#Keri is writing a book.

[thegodthief]

84,979 words and I'm ready to throw all of them in the shitter. But this is why it's called a draft. Get the ideas down first and shave off the extra adjectives later.

[wild-typo-turtle]

Threads - Part 8

Explicit (slow burn, 18+ only) - Rings of Power - Gil-galad x OFC (Elf)

Includes S2E8 of Rings of Power - spoilers ahoy!

Gil-galad had only taken a handful of steps when his gaze passed over yet another collapsed building. From the looks of things, it had once been an open, airy shop that had faced directly into the plaza. The roof had caved in, creating dusty shadows, and even his keen eyes might have missed the slumped figure had he not heard the tiny whimper from the darkness.

Eregion has been destroyed; Sauron is gone. And yet, the sun still shines, as the ruined city holds the last thing that High King Gil-galad had ever expected to find.

Themes: #Idiots in love, #love at first sight, #soulmates, #smut with feelings, #fix-it, #everybody lives

Content Warnings: Explicit content eventually (slow burn), canon-typical violence; loss of parents; grief/mourning

Tag List: @morganas-pendragons, @stellar-solar-flare, @the141bandicoot; @inyx-writes44

Dreamcasting: Keri Russell as Linnea

Part 1 (includes A/N and credits), Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Content Notes for Part 8: Grief, Mourning as themes; loss of parents

Part 8

Two Weeks Later

It was difficult for the Eldar to get drunk. Not unheard of, certainly - Dwarvish ale and the liquors of Men were seldom up to the task, yet the Elves’ own wines could often render one senseless. There were casks in the royal cellar, in fact, that Gil-galad had been wary of breaching. 

But now, as he stared at the page in front of him, now might be the very occasion.

Her tender heart I feel

O! Beloved!

Her tender flesh I taste

O! Beloved!

Her tender kiss I share

O! Beloved!

A river flows, a lily blooms

A proud tree rises as a sapling in springtime.

This was getting him nowhere. 

He was sure that Círdan’s advice had been well-meant, but the shipwright had never wed. He would have no concept of whether Rúmil’s writings were accurate - and indeed, Gil-galad was not sure he would either, even after his wedding night. The language was so vague and couched in metaphor, there were any number of things it might apply to.

But perhaps that was the point. Perhaps Rúmil was attempting to describe something that could not be described.

Although that bit about tasting…?

There was a soft knock on his door, and with relief, Gil-galad looked up.

Quickly, he closed the book and slid it under one of the stacks of papers on his desk. As useless as it was, he was not fond of the idea that someone might realize what he was attempting to do. This was private, and the only one he desired to be thinking about it besides himself was Linnea. 

He wondered what she was thinking. Did she share his trepidation? She had no more experience than he did, after all. Would she worry about pleasing him, just as he worried about pleasing her? 

The idea nearly made him laugh, and it offered reassurance. The heat that welled up in him every time he kissed her - no, she had no cause to fear. And he had seen the desire in her eyes, felt her tremble at his touch. They would find their way together.

The knock came again, and he rose. “Enter.”

Gil-galad had been grateful, all told, that Elrond had spent so much of the past weeks in Imladris. Construction was proceeding rapidly, and he knew that much of it was due to Elrond’s attention to detail - as well as his way of kindly encouraging the best from anyone around him. 

It had been a necessary sacrifice, losing his herald to bigger and better things. And one he had not resented bearing - save for the matter of his pending wedding. More than once he had wished for Elrond’s help; they had worked together for long years, and while his replacement Nendir was entirely competent, it was just not the same.

He had been too proud to ask, but he was not too proud to have felt relief when Elrond had arrived two days ago, and had - very politely, and very delicately - begun assisting Nendir with composing the letters of invitation. Elrond’s arms were laden with them now as he entered, a dozen neatly rolled scrolls that awaited the royal seal and Gil-galad’s signature.

“High King.”

“Lord Elrond.” 

Elrond stepped over to the desk, beginning to set down the scrolls and arrange them. Linnea and Adabes had dealt with the list of recipients, and he was glad to see that it had not expanded since the last time he had seen it. That thought of privacy pushed at his thoughts again; it was not too late for him to toss Elrond’s efforts into the fire and go find Linnea and have it done with. 

But a royal wedding was more than just the bonding of two souls; it was an opportunity to renew friendships, plant seeds for the future, strengthen alliances. 

And perhaps, rebuild them as well.  

He glanced over the letters that Elrond had opened and set ready for him as he re-seated himself at the desk. Oropher and his family, yes; Amdír and Amroth of Lórien; various other lords and high Noldor that were already well aware of the wedding, but the formal invitation still had to be sent. And drafts of the proclamations that would be issued throughout Lindon and carried to Imladris as well, Linnea’s coronation at the Tree that was open to all.

He smiled at that last page, and Elrond saw it. “There will be a great party of the survivors that come from Imladris, High King,” he murmured. “Lady Linnea is one of their own.”

“I trust you have informed Adabes of their number?”

“I have. The arrangements are all well in hand.”  

“Good.”

He calmly reached for his quill, betraying no hint of his plans, and began to sign the pages. Elrond fell into their old rhythm quickly; no sooner had he finished with the quill than Elrond was ready with the hot wax, and he pressed his seal to stamp it. Easy and familiar; it would come with time, with Nendir, but the resumption of routine, even for a few moments, was peaceful.

Unfortunately, he was about to shatter that peace.

Gil-galad sealed the last of the announcements, and set the brass seal off to the side. “I have another task for you.”

“Of course, High King.” Elrond’s attention was on organizing the finished pages; his tone was distracted. “I am, as ever, at your service.”

Gil-galad had written it himself. He had thought long and hard over the matter, and he knew it wouldn’t even be considered a slight if he didn’t; they could simply send an announcement after the fact and have done with it. There would hardly be any expectation otherwise.

In the end, as he suspected he would do so often in the years to come, he had asked Linnea what she thought.

A wedding is a time for joy, she had said, as they had shared their evening tea. Let that joy be the mortar that fills the cracks between Elf and Dwarf, and the water that smothers any fires that yet burn.

He took the letter, and passed it to Elrond silently. And it only took the former herald one glace to understand.

“ ‘Esteemed Prince Durin,’ “ he said quietly, his eyes flicking across the top of the page. “High King, I - “

Gil-galad held up a hand. They had spoken little of the late arrival of the Dwarves to Eregion; it had not been a subject that they needed to discuss at length. And apart from sending a polite acknowledgment of their help, and thanks for the offer of further aid, there had been scant correspondence between the realms since the siege.  

But they would need every ally in the fight to come. 

“You will deliver it personally,” he said, keeping his voice firm. “We must begin to mend this rift between our two peoples. What has transpired is past. Your friendship with Prince Durin may be the key to unlocking the power of the Dwarves against our enemy, and you know as well as I that it will be needed.”

“High King,” Elrond said again. And this time there was heat beneath his voice, the coals of betrayal that had not yet burned low. “We placed our faith in Durin once. Our dead might have been fewer in number had he held to his word. It is a fool who stores his jewels in the same casket they have already fallen from.” 

“And yet, the Dwarves have reason to mistrust us as well,” Gil-galad said quietly. “They bear the consequences of our lack of sight, of Celebrimbor’s pride in allowing Sauron’s influence over his craft. The Dwarven rings cost them dearly, as Durin himself knows full well. There are wrongs on both sides, and someone must be the first to extend a hand.”

Elrond stared down at the letter in his hand. “A mighty hand indeed, to invite the Prince of Khazad-dûm to the High King of the Noldor’s wedding.”

“Khazad-dûm still roils with unrest. None of the factions competing for the throne after King Durin’s passing shows any signs of triumph. This may be our chance to tip the scales. Our public acknowledgment of his claim - to the exclusion of all others - sends a message.” 

Elrond looked thoughtful. “Some of the lords may count it as much curse as blessing. They may withhold their support of Durin knowing he allies with us.”

“You speak truly, but Durin did come to our aid at Eregion. Those who would deny him their backing will have already done so. And those who are swayed by power will see that Durin has our confidence.” 

Elrond licked his lips, glancing down at the page again. And what he said next proved just how far he had come, in so short a time.

“Does the lady Linnea approve of this?”

He almost chuckled at Elrond’s implication. It was possible that there would be times to come when he would have to overrule her wishes for the sake of the realm, but he would never have considered it for this. If she had objected to the Dwarves being invited to their wedding, he would have found another way.

“My lady bears no grudge,” Gil-galad said. “And if she does not, we have no grounds for it.”

Elrond winced. It was true that what he had said was an oversimplification, but the underlying principle was clear. Elrond had not been wrong when he had said the Dwarves might have stemmed their own losses - but that also held true for the brave defenders of Eregion. Linnea would have had more reason than most to object, and she had not.

The thought seemed to take the wind from Elrond’s sails. His shoulders relaxed, and he looked down at the letter for a moment more before he began slowly rolling it. 

“As you command, High King. I will depart immediately for Khazad-dûm.”

“Oh, Eressie.”

The dressmaker smiled, casting her eyes shyly down at the floor. For her part, all that Linnea could do was stare, letting her eyes drink in the beautiful sight.

It had taken her weeks to decide on the fabric, but Eressie hadn’t wasted the time. By the time she had finally found it - a heavy cream silk shot with gold and copper, almost as if it were lit from within - the design had been complete, and Eressie had taken her scissors and needle to the stunning fabric with more bravery than Linnea herself would have shown. 

And this was the result.

The neckline of the dress draped softly around Linnea’s chest, revealing the soft swells of her breasts above a corset that covered from breast to hip and laced in the back. The skirts fell from beneath the bottom of the corset, layers upon layers of the heavy silk, lapped one over the other like the petals of a rose. Tight undersleeves, made of pale gold silk, were fitted beneath longer, fuller sleeves of the cream. The edges of the neckline were embroidered with golden leaves and accented with pearls, as were the cuffs of the undersleeves and a band of the oversleeves around her upper arms. More leaves were embroidered here and there on the layers of the skirt - giving the impression that they had been captured in mid-flight, falling from their tree.    

It was beautiful. It was incredible. It was perfect.

She had almost been afraid to touch it. But she knew Eressie needed to see it on her one last time, to make any final alterations. The wedding was in two more weeks, and knowing that the dress was done would be one thing off the list that she needed to think about.

Two weeks. Two weeks. Two weeks. Two weeks.

“My lady? Will you step up, so that I may check the hem?”

This had been the very reason for her visit; her shoes were finished, retrieved just that morning from the cobbler. She moved to the wooden dais that Eressie had set up for just this purpose, and stood still as the seamstress knelt and fussed with the edge of the dress.

She wondered what Gil-galad would be wearing.

He would look stunning, whatever it was. But he had adamantly refused to tell or allow her to see any bit of it. The only hint that she’d gotten was when he had asked what color her dress was, and had looked immensely smug when she had shown him a small sample of the fabric. But he wanted to surprise her, and so she had followed his lead, making that glimpse of color the only clue he got in return.

Eressie finished with the hem and sat back on her heels, smiling up at Linnea. “I need do no more, my lady. Your dress is finished. And I shall have your nightclothes completed within the week.”

Nightclothes. Yes. She slept in silk and satin now, not the soft cotton and linen she had always known, but for this night she had wanted something even more special. She would only have one wedding night in her entire long life, and so would Ereinion. He deserved for her to come to his bed as beautiful as she could make herself.

Her heart quickened, thinking about it. Thinking about the wisp of a gown that Eressie was finishing, about how Ereinion’s hands would look on the soft white fabric. 

And how they would feel once that fabric had been removed.  

But she kept her composure, stepping down and turning so that Eressie could unlace the back of the dress, and then quickly changing out of it and back into her regular gown. She handed the wedding dress to Eressie, who swathed it carefully in a long strip of pure white wool to protect and conceal it.

She was just finishing when there was a soft thud from the back of the shop, and a small blond boy came hurrying out.

“Mother?”

Eressie’s son was still very young by the standards of their people - and every time she saw him, Linnea’s heart ached just a little, knowing how difficult it must be to grow up without his father. But the child seemed to be doing well, if a trifle shy, although perhaps that was simply his nature. Eressie herself was such.

The boy saw her and instantly halted, bowing. “Your Grace,” he said, very politely. “Mother.”

“Negen,” Linnea greeted him, smiling. “I am pleased to see you. You look well.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

Eressie looked nervous at the interruption; she had become more comfortable with Linnea over the last months, but she was still finding her way around the propriety that had been drilled into her for interacting with the nobility. “Negen? Is aught amiss?”

“No, Mother. But I have finished my reading for the day. May I have some fruit?”

Eressie let out a small breath of relief. “Yes. Yes, of course you may. You know where it is.”

“Thank you, Mother.”

Negen turned and departed the way he had come, through the door in the back of the shop that led to their living quarters. The sight made Linnea’s heart ache in a different way; their weaving shop in Eregion had been built in a very similar manner, and it felt as if she herself could walk through that door and be in their little kitchen, with her mother washing vegetables over a basin and her father tending the fire - 

“My lady?”

Linnea shook her head, pushing the thoughts back. And it was not for the first time.

The memories of home and family had lingered close over the last weeks, and they had prickled at her mind like thornbushes that she was gingerly trying to find her way through. Every so often, she was scratched.

“I am sorry,” she said quietly. “It is just - being here reminds me so much of home. I was distracted for a moment. You are fortunate in your child; Negen is a fine boy.”

Eressie dipped her head in a small bow. “Thank you, my lady. He - he has dreams of being a soldier like his father.” 

Oh, she could not imagine how that must feel for Eressie, to have her son’s ambitions lie in the same direction that had been his father’s downfall. Linnea swallowed hard, past the tightness in her throat, and tried to think of something to say.

“I am sure that whatever path he walks, he will succeed,” she managed, and was proud that her voice stayed even. Another sign that she was learning how to be a queen.

She was saved from having to find more words by a soft tap on the shop door. A moment later, it opened, and Hellathas leaned inside.

“Lady Linnea,” she said quietly. “The light begins to fade. We should return to court as soon as you are ready.”

That had been another change over the last weeks. 

Work was still ongoing to bolster Lindon’s defenses, and with the army so reduced, Gil-galad had issued orders that only the most necessary activities were to be pursued after sunset. The streets were now quiet in the darkness, the only steps to be heard those of patrolling soldiers. It had lent itself to an aura of caution and agitation among the inhabitants, but Linnea could not fault his reasoning; it would be much easier to identify intruders this way. 

Lindon itself breached. The thought was scarcely conceivable, but it was Gil-galad’s role to do just that, to consider every possibility and plan accordingly.

Their role.   

She nodded at Hellathas. “Thank you. I will be with you directly.”

Hellathas stepped back and closed the door, and Linnea turned to Eressie. The momentary distraction had helped her settle herself, and she was able to smile fully at the seamstress.

“I will return in a few days for the nightclothes,” she promised. “As always, your work is beyond compare.”

Eressie blushed, dropping her green eyes to the floor even as she dropped herself into a curtsy. “You are too kind, Your Grace.”

Adabes was lying in wait when Linnea returned.

She had tried to establish that when she was out, Adabes was welcome to enter her rooms and wait for her if there was need. But Adabes hadn't gotten quite that far yet; she stood outside the door, holding her writing desk, as poised as she always was.

“My lady,” she said, as Linnea stopped at the landing. “The King is still in session with the council. Do you wish to dine before we review the wedding ceremony?”

Inwardly, she sighed. She had been hoping for a quiet dinner with Gil-galad, but council meetings had been extending longer and longer as of late. He would not expect, or want, her to wait.

“Have you eaten, Adabes?” she asked. “You are welcome to join me, and we can converse at the same time.”

“I have eaten, thank you. But you need not delay on my account, Your Grace. I am happy to wait until you have refreshed yourself.”

Linnea shook her head; that simply felt rude to her, and like an abuse of her position. “No, please come in. We can talk first. I am anxious to hear about the ceremony.”

Adabes stood aside then, and Linnea opened the door to her rooms. 

She had added a few furnishings since her arrival in Lindon. Although she had been fairly sequestered, still acclimating herself to all of the change, some of the ladies of the court had taken it upon themselves to seek her out. She had added more seating in her front room as a result, and also a small frame loom in the corner. The looms in the weaving room were much larger and more suitable for bigger projects, but this one would accommodate scarves or shawls or similar things. She was weaving one such now, in fact - a gift for Adabes, a silk shawl in a pattern of deep gold and pale green. It had made her smile when Adabes had admired the colors, and she was looking forward to the surprise. 

One rather nice thing about being the future queen was that her needs were always anticipated. Even though she had been absent from court for several hours, someone had come and lit the lanterns and candles, and had built and lit the fire. The rooms were toasty warm, and Linnea settled down on one of the chairs by the hearth, motioning to Adabes to sit as well.

She had been eager for this discussion, an outline of what the actual ceremony would entail. She had of course attended weddings before, but that was quite different than it being her own. And she was anxious to ensure that there were no traditions she needed to be aware of, things that the Noldor did but that the Sindar did not.

Adabes positioned her writing desk just as she liked it, across her knees, and took out her quill.

“The ceremony itself is quite short,” she began. “As neither you nor the High King have living parents, you will invoke the blessings yourselves. There is no traditional point at which to carry out the ritual, but I would suggest waiting until the end of the feast, and then proceeding directly to the coronation.”

Linnea nodded. She had learned very quickly that any suggestion Adabes made was well-considered and had ample reason behind it, and the logistics of what she was saying were sensible. “I agree. Are there - that is, the blessings I know are traditional for the Sindar. But are there different words used by the High Noldor?”

“Not to my knowledge, my lady. Obviously there will be some slight alterations, as you will say the words yourselves, but they are no different in essence. The King will say, ‘May Manwë Lord of Wind watch over us’, and you will say, ‘May Varda Star-kindler hear our calls.’ And each will end with, ‘And may the - " Adabes paused, clearing her throat. “ - the Father of All bless us.”

Linnea understood the slight pause. It was no light thing, to invoke the name of Eru Ilúvatar; that would wait until that very moment when she and Ereinion were holding one another’s hands, the blessings hovering between them, one of the silken threads that bound them together for the rest of eternity.

She tried not to think about how that call to Varda and to Eru would sound from her own lips, and not her mother’s.

Lhénes had had a low, quiet voice. Perhaps it would have rasped slightly as she spoke, as she held back tears of joy at seeing her daughter wed so well. Being queen would not have mattered to her, but the knowledge that Linnea had found love, that her true soulmate had been out there - that would have pleased her greatly.

More of those thornbushes. She pushed them back, returning her attention to Adabes.

“Very well,” she said. “And the exchange of rings afterward?”

“Yes, Your Grace. The wedding bands have been commissioned from the smiths. You will return the King’s betrothal ring to him, and he yours.”      

Linnea smiled. She had a suspicion that the silver star would find its way back onto another of her fingers soon after the wedding; it was too beautiful to be set aside and kept in a casket. “It seems simple enough. I had feared the Noldor would have other traditions, especially for a wedding of this importance.”

Adabes hesitated.

It was an uncommon occurrence, and it made Linnea look at her more closely. Adabes was ruthlessly efficient; this was most uncharacteristic, and she wondered at the cause.

“Adabes?”

Efficiency won out, and Adabes gave a small sigh. “There is one thing, Your Grace. I am sure that it is of no consequence, given that you are Sindar and that your parents are no longer with us.”

Her stomach twisted. 

“And what is it?” 

“It is customary among the Noldor for gifts to be given to the bride and groom, by either their parents or another relative. The father of the groom to the bride, and the mother of the bride to the groom. A jewel that can be worn is the most traditional. But again, I am sure that no one will expect it. Certainly the King will not.”

He might not expect it, no. But had it been something he had hoped for? Would he feel any lingering sadness that the wedding had not been quite what he’d dreamt of? And the other Noldor lords - the conflict between Noldor and Sindar that went back thousands of years - would this validate some long-buried judgments, that she was not worthy of their High King if she could not manage so simple a thing?

She felt Adabes’ eyes on her and looked back up. “I see. I will consider that, thank you for telling me. Was there anything else?”

Adabes looked like she wanted to hide - which was, again, most unsettling. “No, my lady. Once the rings are exchanged, the public ceremony is finished and the coronation will begin.”

On another occasion, Linnea might have asked about that part as well. But she knew that she would need Gil-galad for that; he doubtlessly had plans, likely a speech to give - or more than one. There was ample reason to delay that discussion, even if she had been able to manage it at this moment.

Her mother Lhénes would never see the wedding dress she had tried on that day. She herself would speak the blessings that Lhénes should have. Lhénes would never choose a jewel for Ereinion, something he could wear to remind him of his wedding day; her long and elegant hands - so like Linnea’s own - would never give it into his keeping, much the same as her only child.

She took a deep breath, and couldn’t keep it smooth. Not with the memories crowding around her, not with the thornbushes drawing in so tight.

“Thank you,” she said again. “Then I believe that is all for tonight?”

To her vast, vast credit, Adabes seemed to sense that anything she might say - any apology or condolence - would only make things worse. Instead she quickly stowed her quill and rose, curtseying briefly, and murmured. “Yes, my lady. I shall see you in the morning. Goodnight, Your Grace.”

And she left.    

Linnea sat, her mind fixated on what Adabes had said, like a fish caught on one of the cruel hooks that Men used.

It is customary among the Noldor for gifts to be given to the bride and groom. A jewel that can be worn is the most traditional.

I am sure no one will expect it.

Well, they had not expected her, had they?

She rose then, her hands clenched into fists, striding over to the ironwood chest that sat next to the frame loom. Sinking to her knees, she flung the lid open and plunged her hands into the neatly folded fabrics that were stacked inside, scattering the dried lavender and rosemary that had been set to keep the moths away. She had traded three lengths of fine silk for Ereinion's ring, but much remained of what she had saved from Eregion.

The Noldor had enough jewels. Enough finery. But she could make Ereinion another gift; she was upending tradition anyway, with no female relative to perform the task. She might as well embrace it.

Her fingers dug deeper. She was barely aware of the tears that had started to fall, dripping down and landing on the floor beside the chest as she touched the cloth. Each one held memories; her hands had woven parts of many of them, the work of her mother and her father and herself all intertwined. Impossible to tell who had done what anymore. 

But this - 

She pulled out the object of her search. 

The fabric was deep brown, a blend of wool and silk. Lhénes had finished it not long before the siege; it was one of the most versatile fabrics she had ever created, woven both for warmth and for lightness. And Lhénes had employed every aspect of her craft - not only was the fabric itself a marvel, but she had laid protective charms over the threads. It would offer concealment to the wearer, and would turn a blade or an arrow that was not crafted by skilled hands.

Linnea had helped her warp the loom when she had begun.

We oft know what our work’s purpose will ultimately be, Lhénes had said, as they had threaded the heddles together. The threads speak to us of a gown, or a wall hanging, or some such. Yet this I do not see, only that it wishes to be made.    

Not a gown, no. Not a wall hanging. Not a blanket or a robe or a table covering.

Her hands could wield a needle, not as skillfully as Eressie but enough for this. There was time enough to complete the task. She would finish what her mother had started, and this would be her gift at the wedding. 

A war-cloak for a King. 

She hoped Lhénes would have approved. 

But that dam that she had sensed when first she had arrived in Lindon - the dam that she had known would eventually burst - it finally broke, as she held the fabric and felt Lhénes’ love woven into it, her care and concern and the magics she had employed, the magics that would ultimately protect her daughter’s husband and the father of her grandchildren. The bolt of brown wool dropped into her lap and Linnea collapsed, a sob tearing from her as she fell forward onto and into the chest, clinging to it like a raft in the middle of the sea. 

There had been no time. Grief had been pushed aside, but it would have its due.

She didn’t know how long she cried, her tears salting the wood of the chest and the fabrics within. The entire tower might have fallen down around her and she wouldn’t have noticed.

Melethel?     

The whisper caressed her ear, and Linnea looked up, her body still shaking. 

Her rooms were empty.

She leaned back down, resting her forehead on the edge of the chest, tears still running down her face and onto the floor.

But then, she heard the sound of footsteps approaching. And there was only one place they could be coming from, for them to be so clear. 

