#he acts like we should know the entire spanish language like man

[camelspit]

woah nilly

[maxdibert]

i want to know what do you think about Remus since you already talk about James and Sirius i really need to know :3

When someone puts a big topic on the table, in Spain we say: sujétame la cerveza lol So yeah, Lupin is one of THAT topics. Here we go:

Look, I can deal with Remus Lupin having literally zero self-esteem and a massive inferiority complex, and for that reason using Sirius and James as his safety net at Hogwarts, not stopping them when they were complete jerks because he was afraid they'd reject him and he’d end up alone. I can deal with that, I can excuse being an accomplice to bullying just like I can excuse Severus for getting involved with the Death Eaters because he saw himself as vulnerable. I forgive him, seriously. I can even forgive him for being an absolutely irresponsible adult and not taking his potion—Merlin knows why. I can let that slide too. But there are two things I can’t let slide.

The first, and less important one, is that he justified James’ actions to Harry. I mean, it's the least important because I can understand not wanting to tarnish the kid’s image of his father, but when the same kid is telling you that his father and his friends (including you) were assholes, maybe you should admit that you were a total jerk. Or that at least your friends were, and you did nothing. I get why Sirius denied his guilt because, well, Sirius Black. Like, what are you going to expect from him? To him, there was nothing wrong with it. But Remus was aware that it was wrong, and as an adult, he can admit it. You don’t have to make up some story about Snape envying James over Quidditch (lolololol like Severus Snape would remotely care about that gym-bro crap). But anyway, I see this as almost the least serious thing.

What I will never, ever forgive him for in my entire fucking life is that at 36/37 years old, with gray hair already down there, HE WAS ALMOST FORTY YEARS OLD, PEOPLE, he got a woman in her twenties pregnant, had an existential crisis, and was considering leaving her WHILE SHE WAS PREGNANT WITH HIS CHILD. WHAT IS HE DOING?? Like, I don’t even know how to express this in English because my language is Spanish, and I swear I have a ton of adjectives in that language to insult this man, but in English, it’s harder—but hello?? He was ALMOST FORTY YEARS OLD, HIS WIFE WAS TWENTY-FIVE, HE SLEPT WITH HER, GOT HER PREGNANT, AND LEFT??? HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE, REMUS LUPIN?? WHAT’S IN YOUR HEAD?? Like, if he was so terrified of passing on lycanthropy to the child, why didn’t he use a condom?? Or, I don’t know, the magical equivalent—HAVE YOU HEARD OF A VASECTOMY?? And if he really, truly felt so bad about impregnating A WOMAN IN HER TWENTIES—LIKE SERIOUSLY, LET'S PUT THIS IN PERSPECTIVE: SOMEONE THIRTEEN YEARS YOUNGER THAN HIM. THIRTEEN. DAMN. YEARS. Why didn’t he just NOT DO IT? Like, as the adult in the relationship, he could’ve genuinely said no. No, this is unacceptable. No. No, sorry. So many years of gender studies and feminist readings for this. SCREW THE NICE GUYS. Like, his whole “woe is me, I’m poor, I’m old, I’m ugly, I’m dangerous” schtick? Well, you should have gone off to Timbuktu then, but don’t get her pregnant only to then abandon her. A TEENAGER HAD TO GO. A TEEN-AGER had to tell him he was being a piece of shit. This is why I say Rowling doesn’t respect her female characters because if she really did, she would have had Tonks dump him and raise the child on her own because, seriously, what was she thinking?

Just talking about this makes me genuinely angry. It's just that Lupin is THAT KIND OF GUY, you know? The one who acts all nice and soft and like he’s never broken a plate in his life, and he’s all poor me, and I’m super nice and super sweet, but then he turns out to be a huge jerk, like a giant piece of work. He’s the textbook nice guy, and one of the worst, the kind who goes after young women. Look, I’m just saying that if Harry Potter were written today and the topic of Lupin came up, and Rowling didn’t condemn him to the stake in her books, she would have been canceled a long time ago. Seriously. There’s no way that in today’s fiction a man nearly 40 years old gets a twenty-something pregnant and threatens to leave her, and that this guy is seen positively by the narrative. Simply no. Canceled. I’m canceling you, Remus Lupin, not for myself, but for feminism. Thanks.

