.”
“I hope this isn’t to lead me to my doom,” Duke jokes nervously as he accepts Danny’s hand, holding it tightly.
Danny wiggles his fingers, making him loosen his grip, and then their fingers are lacing together. Duke stares down at their hands, wide eyed, and hopes he doesn’t look as flustered as he feels.
“Not to your doom,” Danny reassures. “Just a coffee shop I thought you’d like.”
“Well, then, lead the way!”
“Allons-y,” Danny replies.
Stealing glances at him as they walk, ghostly figure and shadow shrinking away from them, all Duke can think is that he doesn’t need to worry about Danny being evil. His immediate instinct to protect Duke has proved that. He’ll keep the investigation going, though, to make sure Danny is safe from others that could hurt him.
Strange and unsettling as he may be, Danny’s also a smart, kind person who deserves more.
Duke is determined to make sure he gets it.
And if he gets a crush along the way, that’s his business and his business only.
It looks like Step Two: Befriend Danny is finally complete. He’ll figure out the other steps later. For now, he has an evening of French in a coffee shop to look forward to.
#ghostlights#dc x dp#dp x dc#dcxdp#dpxdc#dc x dp fic#prompt fill#my writing#im glad youre enjoying my ghostlights fics so much!!! im having a blast writing them#thank u for giving me more propaganda to spread for the ghostlights agenda <3#this could easily continue into a much larger fic that goes into danny relocating to gotham for his protection#and start mixing in dc's spirit world with danny phantom's ghost zone/infinite realms#its kinda two stories in one tbh#1: danny trying to protect his kind classmate from ghosts and gotham spirits leading to supernatural shenanigans#2: duke trying to protect this clearly hurt and lonely person which leads to getting him accidentally roped into superhero shenanigans#both are the protagonists of a ya novel where they stumble into a secret for the sake of protecting one person#idk if im getting that across well but if u know the vibes then u know what im talking abt
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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 66
Part 1 Part 65
They’re all sent off to school with a command to “act normal” from Hopper so they don’t draw any more attention to themselves while he investigates. As if any of them can even tell what normal means anymore. Still, they go, taking Steve’s car since Eddie’s is still out on unwilling loan.
Steve doesn’t protest when Eddie slides into the driver’s seat.
There’s nothing playing in the tape deck, just silence past the smooth sound of Steve’s engine rumbling beneath them. Every time Eddie glances toward the passenger seat, Steve is staring blankly out his window. Even Eddie reaching over to squeeze his knee garners no reaction.
He keeps his hand there, regardless, hoping the warmth will seep into him while he drifts and keep him warm no matter where his mind is.
Once parked in front of the school, Eddie jumps out of the car like normal. Steve doesn’t. So, he walks around the front of the car to open the door, bowing lowly with a flourish of his hand, playing the part of his gracious valet. Or enthusiastic date.
There’s a ghost of a smile as Steve finally unbuckles his belt and climbs out, elbowing Eddie in the ribs as he passes.
He doesn’t grab his bag, so Eddie does, swinging it onto his shoulders, slamming the passenger door and sprinting after Steve where he’s somehow already halfway across the parking lot.
The smile’s already dropped by the time he catches up and matches his pace. He’s staring ahead vacantly enough that Eddie briefly worries he’s no longer on this plane at all, but he’s walking normally, and he nods at the few classmates who call out to him as they pass.
Popularity isn’t something that can be entirely shrugged off like an ill-fitting jacket. It dogs Steve’s footsteps still, sticking to him even after he’d quit all sports teams, had faded out entirely from the high school party scene. Had started to stick to Eddie’s side like they’re tied together by the wrist.
Steve never even seems to notice the way girls still light up around him, and sometimes jocks will wander up to talk about their sportsball games like Steve had still been out there with them scoring the winning goal. Steve always smiles affably, slaps them on the back, shoots the shit, and then he’s on his way.
Like it’s all still normal to him. Expected, even.