Gil-galad had just returned; that much was plain as he emerged from the stairs that led up to his rooms. He was still wearing the silver samite robe he preferred for council sessions, but the weariness that normally dragged at his handsome features after the meetings was nowhere to be found. Instead, his face was filled with concern as he saw her, and he hurriedly made his way across the room, dropping to kneel at her side and putting his arm around her in one unbroken movement.

“I felt you,” he said, with no preamble. “I felt your sadness, melethel. What has happened?”

She was not too proud to lean into his strength, letting him tighten his arm and draw her even closer into his chest. It felt so silly; she would see her parents again in Valinor someday, they would even be able to meet Gil-galad, although hopefully that day was long hence. 

She felt him run his hand over her curls. “Tell me, I beg you,” he whispered. “Whatever burdens you, it is mine to carry as well.”

That made the tears start flowing again. He had so many cares, especially now; the idea of adding to them was too overwhelming.

“I heard you,” she whispered instead. “I thought it was the wind or my own fancy. But I heard you…”

His hand was still stroking her hair. “I called out to you in my thoughts. But I did not expect you to hear - I did not think the ósanwe would be so strong so soon.”

He was right; she hadn’t even considered the idea. The ósanwe, the interchange of thought,  normally took time to develop between Elves - although perhaps it wasn’t so surprising. She knew enough to know that it was strengthened with affinity, with urgency, and with authority. She had no trouble believing that Gil-galad’s power as the High King was enough all on its own to reach across the forests of Eriador. And with love and worry backing it? She could likely hear him from Valinor itself.

The reminder of that love loosened her tongue, and she let herself speak.

“I have thought of my parents today, more than any other,” she murmured. “And when Adabes told me about the ceremony, about how we must change the words of the blessings…and the Noldor tradition of the gifts, and I knew that my mother could not do that for you, that that would be a part of our wedding that you would not experience, and…”

“Oh, melethel.” She hadn’t thought it was possible, but his arm tightened even more. “Think you I care for such things? I vowed to you that we could be wed in an instant if you desired it. I need only you.”

She nodded, her cheek rubbing against the softness of his robes. “I know it. But it seemed so important, with everything else. And I have no other to perform those offices. The other Noldor, they may find me unworthy…I am alone, I bring no great House to ally with yours…”

Ereinion’s free hand worked itself between them and tipped her chin up.

“No one of any consequence would find you unworthy,” he said firmly. “There is none in Arda that I would have at my side, save you. There is none other I would have as queen; there is none other I would have as the mother of my children. I regret only that I will not know your parents, and that my parents will not know you. I would have taken joy in their knowing how fortunate I have become. But someday they will know, and until then, I need only you.”

He always knew what to say. Doubtlessly it was a skill he had built over the long centuries as King; his rule had been, for the most part, peaceful, and he had more often wielded diplomacy in lieu of blade. And he was speaking true; she could feel that. None of it mattered to him. Their wedding would not disappoint, no matter how it took shape. 

“I wish they could have known you, meleth nín,” she whispered. “They would have liked you.”       

She felt his lips gently press against her forehead. “It means much to me, that you speak so. That they would have found me worthy of you.”

That made her laugh - a small chuckle at least, punctuated with hiccups, but it was a laugh. It would be a rare thing indeed that he was unworthy of. At the sound, she felt Ereinion relax as she leaned against him, relieved that she was starting to recover herself.

“Come,” he murmured. “I would guess you have taken no food yet this evening, and I have not done so either. Let us go see to that. And afterward, you need not return here. Not this night.”

She jolted backward, staring at him. She understood immediately what he was offering, and it was tempting, so tempting, but -

“The guards,” she said, her voice catching. “They will know. And the servants - it is still two more weeks until the wedding, we should not - "

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Hush. Often the crown is more prison than privilege, binding us to tradition and obligation. Yet with it comes the power to disregard those things on certain occasions. And in my mind and my heart, you are as much my wife as if we had been married a century ago, and had lain together a thousand times since then.” He smiled, gently caressing her still-damp cheek. “And I would be a poor husband indeed if I left you to be alone in your grief. Stay with me tonight, melethel. Rest in my arms. Let me ease your pain as much as I am able.”

Any argument she had had crumbled in the face of that. 

And besides, she had been in Lindon for months. Since the day she'd arrived, her rooms had been directly beneath his, connected by the private staircase. If anyone were going to talk, it would have happened already. And their kind knew when another was wed; it was in the eyes, the voice, unmistakable. As much as she and Ereinion were already bound together, it would be obvious to anyone who looked that their union had not been consummated yet, regardless of where she had spent her night. 

And so she nodded, and he got to his feet and then helped her up. 

“I will summon your attendants,” he murmured. “And I will tell the guards. All you need do is come to me when you are ready.”

He wasn't being the King, not at that moment, but it was simply part of his nature to take charge when it was needful. She was grateful for it, and more; she knew it helped him, feeling like he was doing something about her hurt besides just being there. 

He brushed a kiss over her lips and then turned, moving purposefully towards the door as she seated herself at her dressing table. She heard the door open, heard the brief instructions he issued with absolute certainty and not a care in the world.

The queen will remain above tonight. Fetch her attendants.

The door closed, and she heard his steps coming back to her, pausing in the doorway. In the mirror she could see him, his eyes still full of concern for her, making him somehow even more beautiful.

“Gi melin,” he murmured. “I will await you.”

Continue to Part 9 - WARNING, SMUT AHEAD!

[wardenparker]

If You Were Mine, pt 1

Javier Peña x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sound pissed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

______

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

My Masterlist!

[gatheringbones]

best books of 2022 rec list:

fiction:

chouette by claire oshetsky

forty thousand in gehenna by cj cherryh

fierce femmes and notorious liars by kai cheng thom

sula by toni morrison

everyone in this room will someday be dead by emily r. austin

jane eyre by charlotte bronte

villette by charlotte bronte

non-fiction:

gay spirit by mark thompson

we too: stories on sex work and survival by natalie west

transgender history by susan stryker

blood marriage wine & glitter by s bear bergman

love and rage: the path to liberation through anger by lama rod owens

gay soul by mark thompson

between certain death and a possible future: queer writing on growing up in the AIDS crisis by mattilda bernstein sycamore

the man they wanted me to be: toxic masculinity and a crisis of our own making by jared yates sexton

nobody passes: rejecting the rules of gender and conformity by mattilda bernstein sycamore

cruising: an intimate history of a radical pastime by alex espinoza

gay body by mark thompson

what my bones know: a memoir of healing from complex trauma by stephanie foo

the child catchers: rescue, trafficking, and the new gospel of adoption by kathryn joyce

the opium wars: the addiction of one empire and the corruption of another by w. travis hanes III

a queer history of the united states by michael bronski

the trouble with white women by kyla schuller

what we don't talk about when we talk about fat by aubrey gordon

the feminist porn book by tristan taormino

administrations of lunacy: a story of racism and psychiatry at the midgeville asylum by mab segrest

the women's house of detention by hugh ryan

angela davis: an autobiography by angela davis

ten steps to nanette by hannah gadsby

neuroqueer heresies by nick walker

the remedy: queer and trans voices on health and healthcare by zena sharman

brilliant imperfection by eli clare

the dawn of everything: a new history of humanity by david graeber and david wengrow

tomorrow sex will be good again by katherine angel

all our trials: prisons, policing, and the feminist fight to end violence by emily l. thuma

if this is a man by primo levi

bi any other name: bisexual people speak out by lorraine hutchins

white rage: the unspoken truth of our racial divide by carol anderson

public sex: the culture of radical sex by pat califa

I'm glad my mom died by jenette mccurdy

care of: letters, connections and cures by ivan coyote

the gentrification of the mind: witness to a lost imagination by sarah schulman

skid road: on the frontier of health and homelessness in an american city, by josephine ensign

the origins of totalitarianism by hannah arendt

nice racism: how progressive white people perpetuate racial harm by robin diangelo

corrections in ink by keri blakinger

sexed up: how society sexualizes us and how we can fight back by julia serano

smash the church, smash the state! the early years of gay liberation by tommi avicolli mecca

no more police: a case for abolition by mariame kaba

until we reckon: violence, mass incarceration, and a road to repair by danielle sered

the care we dream of: liberatory & transformative justice approaches to LGBTQ+ health by zena sharman

reclaiming two-spirits: sexuality, spiritual renewal and sovereignty in native america by gregory d. smithers

the sentences that create us: crafting a writer's life in prison by Caits Messner

[drewharrisonwriter]

One Day at a Time - Ch. 2: A New Life

Pairings: Dave York x Female Reader

Series Summary: A man washed ashore, with no memory, and no name, finds a home and a life in the middle of nowhere.

Author's Notes: This story has been sitting in my drafts for over a year, waiting for the perfect moment to see the light of day. It wasn't until recently that I found the inspiration to finally finish the last two chapters, thanks to the incredible Keri @absurdthirst. Her story, "Washed Up," struck a chord with me—it had such a similar plot and concept to what I had in mind, and it reignited my passion to bring this piece to life. Keri's writing has been a constant source of solace and inspiration, and I'm endlessly grateful for her creativity and the way she crafts stories that speak to the soul. If you haven’t checked out her work, you absolutely should!

Warnings: Please be aware that this story contains elements of violence, explicit sexual content, and pregnancy. Additionally, there are medical inaccuracies throughout—because I don’t work in the medical field, so please take it all with a grain of salt. Enjoy the ride, and thank you for reading! 😊

Read this on AO3 | Check out my Masterlist

The first few weeks at the farm passed in a rhythm that was both comforting and unfamiliar to Dave. Each morning, the soft light of dawn would filter through the curtains of his room, a guest suite on the main floor that felt both welcoming and distant. He’d wake to the sounds of the farm coming alive—the lowing of cows in the distance, the rustle of chickens in their coop, and the steady hum of daily chores.

Your home, he quickly realized, was a reflection of you—cozy, lived-in, and filled with small touches that spoke of a life well-lived. The guest room where Dave stayed was simple but comfortable, with a large window that looked out over the garden. The walls were lined with wooden shelves, filled with books that ranged from classic literature to modern novels. A few potted plants sat on the windowsill, adding a touch of green to the room.

Each morning, after a quiet breakfast, you’d drive him to his physical therapy appointments. The drive was peaceful, the road winding through the countryside, past the long stretch of beach, past fields and clusters of trees that seemed to stretch on forever. At first, the car rides were filled with silence, both of you unsure of what to say. But gradually, as the miles passed under the tires, the conversation began to flow more easily.

“So,” you said one day as the car bounced over a small hill, “what do you think of the farm so far?”

Dave glanced out the window, watching the landscape blur by. “It’s… it feels like it’s different from what I feel like I’m used to…,” he admitted. “Peaceful. I think I like it.”

You smiled, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “I’m glad. It’s a lot of work, but it’s good work. Keeps me busy.”

“What do you do here, exactly?” he asked, curious. “I mean, besides running the farm.”

You hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. “I work from home, mostly. I’ve got a little office space in the house—well, that desk between the kitchen and the living room, really. But I do a lot of freelance work—writing, editing, that sort of thing. It’s flexible, which is nice since the farm demands a lot of attention.”

He nodded, processing this. “Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

“I do,” you agreed, “but I like it that way. The farm keeps me grounded. And the work… well, it keeps my mind busy.”

He glanced at you, sensing there was more beneath the surface, but not wanting to push. “You said you inherited the farm, right?”

You nodded, your expression thoughtful. “Yeah. It was my father’s, though I never met him. He left it to me in his will. I was… surprised, to say the least. But it felt like the right thing to do, to come here and make it work.”

“Must’ve been tough,” he said quietly.

“It was,” you admitted. “Especially since I lost my mom a few years ago. She had dementia, and it was… hard. But the farm gave me something to focus on, something to build.”

The conversation fell into a comfortable silence after that, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. Dave found himself growing more at ease in your company, the awkwardness of relying on you slowly fading as he accepted this new reality.

Back at the farm, the routine was simple but steady. You’d help him with his at-home exercises, prepare his medication, making sure he took everything the doctors prescribed. On days when he didn’t have appointments, you’d often find him sitting by the large window in your office space, watching as you worked. The clacking of your keyboard as you typed on your laptop, mixed with the crackle of George Harrison singing on a vinyl record playing in the background, created an atmosphere of calm that Dave hadn’t realized he needed or felt like he even knew about in a past life.

“Do you always listen to music while you work?” he asked one afternoon, as the warm tones of a former Beatle’s record filled the room.

“Always,” you replied, smiling as you tapped away at the keys, your reading glasses perched on your nose. “It helps me focus. Plus, it just feels right—like the house has its own rhythm, you know?”

He nodded, though he wasn’t sure if he fully understood. Still, he couldn’t deny that there was something soothing about the way the music blended with the sounds of the farm outside. It made the house feel alive, as if it were a part of you.

“George Harrison?” He asked with a sly smile and a raised brow. You looked over to where he was sitting, the sleeve of the record in his hand. And you snickered, “Do you even remember George Harrison?”

Dave sat and pondered for a second and shook his head, but said, “I have a feeling I do…” and with that, you both laughed a little and shook your head at the lightness of the situation. 

As the days turned into weeks, the two of you settled into an easy routine. You’d work in the mornings, while Dave spent time outside, slowly regaining his strength as he walked through the fields or helped with small tasks around the farm. The farmhand, an older man named Tom, would come by in the afternoons, offering a hand with the heavier work that you are not able to fully manage on your own. 

Tom was a man of few words, but he seemed to take a liking to Dave–or John, as you all call him in this life, showing him the ropes and explaining the ins and outs of farm life. “You ever worked on a farm before, John?” Tom asked one day, as they repaired a section of the fence that had come loose.

Dave shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow. “Not that I can remember.”

“Well, you’re a quick learner,” Tom grunted, giving the fence a solid tug to make sure it held. “And you’ve got good instincts. That’s half the battle.”

Dave felt a small surge of pride at the compliment, even as he brushed it off. “I just do what you tell me.”

Tom chuckled, a rare sound. “Maybe so. But you’ve got a knack for this. Just keep at it.”

The days passed in this steady rhythm, the quiet of the farm broken only by the occasional visit from the doctor or the drive into town for supplies. And with each passing day, Dave found himself growing more comfortable, more at home in this new life.

One evening, after a particularly long day of work, you suggested a small celebration. “The doctor said you’re doing great,” you told him as you set out two glasses on the kitchen counter. “I think that calls for a drink, don’t you?”

He hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly. “I’m not sure… I don’t really remember if I drank much before.”

You laughed softly. “Well, we can start with something simple. How about a glass of wine?”

He nodded, though there was still a trace of uncertainty in his eyes. You poured a glass of wine for yourself, but when you handed him his, he took a small sip and then set it down, a slight frown on his face.

“Not quite right?” you asked, curious.

“Not really,” he admitted, glancing at the bottle.

You considered for a moment, then reached into the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of scotch. “How about this? A scotch, neat?”

He accepted the glass, bringing it to his lips. The moment the amber liquid touched his tongue, something clicked—familiar, comforting. He nodded slowly, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth as the warm burn lined through his insides. “This… this is better.”

You smiled, watching as he took another sip, this time more confident. “I had a feeling,” you said softly.

The evening wore on, the two of you sitting together in the living room, the soft glow of the lamps casting a warm light over the room. The conversation flowed easily, the tension that had once hung between you now replaced by a comfortable familiarity.

As the night grew darker, the scotch in his glass dwindling, you both moved to the couch and Dave found himself studying you more closely—the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed, the way you leaned back in your chair, relaxed and at ease. There was a warmth to you, a kindness that he couldn’t help but be drawn to.

You caught his gaze, your smile fading slightly as something unspoken passed between you. The air seemed to thicken, the space between you charged with a sudden, undeniable tension.

He set his glass down on your coffee table, his hand brushing against yours as he did. The touch was light, almost accidental, but it sent a jolt through him, a spark that ignited something deeper.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you met his gaze, your eyes searching his as if trying to read the thoughts behind them. Slowly, tentatively, he leaned in, his breath warm against your skin.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low, uncertain.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest. “Yeah,” you whispered. “It’s okay.”

The kiss that followed was slow, almost hesitant, as if both of you were testing the waters, unsure of where this would lead. But as the seconds passed, the hesitation melted away, replaced by a heat that built between you, drawing you closer.

The kiss left both of you breathless, a charged silence filling the room as you pulled back just enough to look into each other’s eyes. The connection between you, already deepening over the past few weeks, now felt electric—an unspoken understanding that this moment was a turning point.

Dave’s hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “I don’t… I don’t know where this is going,” he admitted, his voice low and filled with a mix of uncertainty and something more.

“Neither do I,” you replied, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “But I want to find out.”

He nodded, his lips curving into a small, almost relieved smile. “Yeah… me too.”

The kiss that followed was deeper, more urgent, as if the acknowledgment of your shared desire had opened a floodgate of feelings. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, and you felt the heat between you intensify, your bodies pressing together in a way that left no room for doubt.

The space around you seemed to shrink as the kiss deepened, your heart pounding in your chest as his hands began to explore, sliding up your back, then down to your hips. You responded in kind, your fingers slipping under his shirt, feeling the hard muscles of his abdomen tense under your touch.

“Let’s move to your room,” you whispered against his lips, your breath coming in short, heated bursts.

He hesitated for the briefest of moments, his brow furrowing slightly, but then he nodded, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah… okay.”

Taking his hand, you led him down the hallway to his room, the low light casting soft shadows on the walls as you entered the space that had become his sanctuary during his recovery.

Once inside, the urgency between you only grew. Dave’s hands found the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head in one swift motion before his lips were back on yours, hungry and demanding. You responded with equal fervor, your hands working to unbutton his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders to reveal the taut muscles of his chest.

You could feel the tension in his body, the way he held back just enough to maintain control, but you wanted more—needed more. You reached for the waistband of his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping them, your hands sliding inside to feel the heat of his skin beneath the fabric.

He groaned against your lips, the sound vibrating through you as you shoved his pants down, exposing his hardness. Your hand, warm and trembling with desire, wrapped around his thick length, the heat of him pulsing against your palm. You stroked him slowly at first, savoring the way he filled your hand, the tautness of his skin, the weight of him. His breath hitched, a sharp intake of air that was almost a whine, and it sent a thrill through you, a rush of power that made your own need flare.

With a firm but gentle push, you guided him to sit on the edge of the bed. He obeyed, his eyes never leaving yours, a blend of anticipation, need, and uncertainty swirling in their depths. You knelt before him, his cock even harder now, glistening with precum, a testament to how long it had been since he’d felt this kind of touch. Your hands rested on his thighs, feeling the tension there, the way his muscles clenched beneath your touch as you looked up at him, your gaze questioning.

“Are you okay with this?” you asked softly, your voice a breathy whisper that seemed to echo in the quiet room.

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. “I… yeah. I just… I don’t think I’ve ever…”

A small smile played on your lips as understanding dawned. “It’s okay,” you whispered, your voice soothing. “Just relax and let me take care of you.”

Without breaking eye contact, you leaned forward, your tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive underside of his cock, trailing a wet stripe from the base to the tip. His reaction was immediate, his whole body tensing as a sharp gasp escaped his lips, his hips jerking slightly. The sound, the way he responded so helplessly, ignited something deep within you. You took him into your mouth, slowly at first, letting him feel every inch as you slid down, your lips and tongue working in tandem to drive him wild.

His hands found their way into your hair, fingers tangling in the strands, pulling slightly as he let out a deep, guttural moan, the sound reverberating through your entire being. You could feel his restraint, the way he fought against the urge to thrust into your mouth, the way his body trembled with the effort to stay still. It was intoxicating, knowing how much control you had over him in this moment.

Dave’s breath came in ragged gasps, his hips twitching involuntarily as he tried to maintain control, his face a picture of raw, unfiltered pleasure. His grip on your hair tightened, a silent plea for more, and you obliged, taking him deeper, your throat relaxing to accommodate him as your tongue swirled around the tip. You felt him throb in your mouth, a desperate moan escaping his lips as he fought against the overwhelming pleasure threatening to consume him.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, his voice thick with need. “This… this feels… so fucking good.”

You hummed around him in response, the vibration causing him to shudder, his fingers tightening in your hair as he pushed just a little deeper, losing the battle against his own instincts. His hips moved in small, jerky motions, unable to resist the urge to fuck your mouth, even as he tried to hold back.

The taste of him, the way he reacted to your every movement, only fueled your desire. You deepened your movements, your hand joining in, stroking the base of his cock as you bobbed your head, taking him as deep as you could, the combination of your mouth and hand driving him closer to the edge with every passing second.

But then, he suddenly pulled back, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. “Wait… wait,” he panted, his voice shaky, filled with a mix of desperation and restraint. “I don’t want this to end so quickly.”

You looked up at him, your eyes heavy with lust as you released him from your mouth with a soft pop. “What do you want?” you asked, your voice sultry, teasing, as you stroked him slowly, feeling the way he pulsed beneath your touch.

“I want to… I want to do the same for you,” he said, his voice thick with longing, his eyes dark with desire as he reached for you.

A smile curved your lips as you shook your head, your hands resting on his thighs, keeping him where he was. “I’m already more than ready,” you murmured, your voice laced with need. “I just need you, right now.”

His resolve faltered as you took his hand, guiding it between your legs, pressing his fingers against the soaked fabric of your panties. The heat of your arousal was unmistakable, and when he felt how wet you were, a low growl escaped him. His fingers traced your seam through the cloth, his touch deliberate, teasing, before he found your clit and began to circle it slowly.

“God, you’re so fucking wet,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, his eyes locked on yours as he continued to tease you through the fabric. “I need you… I need to be inside you.”

“Then take me,” you whispered, your breath hitching as his fingers worked your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through you. “Please… I need you.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. In a swift movement, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanked them down, his eagerness making you smile as you kicked them off. You lay back on the bed, your heart racing as he moved above you, positioning himself between your legs, his eyes locked on yours as he lined himself up.

He entered you in one smooth, slow thrust, filling you completely, the sensation overwhelming as he stretched you, a gasp escaping your lips at the sheer fullness of him. He paused, his breath hitching, giving you both a moment to savor the connection, before he began to move, his hips rolling in a steady, deliberate rhythm that drove you mad with need.

His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve, every inch of skin, as if he couldn’t get enough of you. One hand found your breast, his fingers brushing over your nipple, drawing a soft moan from you. He took that as encouragement, lowering his mouth to your breast, his tongue flicking over the hardened peak before he suckled gently, his lips pulling at you in a way that made your core tighten around him.

The combination of his mouth on your breast and his cock driving into you was almost too much, the pleasure building to a fever pitch, your body responding to him with every thrust, every flick of his tongue. Your nails dug into his shoulders as you clung to him, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you teetered on the brink.

“John… please,” you gasped, your voice strained with the intensity of your need, your body trembling beneath him as you felt yourself spiraling toward release.

His thumb found your clit again, pressing down and circling it in time with his thrusts, and that was all it took to push you over the edge. Your body convulsed around him, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave, your vision going white as you cried out, your back arching off the bed as the pleasure tore through you, leaving you trembling and gasping beneath him.

The sensation of you tightening around him, the way your body responded to his touch, was enough to send him over the edge as well. With a deep, guttural groan, he buried himself deep inside you, his release hitting him hard, his hips jerking as he emptied himself inside you, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, your bodies still entwined, your breathing heavy and uneven. The room was filled with the sound of your shared breaths, the steady beat of your hearts gradually slowing as the afterglow of the moment settled over you.

Finally, Dave pulled back slightly, his gaze softening as he looked down at you, a mix of wonder and concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice rough but filled with genuine care.

You nodded, a satisfied smile curving your lips. “I’m perfect,” you whispered, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. “That was… incredible.”

He smiled, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips before slowly pulling out of you, a slight shiver running through both of you as your bodies separated. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple.

You sighed contentedly, letting him gather you into his arms as you lay your head on his chest, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin. The warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest, was comforting, grounding you in the reality of what had just happened.

After a while, Dave shifted slightly, his lips brushing against your hair. “I’ll be right back,” he said softly, easing himself out of bed and heading to the bathroom. You heard the sound of water running, followed by the rustle of fabric, and then he returned, a warm, damp cloth in hand.