[anakinsafterlife]

Thoughts on Dune Part 2

All right, friends. Dune Part 2. I absolutely picked the wrong time to start wanting to return to Tumblr, since I'm currently in the thick of Ramadan, but c'est la vie. I'm a bit worried that if I don't review now that I might forget my specific impressions of the movie, though I have to say that if this weren't Ramadan that I absolutely would be going back to see it again in the cinema, which says a lot considering that it's been at least ten years since I've actually wanted to go back and repeat a film instead of just waiting for it to come out on streaming/DVD.

So the movie is good. It is in fact very, very good. It's the Empire Strikes Back of the Dune duology (possibly trilogy), and (much like Empire) in terms of cinematography, music, scripting and acting it's nearly flawless. There are, however, issues, things that might not occur to a majority-Western audience but which are immediately clear to anyone who either comes from an Arab or Muslim background.

What follows here is a deep dive into some of the historical and cultural sources of Dune and some of the ways in which the movie producers, and in some cases fans, have failed to acknowledge those sources.

First of all, it's obvious that the Fremen are meant to be based on the Arabs, but of the the entire main cast there is only ONE actor with an Arab background, and that is Souhaila Yacoub, the half-Tunisian actress who plays Shishakli, the female Fremen warrior who is executed by the Harkonnens. Now, I have to say that this woman was fantastic. Her attitude is completely on point for an Arab, especially a North African Arab: forceful, loud, a bit brash and mocking even under fire. Nicely done. Points to the producers there, but I have to take that point away again because she is literally the only Space Arab who is actually Arab. Javier Bardem, the Spanish actor who plays Stilgard, does have some interesting moments and one of the reasons why I feel that the screenwriters were advised on Arabic traditions/culture. The incident during which he warns Paul about the Jinn in the desert like it's a joke but then immediately turns extremely serious when Paul starts smiling is so in character for an Arab and honestly just a brilliant bit of scripting, but much of the time he also acted more or less like what people *think* a fanatical religious Arab acts like--loud, frantic and unstable.

Not only this, but the "Muslim" behaviour/traditions in the film are at best...vague. People are praying, but in any direction at all. I do realize that this would be a complicated issue on another planet, where the Ka'aba couldn't be pointed to, but there are Islamic rulings for EVERYTHING. Check out the one about praying in space:

Even if they had as a society simply picked a random direction for prayer, they should all be praying at the same time and in the same direction (they seem to do this in larger crowds, but not in the smaller group where we first see people praying). They also definitely shouldn't be talking during prayer or trying to make other people talk to them during prayer (as Chani does), since talking breaks your prayer and you have to start over all over again (during obligatory prayers).

Language, too, is an issue, and a big one, because while I do understand that a conlang was developed for use in this movie, the linguists consulted did know that the language was meant to be heavily influenced by Arabic. Consequently, they've included a lot of fragmentary Arabic in their work. Unfortunately this Arabic is poorly pronounced at best, to the point where I was looking words up and laughing at what they're meant to be based on. For example, "Shai Hulud," the word for the Worms, is based on the Arabicشيء خلود, which means "immortal thing," and should be pronounced with "shai" rhyming with "say" followed by a glottal stop, and the 'h' in "Hulood" is actually a guttural sound like the infamous "ch" in Bach, followed by a long U. Another example is Mua'dib مهذب , a real word in Arabic that means "teacher," but is is actually pronounced with a "th" sound instead of a d and emphasis on the second syllable, not on the last as in French. (Note: I made an error here. There is a word مؤدب , pronounced mostly the same in the movie, but with a glottal stop after the 'u' sound and a short 'i' after the d sound rather than a long vowel, that is usually used to mean polite, urbane, gentlemanly, etc. but which can also mean teacher, although I have never heard it used in this context) "Usul", أصول, Paul's other Fremen name, was likely not, as I had previously guessed, based on the word "Rasool," meaning Prophet, but on أصول الفقه the Principles of islamic Jurisprudence, which also ties directly into a religious/prophetic them. Again, this is pronounced on the long vowel, so with a short first U and a long second U.