But now, the barest nod is all anyone else gets. Except Eddie.
Because when Eddie drops him off at his classroom, he walks in, shrugs off Steve’s backpack and drops it by the seat Steve’s in the middle of settling into. He bows again, and murmurs a quiet, “parting is such sweet sorrow,” while the few kids already in their own seats gawk at the spectacle he’s making.
Steve meets his eyes for the first time that morning, brown eyes fathomless but squinting at the corners as he smiles up at him. Beautiful in the way it’s finally reaching his eyes. “See you at lunch?” he asks, like that’s not a given.
Eddie looks around furtively at the circle of empty seats that still surround them, calculates the distance between them and the nearest warm body, and decides to risk it all.
“See you then, angel,” he says, keeping his gaze locked on Steve’s own until he looks down to dig a notebook and pen out of his bag, ears turning a light pink.
Eddie whistles all the way out the door and into his own homeroom, but the cheer dissipates quickly as Steve’s absence settles into his bones.
He can feel him from the other side of the school. Eddie wants to be with him so badly that it feels like Steve’s reeling him in, the pressure in his sternum almost too much to keep his ass in his assigned seat. It grows from first period to second, until he has to convince himself several times not to skip English to wait outside Steve’s own classroom door like an overeager basset hound.
Act Normal. Be Normal. As if Eddie knows how to do that.
Jeff keeps giving him sideways glances from across the room that Eddie easily avoids by keeping his eyes on the clock, urging the seconds to tick along faster, as if he’s Supergirl and not just a freak with separation anxiety.
Everything goes in one ear and out the other until lunch. He practically skips to the cafeteria, grabbing Steve’s lunch as well as his own because Steve always gets waylaid on the way.
He sits at the usual table, ignoring Jeff’s glare, and Doug’s pointed questions, and Gareth’s downright bitching while he stares at the cafeteria entrance, willing Steve’s bitchy little face to appear in its threshold.
Barb settles beside him, forcibly shoving Gareth down the table despite his protests. Eddie glances over at her to see the same dark bags under his own eyes.
“Tell me what’s going on,” she demands. “What did Owens sa—”
“Not here!” he hisses, looking around. Doug’s looking right at him with his stupid, judgmental face. “Do you want everyone all up in this?”
She scoffs, stealing a fry from his plate before he can bat her hand away. “No one was paying attention until you made a scene.” When Eddie just scowls at her, she rolls her eyes, but acquiesces, “You’re filling me in later.”
Eddie nods before dismissing her entirely to look back toward the threshold. Toward that insistent tug tug tug.
It’s been too long. He gets up, abandoning both of their lunches to follow the line. “Where are you going?” Barb demands, getting up to follow him with a dramatic huff. “Like a toddler, honestly.”
It’s moments like this when he can see how Barb and Nancy ended up friends. When she puts her nose in the air just so, he can almost picture them emulating each other as little girls, feeding off the little bitches they both are on the inside.
“Steve’s missing,” he says, walking fast enough that she’s got to do a little jog around a few students to catch up.
“He’s like ten minutes late to lunch, not lost in the—”
She cuts herself off, but Eddie knows what she was about to say. Not lost in the Upside-Down. Not taken, again. As if she has any idea at all.
“You didn’t see it,” Eddie mutters, walking faster, faster, faster.
Barb doesn’t reply, just quick-steps in time with his slightly longer legs.
She’s right, though. Steve’s not missing, not taken, not gone at all. He’s standing in the middle of the hallway, glaring at Perkins and Hagan like they’d just spit in his face. His fists are clenched, his cheeks are flushed. He looks alive.
Eddie and Barb stand at the corner, peering around it like half-assed sleuths. Steve’s gotta know they’re there. Or at least that Eddie is, but he doesn’t look their way.
“—think it’s a good idea to air my own private business out to him?” Steve demands, flicking his hand toward Hagan dismissively.
Perkins throws her hands in the air with an abortive scream of frustration. “Air what?” she asks. “You won’t even tell me what the hell’s going on!”