Gently, he cleaned you up, his touch tender and attentive, as if he was afraid of hurting you. The intimacy of the moment, the way he cared for you even after the passion had subsided, filled you with a warmth that went beyond the physical.

When he was done, he tossed the cloth into the laundry basket and climbed back into bed, pulling you close once more. You nestled against him, feeling safe and content in his embrace.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, he spoke, his voice hesitant. “About… what just happened. I didn’t think… I didn’t use protection. I didn’t even think about it.”

You looked up at him, seeing the concern etched on his face, and you reached up to cup his cheek. “It’s okay,” you reassured him, your voice soft but steady. “I’ll get Plan B in the morning.”

He let out a relieved breath, his hand coming up to cover yours. “I’m sorry… I just… I got caught up in the moment.”

You smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips. “We both got caught up,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over his cheek. 

He nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as he relaxed back against the pillows. 

You rested your head on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. A comfortable silence settled over you both, the weight of the moment beginning to lift as you lay together, content and warm in each other's arms.

After a moment, you let out a small chuckle. “You know… it kinda feels like I just took your virginity.”

Dave laughed, a deep, genuine sound that rumbled through his chest. “Technically, you did,” he said, amusement lacing his voice. “At least, as far as I can remember.”

You grinned, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “Well, for a first-timer, you were pretty good.”

He smirked, his hand running through your hair as he looked down at you with a mix of affection and teasing. “Beginner’s luck, I guess.”

You both laughed, the sound light and easy, a perfect way to diffuse the intensity of what had just transpired. The playfulness between you felt natural, and it was a reminder that despite everything, you were both finding your way together, one day at a time.

As the laughter faded, you snuggled closer, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. The night seemed to wrap around you, comforting and safe, as you drifted into a peaceful sleep in each other’s arms. 

Next Chapter 👉🏻

[rbkzz]

...[*whispered*] wip wednesday?

(context under the cut)

(is this is too long?)

(i wrote a trixie/keris one-shot)

(it is my first written thing)

(i am so nervous!)

(trixie pov)

Penelope Bunce is once again whirling around our room like a frizzy haired tornado.  She has literally picked up and put down every single article of clothing, book, paper, or other object at least twice (except the box under my bed, thank goodness I spelled that).

She’s such a menace – their whole golden trio is.  People say I’m annoying because of my dust, short attention span, and possessive tendencies (well anyone who had to grow up in a lower faedom and pay a tithe to the aes sidhe of all your most precious belongings each year would end up being a possessive brat too! I just don't like to share if I can avoid it is all)... 

…but I think the ‘golden trio’ made up of Snowbuncebelove should get an actual award for being the most annoying, self-absorbed students at Watford.  Nobody else would stand a chance - they’d win that award category every year.

Recently on discord my alpha @noblecorgi was lamenting the lack of lesbian smut in the CO fandom... they then got into an interesting discussion with @roomwithanopenfire about pixies/other fae folk. There was aaaalso a recent conversation about Niamh and their perspective in AWTWB about how the leads of CO had been living in their own bubble at Watford (unreliable narrators the whole lot of 'em!!)

Even though I don't write I loved the ideas that were shared, so I decided to try to smoosh them all together into a Trixie/Keris one-shot lesbian smut fic.

I got really excited about writing and caught up in the experience of it - it was so much fun!! Now I know why people do it! @roomwithanopenfire even beta read for me for which I am soooo grateful ♡♡♡♡

......aaaand then the next day I embarked on an intense perfectionist shame spiral (iykyk) and decided I should hide myself and my ideas away forevermore 🥲

However...... my brain itself is an unreliable narrator 🫠 And my recent therapy homework is to regularly try new things, mess up publicly, and be imperfect in order to rewire my brain to understand that I am still okay even when I am bad at things. Sooo I am posting part of my first fic here as therapy homework and for accountability as well as to continue on my plight of becoming consistently and unabashedly imperfect. Maybe someday I'll find the courage to post it on ao3 😬

I don't know about tags because I'm still so confused and shy about putting myself out here on tumblr 🙊 but I doooo want to say THANK YOU for tags and hellos! I love to read what y'all are up to, even though I usually wait til fics are posted in completion before starting (I'm too impatient to wait for chapter updates 🤪). xoxo!

my first wip wednesday!

[girl-named-matty]

20 questions for fic writers

thank you for the tag @rypnami <33

How many works do you have on AO3? Seven currently! Idk how many more there will be but for now it's seven!

What's your total AO3 word count? 627,138!

What fandoms do you write for? Hogwarts Legacy but I'm more currently writing for a different fandom.

Top five fics by kudos? Passion || Sebastian Sallow is my most popular fic!

Do you respond to comments? Yes. I sometimes forget I have ao3 ngl but 99% of the time I respond to comments on wattpad if I can remember.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Usually I try to give happy endings to stories because I'm that kind of person. So towards the end I'll have something angsty but the very end will usually end on a better note. But In The Shadow of Her has a decently angsty towards the end because it follows along with the game and In The Shadow of Magic has is angstier towards the end for several reasons lol.

What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Honestly--outside of my full fics, my one shot "Moving in" probably has the happiest ending.

Do you get hate on fics? Perhaps??? I'm not really sure. I've gotten a few off-handed comments that make me go "???" and any hate comments have been very rare.

Do you write smut? Lol nope and I never will. I'm okay with writing stories without it.

Craziest crossover? Ummm I can't really remember ever writing a crossover but me and my bsf would joke about Sebastian and Ominis going to a Jackson Wang party so?? Does that count? 😂

Have you ever had a fic stolen? YES ACTUALLY LOL. It was ages ago and I was literally like 12 y'all HAHA. The fic wasn't even GOOD but it was on Wattpad and got reposted on NovelHD. It was crazy for me to find out ngl. I didn't really care, especially cuz the fic was garbage (in my opinion now) but yeah LOL.

Have you ever had a fic translated? Not that I can recall.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes. Many times. Me and my old fandom buddies from a long time ago would do it.

All time favorite ship? AAAAAAA. I hate this question because I can never decide lol. I don't really have a favorite ship but I do have some I like. I'm not going to say any outside of the HL fandom but I will name a few from my friends. @rypnami's Jamie and Jack have had my heart for so long <3 @morelikeravenbore's Aurelie and Sebastian. Ugh I just love them sm <3 @catohphm's Danny x Adelaide is SUPER cute and I love it sm <3 @keri-mcberry Keri x Sebastian OHHH MY GOSH. Keri is literally my favorite artist and everything from her is just so cute and adorable and omg I love it. <3 @boxdstars Amara x Natty. Super adorable, super funny. Props out to Natty for dealing with Amara. Love them sm <33

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? My old fanfics from old fandoms that have just been sitting on my computer for four years LOL.

What are your writing strengths? Fluff, usually. I'm good at Angst too. Romance eehhh kinda?? I've never been in a relationship so I don't really know how it works but I've written several relationships that I think were good.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language? I used to do this a lot actually. But I doubt 100% of it was correct. Now that I'm older, I definitely hesitate more with it. But I think it's super cool and I planned on doing it for my fics but my MC's first language is Irish (Gaeilge, Irish Gaelic whatever you wanna call it lol) and in the 1800's it was even harder than it is today SOOOO in order to avoid mess ups, I just used one-word expressions most of the time.

First fandom you wrote in? Oh gosh, I can't even remember. Maybe it was Merlin??? Spirit Animals?? I don't even remember cuz it was so long ago.

Favorite fic you've written? My favorite fic is probably not even and HL one LOL. But to keep it HL, all of my books have a special place in my heart and I really can't choose. Some of them have strengths over others and that much is clear but idk if I'd ever be able to choose.

No twentieth question - I LOVE YOU GUYS AND THANK YOU FOR LISTENING TO ME YAP LOL <3

tagging: @plxnetn1ne, @endeavour12345, @superconductivebean and anyone else who wants to join in and talk abt their writing! <3

[beareadsbookz]

AAPI Heritage Month Hopefuls

(books I want to read if I can get them)

Rise of the Manō by Leialoha Humpherys

Poūkahangatus by Tayi Tibble

Into the Riverlands by Nghi Vo

Hula by Jasmin ‘Iolani Hakes

Vā: Stories of the Women of the Moana edited by Sisilia Eteuati and Lani Wendt Young

The Wild Ones by Nafiza Azad

Song of Silver, Flame Like Night by Amélie Wen Zhao

The Last Bloodcarver by Vanessa Le

The Do’s and Donuts of Love by Adiba Jaigirdar

Zachary Ying and the Dragon Emperor by Xiran Jay Zhao

Weird Fishes by Rae Mariz

The Marvelous Mirza Girls by Sheba Karim

One Boy, No Water by Lehua Parker

The Bone People by Keri Hulme

The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea by Axie Oh

The Wonders We Seek by Saadia Faruqi & Aneesa Mumtaz

Dragonfruit by Makiia Lucier

The Dragon Prince: Stories and Legends From Vietnam edited by Thich Nhat Hanh

The Emperor and the Endless Palace by Justinian Huang

Muslim Girls Rise by Saira Amir

Fish Swimming In Dappled Sunlight by Alison Watts & Riku Onda

Red, White, and Whole by Rajani LaRocco

Banyan Moon by Thao Thai

Force Of Fire by Sayantani DasGupta

Rangikura by Tayi Tibble

Writing In Color by multiple authors (including but not limited to Nafiza Azad, Axie Oh, Joan He, Chloe Gong, and Darcie Little Badger)

I will be reblogging with reviews as I finish these!

[absurdthirst]

Hey Keri, could give some advise... I was talking with a "friend" here and I was telling about starting to write and publish some fanfics cause recently I was having some ideas (not that grate as the stories I read here obviously) and then she start saying something like be careful cause since English is not your first language you may commit some spelling mistakes and... I was like well I don't think 1 or 2 mistakes would be a problem right? but she said "well I would definitely not read it 😂"... Oh I don't know if I'm being kinda dramatic but I don't really like that kind of comment.

Do you think it is matter some mistakes like, are people here noticed that? now Idk what to do 🙏

Ps: if that friend is reading this YES IM TALKING ABOUT YOU

No, I don’t like it either. It’s unnecessarily rude.

English is fucking hard at times. I say this as someone who their first/primary language is English. This is what I have grown up speaking and writing and I make mistakes. Mainly after I hit that ‘Post’ button. 🤣

I have read published books that are sold in bookstores and have obviously gone through editing - probably through several rounds of it - and found mistakes.

I am sure that people make errors in your written language? It can’t just be English where that might happen. Why wouldn’t you make mistakes in a completely different one where the rules of the conjugations or anything else might be different?

At the end of the day, so what if you make a few mistakes. You are working on your command of another language. The only way you improve is through practice and I think that it’s amazing for you to even try.

As far as your ideas not being great? I don’t believe that. I am sure that you have some wonderful stories to add to our fandom - or any other fandom and I hope you post them.

If you need any help with grammar or anything, please don’t hesitate to reach out. There are so many wonderful people in the fandom who would love to beta or even just talk through which their, there, or they’re to use! 🩷

[thegodthief]

Apropos of nothing (I reserve the right to change my blog title to that because the more I say it, the better it feels.), if anyone is interested in the draft that eventually became "A Light In The Darkness", the Book One masterpost can be found here:

If you have already read Book One, either the draft or the published book, then catch up with the Book Two masterpost here:

Book Two does refer heavily to events in Book One, so it is suggested that you read them in order.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dream - Chapter Three.

So, in case you see this post before the previous one, it’s double update day! if you haven’t read chapter two yet, go on back now *shoos you gently in the direction of previous chapter* :) I wanted to try and split this one as it is longer than usual, but it would have disrupted it too much. Besides, this is where things begin to come to the surface! Enjoy! 

Previous chapters - Prologue  One  Two

Tag list - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed (note: those not engaging will be automatically removed from the tag list, FYI)

Words - 4,141

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Opening her eyes, Keri saw she was in a bedroom completely bathed in white, the sound of the ocean audible and the bed linen luxurious in feel, just as brilliant white and crisp as the rest of the room. Wherever she was, it was a gorgeous house, turning onto her back and stretching, her arm suddenly touching against something warm at her side. Turning her head, there he was within the bed, just as naked as she, and god, he looked good.  

She wanted to say something to him, but as usual, found herself falling into kisses, the heat of his skin sumptuous as they entwined beneath the sheets, his body covering hers, hands running down her sides. One simple shift, and he could be inside of her, his cock rigid at her hip, but he resisted the temptation. Reality Angel wouldn’t have had quite the same inclination.  

Pulling away, he stroked her hair, looking down into her huge eyes. “Tell me your name, who are you?”  

She attempted to speak, but was stumped, that feeling of a stone lodged in her throat returning to her. So, she just pressed her mouth to his again and felt his tongue circle with hers, a deep groan coming from his throat as his hands slid down, gently cupping at her breasts. The feeling of his thumb skimming over her nipple finally prompted her, a soft exclamation leaving her mouth, her eyes closing as she arched against his muscular, tattooed form.  

To her dismay, when she opened them again, she found herself awake, rubbing her eyes and reaching to her nightstand, switching her lamp on and opening up the little book she’d began to journal her dreams within. Although she was still half asleep, she was desperate to write down every last detail of the dream before she forgot it, her notes a little messy. Jaime would have fun deciphering such chicken scratch, she thought.  

By then she had a collection of sixteen dreams to show Frankie's girlfriend, one for each night since it had started fifteen days ago, and one more slotted in when she'd been lucky enough to have two in one night. Since it was a Saturday and they had planned to hook up to work on their project, Keri decided she had enough evidence of her dream life to show Jaime, so decided to put her journal into her bag before she forgot about it and go back to sleep for a few hours. It was only just gone 7am, after all.

Arriving at their little one-bedroom apartment further into Provo (she and her family lived right on the outskirts, up by the mountains) at just gone eleven thirty, she was greeted with a kiss at the door by Frankie, taking a croissant from the plate proffered forth, biting into it. Chocolate and cinnamon. Oh, her girl knew how to do breakfast.  

“Oooh, is that a dream journal I spy being taken from the bag?” Jaime asked from her spot on the couch, Keri handing it over and giving her a kiss on the cheek, laughing through her nose and wiping away the croissant crumbs she’d left behind.  

“You spy correctly.” She’d picked it up at one of the little gift stores in town, next door to the little chocolatier she worked at part time, enjoying a rare Saturday off since she was covering the Sunday shift that week instead.  

Plopping herself down on the luxe couch, which in fact was old and thread bare in places, only luxurious from the large, velvet throw and many, many pretty cushions the girls had adorned it with, Keri continued to eat her breakfast while Jaime opened it up and began to read, draping a leg over her thigh in her usual fashion as she got comfy, Frankie joining them to her other side.  

“Oh wow,” she began, studying the notes Keri had made. “This is in such incredible detail; I'll need some quiet time with it. I'll leave you two to chatter about photographs while I digest it, without having to listen to jargon about lenses and lighting effects.” Untangling herself, she stood up, barely tearing her eyes away from the page.

“Just because you don't know one end of a camera from another doesn't mean it's jargon,” Frankie scolded playfully, she and Keri spreading out across the extra room.

Jaime grinned, leaning down to kiss her girlfriend’s forehead. “It does when you don't give a shit into the workings behind the end result of a pretty picture.”

“Oh, with your blasphemy! Get out!” Frankie yelled comically, reaching out to smack her on the butt as she walked around the couch, heading towards the kitchen.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m going.” she called back over her shoulder. And so while Jaime went to read through the notes Keri had provided for her, the girls sat on the couch and began to look through print outs they had done on a traditional camera, both commenting it had been fun to use the darkroom at college for developing the pictures themselves, and deciding they would do it again rather than relying so heavily on digital images.

While they talked all things photography related, the laptop being brought out once more, Jaime sat and sipped on a bottle of mineral water while reading through the series of excellently detailed descriptions of Keri's dreams. It became apparent pretty quickly that whereas she could perhaps interpret the meanings of the dreams based on the surroundings and actions, she couldn't answer the crucial question; why she dreamt of the same man time and time again, when he was someone she professed to have never seen before in her life.

Usually, as she understood it, when you dreamed of someone repeatedly, it was because that person had some kind of profound impact on you or your conscience. For example, when Jaime was five, she had reoccurring dreams about her little sister crying over the China doll whose face she'd accidently broken, but not owned up to. When she’d gotten into interpreting her dreams later in life, she had learned that it had represented her feelings of guilt towards upsetting her sister and not confessing to being the guilty party.  

Why Keri was having such intense dreams over a man who she’d never even seen before, let alone knew, she just couldn't work out. Not without a few of her books in front of her for resource, at least. Hopping from the stool at the small counter, she raced out and through to her bedroom, pulling a few volumes from the shelf and scurrying back once more, referencing the index and beginning to read.  

She found that sometimes, dreaming of a person you didn’t even know meant they could be a placeholder for someone they didn’t want to see, for whatever reason. The fact that Keri always ended up in a passionate embrace with the man was at odds with such a theory, though. Also, they could be a manifestation of the part of the self yet to be seen, so she read.  

“Perhaps he’s a symbol of strength? Big guy, muscles, he could be representing that.” she muttered to herself. She made notes as she went, sharing her thoughts once present in the lounge again.  

“Okay, so I have a few things,” she began, seating herself on the arm of the couch as she picked at her tangle of blonde dreadlocks. “He could be one of a few things. He could be a placeholder for someone you don’t want to see, just a random person your brain is dreaming up in place of that person it doesn’t want to imagine, he might be a representation of strength, inner strength within you that you are yet to see manifest, or, and this one is weird, he might be your soulmate from a past life, coming back to you.”

“Oh, the kooky, kooky, spooky, spooky,” Frankie sang, receiving the soft thud of a book atop her head.

“Those aren’t even the kookiest things I read!” Jaime cried. “I also read he could be an astral projection, Keri could have had a spell cast on her, or she might be the one in his dream. There, is that kooky enough for you?”

Frankie’s mouth thinned. “And I’m quiet now.”

Jaime made a ‘hmph’ noise, shaking her head. “You’ve never been quiet a day in your damned life!”  

“Anything else?” Keri asked, not too convinced by what she had heard so far.

“Erm, well if he’s Native American, then he might be a dream walker. Why he’d be appearing to a little white girl from Utah, though, that’s anyone’s guess.”

“He isn’t, he’s Hispanic.” She pursed her lips, wracking her brains. “What do you personally think he is? What’s your opinion?”

“I kinda lean toward him being a representation of something. I suppose it would help if you could actually control yourself in being able to speak to him, rather than feeling as if everything you say, you have no control over as you’ve detailed in your journal. If he is a representation of something, he’ll likely tell you. Why he hasn’t already is befuddling, though. These signs, they speak up. They aren’t elusive if they come to us, especially if they carry with them a message.”  

Keri sat, her already big eyes widening, puffing out her cheeks as she released the breath she’d been holding. “Sorry, did I bombard you?” Jaime offered, reaching across Frankie to grasp her hand sweetly.

“No, no you didn’t, don’t worry,” she began, smiling. “I really appreciate your help. I just need to be able to get a hold on being able to speak to him. Maybe that will yield answers.”

Jaime was quick with more advice there. “Have you ever heard of a thing called lucid dreaming? It means you are aware you're dreaming, but with time you can manipulate your dreams to your own desires. It's very interesting. There are so many websites out there you can research, or I have books? Up to you.”  

“I think I’ll look online first, but thank you for the offer.”

“No thank you! Finally, something I can get my teeth into with dreams! I have boring ones for the most part, and Frankie thinks it's all a load of crap, so it's nice to have someone I can talk about it with!”  

After that, they decided to put aside everything dream or college related aside and enjoy their day, heading out shopping and then for lunch before meeting up with Ash, Rachel and Aaron, going bowling and then onto their local haunt The Lounge for a few beers.

Arriving home in the early hours, Keri put her head around the lounge door to say hello to her mother and her partner, David, who were still up watching a movie before disappearing upstairs to begin reading up on lucid dreaming, as Jaime had advised. She felt as if she'd get no others answers or reasons as to why he was there whenever she went to sleep unless she asked him herself, even if he was just a person her subconscious had created, she really had begun to question why she found him there in her dreams.

Up until two weeks ago, she’d never taken stock in the importance of dreams and their meanings, but what she felt whenever she was with him in sleep was so powerful, she couldn't help but become more and more intrigued with each dream that went by.  

As she read, picking out interesting parts here and there, she began to practice the techniques mentioned, hoping she could carry some of them with her when her eyes fluttered shut into the realm of sleep a little later. They wouldn’t work until she was actually asleep, but she felt it was good practice to at least familiarise herself with the techniques. That night, she found her voice quicker than she expected, but she still couldn't control her actions.

Slipping into the dream, she took in her surroundings, standing in a very ornately decorated room, hues of deep emerald, lots of black furniture, reminding her somewhat of the set of a vampire film, with the gothic and eerie accents scattered around. Even the candle flames burned green. It reminded her a little of the very first time she’d dreamed of him, that old house, everything tinged in a green hue.  

Walking around the room, she tried out a few of her techniques, wanting to be able to reach out and run her finger over the back of the chaise, focusing hard, her hand reaching for the black wood. She was elated at leaving behind a mark in the dust, turning to continue walking, jumping a little to see the man standing there.  

She smiled widely and walked over to him, feeling him pull her into his arms, a place she always felt unquestionably safe, whenever she was there in her dreams. His hand tangled in her hair, fingertips stroking her scalp as he leaned to her, their lips meeting in a kiss.  

“So, are you gonna tell me who you are, and why you keep invading every dream I seem to have?” he asked, his hands rubbing her back. What? But... but he was in her dreams!

'I'm Keri and you're in my dream,” she corrected. “I'm real, you're not!” It took a lot, but she was glad to have managed some control, keeping focused and concentrating hard on his face, using it as an anchor, to root herself into focus.  

He shook his head. “Nope, you're the figment of the imagination here, my imagination! Every time I fall asleep, there you are, and you're bugging me. I don't even know who you are.”

“I’m Keri, I just told you.”  

“And you say you’re the real one? What the...” Before he could finish his sentence, they both jumped back, a large, black wall suddenly rising up from the floor, cutting the room in half and separating them. Keri pressed her hands against the bricks, smacking her palms into them.  

“Hello? Can you hear me?” Meanwhile, on the other side...

“Keri? Yo, you still there?” He heard nothing in reply, turning around, trying out another of the lucid dreaming techniques. “I want her to appear again.” When he turned, someone was indeed there, but it wasn’t the girl who now at least had a name. There in the corner, sat an elderly woman at a small table, her eyes completely whited over, blindness, he gauged, holding her hand out to him.  

“You seek answers, Angel? Sit.” Her long fingers swept towards the chair, Angel moving over and taking a seat.  

“Yeah, yeah I gotta couple of questions over who the hell that Keri girl is, and why I keep dreaming about her,” he began, the woman nodding. She picked up a quill from the table in front of her, dipping it into the small pot of ink beside where her arm rested. She then began to write upon the piece of paper before her, blowing on the words before turning it around to show him. Girl_Where_Photo.  

“What?”  

The old woman screwed it up in a second, casting it onto the floor. “Remember it.” With a loud clap of her hands right in front of his face, he awoke with a start. Meanwhile...  

Watching the old woman scrawl across the paper, Keri felt unnerved, the wall yet to drop again, her eyes flitting over to see if the man reappeared, trying her techniques in order to get him to do so.  

“Girl!” the woman barked, holding up the piece of paper. Find him in the lounge. What on earth did that mean? “Remember it.” A loud clap of her hands made her wake in an instant, reaching for her journal, writing it all out.  

“Find him in the lounge? I mean...” she paused, looking at her bedroom door. “No. He is not in my damned lounge! That’d just be too spooky. This is real life, my brain punking me. It has to be.”  

Angel, however, was about to discover just how much his brain wasn’t punking him. With a little more to go on than Keri, he entered those words along with their underscores into Google, taking a breath before his thumb hit search. Instagram.com/Girl_Where_Photo. His heart hammered. Clicking the link, the page loaded, and there she was.  