I've included the Arabic spellings in here, by the way, so that you can drop them into Google translator and hear how they actually sound.

Now, I do realize that the story itself is set 8000 years in the future and that spoken Arabic as a language would have changed considerably in that time, if it existed still at all, but Arabic is a liturgical language as well as a vehicle for conversation, and Muslims all across the world today use it as a tool for worship. Muslims who have no cultural connection with Arabic often still learn it in order to connect more deeply with religious traditions and simply to perform prayers and other religious duties. Religious scholars consider it to be a necessary duty of the Muslim to learn at least some Arabic:

And keep in mind that the Arabic spoken today across the MENA region is very different (and different in different places) to the Arabic spoken 1400 years ago by the Prophet Mohamed (peace be upon him). Given Islamic traditions, the chances of the Fremen using liturgical/classical Arabic for their worship would be quite high, even if their spoken language had evolved past the point of being recognizably Arabic.

Keep in mind, also, that Dune as a whole is an allegory for colonialism, economic exploitation of poorer nations (or making rival nations poor through the same), as well as dehumanization of the views and needs of native peoples in order to make that exploitation palatable to the occupying forces (I thought that this was done quite smartly in Jessica's part of the story; although she is sympathetic to the Fremen, she feels that manipulating their religious traditions is the best way to protect her son, and in doing so she allows herself to dehumanize the people who come to rely on her).

It is, therefore, incumbent upon us not to distance ourselves too much from the intended message by claiming that Dune is fiction and need not too accurately reflect the culture and religion of the people that the Fremen are so clearly based on. The fact that the producers have done little to hire Arab actors or induced any real effort to accurately pronounce the Arabic words or accurately portrayal Islamic practices seems to indicate that they are concerned about identifying too closely with the economic and cultural struggle between East and West, properly because they fear the potential economic backlash, and this despite the fact that Frank Herbert clearly wrote his book to illustrate the fallout of that struggle.

Here is a wonderful article written by a culturally Arab woman:

There are numerous other articles addressing the same issues, but I like this one because it's written by a Muslim woman, who also addresses the "hijab cosplaying" in the movie. I didn't get into that much, but I definitely recognize that it's a problem when Muslim women worry about potential violence while wearing hijab in the streets of Western nations, but the same article of clothing is fetishized in movies and fashion.

I've also seen some comment about the Mahdi mention in particular. This is a saviour-figure in Islam who will come near the end of the world. There is no emphasis on this figure in Sunni Islam, but Shias seem to have a significant body of literature concerning this figure and, from what I understand, believe that he may perhaps have already come, and so there has been some poor reception in that community to applying the label of Mahdi to Paul. Criticisms ranging from insensitivity to outright blasphemy have been levelled regarding this usage. Now, there was some tip-toeing around the prophetic theme in Dune, and rightly so, I believe, since the Prophet Mohamed is the "seal of the prophets" in Islam, meaning the last and final. The fact that Paul was essentially set up as a false prophet by the Bene Gesserit does avoid some of the potential fallout from this, and also makes sense of Chani's rejection at the end of the film, since she felt strongly about Paul acting as a false Prophet.

Again, I am aware that there is internal cosmology within the series itself, and that some fans object to the religion of the Fremen being referred to as Islam, but when the inspiration for the entire ethnicity, religion, and the natural resources at stake are as clear as they are in this series, it's also futile to expect that people will not draw those associations, nor that people belonging to the religion or ethnic group in question may not acknowledge the beauty of the movie, the gorgeous cinematography, rousing music, and tightly plotted story, but still take exception to what is clearly Orientalism.