“And why should I,” Steve snarls, less as a question and more as a scoff. “So, you whisper everything I tell you into your boyfriend’s ear at night?”
“I wouldn’t—”
Hagan, ever the prize, barrels right over her with his own shit. “Steve just doesn’t want you to know how far he’s snapped, babe,” he says, smirking up at Steve as he takes a step closer, chest pumped out in the same way of primates posturing everywhere. “If he thinks he’s got magical traveling powers, who knows what else he’s hiding in that messed up head of his?”
In that moment, it becomes abundantly clear that Perkins had told Hagan everything she’d heard. Steve’s face blanches white, then splotches red. “How fucking dare you!” Steve demands, but he’s not looking at Hagan at all. He’s looking at Perkins. Only Eddie sees the way Hagan’s face falls at the dismissal before he paints that same jaunty grin back on his face. “You told him?”
Perkins screeches, throwing her hands out with enough ferocity that one smacks Hagan in the chest hard enough to send him stumbling back a step. Still, no one looks his way. “What was I supposed to do?” she asks, voice warbling and high-pitched. “We’re worried!”
Hagan snorts and mutters, “you’re worried,” pointedly until Perkins elbows him hard in the ribs.
Eddie watches Steve’s face fall. Perkins and Hagan are too busy verbally brawling in the hallway, but they don’t know about the sky-blue teddy bear that still resides on their bed. They don’t know the way Steve’ll sometimes hug it to his chest before bed, curling into a ball around it as he holds it close to his chest.
They don’t know there’s anything to look for, or maybe they just don’t care. But it doesn’t matter, because by the time the pair’s turned back to Steve, he’s shorn up his facade, back to the look of haughty indifference he’d worn for years around this school. Eddie hasn’t missed it.
“Steve, please–” she says, and she sounds desperate. Like whatever she’s saying, she means it. But Steve’s closing down on all sides, and Eddie can’t stand a second more of this.
“Oh, Ms. Perkins, darling,” he calls, skipping down the hallway like he’s not seething. “I believe you have something of mine.”
It takes her a second to rip her gaze away from Steve’s shuttered expression. She stares blankly up at him before something sparks behind her eyes. She scowls up at him, digging his keys out of her pocket and tossing them his way with narry a thanks.
“By your leave then, my lady,” he says, curtsying while Hagan rolls his eyes and Perkins gazes wistfully down the hall where Barb and Steve are almost out of sight.
Eddie jogs to catch up and reclaim his rightful spot at his Angel’s side.
Part 67
Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect
#steddie upsidedown au#my fic#eddie munson#steve harrington#literally posting this the minute i finished it bc i want it out of my sight. did Not even spell check. ok goodnight
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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.
______
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#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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hunted hybrids au rambles
this is an au me and @linkito made for our scarian RP, so just beware it’s focused solely on these two and it’s self-indulgent. CWs, i suppose, are themes of violence and dehumanisation of hybrids, and mention of self harm (feather plucking).
the basic premise is that hermitcraft’s code got attacked. think season 8 moon big and ground deteriorating underneath their feet, but it’s all more rapid and out of the blue. they don’t get a chance to investigate or prepare. it’s just. happening. so obviously, confusion and panic.
and then the hermits get scattered, to other worlds, seemingly indiscriminately and at random, as hermitcraft implodes.
grian and scar end up in the same world, but it takes them about a week to realise. (a very horrible week, mind you.) their comms don’t work quite right here.
now, where they’ve ended up is a very, very hybrid-hostile world. think rough people and black markets and criminal societies. think hunters and bloodhounds and phantom-dragons that screech through the night. think traps and watchtowers and rotting forests without a bird-chirp in them.
this world considers hybrids to be something to hunt. something to take apart and sell and gloat about. vexes are disliked and killed for sport, for bragging rights. there’s no mercy in that. avians, though? avian wings are seen as a commodity, a decoration. something to make money out of and claim a different kind of prestige from.