“Oh hell no!” His phone left his hand at speed, Angel flinging it across his bedroom. She was real, an actual person. Keri existed. Throwing the covers off himself, he pulled on his sweats, pacing through to the lounge and picking up his cigarettes, lighting one up as he sat down on the couch. He could see the illumination of his phone screen just by the door into his bedroom glowing through the darkness, the light both a beacon that called out for his attention and a flare of warning.  

Whatever side he landed on that juxtaposition, he remained much too freaked out to pick it up.  

“I'm Keri and you're in my dream. I'm real, you're not!”

They were dreaming the same dreams together. They had to be, but his brain seriously couldn’t deal with that. Nope. It had shut down. It took two more cigarettes and three shots of tequila for him to even be able to go grab his phone, his persistent inquisitiveness taking over. He took a deep breath, opening the screen once more, looking at her Instagram account.  

“Keri. Clicker of photo’s, lover of peanut butter, Provo village idiot. Not to be trusted with ketchup.”  

He snorted laughing at her self-deprecating humour, her little jokes poking fun at herself steadying him when he felt as if he was spiralling. Clicking on a picture, his heart almost beat clean out of his chest. Yep, that was definitely her, the girl in his dreams. “How the actual fucking fuck is this real? This some supernatural bullshit, I swear to Jesus.”

Stubbing out his cigarette, he reached for his smoke box, needing something considerably stronger to calm down again, but sadly finding he was all out. This could possibly be rectified easily, though.  

“And what brings you to my cell phone at three seventeen in the morning, brother-in-law?” Sharise answered on the third ring.  

“I was wondering if there was any chance you were having a sleepless night, and if so, can I come make a nuisance of myself?”

“Mi casa es tu casa.”  

“Thanks, I’ll be there in ten.” He threw on a t shirt and his sneakers, picking up his keys, cell and cigarettes before leaving, heading the short walk to his brother’s house. He and Sharise had found the property a year ago, just after they’d gotten married, Angel noticing the realtor sign out on the front lawn on his way to the yard one morning and telling his brother about it as soon as he’d seen him. It was only the second house they’d viewed, but they fell in love with it, putting in an offer on the spot that had been swiftly accepted by the keen-to-sell owners.  

Sharise had put her personal touch on it all the way through, from the décor inside that was blended African and Mexican, to all of the large, wooden and stone statues that adorned their backyard, Tiki torches often lighting the perimeters, the space very much hers as she loved to garden. It was where after trying the gate and finding it to be open, he guessed he would find her.  

“Morning,” she spoke, sitting in her large wicker chair, her feet up on the table before her and a massive blunt in her hand.  

“Hey, Bob.” He often called her that, on account of the fact that when he first met her, he’d been so drunk, he couldn’t quite say her name correctly. “Just call me Bob!” she’d spoken at the time, very entertained by him. It had stuck.  

“So, what brings you to my manor at 3.30am, then?” she questioned, blowing out a series of neat smoke rings, handing the blunt to him. “By the look on your face, you’re in need of some fine weed.” It was Sharise’s business, a purveyor of extremely good cannabis, owning Santo Padre’s only dispensary so far since the ban had been lifted. Before then, she’d still sold it, but not legally, of course.  

Angel took a long drag, holding the smoke tightly in his lungs. God, she really did get the best weed he’d ever had, and that said something, with the amount he’d had smoked over the years. “I'm too freaked the fuck out to sleep. If I hadn’t come over, I think I’d have panicked.”

She inclined her head, finger rooting in her braids to scratch her scalp. “Well, you do appear to have taken on the demeanour of someone who has seen a ghost. Care to share?”

Even though he planned to reveal all to her, he still took a moment to pause. “You know how I was reading about the whole lucid dreaming thing, right?”  

She cast her mind back. “Yeah, vaguely. Go on.” And so he did, explaining it all for her as succinctly as possible, Sharise nodding, her eyes widening right at the end as she took the blunt back from him.  

“Okay so I know you aren't yanking my chain, for you to believe in anything remotely like that is a stretch. Even though I still class you as an open-minded guy, the thought of it being real is a bit of a leap of faith for anyone, really. You know, unbelievable as it sounds, I'm sure I've heard of things like that happening before, except it usually happens between close friends or family,” she commented, flicking the long trail of ash onto the floor. “So, you truly are like Martin Freeman in The Good Night, dreaming of a girl you’ve never even met.”  

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I mean, I ain’t seen the movie, but I guess I am, if that’s what happened to him.” He paused, sighing, rubbing a hand over his face. “Do you know about this stuff, then? You kinda spoke from a place that sounds like you do.”

“Oh, not in any kind of detail,” she confessed, taking another drag on the blunt. “Just something I read one time that stuck with me, because I found it so fascinating.” Searching his wide-eyed face, she passed the blunt back, shuffling her chair a little closer to him. “I see you’re likely finding it anything but, though, to discover the girl in your dreams is an actual person, who more likely than not is experiencing the exact same dreams as you.”

He nodded, covering the hand that rested against his forearm, stroking her heavily ringed fingers with his thumb. “You ain’t wrong, Sharise. If this was happening to anyone else, I’d be telling ‘em to lay off the magic mushrooms, you know? Or telling them I ain’t that easy to fool, because it’s fucking unbelievable, isn’t it?”

She shrugged, her face passive. “Stranger things have happened. You might just have a cosmic connection with her, and your dreams are the way you find it.”  

“I don’t believe in all that, though.”

“Just because you don’t believe, it doesn’t mean it can’t happen.” Fuck. That struck him hard, Angel realising she made a very valid point. Sharise knew it, too, yet her face remained soft. Even when she was right, she had such dignity with it; except with her husband, who she enjoyed holding a little bit of self-righteous superiority over whenever she could. It was all playful, though. “Despite this Keri girl being very much real, you question your own sanity a little bit, don’t you?”

Perceptive. She was that, too.  

Angel stretched, beginning to nod. “Yeah, I guess I do. It’s just so... inconceivable!”  

“You know there’s something you could do here, don’t you, to maybe make it feel a little less weird?” He looked at her blankly, Sharise uncrossing and recrossing her legs at the ankle when her foot began to go to sleep. “Send her a message.”

“Dude.” A look of trepidation immediately crossed his face. “I’m only a half hour past throwing my phone across the bedroom.”

Her laughter tinkled through the quiet of the garden. “Then for now, how about we just sit and get nicely stoned. If you get too baked, you can take the spare room.” It might have only been a ten-minute walk away for him to get home, but she knew how potent her weed was.  

He took the blunt she handed him, patting her knee as he reached to pass her smoke box when she gestured towards it. “What would I do without my Bob, huh?”

“Panic on your own?”  

Once again, she was correct.  

[jxrm]

book log - 2024 (so far)

diva by daisy goodwin

the heiress by rachel hawkins

only if you’re lucky by stacy willingham

the chateau by jaclyn goldis

just stay away by tony wirt

the other mothers by katherine faulker

middle of the night by riley sager

the disappearance of astrid bricard by natasha lester

every time i go in vacation, someone dies by catherine mack

the last caretaker by jessica strawser

just for the summer by abby jimenez

house of glass by sarah pekkanen

the mayor of maxwell street by avery cunningham

first lie wins by ashley elston

the phoenix crown by kate quinn

murder road by simone st. james

the fury by alex michaelides

happiness falls by angie kim

the house of last resort by christopher golden

run rose run by dolly parton

the chalice of the gods by rick riordan

there should have been right by nalini singh

the mysterious case of the alperton angels by janice hallet

darling girls by sally hepworth

the pieces around us by leigh fields

love, theoretically by ali hazelwood

the teacher by frieda mcfadden

x by jack croxell

iron flame by rebecca yarros

the only suspect by louise candlish

throwback by maurene goo

the housemaid is watching by frieda mcfadden

zara hossain is here by sabina khan

slice by angie caedis

the ways of the dead by neely tucker

orphan train by christina baker

a court of silver flames by sarah j. mass

come and get it by kiley reid

the drowning woman by robyn harding

when i bleed: poems about endometriosis by maggie bowyer

the house in the pines by ana reyes

only say good things by crystal hefner

the mother-in-law by sally hepworth

daughter of mine by megan miranda

lore olympus: volume four by rachel smythe

this time it’s real by ann liang

anna o by matthew blake

the girl with the louding voice by abi dare

where the forest meets the stars by glendy vanderah

a friend in the dark by samantha m. bailey

the wife app by carolyn mackler

howl’s moving castle by diana wynne jones

the spanish love deception by elena armas

divide by jessa russo

lies and weddings by kevin kwan

the foxhole victory tour by amy lynn green

dying to tell by keri beevis

my father, the panda killer by jamie jo hoang

the wedding party by l.r. jones

girl gone mad by avery bishop

starter wife by bethany lopez

the queens of new york by e.l. shen

theater lovers by ciara blume

once upon a broken heart by stephanie garber

the surrogate mother by frieda mcfadden

crying in h mart by michelle zauner

don’t forget to write by sara goldman confino

the next girl by carla kovach

the paradise problem by christina lauren

ivy league liars by grace costello

every summer after by carley fortune

the ballad of never after by stephanie garber

a curse of true love by stephanie garber

the devil’s storybooks by natalie babbit

expiration dates by rebecca serle

the murmur of bees by sofia segovia

growing up hadley by dana harp

the vacation by john marrs

rum punch regrets by anna kemp

the five-star weekend by elin hilderbrand

people to follow by olivia worley

the treasure hunters club by tom ryan

you shouldn’t be here by lauren thoman

trophy wife by bethany lopez

seven summers by paige toon

veridian sterling fakes it by jennifer gooch

the friendship club by robyn carr

women of good fortune by sophie wan

the smuggler’s apprentice of guatemala by lachlan page

this summer will be different by carley fortune

natural selection by elin hilderbrand

the passengers by john marrs

asap by axie oh

island of shadows by christopher kvintus

swan song by elin hilderbrand

lore olympus: volume five by rachel smythe

blue hawaiian by carla luna

the villain edit by laurie devore

hermione granger and the order of the phoenix by sara baines-miller

the hotel nantucket by elin hilderbrand

bummer camp by ann garvin

pink glass houses by asha elias

cut and thirst by margaret atwood

the exception to the rule by christina lauren

#crimetime by jeneva rose

incidents around the house by josh malerman

the mistress by valerie keogh

kiki’s delivery service by eiko kadono

when we were friends by jane green

the honey-don’t list by christina lauren

worst wingman ever by abby jimenez

the perfect couple by elin hilderbrand

home is where the bodies are by jeneva rose

the only good indians by stephen graham jones

roar by cecelia ahern

the wedding people by alison espach

look in the mirror by catherine steadman

fit to die by daniel kalla

uglies by scott westerfield

hideaway by nicole lundrigan

the fortune teller by natasha boydell

crazy rich asians by kevin kwan

the wish by nicholas sparks

how the penguins saved veronica by hazel prior

the plus one by s. c. lalli

the haters by robyn harding

china rich girlfriend by kevin kwan

rich people problems by kevin kwan

the haunting of moscow house by olesya salnikova gilmore

the lonely hearts book club by lucy gilmore

the measure by nikki erlick

somewhere beyond the sea by tj klume

adam and evie’s matchmaking tour by nora nguyen

i was a teenage slasher by stephen graham jones

here one moment by liane moriarity

badass bonita by kim guerra

zetas till we die by amber and danielle brown

shred sisters by betsy learner

one of the girls by lucy clarke

society of lies by lauren ling brown

the radius of us by marie marquardt

fantasticland by mike bockoven

sheets by brenna thummler

the boyfriend by frieda mcfadden

delicates by brenna thummler

no one will know by rose carlyle

lights by brenna thummler

counting miracles by nicholas sparks

the night we lost him by laura dave

ghost stories by ron ripley

the hitchcock hotel by stephanie wrobel

for better or cursed by kate williams

the last one at the wedding by jason rekulak

creation lake by rachel kushner

like mother, like daughter by kimberly mccreight

libby lost and found by stephanie booth

the nosy neighbour by nita prose

needy little things by channelle desamours

[wardenparker]

A Second Chance at Life

Part 3 of A Second Chance at Love

Jack Daniels x female reader Zach Wellison x female OC Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+   Word Count: 22.7k Warnings: Mentions of: homelessness, hunger, discrimination, human trafficking, past military service, classicism. Cursing, alcohol/food, awkward flirting, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, just a touch of a praise kink.  Summary: Junior returns to Statesman after a mission with a civilian in tow. Ready to go to bat to Ginger to get Zach a place as a Statesman agent, it shouldn’t be surprising that the whole Daniels family is ready to adopt the young man as well. Especially Jack and his beloved wife’s youngest and most mischievous daughter. ✨This piece can absolutely be read as a stand alone!✨ Notes: Set 23 years after the original ‘A Second Chance at Love’, this part 3 is a celebration of TWO YEARS worth of writing collaborations between myself and absurdthirst. Keri is a divine angel of inspiration and a true friend and I truly don’t know what I would do without her. Thank you for being there through thick, thin, and everything in between. I would not be who I am without the friendship and support you’ve shown me over the last two years. 🧡🧡

Part 1 ~ Part 2

"Jack!" When the alert on your watch goes off letting you know that the Statesman jet is about to touch down, you fully abandon the tray of chips, dips, and appetizers that you were putting together on the kitchen counter and go to poke your head out onto the back deck where Jack is sitting with a glass of Statesman Reserve and a book. "Put the burgers on the grill, honey. I'm going to go pick up Junior from the jet and Janey should be over with the other kids soon."

Anytime Junior comes home from a mission, it's cause for celebration. The whole family descends on the big ranch house and a mountain of cheeseburgers gets demolished to welcome him back again. Your twin girls are grown now, beautiful young women in their own right who dote on and challenge their brother in equal measure, and Junior and Janey's three kids are finding their own footing in the world. The family you thought you had lost for such a long time has materialized around you and become something worthy of gratitude, and you have never taken a day for granted.

Retirement has its own set of challenges, just like getting old does. Groaning, his joints protest slightly as he sets the book down and rocks himself forward to push up out of the chair. “Yes ma’am.” He grunts, tossing you a craggy grin that isn’t quite as lecherous as it might have been about ten years before, but Jack Daniels is still a man who is besotted with his wife. “As long as you give me a kiss before you go.”

"Well, of course," you roll your eyes at him like he's crazy for even asking, but Jack hasn't taken a day for granted either. He still makes sure to show and tell you just how much he loves you every single day. Stepping out onto the deck, you wrap him up in a hug and inhale the familiar scent of his cologne with a grin before tipping your head back to kiss him. You move a little faster than he does these days but it's only because you've done a bit less damage to your body over the years – party planning not having been nearly as physical a job as being a secret agent. "I love you, sweetheart."

“I love you too, darlin’.” Jack promises, the kiss more tender than passionate, but the bone deep resignation of love carries through the simple gesture. “I’m throwin’ some extras on since the grandkids seem to be eatin’ everything in sight.”

“Tucker is trying to bulk up for senior year.” The way it makes you grin is the picture of grandmotherly indulgence. Your youngest grandchild - Junior and Janey’s younger son Tucker - had taken after his older brother in every way. Miles started playing football in middle school, so Tucker did also. Of course, now Miles is working on his medical degree and Tucker is about to start his senior year of high school. Time flies.

“Sounds like Tucker.” Jack shakes his head and pats your ass as you turn, pulling out of his arms. “I’ll even throw on a few of those veggie burgers on the grill for Sam.”

“I put two on a separate tray, and her vegan cheese.” Though the twins were born barely two minutes apart and have been basically inseparable their whole lives, Sam and Riley have grown into very individual women. Sam has joined the front of the Statesman Operation as a distiller, and recently jumped from simple vegetarianism into veganism in solidarity with her wife. So far the hardest transitions for her are actually for her family, and not for her at all. “You’re a good father, Jack. You know that.”

“Try to be.” Jack grins, thinking about the three children that he is damned proud to be called their father. “Never thought I’d ever be able to say that a few years ago.” He reminds you. “Gotta prove myself, to myself.”

“You’re a damn good daddy and a damn good granddaddy, too.” You pause for one more kiss to his cheek before pulling away again. “I gotta go get Junior. Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone.”

Jack chuckles and nods. “I won’t. You just now got it decorated the way you like it.” You are always redecorating or changing something and he loves it.

“It only took me twenty-three years.” Tossing him a cheeky grin, you head for the front door and grab your purse to go pick Junior up from the airstrip.

He knows why. For a long time, you still expected a knock to come. A phone call to tear you away from the life you had with him. Changing things up meant you could focus on a goal, a reminder you were still here. Jack hums, turning on the speakers and playing some music as he fires up the grill and moseys into the house to get the burgers.

******

“We should be on the ground in five minutes.” Junior checks his watch, forcing himself to stop pacing and down the rest of his drink so he can sit for the jet’s descent. He hasn’t technically broken any rules, having gotten the all-clear from Ginger Ale to go ahead and bring a civilian back to Statesman, but the knot in his stomach says that not everyone is going to like it. This man, though? This man saved his life. With astonishing skill, no less, and then turned out to be a military veteran with nowhere to turn. Jack Daniels Jr. has made plenty of sacrifices for his work or for his family, but he has never left someone helpless when he could be their helping hand. His mother taught him better than that.

Zach looks up at the man who has insisted that he come back with him to Kentucky, of all places. He can tell that he’s nervous. “Look, I can just— leave.” Zach offers, drying his hands on his borrowed jeans and shrugging. The streets of Kentucky can’t be too different from where he was. “You already bought me dinner.” All for picking up a weapon and pulling a trigger. It had been instinct. Seeing someone running through the park that was being chase by a group of armed men, he had leapt into action when one of the rifles had been dropped. Picking it up, aiming and pulling the trigger without a second thought.

"No, no, no." The Statesman agent shakes his head, telling himself to relax as he sits down across from the ex-Marine. His knee pops a little but that's a small complaint for a man old enough to have a grown daughter. "The thing is, Zach," he glances at the younger man from under his Stetson. "You've got faster reflexes than most - maybe all - of the recruits I've seen over the years. You said what you did was instinct, but those are some damn impressive instincts."

Zach snorts and shakes his head. “Preservation of self of what the psychologist told me.” Not that he had a lot of help after he got back stateside. Once he had his discharge papers it was ‘good luck and don’t let the door hit you’.

"It takes a strong character to still have a sense of self and not dissolve into apathy during hard times." He had come close to it himself, as a teenager in Witness Protection, but he had been lucky enough to have his mother to think about when he couldn't see to taking care of himself. Junior shifts in his seat, rubbing his palms together and looking straight ahead at the young man in front of him. "I'd like to offer you a job. Not one specific one, but Statesman is a big operation and there are a lot of different opportunities for someone like you." Does he have one specific job in mind? Of course. But being an agent isn't for everyone, and more than anything he just wants to help this man who saved his life.

“Why?” Zach’s suspicions are caused by the nearly three years he’s spent on the streets. Almost thirty years old and the only thing to his name is what is in his pack. Since leaving the military, not one damn person has offered him anything more than platitudes. “You don’t owe me anything.”

"I owe you my life," Junior tells him honestly. "But I'm afraid that would be a pretty shitty life to hand to you, all things considered. And my mama taught me not to give used gifts." He shrugs slightly, feeling the jet start to descend. "Military vets get dealt a raw fucking, deal, Zach. Pardon my language. You deserve to have a life you can be proud of."

Zach clenches his jaw, not answering that. It was true and it stung. He had gotten a raw deal, but he also knows that he’s too damn proud for charity. “You never told me what the hell got you into that situation.”

"My work." He has to stay intentionally vague until he can bring Zach to meet Ginger, and he knows that won't happen until after dinner. Dinner is mandatory. Even with nearly half his life spent in Kentucky with his father, he still never misses a family meal for anything short of a mission. "The man you shot would absolutely have tried to kill me if he'd gotten a hand on me. Unfortunately not the first time a man's tried that, but that's the life I chose."

The other man can’t help but snort at that. “Well, it looks like you get paid better than the military.” He says, looking around the sleek jet. “Swear I’ve heard of Statesman before.”

"Definitely get paid better than the military." Junior chuckles at that, topping his hat back. "Statesman is whiskey. Best sour mash in the world, bar none." It's so much more than that, but he can save that tidbit of information for later.

“And whiskey equals guns….” it’s not a question, because Zach feels like Jack won’t answer it. But something else is going on. “I’m not being kidnapped and forced to have genetic testing performed on me, am I?”

The specificity of the question is what makes Junior bust out laughing, and he shakes his head while he waves off the younger man's concern. "No, but my son is pre-med so if you start hearing a lot of gruesome talk out of him it's just academic curiosity, not a threat."

“Wow.” There’s an undercurrent of bitterness there that can’t be hidden, but it’s not directed towards Jack or his son. It’s more a shot at his own life choices that have obviously turned out so well. “You don’t look old enough to have a kid pre-med.”

"I appreciate that." Never one to deny being proud of his family, Junior straightens his back a little and unconsciously flexes the hand that bears his wedding ring. "Wife and I were young when we got married. Miles is actually the middle child." Like any proud father, he is immediately digging into his pocket for his wallet to show off pictures of his kids. Having gotten the all-clear to bring Zach back to Louisville, he knows that the young vet is going to meet his family anyway. No harm in showing him a photo a few minutes in advance. "There. That's my wife Janey, our oldest Becca, and the two boys are Miles and Tucker."

“You have a beautiful family.” Zach sincerely means that, a little envious at the happy family in the picture. He had always imagined that kind of life for himself, it had just never worked out.

"It isn't always easy, but hard work is worth it." He sits back again and slides his wallet into the pocket of his jacket. "Listen. I don't intend to force anything on you, or to tie you up into something that you're not happy with. That's not the point here." Loyalty at Statesman was earned through respect and hard work, not kidnapping. Although ironically there sometimes was a bit of light relocating involved - like with this flight. "If there isn't a job at Statesman that you think you can be happy with, then you go ahead and say so. I'll have this jet bring you wherever in the world you want to be dropped off and you can pretend you never met me or even heard of Louisville, Kentucky. Just give it a week to decide. Is that a deal?"

Zach looks around the plane again, aware that the shower he had taken an hour earlier was first hot shower he’s had in peace in a long time. The few times he could get a bed at the local shelter, the water was cold and he had worried about people stealing his meager belongings. “Doesn’t look like I have anywhere else to be.” Zach chuckles, lifting the glass of whiskey he hadn’t touched before to his lips. Humming at the taste. “And this is good.”

When the jet touches down a few minutes later, the flight attendants have little to do but bid their passengers a good day and go about tidying up. Junior leads the way, chuckling softly to himself when he steps out onto the mobile stairs and sees the familiar black pickup truck waiting for him. The Bronco died years ago, but that has never stopped his father from having a truck. "Looks like our ride is here," he tells Zach, pointing down to the tarmac just as you pop out of the front seat to wave.

Zach frowns slightly, shuffling his bag over his shoulder and hums. “That’s your mom?” He asks, surprised because you certainly don’t look old enough to be his mother. But he has just seen a picture of Jack’s wife.

"My parents were high school sweethearts. I guess young love sort of runs in the family." With a hearty slap on the shoulder, Junior leads Zach down the stairs toward the truck and quickly shoots a text off to Ginger letting her know that they've landed and will be in to see her as soon as she wants.

"I only asked for a postcard from LA, Junior." Your instinct is to tease a little, knowing that whatever might have caused your son to bring home a civilian and not immediately sweep them off to Ginger's office to be debriefed must be quite a story. Keeping things lighthearted until you know more details is really all you can do considering the classified nature of Junior's work as Agent Absinthe. "Looks like you brought home a friend instead?"

“Mom, this is Zach Wellison.” Junior rests his hand on the other man’s shoulder, feeling the way it rounds slightly in self-consciousness, even though he is wearing a clean set of clothes from Junior’s own bag, with the promise that his own clothes would be cleaned as soon as possible. He introduces Zach to you, telling him your name. “Zach pulled my ass out of the fire, and I decided he would be a damn good fit at Statesman.”

"Well that's a hell of a compliment." The polite thing would be to offer him a handshake, but hearing that this man saved your son's life has you offering him a grateful hug instead – the instinct of a mother still very attached to her son after going through so much together. "Are you hungry, Zach? We've got burgers on the grill at home and all kinds of things to go with them. Family dinner always includes a brave man."