And it is frankly such a shame that we have to place this movie under that header, because the story of Dune is so sympathetic to the Middle East and its peoples, and as I said in the beginning I actually loved the film and found it very beautiful. It was also exciting to see Islamic themes used creatively in mainstream media, but while Frank Herbert clearly wrote the story as an exposition on the exploitation of natural resources, particularly oil, in the MENA region, the truth is that the racism and exploitation that he was protesting are very much alive today and contribute to the oppression of millions. It's particularly disappointing to see the message of the movie sail over the heads of people watching it when Arab Muslims in Palestine are being dehumanized and obliterated at this very moment, and while Libya was one of the latest Arab nations to be targeted for its oil resources, only a decade ago, with European oil companies moving in directly after the downfall of Ghadafi (which makes the timing extremely suspicious, one might say):

And even after the US finished their occupation of Iraq, Western oil companies remained en mass to continued drilling:

Egypt to this day remains economically destabilized while Western nations exploit its oil stocks, to no benefit at all of its peoples:

I'm sure I could cite dozens of other cases, but it's clear that there is a one-on-one parallel between spice melange and oil, making any protests of apoliticism in an inherently political story utterly vain.

I could go on, but I needn't. In short, this beautiful movie could have done so much good even beyond its obvious artistic merits, but instead it is still towing the political line. Much as was the case for Jessica and Paul, sometimes you can be a Harkonnen and not know it.

[afterthegreatunknown]

Randomity: Apples and Oranges

“Hey Fiona, did Stepfather ever spoke in his first language around you?”

Fiona looks up from her book, for she was lying on her bed, and stares at Fernald, who is standing in her bedroom doorway. “Why are you asking me this?”

Fernald continues to stand there. “I was downstairs in the kitchen eating apple slices when Stepfather came in for a glass of water. He then started talking to himself.”

“And?” asks Fiona. “That’s just a regular habit of his that started long before I was born. You know, the way you’re describing it now makes it seems it’s something to worry about.”

“Fiona, when the man talks to himself, it’s in English. This time around, he was speaking in his first language,” continues Fernald. “He was speaking in his first language of Khmer as he sat across from me and stared at my plate of apples, all while drinking his damn glass of water.”

Fiona scrambles to sit upright on her bed, and pushes up her glasses. “So instead of asking Stepfather about the sudden switch to Khmer, you went to my room to ask me a question?”

“Yep. I just went up from my seat, and left my apples slices—” Fernald pauses in his talking all of his sudden, and his eyes soon widen in a sort of revelations. “Discussing this now with you, I realize this makes me a giant asshole. Please excuse me while I try to do damage control.”

Fernald soon runs out of Fiona’s view. Fiona only stares at the empty doorway, before returning back to lying on her bed. She flips a page of her book, before closing it.

“So, Stepfather never spoke in his first language around Fernald then,” says Fiona. “I guess that’s something Stepfather and I have that’s just ours. I don’t know how to feel about that.”

---

“The more I look at my Spanish One book, the more I want to cry,” says Quigley. He then buries his face into his hands. “I should have taken French. This is a nightmare to learn!”

“Why would you want to take French?” Duncan peels off the skins off the orange in a perfect nonbroken spiral. “It more or less has the same difficulty. The only difference is that the difficulty varies on what stages one is learning it.”

Isadora looks up from her world history book. “I would have like it if they offered a bit more variety. Though we should be grateful our new school offers any foreign language class.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s a requirement in the legal and educational sense for school to offer foreign languages, Isadora,” says Quigley, unburying his face from his hands.

“Prufrock Prep didn’t.”

“Let’s not bring up that hellhole again.” Duncan soon drops the spiral peel onto the table. “You know Quigley, you could always ask Hector for help. He is fluent in Spanish, after all.”

“I could, but that would mean admitting defeat to the Hook-Handed Man,” replies Quigley.

“That man doesn’t even speak a slick of Spanish!” snaps Isadora. “Are you really letting his words get to you that badly?”

“YES!” Quigley buries his face into his hands again.

“Why don’t I try helping you then? I know some basic Spanish from watching telenovelas with Dad.” Duncan leans over, and looks at the page Quigley is on. “We even have an orange on hand to act as our example!”