... did i mention this world is permadeath?
yeah.
so here we have these two hermits, and i think it’s important to note that the life games aren’t a thing in this universe. they never experienced a situation where they have to fight for their life. they find themselves here, stranded and alone, not knowing if their home even still exists or what happened to the others and if there’s anyone left out there who will be looking for them.
maybe they try to look for help, used to friendly communities and little to no consequences.
maybe they get glares and smirks and weapons pulled on them.
maybe they realise the error they’ve made. maybe they realise that this is no place to seek help.
and then they run.
and all they can do is keep on running.
(the wood is rotten. the animals are scarce, next to none - have they even seen any? besides the wailing hounds? they can’t remember. the resources are hidden, stashed away in the communities they are desperate to get as much distance from as possible. the land is dark, and eerie, and unfamiliar. it’s late autumn, toppling into winter, air chilly and frosty, and they are so, so very underprepared.)
i think this is a good time to note that i chose violet-backed starling as the bird-base for grian in this au. because the wings are brilliant and bright and vibrant. they’re rare. expensive. very, very much wanted. (very hard to hide in a drab late-autumn.)
scar and grian meet under dire circumstances: a hunter de-routed from going after scar by a call for backup, to a violet-winged avian—an information scar overhears—a trophy too precious to walk away from. this is the moment scar has the startling, horrifying realisation that grian is also trapped in this world. (he hears him before he sees him, and he’d know that voice anywhere.) (he never heard him scream like this before—)
long story short, grian gets hurt, scar goes a little feral, and together they escape, to seek out shelter and supplies in a world that seems determined to strip everything away from them. it’s getting colder, and they have nowhere to go but deeper into the forest, hoping that they’ll eventually go far enough that the hunters will give up. (a feeble, impossible hope.)
please think about them being so confused and destabilised over the realisation that they’re no longer alone. the complicated feeling of relief of having someone familiar and safe there, and the absolutely nauseating terror of having them there, because it means they’re stuck in this nightmare, too. the struggle to keep each other alive and sane through it. the way how something so normal and taken for granted gets turned upside down—and gentle touch now feels so unfamiliar. (oh how they need that softness, in a world that is only ever harsh and cruel.)
the (so far) two drawings i made for this au are:
1. them curled up into each other, wrapped up in a blanket, trying to keep warm and survive the night. please note that scar is pressed against grian’s back, protecting the part of him that now feels the most vulnerable. (grian’s wings are a huge target. a beacon beckoning the hunters closer.) grian used to sleep (on those rare moments when he actually allowed himself to stop and nap) with his wings pressed against hard, rough, cold edges, just to hide them. just to make them less visible, just to make himself a little less vulnerable. (his feathers are a mess.)
2. on that note. the second drawing touches on grian’s complicated feelings about his wings that come from all this trauma. because all those pretty feathers do is drag danger to them. because he used to love them and they used to be his pride and joy and they let him feel free, but he can’t even fly anymore (the sky is too open; there are too many airborne hunters and watchtowers). and it’s these damned feathers that cause him and, more importantly, scar to get hurt and have to run and run and run even when they feel like they can’t anymore.
grian is so upset with his feathers. they feel like a curse. they feel like a burden. they feel like he’ll never not be terrified as long as he has them. he’s tired and in pain and cornered and desperate, and he wants them gone. and so what if he cries. what if he starts plucking them out, urgent, frustrated, panicked sharp yanks, and—
and scar is there, and he’s shushing him and telling him to stop. telling him that his wings are beautiful, and they’re his, and scar won’t let anyone else touch them, ever. it’s okay. it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay. (nothing is okay.)
//full drawings are linked so feel free to check them out if you're interested :3
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@motherofplatypus a bit late but here you go! the requested au rambles
#hunted hybrids au#hhau#scarian au#they are hurting a lot in this one#angst#cw blood#cw injuries#ange rambles#feel free to drop your thoughs#i'm a little insane over this au#au rambles
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