“I don’t want to impose.” The snacks on the plane hadn’t been touched but there’s no mistaking the grumble of his stomach when you mention burgers. It’s been a few days since he’s had a proper meal.

"It's not an imposition at all. I insist." You urge them toward the truck, which has more than enough room for the three of you, and smile when your son tosses his bag in the back without hesitation. "Junior, text your sisters and let them know you're back? I swear getting Sam away from the stills is like pulling teeth these days and your father is making her veggie burgers without a fuss tonight."

“Damn. Junior whistles, sounding impressed. He waggles his brows. “That’s something akin to a miracle.” He tosses Zach a grin. “Dad is a ‘meat is king’ kinda guy. And grillin’ is his specialty. Making veggies burgers hurts his soul.”

The three of you climb into the truck and head for home. It's a short drive with the ranch being just outside of Statesman property, but it's enough for you to note that the civilian your son has brought home with fairly quiet but highly alert. He seems to notice everything but only takes it in without comment. You chat about light things for a little while before refocusing your attention on your visitor. "Are you from California originally, Zach?"

“Yes ma’am.” Zach answers quietly, finding the lush green hills in the background very tranquil. “Sacramento area originally.”

The ma'am catches your attention and you glance over at your son while you drive. "Sacramento's Army and Air Force country, isn't it?" You ask, though you know your casual tone doesn't erase the point of the question.

“I was a Marine.” He snorts, smirking slightly before he remembers there’s nothing to actually be proud about anymore. “Went against tradition.”

"Junior's father was a Navy pilot. Seems like every branch has its ups and downs, but we honour service in our family. Thank you for yours." Though you get the sense from his reaction that he might not be too glad about the decision in hindsight, you would just consider his sacrifices all the more worth recognizing because of it. "How long have you been stateside, if you don't mind my asking?"

“Three years, five months and six days.” Zach supplies easily, having kept up with the time since he had been discharged eight months after he had come back from his final deployment. “Ma’am.”

"Well, you'll still find plenty of 'sir' and 'ma'am' around here and plenty of folks following orders, but Statesman is a lot more laid back than service, thank goodness. And the food is infinitely better."

"Does that mean you made cobbler?" Junior asks, sitting up in his seat like he's suddenly twelve again as he looks over at Zach. "She makes a blueberry and peach cobbler that I swear must have magic in it."

The compliment is sweet, if a little overblown, but you nod as you drive. "I made it with vegan butter for your sister, but don't tell anybody until they start eating it. I want to see if anyone notices."

“You know dad will taste the difference.” Junior laughs and shakes his head. “He swears he can taste the chemicals.”

"He swears up and down," you agree to that, but the smile on your face turns sly. "But I made shrimp and grits last night with vegan butter and oat milk and he had seconds."

Junior grins and looks back at Zach. “My younger sister’s wife is vegan and she just went down the rabbit hole with her. Hence the recipe changes.”

"We just want to make sure Vanessa and Sam are always able to eat with family." Not to mention that your whole family adores Vanessa and were glad to welcome her into the family. Having Sam marry so early was only a minimal surprise. After all, like Junior had told Zach earlier, young love runs in your family.

“You said you had two sisters. Twins?” He asks, wanting to keep everyone straight. “So you have three kids and three grandchildren?” That question is directed towards you.

"Exactly right." Directing the car off the highway toward the ranch, you nod to your son's guest and smile. "We had Junior right after we were married, and his sisters quite a while later. Sam and Riley are around the same age as our grandkids - that's Junior and Janey's three. Actually, the twins and their niece Becca were all born the same year."

Eyes widening in surprise, Zach absorbs the idea that the younger sisters of Junior are younger than he is. “Wow.”

"It's unconventional." You can admit that readily, and you love your big family full of very different and very strong personalities. "But it works for us." In the distance, the top of the ranch house comes into view and you point it out on the tree line. "There's the ranch. We'll be home in no time."

The house is big, and gorgeous. He’s awestruck by the larger house, then the slightly smaller one just a few hundred feet away. “Is it a working ranch?” Zach asks, seeing horses out in pastures. All of this speaks of a lot of money.

"Small, but yes." It makes you shake your head as you turn down the long road that is your driveway. "My husband decided he wanted to retire from his main career on the early side and amp up the ranch work. There's a bit of breeding and sale, but we also have a stable for show horses and teachers that give lessons."

“What did your husband do? After he got out of the Navy?”

Your eyes tick quickly up to the rear-view mirror to see your son subtly shake his head. A civilian answer, then. “He worked for Statesman.” You tell Zach. “From security guard all the way up to CEO.”

“CEO?” No wonder they have a ranch. “That’s impressive.” There’s more that’s not being said, but it’s not his place to ask.

“Things were hard for us in the beginning, so we make sure that we never turn anyone away.” Which is, you suspect, why Zach is here with Junior. The former military man is wearing your son’s clothes, after all. That is a fairly large clue.

Zach’s mouth snaps shut, shame and the anger from that shame nearly making him ask you to stop the truck. He doesn’t want pity and he’ll be damned if he has anyone look down on him for his circumstances.

There are a half dozen cars in the driveway by the main house when you park the truck, all telling you that you’re the last to arrive. A group of three is passing a frisbee in the yard and music is pouring out of hidden speakers, but the real commotion is out in the back deck where your kids and grandkids are digging into appetizers like there’s no tomorrow and the twins are in the middle of a hot debate with their father at the grill. This is as much a family party as it is any regular Sunday - it just so happens that your Sundays usually turn into parties when everybody is able to show up.

Zach climbs out of the pickup, hanging back as if he is hesitant to get near. This is obviously a family function and he doesn’t belong here.

“Come on,” Junior doesn’t let him shrink away, one hand patting his shoulder but not pushing. “There’s always at least a couple of friends at these things.” To prove his point, he directs Zach’s attention to the frisbee players. “That’s my oldest and my youngest. But the third kid is somebody my youngest knows from school. Couldn’t tell you the kid’s name if I tried, but he comes around sometimes. And playing with the dog? That’s one of the guys my wife and daughter work with. I promise I didn’t bring you into the middle of something I thought would be awkward.”

“I don’t know.” Zach huffs. “I don’t want to intrude. Just— point me towards Statesman and I’ll walk and tour the grounds.” He smirks sardonically. “I’m an outdoors specialist after all.”

“We’ll go after dinner,” Junior promises, fully ignoring the joke made at Zach’s own expense. “You want a drink? I don’t know what else is here but there’s always cold beer and good whiskey.”

It’s been so damn long since Zach’s had a cold beer in a relaxed atmosphere. He nearly drools at the thought. “Yeah— I guess a beer will be alright.” He concedes. “Just one.”

“Sure thing.” Leading Zach through the yard behind you, Junior stops to say hi to Janey and the frisbee players, introducing Zach as he goes. There are handshakes and greetings and hugs all around, and you make it up on to the porch to say hello to your girls before they make it halfway through the yard.

“Jay brought home a civilian?” Sam asks quietly, sipping her whiskey as she watches them closely. The girls had long-since picked up on Janey’s nickname for their brother and liked it better than calling him Jack or Junior.

“Yes he did,” you nod and turn to hug Riley next. “And I haven’t gotten the whole story yet, so be nice.”

“We’re always nice, Mom.” Riley contends, although there is a smirk in the corner of her mouth when she says it.

Sam snorts. “Yeah? Since when?” Riley is older by two minutes and she never misses an opportunity to remind Sam of that fact. “Where you nice when you told that old breeder to go choke on a horse co—”

“Okaaaaaaaay.” Riley interrupts, rolling her eyes. “Sometimes I’m nice.” She huffs dramatically. “But that old bastard deserved that.” She contends.

That earns a laugh from you and Jack, who both disliked that particular breeder despite his good work. It was a blessing to be rid of him. “Here,” you hum, handing off two bottles of beer from the cooler to your younger daughter. “Go say hi to your brother.” “Yes ma’am,” she chuckles, accepting the bottles and grabbing the magnetic bottle opener from the side of the grill. “Jaaaaay!” She calls out, trotting down the steps with drinks in hand. "I've got beeeer!"

Turning automatically to the sound of someone shouting, at first Zach is anticipating anger. Until he catches the face of the woman practically racing for him and Junior— not Jack like he had introduced himself as after the firefight. His heart leaps up into his throat and he swears he nearly stops breathing, she’s so pretty and carefree.

"Thanks, Ri." Junior takes both bottles and offers one to Zach, not missing the slightly dumbstruck look on his new acquaintance's face at all. "Riley, this is my new friend Zach." He nods to his sister, miraculously without smirking. "Zach, Riley is the younger of the twins. My baby sister."

"Nice to meet you, Zach." She offers the new arrival her hand brightly, cheery vibrancy making a good cover for how hard her heart starts pounding when he looks up and meets her eyes. His irises are the colour of freshly brewed coffee and his jaw looks like it was cut by a Grecian master sculptor, making Riley practically gulp down a breath. "I—um—it's...I mean...welcome."

“Hi.” Zach takes the beer up to his lips to hide the small smile that Riley managed to bring out. “So your ‘Jay’s’ sister?” He asks before he turns towards the other man. “How many damn names do you have?”

"Three." He shrugs, except the answer is actually four. Agent Absinthe isn't exactly a nickname so much as a title and it's not one used outside of work. "Jack Daniels Junior gives two out of the three. My wife and sisters call me Jay."

“I see.” Zach raises a brow, nodding at the obvious. “So I’m guessing that your father is Jack Senior?”

"Found where all fathers can be found," Riley smirks and points up at the deck where the grill is the center of all activity. "At the grill. But if you guys want any of the salsa or guac that Mom made you better get in there. Tucker brought a friend and teenage boys are bottomless pits."

As much as Zach’s stomach rumbles at the thought of fresh salsa and guacamole, he nods politely and sips his beer. “Thanks.”

"You guys make friends, I'll be right back." Junior glances between his sister and his potential recruit with a twinkle of amusement before he nods and makes off in the direction of the deck.

Shuffling slightly, Zach glances her way, struck again by how pretty she is before he reminds himself there is no way this woman would be interested in him. “So did you grow up here?” He asks, rolling his eyes as soon as it comes out of his mouth. What a dumb fucking question.

Riley catches the way he rolls his eyes at himself and grins, smothering a very uncharacteristic giggle. "That's my room in the top floor corner." She points, indicating the set of windows with linen-colored curtains in it. "Kentucky born and raised, unlike my brother. But my guess is you're not from around here? Since you came home on the jet with Jay, I mean." For some reason the ability to form an original or interesting question has escaped her, but that's probably from the man beside her.

“California.” Zach bobbles his head, glancing up at the window, wondering if it was a nice view out of the window. It must have been to grow up in a place like this.

"I've never been." And why that makes her dig the toe of her boot into the grass is completely beyond her. "It looks pretty in the movies, though. For whatever that's worth, she's definitely not at the top of her game tonight.

“Don’t bother.” Zach huffs. “It might be nice to visit some areas.”

"Not a big fan of California, got it." She nods and shoves one hand into the pocket of her jeans while she takes a sip of her beer. "Well...maybe you'll like Kentucky better?"

“Sorry.” His shoulders roll back, aware he’s sounding like a complete asshole. “The last few years haven’t been the best, so I guess I’m bitter.” That’s putting it mildly, but she wants small talk, not a pity party.

"I'm sorry to hear that." It pulls her attention, though, bringing her eyes up from her toes to find his. "I know we just met, but if you need to vent or whatever..." she shrugs, hearing exactly how strong she's coming on, but there's no chance he would ever be interested in her. It's just being friendly to someone that her older brother brought back from a mission. And it's not like that had happened more than one other time ever.

“You don’t want to hear about it.” Zach huffs. “But thanks. It’s a nice thought.” In what way could this beautiful, rich girl ever commiserate with him? He shrugs. “Junior said to come to Kentucky, and I had nothing better to do. Might not work out. Rarely does.”

"I hate to admit it, but my brother is rarely wrong," she admits, sipping her beer again. "When he has an instinct about a person he's right about ninety-five percent of the time." He had certainly been right about the last guy she'd brought home to meet the family, a fact which stings a little and makes her frown instinctively before she quickly recovers. "Well...come on, Zach from California. Nothing helps smooth over meeting new people like alcohol and food, and we can make both of those things happen."

He hadn’t been going to approach the food by himself, so being dragged over helps. You are standing next to an older version of Jack, so much so that Zach has to blink. Hanging on to his arm and laughing like the picture-perfect family. “You know, being from Kentucky, you don’t have an accent.”

"Yeah, it, uh...it turns out that if you go to a college in New York City to be an engineer and you're a cowboy boot wearing Southern girl with a country accent, nobody takes you seriously." The way Riley rolls her eyes is an obvious cover for a deeper hurt, but she taps her boots on the stairs as they walk up to the food. "I phased it out pretty quickly during freshman year. Not that it eliminated the problem of people assuming girls can't do math, but at least it lessoned the jokes a little."

“Shit. Girls are a shit ton smarter than guys.” Zach snorts then shakes his head. “Sorry about the language.”

"Please, I'm not delicate. Swear all you want." As if to prove it, she scoops up a chip full of guacamole and crunches down with a happy moan of contentment.

An innocent moan over a chip and guac shouldn’t make him think pornographic thoughts. He shouldn’t be thinking about what he could do that would make her make that sound, but it does. He’s lucky that he wasn’t drinking, otherwise he would have choked to death on beer. His cock twitches in extreme interest and he swallows harshly.

“Seriously, try some,” Riley urges. It’s not like she’s oblivious, but she also doesn’t fully process that the hungry look on Zach’s face is more about her and less about the food.

“O-okay.” Zach moves over to grab a chip, anything to take his mind off the way she sounded.

It doesn’t help that she reaches for another chip at the same time, unleashing the sound all over again right before Zach takes a bite. If she had had any idea of how drastic his reaction was, though? Well…she probably would have closed her eyes and tilted her head back just to give him a good visual along with the sound. Zach chokes on the chip, coughing and sputtering as the damn corn chip threatens to go down the wrong pipe. Making him slap himself on the chest as his eyes water and he coughs.

“Oh shit, are you okay?” Riley doesn’t really have a panic button but she cringes internally at his reaction and gives his back a gentle rub after he stops coughing. “No dying on us, okay? Miles is only pre-med, he’s not prepared to save lives just yet.”

“S-sorry.” He manages, coughing again one last time and taking a hasty sip of his beer. “Got caught in my throat.”

“Maybe pointy foods aren’t prime for you,” she jokes, more teasing herself with realizing exactly how broad Zach’s shoulders are than him over the chip thing.

“Maybe.” He can’t help but chuckle, even though he is kicking himself over the faux pas. His shoulder tingles where her hand is resting, making him feel like he’s being shocked.

“Better now?” Resisting the urge to offer him mouth to mouth if he should ever need it, Riley clears her throat as little and grins. “That’s alright. Swallowing is hard,” she teases, managing to continue to look completely innocent.

Zach blows out a breathe, the scandalous comment about what she can swallow on the tip of his tongue but he can’t say that. Surprised that he’s even thinking it. It’s been a long goddamn time since he’s really thought about sex beyond some distant memory.

“Cat got your tongue?” Her eyebrow ticks up in curiosity.

“Apparently.” Zach grunts, rolling his eyes at himself again. “Just, trying to breathe without incident.”

“Right. Sorry.” Riley sags a little against the porch railing, feeling embarrassed. Just because she’s all hot and bothered over him doesn’t mean he is over her – and she has to remember that, since it seems like she’s the only member of the Daniels family born without the flirting gene.

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Zach frowns slightly, not liking the way that she seemingly deflates in front of him. “How embarrassing would it be to survive war zones and die by a chip? I could never show my face in hell.”

“War zones?” That seems to perk her ears up, and her head tilts slightly. Curiosity is certainly one thing the Daniels kids have in spades. “You’re a vet?”

“Yeah.” Does everyone in this family like military? “Marines. Or used to be.”

“I almost went Navy,” she admits with her signature shrug. “Like my Dad. Went through a recruiter and everything. It was exciting, I was going to go right out of high school. When I went to get checked out…turns out I had some health issues we had no idea about. So I got to go get made fun of in engineering school instead.”

“I’m sorry.” Not that he believes she needed to be in the military, but it’s always crushing to learn you can’t do what you want. “I’m sure engineering is better than having creaky joints at twenty-five.”

“Everybody ends up where they’re supposed to be eventually, right?” She can sense that maybe she’s hit a sore spot, and Riley picks up her beer again wondering if maybe she just talks way too damn much.

“You could say that.” He was meant to be on the street, fuck, what a depressing thought. She doesn’t know that though, unless Junior has already told her. “So what do you do at Statesman?”

“Research and development.” Her actual work right now is in gadgets and equipment, but for the sake of the distillery’s cover story she could talk about things like the distilling process and the chemical complexities of whiskey. Everyone in the family could. “I do the science and then my twin sister does the actual brewing.”

“Hmmmm.” Zach has his doubts that a brewery is all that is going on. There’s too much that is left unsaid between Junior and his mother. Still, he takes another sip of his beer. “So isn’t this like…drinking the competition?” He asks, titling the bottle up in the air.

“If we brewed beer, sure.” The question makes Riley’s lip curl into an amused grin, though, and she takes the last swig from her own bottle. “Statesman is purely a whiskey operation, so it’s more like…embracing the community.”

"Ohhhhh." He knows that, but it's a way to extend the moment. Enjoying the slightly disjointed conversation.

“We grew up with whiskey like some people grow up with a favorite cereal.” By now it’s obvious that Riley’s most frequent gesture while she talks is to shrug. Almost as if she’s afraid of being taken too seriously or inconveniencing someone with talking too much.

“That’s cool though.” Zach insists. “I know about how to get drunk, even if I haven’t done that for years.”

"We can definitely make that happen, if you want to." After all, it's not like they don't always have an abundance of bottles of different kinds in the house. "Actually the bottle room in the cellar is pretty cool. I just upgraded the atmospheric controls about a month ago so."

“You have a bottle room in your house?” Zach’s eyes blow wide, unable to even think about that kind of luxury. The differences are stark and he’s starting to wonder if he will fit in here just working.

"Yeah, it's super fuckin' cool actually—" She flusters, setting down her empty bottle and motioning to the house. "Do you want to see? It's actually a really cool house. The whole story behind it is cute and everything."

It doesn’t sound like she is bragging, and that’s the only reason why Zach nods. “Okay.” He agrees, looking down to check to make sure there isn’t anything on him that he might dirty up the house with.

"My dad basically built the place himself." Through the porch door and into the kitchen, Riley wipes a little nervous sweat from her palms onto her jeans and shuts the door behind them. No one will even notice they're gone, she reasons, and Jay brought this guy home. So clearly she's just being friendly. Just friendly. Right. That's why she's telling him her parents' love story - because it's totally normal and friendly. "My parents were apart for a long time. Mom got mixed up in a mob thing when she was pregnant with Jay and they were in WITSEC for twenty plus years. Dad built their dream house as a kind of tribute to her. And then when they found each other again they started adding a few more things to the house here and there."

“That’s…wow. So your dad thought they were dead?” It explains the age gap between Junior and the twins. “That’s amazing and horrible.”

"Yeah, it was..." Riley shrugs as she leads him into the house, pointing out little things and pausing in front of a wall of wedding photos in the main hallway. Two photos of her parents, one of her brother and Janey, and then Sam and Vanessa's wedding photo from just last year. She's the only one missing from the wall now, but she pushes away the swimming dread that that thought conjures in her belly. "Dad talks about it like it was such a dark period for him. But they're so perfect together, I can't even imagine what they would be like apart. Either way, um...yeah. That's how the house came to be. The...the cellar is this way."

Zach glances at the photos, the ones of her parents’ wedding were obviously at different times. He had to assume one was the original and another, your father looking older and more distinguished, was a vow renewal of some sort. He’s notices she isn’t in a wedding photo of a bride and groom, having clocked the lack of ring on her hand. Not that it mattered, he just noticed. “Lead the way.”

The cellar is fully furnished, having become a playroom when the twins were little and then a dance studio for the two years they took lessons, then a practice room for their high school rock band after that – at which point it had happily been soundproofed. Now it is a games room with a card table and pool table, a large sofa, and a bar built into one wall that stood next to the glass door of the temperature-controlled bottle room. In most houses this would be a wine cellar, but not the Daniels house. This is a glorified whiskey showroom, with a few other things collected over time. Riley punches a code into the panel on the wall and shoots Zach a grin before the panel chirps and the door hisses to indicate it’s unlocked. “Come on in. It’ll be cool inside at first. Like how walking into an air conditioned building in summer makes you feel freezing for about five minutes. But this lasts about a minute max.”

“Holy shit.” Zach eyes widen at the causal luxury and the comfort that seems to be in the game room. Then the sophistication of the whiskey room. “This is better protected than most state secrets.”

"Thank you." Riley fully beams, her shoulders doing a happy little wiggle as she grins. "I designed the system and built it myself."

“This is what you do?” He’s impressed. Looking around and admiring the security. “This is damn good.”

"My sister makes the booze, and I protect it," she laughs lightly. In actuality, she worked like a cowgirl version of James Bond's Q, developing new tech that would help keep Statesman's agents safe in the field - but that's not exactly the kind of thing she can tell this new arrival. Her status as Agent Grenadine needed to stay tightly under wraps just like her brother's active field agent status and her father's former identity as Agent Whiskey. She'll take the compliment, though, enjoying the way it warms through her as they look around the bottle room together.

“So it’s a family operation.” Family is something that Zach hasn’t had in a long time. The men he called brothers had all drifted off, moved on with their lives while he had been stuck in a horrible rut.

"Sort of." He gets a nod from her as she traces her lingers along the label of a limited release bottle produced the year she was born. "There's a lot more than just our family involved, but yeah. Statesman is definitely tight-knit. Once we let somebody in..." She offers him a half-smile, knowing that Jay never would have brought him back to the house if he didn't like the guy or intend on bringing him into things eventually. "That's sort of it. You're family."

He shuffles slightly, aware that she’s trying to tell him something but he can’t quite believe it. Maybe the mangy stray dog that someone takes mercy on. Not family. “Sounds nice.” He admits quietly.

"So far nobody's run away screaming," Riley jokes, laughing awkwardly under her breath.

“With all the liquor, no one would be able to run a straight line.” Zach jokes, laughing slightly.

Riley snorts, hand barely making it up to her mouth to smother the sound, and ends up stifling a torrent of giggles in the process. All she can visualize is her beautiful, proper, and upstanding niece Becca trying to run away tipsy and it’s the funniest goddamn thing she could possibly imagine. So much so that it basically has her sagging against the wall. “That’s—” She cackles once more, trying to catch her breath. “That’s an excellent visual.”

Zach grins, the sight of her laughing at something he said is probably the most beautiful damn thing he’s ever seen. “You drink enough and tell me you can run straight. We used to drink all night and PT still drunk and it looked like we were bobbing and weaving enemy fire.”

"You paint a very vivid picture, Zach." She straight out giggles again. "And suddenly the idea of drunk PT is making me very glad I didn't end up serving."

“Yeah…” he shuffles again and gives a half grin. “It was interesting. Corporal Ivers said the beer shits motivated you to run faster.”

"I mean, I can definitely see that." From one of the racks built into the walls, Riley pulls a bottle of Statesman Blue Label - a bottle frequently shared in the Daniels family between friends or a family events. Since today sort of seems like both, it's sort of a safe choice to bring upstairs. "Have you ever had Statesman before?" She asks, not realizing her own unconscious attempt at stalling down here.

“No?” Zach admits with a small shrug. “Don’t know if I’ve really seen any besides the commercials. What kinds do you have?”

"We've got a couple of open bottles down here if you want to try?" Out in the main room, there is a bar with partial bottles worth looking through. "The Blue Label is a family favourite, but the Reserve is really good and there's a bottle of 2014 Select out there that was a really good batch. Notes of maple and vanilla with this cedar smokiness that makes me feel like I'm at a campfire in the woods every time."

“I’m really good at camping.” Zach is completely ironic and un-ironic at the same time. Camping was a part of life in the military, but the urban camping was the real adventure.

“Come on, then.” Feeling confident enough in herself to nab his hand to lead Zach out into the main room again, Riley still doesn’t look back at his face as she goes just in case he reacts poorly to the innocently flirtatious move. It’s not like she pinned him against a wall and stuck her tongue down his throat, but little touches can all add up to something fun. And Zach is extremely cute.

Shocked that she is holding his hand, Zach lets her lead him out of the whiskey room. Knowing that if she knew what he was, she would probably turn her nose up at him, he tries to just enjoy the moment. Huffing slightly as she yanks him forward. “I’m hurrying.” He promises, wondering what it is about her that relaxes him.

When he doesn’t pull away from her Riley allows herself a silent thrill and decides to open the decanter of 2014 Select and pour their shots with one hand. “Close your eyes and think of sneaking a flask into summer camp,” she tells him, offering him one of the shot glasses. Whether he chooses to shoot or sip, it’s going to be delicious either way.

“Sláinte” Zach offers, nodding to her before he puts the glass to his lips and tosses his head back. Letting the cooler than room temperature whiskey slide down his throat.

“Cheers.” This is the one time she does look him directly in the eye, remembering Jay teasing her about how you have to look someone in the eye when you drink with them or it’s seven years bad sex.

“That is….” Zach feels the burn, the warm heat sliding down his throat, but the normal wince doesn’t come. “Smooth.” He murmurs, looking at the shot glass and then back to her. “Damned smooth.”

“Isn’t it incredible?” There’s a reason this one is her favorite. It’s the ultimate hug, in Riley’s opinion. “When Sam and I turned twenty-one, we made s’mores shots with it.”

“S’mores shots, huh?” Zach huffs and shakes his head. She made drinks out of this instead of just drinking it? “Sounds fun.”

“We were twenty-one,” Riley shrugs like it was a long time ago when she sees the doubt in his eyes. “Everything had to have chocolate in it in order to be good.”

“Chocolate is good at any age.” Zach argues, although it’s been a long time since he’s had chocolate.

“You’re not wrong.” She smiles a little, feeling silly for all of this — this whole attempt to flirt a little or whatever the hell it is she’s been doing. Riley clears her throat, pouring them each another shot and handing him his glass.

“Thanks.” Zach murmurs, feeling his heart race when their fingers brush. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been offered a drink and a nice evening.”

There’s a moment where she could swear she sees him gulp down a breath, but it’s probably wishful thinking. Just projecting her own attraction onto him. Even so, she flusters at the sentiment. “Any time,” Riley murmurs with a grin. “Any time at all.”

“To—” Zach completely blanks out, the idea of saying something charming and witty completely failing him. He doesn’t flirt, or at least, he hadn’t in a long time. “Not choking to death on a chip.” He manages with a roll of his eyes.

Riley grins, letting out a small giggle at that, and holds up her glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

At least she hadn’t thought he was completely insane. The tips of the shot glasses clink together and Zach feels the way his entire body relaxes as the next shot goes down even smoother than the first. Riley hums at the warmth as it spreads through her limbs, just letting her enjoy the moment for what it is. Brand new attraction is something to relish after all, even if it’s fleeting or one sided. Nothing is more fun than feeling those first tugs of want.

Zach leans in, about to make a comment about how good it feels to relax when the door upstairs opens. Making him stiffen and rocks back to put the proper space between them again. Reminding himself that he’s a guest, one that is a surprise. “Ri? You down here sweetheart?” The voice of her father comes down the stairs as boots descend and Zach can hear the censure in his voice. Asking why she’s alone with the homeless man his son had dragged back to their picture-perfect home. Maybe even wondering if he’s pocketed something valuable down here.

"Just showing Zach the cellar, Dad!" Riley calls back, almost straight out laughing to herself at the timing. Right as Zach was starting to relax and she had discovered that gorgeous dimple in his cheek, her father's tingling Spy Sense had gone off. "Is dinner ready?"

“Yeah everything’s ready.” Jack descends to where he can see his daughter and the newcomer. “Let’s go eat so Junior can take Zach to Ginger.”

"Sure thing." The drawn look of suspicion on his face lightens when Riley doesn't protest or try to stall, setting down her shot glass and nodding toward the stairs for Zach to follow. After all, it's not as though she was really trying to seduce him. She wouldn't have been mad about it, but she wasn't really trying.

Jack watches the boy – man – he’s not a boy. It’s almost visible the way that his guard goes up, nearly making Jack relax slightly. There’s something about him that he wants to nurture, protect. Like he was one of his own kids. Junior told him quietly about the vet saving his skin, how he had been sleeping in the park that Junior had been chased through. His heart was compassionate, but still, where his children are concerned - he’s cautious. “Hope you like burgers.” He offers. “Plus we fried up some bacon and it’s perfect with the missus’ guacamole.”

Riley groans, the vibrating sound of hunger unapologetic as she nabs Zach’s hand again to lead him upstairs. “A bacon guac burger sounds amazing!”

Jack’s brows quirk under his Stetson, but he doesn’t comment on his daughter holding Zach’s hand. “Well, come on then.” He grunts at her. “Get your tail up here before the boys eat all of it.”

******

The meal is as exuberant and good natured as a Daniels family get together always is, with everyone nursing groaningly full stomach by the end. Everybody gets a clean up job to make things go faster, and after Junior and Zach help to clear the table the oldest Daniels boy gives his wife a kiss and promises they’ll be back soon. “C’mon,” he nods to Zach, swiping up his Stetson from where he had been sitting. “We gotta go see a lady about some arrangements for you.”

“You don’t have to go out of the way for me.” The anticipation of a gentle letdown is already hanging in the air and Zach moves towards the bag that is still in the back of the truck. “I can just hitch a ride out of town. The meal was enough.”

“It’s my boss,” Junior explains, always knowing his family would disown him if he just let Zach wander out of Louisville without help. Especially Riley. “She wants to meet you.”

“I didn’t get you into any trouble, did I?” He hadn’t expected the lack of police investigation, or the way that he had nonchalantly told whoever was in his ear about killing people, but he doesn’t want the man to lose his job.

“Not at all. If anything, Ginger’s impressed.” They climb into the truck together and head back toward the highway, bound for Statesman’s main offices. When Ginger Ale had taken over the running of Statesman from Champ ten or so years ago, the only person who was surprised at the offer was Ginger herself. Since then she’s led the agency fearlessly and honorably, giving the whole place a new sense of vibrancy.

Zach highly doubts that, but it’s easier to just go along right now. He can always leave later on when the boss is yelling at him. “Well, that’s something.”

The drive doesn't take long, just a reversal of the route they drove earlier from the airstrip out to the ranch after landing. At this time of night there aren't many people around and the cars in the lot are few, but Junior parks in a spot by the front entrance and grabs his hat again after throwing the gearshift into park. "C'mon," he encourages, as though it's his catchphrase or something. "Top floor. Right in the bottle cap."

“Well that’s a hell of a view.” Zach looks up at the large building that looks exactly like a whiskey bottle. It’s definitely a statement although he’s not quite sure what it says.

The barrel-shaped elevators give him a good chuckle, and by the time Junior is strolling into Ginger's office with a contented smile, he's pretty sure he knows how this is going to go. "Evenin', Ma'am," Junior drawls, waving Zach into the office behind him.

"Jack." Ginger looks up over the rim of her glasses at the younger Jack Daniels before her eyes move over to the more tentative man behind him. "And this would be Corporal Wellison, yes? Shut the door behind you and have a seat, gentlemen.”

Zach is unsure if he should salute the older woman, but he refrains. He’s not in uniform anymore, nor is he a corporal in the Marines. “Ma’am.” He offers politely, wondering if all the woman are just unreasonably beautiful around here. This Ginger looks like she could have modeled, even now.

“I understand I owe you some thanks.” Ginger looks to Zach directly, her steepled fingers peaking under her chin. “Jack here is one of the best men in my operation and I don’t like to think of what I’ll have to do when I don’t have him at hand any longer.”

“I didn’t do anything special.” The small shrug of Zach’s shoulders isn’t to dismiss Ginger, he had just assessed the situation and chose a side. Apparently, he had picked the right one. “Sometimes back up in a firefight is necessary when you’re pinned down.”

“That’s exactly my feeling.” She nods, looking between the two men. For the last hour she’s been absorbing Corporal Wellison’s file and reading through reports from the clean-up team that deployed to LA. A full background check on the former Marine had been very enlightening. “And it a appears that you’re a very good man to have as back up.”

“I was a Marine.” There is a bit of pride in his tone. “We didn’t leave anyone behind on the battlefield.” In real life was another story, but she isn’t interest in that.

"You're a Marine with an exceptional record and impressive marksmanship." She can't deny that, nor would she even under other circumstances. Of course Statesman had active recruitment processes, but sometimes candidates just fell right into their lap. "I understand that circumstances haven't exactly been favourable for you since you returned stateside." Ginger shifts in her large chair, moving his file forward on her desk for him to see. To show him that she's been looking into him, unapologetically. "From what I've heard and what I've read, I'd like to extend an invitation to you. Call it...an application process. Our own version of boot camp, if you will. We have room for two more people on our team here and if you're inclined? I think you'd be an excellent fit."

Zach’s eyes narrow suspiciously. The idea of boot camp had the wheels in his head turning. “Recruited for what exactly?” He asks. “I was told this is a distillery not a Blackwater group.” He looks over at Junior and wonders what the fuck he’s gotten involved with. “I’m not a merc.”

"No, you're not." A smile tugs at the corners of Ginger's lips as she sits back. "You're a gunslinger. Choosing your battles and covering a victim when you see him being pursued in a park," she gestures at Jack, knowing he isn't innocent or a victim in any way but for the purposes of this exercise. "You sound like a cowboy to me. And if you'll sign on the dotted line..." An NDA seems to materialize on the top of her desk as if from nowhere. "I'd like to introduce you to the other side of what Statesman is all about."

Seconds tick by. Probably the longest twenty seconds of his entire life. Another glance at Junior doesn’t reveal anything beyond the man’s desire for him to sign the paper. Then his eyes find Ginger. Watching her carefully and there’s a slight edge of challenge in her gaze. Enough that Zach is leaning forward and taking the pen to scrawl his signature on the line.

A quick glance down at the paper and Ginger's photographic memory are all she needs to know that that signature matches up with the others of his that she'd seen and this young man is indeed who he says he is. Good. She had been right about him being upstanding - most people would think there was no cause to lie about who you are when you have nothing, but she had found that that was exactly when people started to bend their stories to suit their situations. "Statesman is an independence intelligence agency," she explains, pressing a button on her desk that causes control panels and monitors to appear from behind previously mundane panels of wood around her. "And Jack Junior here is one of our finest agents."

He is struck dumb for a moment, eyes wide as he absorbs the way the room shifts and he frowns slightly as a million different questions pop up in his head. “Independent intelligent agency…” He repeats slowly as if he is weighing his words and reconciling them with what he is seeing. “So those men chasing you…” he turns to Junior for a full explanation.

“Were thugs hired by a human trafficking operation.” Junior sits back in his chair, tilting his Stetson back a little so there is no question that he is looking Zach in the eye while he tells him the honest truth. “They didn’t take kindly to my partner and I posing as buyers to get those girls back to their families. I drew the short straw - pulling their firepower away so the others could get to safety.”

“Then I’m glad I picked up that gun.” Zach scowls angrily at the idea of human trafficking. He’s seen a lot of that shit while he was on the streets and there was nothing he could do.

“It’s not always big operations.” Ginger warns him, seeing the righteousness in the young man’s eyes. “Sometimes it’s small. Observation. Or escorting people who have no way to protect themselves. Sometimes it’s intelligence gathering or undercover work.” Clearly proud of her agents, she does tilt her head a little and smile. “But it pays a hell of a lot better than law enforcement does and doesn’t have to answer to whatever yokel is in office at the time. We operate only on what we see as benefitting of our time. And frankly? We’re damn good.”

“And you want me?” He asks, lifting a brow as if he can’t believe it. He can’t. After the military, no one wanted him. He was used up and slightly bitter about that fact.

“I went over your service record and your background check while you were with Agent Absinthe, and on paper you’re a perfect candidate.” A part of that, unfortunately, is his utter lack of family or friend attachments. Not even a job to put his notice in at or an apartment to pack up. But for those unfortunate circumstances, Statesman could offer him a place to live with a steady paycheck and a proverbial family to have his back. “If you go through the training and decide that being a field agent isn’t for you, we have plenty of secure jobs on the ground as well.” Ginger folds her hands in front of her on her desk and smiles - something her predecessor rarely did but she thinks Zach might find comforting. “You can say no, of course. But not everyone gets a second chance at life. I sincerely hope you take us up on it.”

A second chance at life. Zach remembers what Riley had said about her parents. Twenty years without each other, one thinking that the other and the baby were dead. Only to find each other again and pick up where they left off. He wonders if he could get back a little of the man he had been before. The gun hadn’t felt as heavy in his hands the last time he turned one in with the military. It had felt right, even better now that he knew what kind of scum he had dispatched to hell. “Not like I don’t have some free time in my schedule.” He reasons, giving a slight shrug. “Might be interesting to see what kind of training you’re talking about.”

“Hot damn.” Junior laughs out loud, reaching out to slap Zach’s shoulder gleefully. “Didn’t I tell you, Ging? I knew he’d be in for it!”

“Keep it in your pants, Jack,” Ginger chuckles. It’s definitely not the first time she’s said that to a man named Jack Daniels. “Jack can show you to temporary quarters until we get your housing sorted out. There’s a cafeteria on the bottom floor of this building that feeds employees three meals a day for free, and I’ll have a company ID delivered to your room overnight. Both of you report to the training grounds at 0800 tomorrow. Any other questions for now?”

“I—” Zach stops for a moment, gathering his thoughts and then he starts again. “Thank you.” He offers quietly, aware that this invitation did not have to be extended. “Is there anything I need?” He doesn’t have a lot, but maybe his old running shoes he’s been wearing for the last four years will hold up.

“We have some things ready for you in your room to get you through until your first paycheck is cut.” She had a feeling he’d say yes based on how Jack had told the story of their encounter, but she doesn’t really want to overwhelm the young man by letting him know that the room is the extremely comfortable visiting agent’s apartment on the fourth floor, not just a room with a bed. It’s fully furnished and packed with clothes in a variety of sizes so that he’ll be able to find things that fit without having to ask for help. A little dignity, at least until they had him situated in a permanent residence. “Anything in the space you’ll be staying in, is there for you to use.”

“Thank you again.” He’s a little overwhelmed at this point. Barely hanging on to his emotions. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“I don’t expect you will, Zach.” Standing almost in unison, Ginger extends her hand to the young man and can practically feel the vibrations coming off of him. Tomorrow will be a very big day for Zach Wellison, it seems. “I sincerely hope you don’t have an aversion for Stetsons, because we’re going to have you wearing one in no time.”

“Never worn one.” He admits with a grin. “Unless you count when I was two.” There’s a few pictures he had from his childhood, one of them is him in his diaper and a cowboy hat.

"Well, we'll fix that soon enough." She nods when he takes her hand, acknowledging the leap of faith he's taken tonight. Not everyone could do it – they'd deny or lash out or even be upset at the revelation. But she has a good feeling about this man. "0800, gentlemen. I'll let Tequila know to expect you."

Even though it is her office, in the blink of an eye, Ginger has disappeared. Leaving Zach slightly bewildered until he notices the hidden door off to the side. He had been battling the intense emotions and near teared up and she was just…gone. “Now what?” Zach asks Junior.

"I can show you where you'll be staying, if you like." He offers, stepping out from the area surrounding his chair to stretch his legs. "It's an apartment a few floors down. Usually used for visiting agents from the New York office, but that just means it's ready for you now at a moment's notice."

“Are you sure I’m not putting anyone out?” Zach asks. “I thought Ginger said I would be sharing a room?” He doesn’t want any treatment that would have him set apart from everyone else.

“If you’d rather stay on the ranch, that’s fine.” It wouldn’t be the first time that either he or his father had taken in someone to stay for a while, and he knows that there is plenty of room. “Might be less lonesome.”

“There’s no way you have the room at your place, not with three kids.” He would offer to sleep on the sofa, but then people would be tip toeing around him and he didn’t want that either.

"My parents have room at the big house." Out of Ginger's office and back through the hall, Junior presses the call button on the elevator and leans against the wall. Now that Zach has accepted the invitation to stay and try Statesman on for size, he is fully relaxed. "They keep a guest room ready and Mom loves to have visitors, so it wouldn't be imposing." He shrugs nonchalantly. "Dad was a legend when he was a field agent. I'm sure he'd love a chance to bust out some old stories for someone who hasn't heard them a hundred times."

“No wonder your mom was wary about answering questions about his job.” Zach murmurs, understanding now that the entire family is in this business.

"The title of CEO is a cover for senior field agent," Junior explains when the elevator doors open. "There's all kinds of corresponding titles for civilian jobs to agency jobs." He jabs the button for the bottom floor, sure that Zach would prefer to stay at the ranch than alone in the Statesman building. "And, of course, there's some jobs that are just civilian. Like my sister Sam and her wife Vanessa? They really are both distillers."

“But not Riley?” Zach sneaks a glance over at Junior as he asks, trying to be casual about it.

The older man stifles a smirk, keeping his face totally neutral as Zach tries to be stealthy in asking about the woman he spent nearly every second of tonight with. It was abundantly obvious that Riley was attracted to Zach right off the bat, but it seems that the feeling is mutual. "Riley is in Research and Development," he explains, affecting a bored tone. His sister's work has been invaluable, actually. "She's technically an agent, but not a field agent."

He’s slightly relieved, happy she’s not getting chased or shot at. Maybe slightly rooted in that old school belief that women should be kept safe, although he has a hell of a lot of respect for women in authority. “That’s good. She’s a smart lady.”

"You guys seemed to get along pretty well." Junior cracks a grin, but in all honesty he's okay with it. Zach got dealt a shitty hand by life. Not because he made bad choices but because the system failed him. Now, hopefully, a new system could give him a better chance.

Zach immediately rounds his shoulders, aware that he should have kept his distance from Junior’s sister. “You don’t have to worry, man.” He murmurs. “I hear you.” All he can think about is that Junior is warning him off and he can’t mess up this chance.

"Hear me?" The grin disappears from his face, replaced by an expression of worry, wondering if he said something he shouldn't have. If Zach had taken something differently than he meant it. "No, man. No. That's not—" He shakes his head twice as they wait for the elevator to come to a full stop. "She's a grown ass woman. And she obviously likes you a lot. Ri's never been very good at hiding that kind of thing. There's no...warning here, or anything. I wouldn't have left you guys alone together or brought you to meet my family in the first place if I objected to something about you, Zach."

Zach snorts, not believing that. “Yeah, because you want your little sister to be interested in a homeless bum.” The doors to the elevator open and he quickly steps off, angry – mostly at himself – about how this is going.

"As of five minutes ago, you're Statesman." Junior reminds him as they walk to the truck. "Listen, I— I've never been homeless. But I know what it's like to have no sense of your future and the hopelessness of not being able to grasp a real life." He unlocks his pick up and waves Zach in, sighing a little as he shoves his key in the ignition. "Until I was twenty-four, my mother and I were in Witness Protection. Every single thing about my life was a lie. We were relocated five different times because the people after her kept finding us. It was...terrifying. So I know it's not the same, but I also know that you didn't ask for it just like we didn't ask for what happened to us. It can take a while to adjust to something new. Just...I'm asking you to believe that we don't think less of you. Our family knows what it's like to not be able to make your own decisions about life. And it's no one else's business what you were doing before you came to Statesman. No one here comes from the perfect life. No one."

Shame isn’t something that Zach is unfamiliar with, but it’s been a long time since someone made him feel that way because they were being kind. “‘m sorry.” He apologizes quietly. “When you’ve been kicked long enough, you feel like you deserve it. You expect it.”

"I know that feeling." For as much as you ever shielded him growing up, Junior had had plenty of his own battles to fight in every place you had been moved around to. Just because it wasn't exactly the same circumstance as Zach's, didn't mean he couldn't relate. "I don't expect you to turn on a dime and readjust to a new life instantly. That's...that's incredibly unrealistic. Just try to keep an open mind, that's all."

“I’ll try.” Zach tries for a sheepish grin. “Pretty hardheaded sometimes.” He admits with a shrug of his shoulders. “Jarhead is a Marine nickname for a reason.”

"That's fair enough." Junior chuckles as he backs out of the parking spot. "Daniels' are hardheaded and we don't even have an excuse."

He can’t help but snort at that, having experienced it firsthand when dealing with Junior. “I guess it must be in the blood for some.” He murmurs quietly. “Are you sure your folks would be okay with me staying with them? I don’t want to put an agent out of their place. Just give me a sofa or a cot in a back room and I’ll be better than I was.”

“That guest room is sitting empty waiting to be filled,” Junior promises. “I can swear to you the original occupant isn’t coming back for it, since it used to be mine.” Jack had kept the room at the ready for his son for a long time just as a symbol, even after Junior and Janey’s house on the ranch was full of kids. “We can call ‘em from the road if you’d like? So they know to expect you?”

“Just to make sure.” The last thing Zach wants is for there to be some reason you didn’t want him there. Or couldn’t have him. It would just embarrass him even more.

Confident in his plan, the older man uses the truck’s communications panel - a Statesman must-have - to call the ranch, and grins when his father picks up. “Hey Dad,” Junior hums as he drives. “Question for ya.”

“Junior.” Jack’s voice rings out warmly in the speakers. “Shoot. you know I always have time to answer any questions you have.” Since coming back into his life, Jack has made forging and strengthening the relationship between himself and his eldest his priority. Trying to make up for missing the first half of his life.

“It’s not that serious, Pop. I promise.” The younger Jack Daniels chuckles. “Would you and Mom be alright with hosting Zach until Ginger gets his housing squared away? He starts training tomorrow morning.”

“So he accepted?” Jack chuckles, proud of his boy for finding the next wave of talent for Statesman. “Good, good. Of course, we’d be happy to have him here. Your mother needs someone to fuss over beside me.” He’s aware that Zach has to be within earshot and while he’s protective of his girls, he’s aware he can’t meddle in their affairs. You point out what a manwhore he had been when he thought you were gone. It’s not fair for him to coddle her as his last unmarried child.

“That’s what I was thinking you’d say.” Junior grins, flashing Zach a thumbs up. There’s no point in saying an ‘I told you so’ when the outcome is a good one and the concern was only polite. “We’re on our way back to the ranch now. Shouldn’t be more than a couple of days for everything to be set. You know how fast Ginger works.”

“Boy’s welcome to stay as long as he’d like.” Jack assures him, wanting to make sure the message is clear. “You know we always enjoy company and I can get a feel for how trainin’ is goin’, give him a few tips.”

“You mean give him tricks so he can get one up on Tequila?” He laughs softly at his father’s enthusiasm, glad to see that he was exactly right about how this would go. So far, at least. “We’ll see you in about ten minutes. Thanks, Dad.”

When Junior ends the call, Zach exhales audibly, relieved that he had been right. It didn’t sound like Jack was wary, and that did wonders to relieve his anxiety. After being invisible for so long, it seems almost jarring to be so in the spotlight. “So, I take it he knew what you wanted to do with me?” He asks, wondering if Junior brought home people all the time.

“Every once in a while, one of us will get a feeling about someone.” It wasn’t terribly common, meaning that whenever it happened the recruit in question tended to get a bit more attention and training, but it certainly wasn’t unheard of. “The agent in charge of training – Tequila? That’s how he came in. Guy used to be a rodeo clown back in the day.”

“A…rodeo clown…” Zach says slowly, grinning slightly at the mental image. “That’s one hell of a job. I’ve never even been to a rodeo.”

“Oh, we’ll fix that soon enough.” The grin that Junior flashes him is mischievous. “Riley loves the rodeo. I’m sure she’d take you.”

“I’m pretty much assuming everyone in your family is familiar with horses or ranch life.” Zach had been a city kid and it wasn’t like he was riding horses in Iraq and Afghanistan in the middle of a war zone.

“It’s definitely a big part of life. The cowboy thing was never something that I felt attached to before coming here, but it grows on you.” After spending a full half of his life in Louisville with Statesman, Junior had come to view it as a way of life. A set of principles to live by. And though his kids were all growing up in a modern world that seemed to move faster than light, the core of their family was always respect and freedom – two things that Statesman valued as well.

“I’ve never even been around a horse.” Zach admits. “Not unless you count a Great Dane.”

Junior laughs, smacking his hand on the steering wheel as he drives. “They’re damn near pony-sized, I’ll give you that. But horses are beautiful creatures. You should give it a try while you’re at the ranch.”

“I—okay.” Zach nods, aware that this is surreal. Nothing in his entire existence prepared him for cowboy spies, although the westerns he had seen flipping through channels as a child makes him think of a romanticized version of it. A more friendly Bond.

“You’ve been to war, Zach.” Junior shoots him an encouraging smile. “I promise you can manage a horse.”

"Somehow I think a living breathing animal is a little different from the Humvees we rode in." Zach snorts, appreciating the vote of confidence. "Although I could say that one of them did buck me when it flipped with me inside."

“See? You’re already an old pro.” It’s nice to be able to laugh with Zach now, even only hours after meeting him. Earlier today he had been understandably caged. Guarded. And of course – his everyday survival depended on self-reliance in every way. It’s good to see those barriers already cracking under the gentle touch of kindness and good faith. “You’ll be a cowboy in no time.”

“I don’t know about that.” He huffs. “I’ll settle for ‘regularly showered’ for right now.”

******

The rest of the drive passes easily enough, this time with Junior pointing out a few favourite sights and restaurants from the road, and soon enough they’re back at the big house. There’s a lot less bustling activity going on now that most people have gone home for the evening or moved on to nighttime activities, but the kitchen is still brightly lit when Junior opens the front door. “We’re back!” He calls, though the path of light in the house shows exactly where everybody is.

“In the kitchen, sweetie!” Your voice rings out, and laughter from two different people rings out almost immediately.

“They must be playing cards or a board game.” Junior tells Zach, already headed in that direction. “Riley and Mom are Scrabble fiends. Dad prefers poker.”

Nodding, Zach shrugs. “I’ve been a card player during my time in the Marines.” He had never played for anything more than fun, or beers, but he had fond memories of nights in his unit playing while pretending they weren’t in danger.

"Dad will be glad to have another vote for cards." With a clap on the back, Junior strolls into the kitchen and immediately goes to say hello to you and Jack. "Ginger's said yes," he reports with a grin. "Say hello to Statesman's newest recruit."

Jack leans back in his chair and grins at the younger man who looks like he's had his world turned upside down. Hopefully that will be the best damn thing to happen to him. "Pull up a chair, son. We'll get you a glass of whiskey and I'll tell you all about some of the missions we've run."

"Told you," Junior laughs, flashing a smirk at Zach.

"You love your stories too," you remind Junior, already hustling to pull up two more chairs at the table. "Like father, like son. Always."

"Bond in a Stetson?" Zach asks as he sits down, glancing over at the older couple.

"That's what I called him the day we found out what it was Jack had been doing." You tell him, patting the back of a chair as Riley disappears down the hallway with a grin on her face. "Cowboy James Bond. It didn't take long for Junior to follow in his father's footsteps. Statesman's been a blessing to our family in every single way."

"Were you recruited from the Navy, sir?" Zach isn't very clear on the timeline for everything, but he wonders if Statesman had been sniffing around military branches for most of their agents or if civilians like Tequila dropped into their laps in equal measure.

"You could say that." Jack's laugh is deep and amused at that, considering the circumstances. "I was recruited from the brig on the verge of a dishonorable discharge. Champ – our old director – he liked a rebel when they had a good cause. But me?" He shakes his head. "I was angry at the world for taking away my sweetheart and little boy. It wasn't a good place for a man to be in. Any man."

"I couldn't even imagine." Zach had been single when he hit rock bottom, he couldn't even fathom what it would have been like to lose a significant other. Especially when pregnant. He might not have survived that, so it speaks to how damn tough Jack Daniels Senior is.

"Junior was twenty-four when Statesman took over our case from the US Marshals." You explain, knowing that your children had already mentioned your time in WITSEC to Zach over the course of the night. "Champ got wind that we were being moved again and stepped in. He sent Jack to pick us up and relocate us here instead."

"And the rest is history." Riley reappears from around the corner with a bottle of Statesman Blue Label in hand and deposits it on the table with a stack of glasses.

"Happy ever after." Zach murmurs, unsure of what that would ever entail for him or if it was even in the cards. He's never really known what he wanted out of life, kind of aimless if he were completely honest with himself.

"Happy ever after." You hum in agreement and lean over to kiss Jack's cheek. "Which we never thought we would get, honestly."

It's probably the most relaxing evening Zach has experienced in a long fucking time. Drinking his fair share of that bottle, he grins as he leans back. His stomach is full because you had insisted that nine o'clock snacks were perfect. Laughing at another story that Jack Senior has told about a time where his ass was in a jam and Tequila, the man who was training him tomorrow, had pulled it out of the fire. "You got them though, right?"

"Statesman agents always get their man." Riley tells him proudly, chin up in the air as she tips back the last of her glass. She may be unsubtly playing on the fact that she, too, is an agent of Statesman, but mostly she's just proud of her father and brother. "Always."

"So don't fuck up." Zach chuckles, shooting you a sheepish look. "Sorry, ma'am." He offers, hating that he had cursed in front of you. You seem like a wonderful woman, but he wants to give you the impression he has manners. He's staying in your house after all.

"No need to apologize for cursing." It earns him a waved hand from you, and a smirk. "We swear up a damn storm in this house. Don't think otherwise." Though you hadn't done it while the kids were young, and generally reserved that vocabulary for when it really counted, that didn't mean you never swore.

Riley laughs and Junior sighs as he leans back. "I should get back to the house. Janey is waiting." He smirks, although it's one of those soft ones that men think that no one else notices when they've been promised sexy times.

"Gross." Riley gripes, swatting at her brother and rolling her eyes heavily even as she snorts a laugh. "Go be domestic and happy or whatever, I guess. I'll retire to my spinster's room and do something dangerous like read a book."

"Can't be readin' now." Jack winks at his daughter and shakes his head. "You're already smarter than everyone, 'cept maybe Ginger."

"Oh no." Another roll of her eyes is fully sarcastic and Riley squeezes her father's shoulder affectionately. "A smart daughter? Whatever will you do with me?"

You just laugh, shaking your head at the two of them and reaching over to pat Riley's hand on her father's shoulder. "Will you show Zach the guest room before you turn in, honey? Show him where everything is?"

"Sure, mama." She bends to hug both of her parents and affectionately nudge Junior's shoulder before turning to Zach. "You ready to turn in, cowboy?"

“I should get some sleep.” Junior had brought Zach’s bag in and told him that everything he needed was in the room. He assumes that means he had let him borrow some more clothes. “I start at eight tomorrow morning.”

"With Tequila, that means more like 8:15. He's not exactly a morning person." You smile, though, and say good night to Zach once more before he follows Riley upstairs.

“So you develop more than just tech for the distillery.” Zach hums. “I thought it was a very impressive system for just whiskey.”

"I would protect that whiskey with my life," Riley tells him with her hand on her heart. "But yes. Agent Grenadine, at your service."

“Agent Grenadine.” He likes that, it’s sweet like she seems to be. A good additive to any cocktail. “I like that.”

"Active field agents are liquors. Ground agents have slightly less pungent names." She giggles at her own joke. "Our boss? Agent Ginger Ale. She was R&D like me before taking over as director."

“Smart. Easy to identify.” Zach absorbs that information. “So that means my trainer is still a field agent?” He asks, wanting to know what to expect tomorrow.

“Tequila still works in the field from time to time, but he mostly trains now.” At the top of the stairs, Riley turned right into a large bathroom with two sinks built into the counter and a bath/shower combo big enough to fit three if the need ever arose. “He’s a good guy. Sense of humor, pretty positive outlook considering the man is a secret agent,” she smirks about that. “He was my brother’s partner for a long time. Sam and I called him Uncle Tequila for years.”

“Sounds like he worked with your dad too.” If he has any questions of why she is bringing him into a bathroom, he doesn’t ask. Just quickly and discreetly ducks his head to sniff himself. It’s been a while since he’s had that shower on the jet, but he should still be okay.

“Towels in the closet, soaps and stuff under the sink.” She says casually before ducking out of the room again and heading down the hall. “Yeah, Dad helped train him. They’re thick as thieves.”

Ahhhh, he’s getting a quick tour. He follows her quickly and chuckles. “So I can expect him to get a progress report on my training.”

“Especially since you’re staying here.” The grin that Riley flashes him is playful, and she stops in front of a bedroom with the door wide open and fresh sheets in the bed. “This is you,” she tells him. “My parents and Sam’s room are on the other side of the landing. But I’m right next door if you need anything.”

“I thought Sam lived off property?” He doesn’t care who is here, it’s not his house, but he just didn’t want to run into anyone on the way to the bathroom or something.

“She does, but she only moved out about two years ago and Dad has a thing about leaving our rooms set up. Jay’s was in tact until I left for college and he hasn’t lived in the big house since he and Janey got married.” Pointing out the window, they can make out the top of the cabin over the tree line across the main property. “The cabin was their wedding present.”

“Wow.” Zach is definitely impressed. “Did he build Sam and her wife a cabin too?”

"Sam moved into Vanessa's house when they got engaged." Riley steps into the room, giving them time to talk some more if they want it. "Their wedding present was their honeymoon...and while they were away he had their backyard redone for them and a pool put in along with fixing up Vanessa's work shed. Dad...tends to go overboard."

Zach lifts a brow and looks around the room that was very obviously set up for a boy in a gorgeous shade of green. “You mean building a house as a tribute isn’t what most people do?”

"I don't know about most people, but it is if you're Jack Daniels." Riley looks out over the property, fidgeting with her hands shoved in her jeans pockets. It's always been the dream – at least for her. To grow up and have her own little cabin with her own partner on the ranch where her tight knit family has grown and prospered. Maybe it's old fashioned, but sometimes old fashioned really isn't a bad thing. The city just wasn't for her. She had tried it and found out that she's just a country girl at heart.

“It’s touching.” Zach doesn’t want her to think he’s insulting the idea. “This is— hell, I’ve not ever been able to dream about a life like this for a long time, but back when I enlisted?” He shrugs and shakes his head, his own eyes finding the same view Riley is looking out at. “All I wanted was to find love and make a family.”

"It's kind of the dream around here." And it's not even something that she is going to be self-conscious about. It's her dream and it's a good one - just because it's not for everyone doesn't make it any less worthy for her. "Definitely what I want. But it's kind of hard when you have to be cagey about what you do for a living."

“Are you not allowed to tell a spouse?” He could see where that would cause issues. It might be a special set of circumstances for you since you had been protected by Statesman.

"We can tell our spouses. There's a clearance level for that." She shrugs slightly. "But it makes dating a little...awkward. Having to lie to someone right off the bat isn't really a great foundation for a relationship."

“I get that.” Zach feels bad for her. “You’ll find someone. You’re way too—” he bites his lip, hating that he had almost said that.

"Too...?" There was almost a compliment there, she's sure of it, and one eyebrow raises at Zach in question.

Zach rolls his eyes at himself. “Pick one. Pretty, smart, funny, loyal, kind.” He almost grumbles it. Sore that he’s meeting a woman he one thousand percent would be interested in when he is at his lowest and receiving a hand out from her family.

Riley flusters, biting her lip to hold back the fairly enormous smile threatening to overtake her face. "You too," she hums, leaning against the windowsill. "Pick one. Any of them. Except maybe sub out handsome for pretty."

Warmth spreads through his stomach and makes it flip pleasantly. “Look, I know—” he breaks off and shakes his head. “You should know your brother literally picked me up off the streets.” He admits quietly. “Yesterday I slept in a fucking park with a metal pipe for protection.”

"I'm sorry to hear that." It makes her swallow a little, not out of fear or concern but out of sympathy. Homelessness is a hell of an issue and she's not blind to how lucky she is to have a comfortable place to live and a well-paying job. "I know that's a big issue for vets coming back from combat, and..." Riley shakes her head slightly. "It doesn't make me think less of you, for the record. I mean, you served your country and you didn't deserve to be dropped on your ass when you came home."

He had a feeling she would pity him, but he shakes his head. “I don’t – I know that you aren’t trying to pity me, but I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, or whatever.” He’s so fucking bad at this. His hand slides out of his jeans to rub the back of his neck. “Just because I think you’re pretty doesn’t mean you have to think anything about me.”

"If you knew what I thought about you, you'd probably kick me out of the room." She admits with a slight cringe. "I'm sorry. I'm really fucking bad at this too, and I always have been. Why do you think I'm the only Daniels still single in a family full of people who tend to find romance very young?"

“Because you deserve better?” Zach shrugs, curiosity piqued now. “What do you think about me?” The worst thing she could think about him that he’s not already thought?

Riley huffs, caught between hoping he wouldn't ask and wondering what he would say if she actually told him. Her eyes drift down to her boots and the rug, not letting herself be so bold as to actually look him in the eyes in this moment. "I think you're about the most handsome man I've ever seen in my life," she admits, shoulders rounding in on themselves. "And it's...it's embarrassing to admit that I feel like I already know you somehow. Like you just feel familiar to me and I don't know why. But Sam said that's how meeting Vanessa felt to her and I can't get it out of my head."

“Are you sure you just don’t want to feel that way?” He won’t dismiss anyone’s feelings but he’s not ever been looked at like that before. “I’ll admit that you’re the first woman I’ve been— that I’ve just wondered about since I got back stateside really.”

"I thought she was bullshitting me." Riley confesses, looking up now even though it's tentative. "How can you know somebody before you've even met them, ya know? But then...I walked up to you and Jay tonight and it felt like the universe was kicking me in the teeth for doubting her. You just..." She sighs, finally looking up all the way to find his eyes. "This is going to sound so ridiculous. But I know that if I hugged you it would feel like coming home."

“It’s— it’s been a long damn time since I’ve had a hug.” Zach admits, pulling his other hand out of his pocket and opening his arms slightly as if to give her permission. “Only one way to find out if I suck at giving them.”

There's only a second of hesitation on her part as Riley tries to figure out if he's teasing her or not, but the look in his eyes is full of sincerity. She stands up straight up, pushing off from the wall to step forward the three strides it takes to reach him. Their arms fold around each other neatly and Riley inhales a ragged breath of surprise that couldn't be faked even by the more award-winning actor. It knocks the wind right out of her, how perfectly they fit together, and with him being several inches taller than her there is such a feeling of comfort and rightness that she could just break right down and cry. Goddamnit. Sam was telling the truth after all. Sometimes you just feel it.

Zach tilts his head, leaning his cheek on the top of her head and closing his eyes with a small sigh. The gesture is just perfect. Comforting and warm, making him relax more than anyone and anything else had tonight.

"You definitely don't suck at hugging," Riley finds herself chuckling softly even at her own reaction, tightening her arms around him just a little bit more.

“That’s good.” He murmurs softly. “I was worried about that.”

"No need to worry." Lifting her head is almost reluctant, but she readjusts against him to just barely look up and ends up nuzzled into his neck with this slight shift of their positions. It's more comfortable than she could have ever possibly thought as she sighs again without thinking.

Zach leans into it again, hesitant to break this wonderfully comforting embrace. Needing it more than he ever realized. A damn earthquake couldn't make her let go now, and Riley stays right where she is happily. Zach is a solid wall of comfort even with everything he's been through, and if she makes him feel half as relaxed as he is making her feel, then it was worth taking this leap of faith.

******

Zach groans, opening the door and shuffling inside. The biometric locks have been updated to include his thumbprint so he can come and go as he pleases, but Zach tries to be considerate. Sore and desperately needing a shower, he feels good about the progress and his footing here at Statesman.

The house is quiet. Only one car was in the driveway when he pulled up in the beat-up sedan that he'd bought off of a repair man's lot with part of his second paycheck. It didn't do much but get from Point A to Point B, but at least it did that. The only car in the driveway besides his right now is Riley's, which points to the elder Daniels' being out for the night. Friday nights are still their date nights after several decades of being together.

“Ri?” Zach closes the door to the house and looks around to see if she is downstairs.

"Down here!" The clacking of billiards balls can be heard and quiet music from the radio float up from the basement games room with the door open. "I've got cold beer!" She offers a second later, as if he needed more incentive to say hello.

“I’m gonna shower and I’ll be right down.” The grin that breaks out is purely in anticipation, he rushes towards the stairs so he can get into the bathroom to clean up. A Friday with Riley, some cold beer and billiards sounds like a perfect beginning to the weekend.

"Okay!" She calls back, not even knowing if he heard her or not. She's got the only pizza place that delivers out to the ranch on speed dial and two different six packs in the cellar refrigerator. If she had maybe known that staying home meant she'd have some time alone with Zach, she isn't trying to make it too obvious.

Being a Marine, he had showering down to less than five minutes. Throwing on some clean jeans and a t-shirt that seems to look better on him than it had on the hanger when he had picked up some new clothes. Smirking slightly as he starts down the stairs. “Need anything from up here?”

"Just some company." There's a smile in Riley's voice when she calls back to him. They've been moving towards things slowly. Small touches, lots of laughter and long talks. Star gazing in the fields, cuddling together watching movies in the living room. Holding hands like preteens. It's been sweet and innocent, and Riley is so deliriously smitten that she can't stop smiling anytime he's around.

“That I can do.” He promises, quickly bouncing down the stairs and smiling when he sees her. It’s been so fucking good. “Although I’m sore as shit.”

"Tequila's been running you pretty hard lately." She goes to the fridge to grab a beer for him and pops the cap off, dropping it into the jar nearby before handing the bottle over. "But that's good. It means he thinks you can take it."

Lifting the bottle in thanks, Zach takes a long swallow. “Yeah I can, but the man is like a machine.” He might be older than Zach, but Tequila can run circles around the former Marine when he wants to. “Said to look at fighting like a dance. Right before he kicked my ass.”

Riley snorts, starting to reset the pool table. "Bet he didn't tell you that he has awards from dance competitions, did he? He's such a fuckin' show off."

“That explains how he flipped me over and managed to not throw my ass on the ground.” Zach grumbles under his breath.

"Rodeo clown and..." This time when Riley laughs, she waggles her eyebrows. "Exotic dancer. Or so the legend says."

“I’d believe it.” He snorts and takes another sip of his beer. “He moves like he’s rolled his hips a few times.”

"Taking notice of his hips, were you?" It just makes her laugh, making even more suggestive faces at him as he pulls a pool cue off the wall.

“Best way to see how he’s going to attack.” Zach rolls his eyes at her playfully. “People who say watch the feet don’t understand you can’t faint where your core rotates.”

“See, this is why I’m not a field agent,” she laughs as she sips her own beer. “You’re talking combat and I just want to make dirty jokes.”

“Nothing wrong with a dirty joke.” The only reason he doesn’t feed into them is because he knows he will be thinking about that with Riley and she’s given zero indication she’s wanting something like that.

“I have never met a man less inclined to a dirty joke.” And it’s kind of a shame, from her point of view at least. These couple of weeks have been very sweet between them but she definitely has a raunchier sense of humor that she keeps in check around him. Originally it was just so that he wouldn’t feel like she was coming on to him constantly, but then it seemed like he just didn’t like dirty jokes at all.

Zach’s brow wings up and he pins her with a confused look. “What makes you say that?” He asks, slightly insulted by that idea. He had a twisted sense of humor, he’s just been trying to be respectful, still aware of stereotypes of people who were homeless.

"Well...I don't know..." she mumbles, suddenly feeling sheepish. "I normally have a pretty decent sense of humor but you never responded to any dirty joke in the beginning so I just stopped going for them. It seemed...less awkward? Although now it's very awkward."

“I’ve been trying not to make you—” Zach huffs at himself. “I didn’t want to push if you weren’t— if it wasn’t to that point yet.” His own tone is sheepish. “Wanted you to know I have manners and know how to treat a lady.”

The way she huffs at both of them and shakes her head, it's clear that she's trying not to laugh at the irony. They were both trying so hard not to make each other uncomfortable that it led to an awkward conversation instead. "The first night you were here," Riley leans back against the pool table and sighs in resignation. "You let me in just a little bit. To hug you? That was already the third time I wanted to kiss you."

There hasn’t been a night where he hadn’t wanted to kiss her, but he had always felt like Riley should make that move. “I wanted— I didn’t deserve to— but I wanted to kiss you too. I want to kiss you now. Hell—” he chuckles and shakes his head. “I want to do a lot more than kiss you.”

When Riley laughs this time it's almost pained, like the irony of the situation is just a knife in her side by now. "Do you know how many times I've had to stop myself from coincidentally being in the shower or changing with my door half open or any other horny bullshit on Friday nights when it's just us at home? Just to give you the opening?"

“I wouldn’t have taken it.” Zach can admit that to her, to himself. “Because I don’t want you to believe I don’t respect you. Or just want to get off.”

"What about now?" Now that he knows she wants him, surely that changes things? Or at least she desperately hopes that it does, because she's been aching to do more than hold his hand for weeks.

He sets the cue stick down and steps towards Riley, his eyes fixed on hers. “That depends on what you want.” He murmurs, edging closer again. “All depends on you.”

"Me?" The smirk growing across her face belies the way she squirms, backed up against the table as he takes a step closer and moves into her space. If he only knew how many times she had imagined this. "I respect the hell out of you." Riley swallows a laugh. "But I also want to know what you look like when you cum."

“Probably a mess.” Zach chuckles, cock twitching at the idea. “Sweaty and satisfied, nearly weak from cumming so hard.” He shrugs one shoulder. “It’s been a while since I’ve had something other than my hand.”

"You're not making it sound less appealing, ya know." If anything, he's making that weeks-old ache between her thighs even worse. Riley has seen him sweaty and disheveled from training a dozen times or more and each time has ended up with her hand between her thighs in bed that night.

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought of you while I was showering?” He confesses, reaching out and brushing his fingers over her hip before settling his hand there. Still moving slow, but his gaze is hungry, his voice lust rough.

"About half as many times as I've thought about you with my fingers buried in my pussy?" With no real reason to be subtle about it, and her pulse going about a thousand miles an hour, Riley throws caution to the wind and tangles her hand in Zach's shirt before leading him into the space between her legs. Letting him get as close as possible with clothes on but not going all the way to kissing him. Letting him decide whether or not he's ready to cross that physical barrier.

Zach lets out a cross between a groan and a growl, lunging forward and capturing her lips with his. The other hand not on her waist wraps around her back and tugs her close even as he presses her against the table behind her. For all the hundreds of daydreams she has had about this moment leading up to it, Riley can’t pick a single one of them that stands up to what actually kissing him feels like. A month of working out daily and eating right has made his entire frame broad and strong again, and he envelopes her with every inch of himself as she scrambles to wrap her arms around him in turn. There is no hesitation in the kiss, just fierce hunger, and she moans into it with a need that makes her whole body shiver.

The slide of his tongue into her mouth is natural, almost like breathing. Slowly and sensually exploring the contours of her mouth like it’s a wonder of the world. Riley was already hanging on by a bare thread before Zach deepened the kiss, now she’s one hundred percent certain that she doesn’t have a ghost of a prayer at retaining her self-control. She whimpers this time, one hand finding the curls at the base of Zach’s neck, tugging on them insistently while her other hand starts to map the contours of his waist and chest over his clothes.

He groans, eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as he knows that she feels the hardening of his cock against her stomach. There’s no way she couldn’t. The way her back has bowed slightly from being pressed up against the table means that some things are even more pronounced, and Riley tilts her hips forward to get more of that gorgeous pressure from his length against her torso. If he’s half as hard as she is wet they’ll be an even match, but she can’t resist taking another step forward. Capturing one of his hands in her own, Riley slides Zach’s fingers under the hem of the t-shirt she threw on when she got home from work. The invitation to explore is unmistakable, and she moans at how hot his skin feels against hers. It’s like being granted permission to go to heaven. Zach groans into her mouth and his hand closes around her breast, squeezing gently and massaging as he deepens the kiss even more.

Tossing off her bra with her work clothes was the best decision she ever could have made, and Riley presses into his touch as eagerly as possible. His hands are huge, calloused and clever, and his thumb is running circles around her nipple in just under two seconds which makes her gasp and break their kiss for the first time since it began.

“Baby…” Zach blushes slightly, realizing he’s used an endearment. “Can I—” he glances down at her chest and then back up to her eyes. “I want to—”

“I want you to, too. Trust me.” Untangling herself from him is only necessary for as long as it takes him to slip her shirt off, and the cold air of the cellar feels like a wake up call with how overheated she’s become in the last few minutes.

Zach kisses her lips and the starts a gradual trail down her jaw and neck. Not wanting to rush while he cups both breasts and makes his way to take one nipple in his mouth. It draws the most sinful moan from her throat, and Riley’s hands find his bulk again to keep him close as she arches her back into him. His slow and steady tendencies might drive her crazy - in more than one way - but it’s as reverent as it is needy as he closes his lips around the pebbled bud. “Fuck, baby…” her head tips back with a groan. “I knew your mouth was going to be amazing.”

His tongue flicks over the tip harshly, then more gently as the pressure of his teeth increases. He hums against her breast, aware that she is whining so beautifully that he wants to hear more.

“Shit—” Without even really being under him she’s still squirming and panting, letting him explore at his own rate and not interrupting him no matter how desperately she wants to get her hands wrapped around what she’s certain is a beautiful cock. “‘Sall yours, baby,” she promises, gulping down a ragged breath. “Every inch of me.”

He suckles, bites and soothes like he hasn’t done in a long time. Having spent hours thinking about her tits, what he would do to them, to her, if he was ever allowed to touch her. Now that he’s given permission, he wants to make her burn, crave his touch. Needing it like he had needed this place, and her.

Those first touches are intoxicating, letting Zach graze his hands, lips, and tongue across her flesh any way he wants until she’s begging him for more. “Fuck—I—please, baby,” she moans, feeling the ache in every part of her body. Her focus, though, is on getting him to move south. To the point where she’s fumbling blindly to get her own jeans off for him.

He pulls off her tit with a pop and reaches for her hands. “Baby, do you—” he doesn’t know if she wants to do this here or upstairs, but he wants her to be comfortable.

“I don’t even care,” she admits sheepishly, though this time when she leans in to kiss him it’s gentle. “I don’t care where, I just care that it’s you.”

He grins, kissing you again. “You wanna risk your daddy comin’ down here?” He asks.

“They’ll be out for hours,” Riley grins. “He took Mom for a fancy dinner and dancing.” Even thinking about it for a few seconds, her grin turns evil. “And the basement’s soundproof.”

“There’s a couch, right there.” Zach groans, grabbing her and dragging her over to the sofa so he can lay her down. The giggle that rises out of her at his enthusiasm is so light and so free it’s like air. This is all she’s wanted since the day he walked into her life and she just feels how right it is in her bones.

“Shit—” Zach hisses, squeezing his eyes shut as he rests on top of her. “I— I don’t have a fucking condom.” It’s not like there’s been a lot of opportunity for Zach to have sex in the past few years.

“I’m on the pill.” All Statesman agents - field or otherwise - have periodic physicals done so she knows she’s clean, too. “As long as you passed your physical, we’re good.”

“I passed it.” He promises, bobbling his head up and down. “Are you sure?” He asks softly, not wanting her to feel like he’s pushing for raw sex. As it is, a condom might be a good thing.

"Hey." Riley sits up, both of her hands on Zach's cheeks. "If you want to be extra safe, we can go upstairs. I have condoms in my dresser and we'll have a bed. I don't...want you to regret any of this."

Zach shakes his head. “No. I— fuck, I want to feel you.” He admits quietly. “So fucking badly.”

"Then get these things off me." That mischievous giggle returns and he slips one of his hand down to the apex of her thighs where the extra fabric grinds against her dripping slit deliciously.

Shedding clothes turns into a series of giggles and curses when a piece of clothing is being difficult. Until Zach is finally pushing his boxer briefs down and revealing his aching and nearly purple cock. "Fuuuuck." The groan that tears out of Riley's chest is deep and needy as she reaches for him, letting the fingers of one hand wrap around the base of his cock with a slight squeeze. "I knew you'd have the best dick."

He huffs in embarrassment and arousal, rocking his hips forward into her grip. “Shit.” He hisses, throbbing as a lovely little spurt of precum dribbles out and down her knuckles.

They both whine, different pitches and different levels of desperation, but when Riley leans forward to lick the precum off her fingers, she voices such obvious enjoyment that she leans forward further and flicks her tongue across the tip of his cock for more. "You even taste good," she praises, looking up at him through hooded eyes. "Next time I promise I'll suck you dry, baby. But this time I need to feel you."

“If I— if I don’t last—” Zach moans as she guides him towards her core. Nearly pulling him as she doesn’t let up on her grip but it’s probably the only thing keeping him from cumming, so he loves it. “I promise I’ll make you cum on my tongue.”

"I'm not worried." If anything, she's fairly certain that she's so worked up that she might still cum first, but Riley shakes her head and presses a kiss to Zach's lips. "This isn't going to be the only time we do this."

“It’s not.” He promises, shuffling closer and letting her slide him through her folds. “God, you’re so fucking sexy.”

"Want you so fucking badly." Never having been one to disguise her wants before, she's felt like she was going to implode for weeks. Now, as he sinks into her, Riley can't tear her eyes away. Watching inch after inch of his cock disappear into her pussy is so hypnotizing she doesn't even hear the way she keens at being filled so completely.

The tight clutch of her surrounds him, squeezing him in a way that nearly makes him breathless. “Fuuuuuuuuuck.” He manages to lean down and press his forehead to hers as he finally grinds deep and bottoms out inside Riley.

"Fu—fuuuck—you feel so incredible. Holy shit." Her legs wrap around his waist, keeping him buried inside her while they both adjust to the perfect way they fit together.

His body is primed, right on the edge of toppling over. Inhaling and exhaling slowly as he throbs inside her. Hissing when she clenches down around him and makes him rock his hips forward slightly.

"Take your time." Riley has no plans on rushing this, needing a moment of her own to adjust to the way his thickness is splitting her open. It has her chest heaving under him even as she trails kisses down the long line of his jaw and throat.

“So fucking perfect.” Zach groans. “Jesus, you feel— it’s perfect. Like coming home.”

In the last month they really have spent nearly all of their free time together, and this moment that they're in now is the place she was absolutely certain that they were going to end up. Maybe not this couch specifically but intertwined together with intimacy at the core of their connection. "You're so fucking incredible." It really is on the tip of her tongue, to say what she's been feeling for weeks, but saying it for the first time with him buried inside her would either be cheesy or seem insincere. And since she doesn't want it to be either of those thing, she pours herself into kissing him instead.

When she says it like that, Zach believes it. Wondering what things would have been like if he had known her before being discharged. With his mouth occupied, he can’t voice anything more than a groan as he slides his arms under her and burrows in closer before he starts to move.

Knowing that they’re completely alone and in the only soundproof room in the house, Riley doesn’t hold back. The moans that cross her lips are salacious and encouraging, rising up through the air to practically float around them. To make them float somehow.

Every thrust feels like he’s being ripped apart. Torn at the seams and reforged in the extreme pleasure that only she can bring. No one has ever felt so good, not even the first girl he slept with. “Fuck, I— Jesus.”

“So fucking good.” The praise seems to be on repeat for her, punctuated with curses and cries that carry his name but break halfway through as another tremor of pleasure tears through her. Other encounters might have been more carefully planned or had more of some element or other, but none has ever felt this right.

Rocking into her steadily, Zach groans his own agreement. Three little words, ridiculous and not appropriate right now, are begging to fall from his lips. Making him kiss her again to not voice them.

Riley shifts under him, angling her hips to take each thrust deeper and letting out a muffled cry when his perfect cock strikes home at her g-spot at just the right time. She’s so close that she’s shaking with it, trembling on the verge of her peak and clinging to him with every stroke.

“Shit— shit, you need to cum. I need you to cum.” He can feel his control unraveling, surprised that he’s lasted this long. Only brief changes in pace have saved him to this point.

“Just like that,” she promises him, feeling the tension coil in her spine, knowing that she’s so close to the edge that if he changes anything she’ll lose it. Four more strokes is all it takes and she’s gasping for air, moaning Zach’s name into the heavy air as she comes apart for him.

“Riley.” Zach moans, unable to do anything other than follow her over the edge, pushing deep and gasping as he cums. Spilling hot ropes of cum into her womb as he seemingly cums forever.

“Holy fuck.” Head dropping back against the cushions, Riley pants for air and giggles wildly with the giddiness of such an intense first encounter. The words dance in her head but she’s able to push them aside for now, not willing to sacrifice the chance of a repeat encounter to her hummingbird heart.

“Holy shit, I’m dead.” Zach collapses against her and pants, smiling goofily as he tries to catch his breath. “Tell me it was good.”

“Baby,” she frowns slightly at the mere idea that it wouldn’t have been mind-blowing, but her fingers card through Zach’s damp hair. “It was so good I’m tempted to try to keep you all to myself,” Riley admits, maybe a little too softly.

“You can.” Zach mumbles, unsure of what she meant by that, but he had no intention of doing something with someone else. He’s never been that type of man.

“I didn’t want to assume.” The slightly nervous look on her face dissipates and she leans up to kiss him slowly. “Maybe you had your eye on someone else, too. Or maybe you’re not a relationship guy. We’ve never…never really talked about that.”

“Not a chance.” Zach grunts, shaking his head and huffing slightly. “I don’t deserve you, no way I’m going to think that I should just fuck you.”

"I just..." she blows out a breath, finding herself gazing into his eyes with a nearly dopey expression. "I really like you. And I think we could have something special. That's...insanely sappy. But at least it's true."

“I love you.” Zach’s eyes widen, even as he blurts out the confession. Cursing himself for not keeping his mouth shut.

For a second the moment is frozen. Riley doesn't dare to breathe or speak until she sees the regret in his eyes. "Please don't take it back." Both of her hands find his face again, cupping his cheeks and smoothing the anxious creases from his features before pressing a firm, earnest kiss to his lips. "I love you, too. I just – I guess I was really off base worrying that you didn't feel the same way about me."

“You are amazing.” Zach huffs. “Fucking amazing.” Relaxing in her embrace as she admits her own feelings. “I— I was worried that I would come on too strong, or someone thinking I’m trying to get in good with your family.”

“You might get a good questioning from my daddy now that we’re together, but that’s about it.” She actually laughs at the idea of it, already having seen firsthand the way her father doted on the trainee agent under his roof. He had taken a personal interest in Zach’s training as well, giving him a few tips in the way of lasso and whip technique. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m an all or nothing kind of girl and I swear I’m all in.”

“Your dad has already spoken to me.” Zach admits, shaking his head and grinning at her shocked expression. “Wanted to know if you wanted more than friendship, what would I do.”

Riley laughs when she finally shakes her head, shaking with it and grinning at him. "Was the answer fuck me into the basement sofa? Because that's a pretty fucking excellent answer."

He snorts and shakes his head. “Hell no.” He moans. “Do you think I wanted to die? He had the electric whip in his hands.”

"I appreciate a man with instincts for self-preservation." She's still grinning when she nudges her nose against his. Still lying wrapped up in him on the sofa is an amazing place to be, but her stomach rumbling gives her away. "I was waiting for you to come home so we could have dinner together," she admits with a slightly guilty expression. "Maybe we can clean up and order a pizza? I kinda want to just snuggle up and relax with you."

“That sounds good, but I’m paying.” The Daniels have been more than generous, letting him stay for free, feeding him, helping him more than he could ever repay. Buying the woman he loves a pizza seems small, but a month ago, he couldn’t do that.

"If you insist." It isn't something she would ever expect from him, knowing how he saves and cherishes every penny in every paycheck, but she also won't push back against his pride. Instead, she just kisses him again, enjoying the lingering moment of affection, and looks back out over the room as they stretch and stand up again. There are truly clothes everywhere and every single cushion on that couch is in disarray.

“It’s a good damn thing your daddy told me that he had disabled the camera system in the basement.” Zach groans as he pulls back with a grin. “Don’t want him to see this.”

"I would not be the first one of his children that he walked in on." Riley snickers, tracking down her panties about four feet away where they landing when Zach threw them. "Jay has that distinction. And Janey was mortified."

“I’m sure it’s a lot different than walking in on your baby girl.” He had heard the nickname one night when Riley and Jack had been talking in his home office and the older man had hugged her and told her how proud of her he was. It was a moment that made Zach ache for a family like she had.

"Younger by a whole two minutes and forever the baby because of it." There's nothing wrong with that, but Riley just shrugs as they get dressed. Once things are back in place, she slips her hand into Zach's and squeezes. "We should just be up front with them. There's no keeping secrets in this family, for better or worse."

“Hopefully they don’t hate the idea too badly.” There’s still the issues with socialization, feeling inferior. He had been working on it, but there was nothing but time that would help that.

"Are you kidding?" They head upstairs together hand in hand. "Mom figured out which coffee mug you like best and won't let anyone else use it now. That's family shit. You're fine, babe. I promise."

“Is that why she’s always got it set out no matter how early I try to get up to make coffee?” He asks with a laugh, overjoyed by the thought and it makes him grin.

"Oh yeah. That's Zach's mug. It gets set out on the counter every night before she goes to bed along with everybody else's." When the house was busy and bustling and full to the gills, it helped to have specific things like dishes associated with each member of the family. It persisted after the house was just down to the three of you and now that there are four again it seemed like a nice thing to also give Zach that little bit of familial normality.

“I like that.” He admits, blushing slightly. “That makes me feel like I’m one of you. Like I belong here.”

"You do, honey." It might be a little rude to surprise the kids by just sitting at the kitchen table like you are, but you didn't plan on it. Date night got cut short by the place you normally go dancing being closed for a private event, so you and Jack had stopped for a pint of ice cream to share and planned on playing a board game. From both of the kids' disheveled appearance, it would seem you weren't the only one having a date night.

"Fucking shit, Mom!" Riley jumps three feet in the air, clutching Zach's hand in surprise and all but clutching her chest with her free hand when she whirls around to find you and her father sitting at the table. "Shi—I—sorry. Just...what the hell are you doing home?"

Jack chuckles, trying not to scowl at the very obvious evidence of what his baby girl and Zach had been up to down in his basement. He had been correct in turning off the damn cameras. “Nowhere to dance in this town tonight.” Jack grunts. “Least not to music I can handle.”

“We were going to order pizza.” Riley blurts out, suddenly nervous at nearly being caught, but she doesn’t let go of Zach’s hand. “Did you—uh…did you eat yet?”

“Not yet.” Jack hums, pulling out his phone so he can pull up the website for the only pizza place that delivers to the ranch. “What’s everyone want?”

“Pepperoni.” Riley answers immediately before looking back at Zach. “And banana peppers. Thanks, Dad.”

“Come and sit.” Honestly, you just want to bundle them up in a tight hug and tell them how glad you are that they stopped tiptoeing around each other, but you don’t know how Zach will react to that very maternal response. “How was everyone’s day at work?”

“I’d like your permission to date your daughter.” Zach blurts out, flushing again at how his mouth runs off without his brain around. Riley. “I mean— I understand that I am a man you haven’t known for long, but I will do whatever it takes to make sure your daughter is loved and respected.” He rallies and looks between you and Jack. He knows that he doesn’t need to ask you anything, but he wants to. He respects you both.

The mutual smile that breaks out across yours and Jack’s face is partially quiet amusement and partially the fact that you’re touched he would even approach it in such an old-fashioned way. “Come on and sit down, kids,” you insist, patting the tabletop even as you get up to fetch a pitcher of sweet tea and four glasses. Serious discussions usually go easier if you have something in your hands to fidget with.

Zach throws Riley a look and dutifully sits down. Wondering if he had misstepped. He had thought the parents of the woman he loves wound want him to be serious.

“First off,” Jack sits up straight in his chair after hanging up the phone and gives you a nod of thanks for putting a drink in front of him. “Ri usually lives by the motto that it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission, so I appreciate you being straight forward.” He shakes his head in his baby girl’s direction, but this is really for the young man directly in front of him.

“I’ve figured that out.” Zach chuckles, looking over at Riley with nothing short of adoration in his gaze. “But I am a guest in your house, and feel like you’ve taken me into your family. I don’t want to insult your sense of propriety after you have been so wonderful.” It’s about respect for him. He’s had the last three years of being looked down on, taken for the worst and not once has this family done this to him. Not even when the chip on his shoulder got in the way.

"And I appreciate that." He won't pretend otherwise. Good manners matter to Jack when it comes to his family and they always have. These are the most important people on the planet to him. "Which brings me to my second point," he looks between the two of them - young adults even older than you and he were the first time you got married. "Y'all be respectful of each other and the shared parts of this house."

Riley tips her head, brow furrowing with interest at her father. "That's it? Just 'be good and don't have sex in the kitchen'?"

Jack closes his eyes briefly, ignoring the way you stifle an amused snort. “Do you want me to pull the ‘not under my roof’ bullshit you would just ignore anyway?” He asks, wondering why, of all his children, his youngest was most like him. Jack Jr. might look like his younger copy, and Sam might have his tenacity, but Riley had always had his fighting spirit, his need to buck the system. It had caused some headaches through her teenage years, but he’s trying to respect the fact that they are grown.

"Hell no," Riley shakes her head, reaching for Zach's hand under the table and lacing their fingers together. "I guess I expected the same 'what are your intentions' speech you gave Vanessa, though." Of course - Zach had said that he and her father had already spoken about her a little. That might be the reason for no speech. But that didn't stop her from being surprised.

“I already know the boy is in love with you.” Jack snorts, rolling his eyes. “He’s the type to want to marry you and have babies.” He shoots a very red-faced Zach a grin. “Am I wrong?”

Trying to save him the embarrassment, Riley puts up her other hand in defeat. "Okay, so no intentions speech. And I'm not upset about that fact, for the record. Just surprised."

"We told your brother and your sister the same thing," you remind her, sitting back in your seat with both hands around your cold glass of tea. "As long as you're happy, we're happy."

“I think your dad understood I have good intentions.” That vote of confidence has Zach straightening up in his chair. Feeling a burst of pride through the embarrassment.

"One of us should," Riley jokes, knowing full well that she is viewed as the most mischievous Daniels child.

Snorting, Zach looks to her father, expecting Jack to say something. The older man just shrugs. “That’s your problem now, son.” He jokes with a chuckle. “That’s alllllll you. Your second chance is here. Grab on and hope to hell like you don’t fall off.”

Zach grins at the advice and nods. “I won’t sir. I’m on this ride for the long haul.”

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

My Masterlist!

[lgbtqreads]

Any recs for English-language queer fiction that's not published in the U.S.? Trying to figure out what I should buy from Book Depository before it closes.

Sure! I've personally bought Queen of Coin and Whispers by Helen Corcoran and Dangerous Remedy by Kat Dunn from there. There's some Simon James Green work coming out in the US now, but I think he still has some titles that haven't sold here. Songs That Sound Like Blood by Jared Thomas is YA from Australia that I don't believe has been published here. Starring Kitty by Keris Stainton is very cute on the border between MG and YA in a way that books generally aren't in the US. And actually, after writing all this, I realized this page might be helpful: https://lgbtqreads.com/young-adult/oz-and-uk-ya/

That's all YA; I'm not as up on Adult, because I usually find out about it once it's coming here. I was going to mention Laura Kay, but it looks like you can get all her books here now. Anyone else have recs?

Also, I should mention that even once Book Depository closes, you should still be able to order books from Blackwells - they build the shipping cost into the price and it's still generally very reasonable to ship to the US!

[wellbelesbian]

Seven Sentence Sunday

thanks for tagging me @youarenevertooold @artsyunderstudy @alexalexinii and @forabeatofadrum! there aren't many hours left of this sunday and i didn't think i would post anything as i'm super sick with a cold, but i ended up writing a little bit of Keris's POV for a bonus kerixie chapter of my COTTA fic. there's a while to wait before it will be published though!

"I've had to fight for my rights myself. I was at Greenham Common protesting American warheads and fought with the police there, and you know what? It was the most alive I ever felt! That's why the women are running the show, because we actually know what we're doing. And I know especially well. I bet those gay people know what they're doing too, they've been fighting plenty. So if people are going to laugh at you, I suggest you grow a pair and stand up for yourself like we've all been doing!"

i have... thoughts on how the Pride movie approached Lesbians Against Pit Closures, and many of the lesbian characters in general, which i will cover under the cut.

so. the film had a tendency to treat the lesbians as annoying and preachy, and make their attempts at independence seem at best laughable or at worst needlessly divisive. i never liked that, and reading the book on the real events only made it worse.

as the book explains, LGSM could be a loud, politically divided, male dominated group that many women felt they couldn't speak up in. LAPC was necessary for those who felt silenced in the original group or never joined to begin with due to a discomfort with men. the two groups eventually operated alongside one another and you could be a member of both if you were a gay woman, but there were plenty of women who were only a member of one or the other.

and this isn't to criticise LGSM. as i said, they still welcomed women and worked alongside LAPC. many of the men from LGSM stood picketing alongside LAPC when a bar stopped running women's only nights. LAPC twinned with a different village in the north of England, so the existence of the two groups overall helped more people and spread their reach further. the distaste the men have for the idea of a women's group in the movie was nowhere near as strong as it appears to have been in real life.

and we know many lesbians did indeed feel unwelcome around men. they reported being uniquely disliked by the straight men of Onllwyn. while the miners soon got accustomed to the gay men, having at least some common ground with them, they had no interest in lesbians. a sort of "you're not like me, or available to me, so why are you here?" vibe. eventually this attitude seemed to fade and disappear, but by then some women had given up trying to befriend them and had stopped visiting.

however, a lot of the women in Onllwyn were very happy to see the lesbians, as many were queer themselves. some of the lesbians of the group reported having relationships of varying degrees with the Welsh women, and one of the women interviewed in the book was sixteen at the time and came out later in life, being accepted due to LGSM's role in her family's life. today, the village seems very welcoming to lesbians, but that wasn't always the case.

the lesbians also brought with them politics and feminism. while many Welsh women were already politically active (see above when i mentioned Greenham Common, a real protest staged by women of all classes and sexualities before the strikes, and of course they were involved in the miner's strikes), the lesbians fanned that flame and introduced them to new concepts and issues.

Trixie and Keris are my tributes to those two kinds of women. the lesbians of London who got political and struck out on their own, and the lesbians of Wales who only realised they were gay once LGSM arrived and shook up their lives.

anyway. this wound up being longer than i intended.

i'll not tag anyone as it's late, but if anyone wants to share a wip and hasn't been tagged yet, consider this your tag!

[antvnger]

((You like the mystery genre? 👀 Can you recommend some books? I'm always on the lookout for new mystery books to read!))

((I’m the same way, Anon! I’m always on the lookout for new things to read! I’m happy to help out with this. This is one of those kinds of things I always love to help with lol.

I compiled a list with variety, so hopefully you’ll find something here that you would like. And a lot of these are the starts of series as well! I put a ** by ones that are of a series.))

The June Boys - Court Stevens

We Were Kings - Court Stevens

Thr3e - Ted Dekker

Obsessed - Ted Dekker

Stalking Jack the Ripper - Keri Maniscalo**

Magpie Murders - Anthony Horowitz**

The House of Silk - Anthony Horowitz

The Tarleton Murders - Breck England

A Study in Scarlet Women - Sherry Thomas**

The Stuff of Nightmares - James Lovegrove** (not technically but he writes a lot of books in this category)

Comes a Horseman - Robert Liparulo

Art in the Blood - Bonnie MacBird**

Vicious - V.E. Schwab** (not really a mystery but worth the read)

The Gray Man - Mark Greaney** (not really a mystery but worth the read)

Hope this helps! And this is just a fraction of my little library, so if you need more I’ll see what I can come up with.

Good luck and happy reading!!))