Quigley unburies his face, and stares at Duncan, who’s holding the unpeel orange.

“Now, repeat after me,” says Duncan. “Na.”

“Na.”

“Ran.”

“Ran.”

“Ja.”

“Ja.”

“Naranja.”

“Naranna.” Quigley sputters the last syllable into something else entirely.

Isadora grimaces at the pronunciation. “Wow. You weren’t even close to what Duncan said.”

[baejax-the-great]

WIP Whenever

Listen the Ajax & Patroclus friendship lives almost entirely in my mind but together they are absolute clowns so this snippet is long.

~

“Alright, this was a weird and almost-funny reason to get me over for dinner, but can we cut the shit?”

Pat stares at him. “What?”

“You win for weirdest joke you’ve ever played on me. Kudos for just how deeply he’s chosen to commit to the bit, but can you just invite your new, very jacked, very theatrical boyfriend in here so we can have dinner and I can meet him normally?”

Pat continues staring. “He’s not… this isn’t… Why do you think it’s a joke? What did he say?”

“Almost nothing that I could understand. But 'Achileas?' Really? You should have gone with a different name. I might have played along longer.”

“What do you mean? Who is Ahi… whatever?”

Ajax folds his arms over his chest. “You’re really committed to this, too, then. Fine. Achileas. It comes from the same story as my name. And yours. Come on, Pat, you might be allergic to all things Greek, but I know even you know the name ‘Achilles’ and you can’t have expected me to let that slide.”

The name does ring a bell or two. “One of those demigods,” he says. “The boring one. Didn’t get to fight any monsters. He fought, what, Trojans? With the horse?”

“It’s hard to believe your degree wasn’t in classics sometimes.”

“Well, alright, you recognized the name; you tell me, then. What’s the story? What did he do?”

“I have no idea. I majored in football at college. But I do know Ajax, Achilles, Patroclus, and even your little dog Helen are all from the same ancient tale.”

“You think the dog is in on this? She came with that name.”

Little Helen lifts her head at this and sets herself to begging at Ajax.

“Give it up, Pat. Let it go. Let’s just eat. Achileas!” Ajax calls down the hall. “The jig is up. There's dinner in it for you if you tell me your real name.”

The stranger walks in slowly, still in his toga with Pat’s blanket thrown around his shoulders, eyes once again red-rimmed from crying.

Pat turns back to Ajax. “I understand this is coming from someone who plucked a babbling, crying man off the street and left him in my living room all day, but do you really think I would introduce a boyfriend to you like this?” Pat asks, gesturing with one outstretched hand at the weepy, hot mess he still has no idea what to do with. “It’s like you said, I’m allergic to all things Greek.” He eyes this ‘Achilles’ up and down. “A Greek-spewing demigod cosplayer is about as Greek as it gets, in really weird way that I am deeply not into.”

“He doesn’t speak Greek,” Ajax says.

“Oh.” That would explain the confusion then. Bad translator. Everything Achilles said was pure gibberish anyway, so Pat should have figured that out sooner. It must be a language that can be mistaken for Greek, like Spanish and Portuguese can be mistaken for each other. He feels oddly relieved about that.

But then Ajax goes on to say, “He speaks ancient Greek.” He turns to Achilles. “They should have taught you in your classes that they are not the same, and you wouldn’t fool anyone with this weird act.”

If Achilles understands, he doesn’t react. 

“You’re sure it’s ancient Greek?” Pat asks.

Ajax nods. “I know a few words here and there.”

“Well then can you ask him where he wants to go? Where he lives? God, Ajax, it’s not a joke. I just want to send him home.”

“No.”

“No?”  

“No. If Beowulf walked in here right now, would you be able to have a conversation with him?”

“No.”

Ajax jerks his thumb at Achilles. “Greek Beowulf right there. You’re going to need a classicist if you want to get anything out of him." He adds under his breath, "Or he could just stop fucking around.”

Pat slumps into a chair and drops his face into his hands. “Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do with him now?” he moans.

Maybe Ajax is wrong. Maybe his Greek is worse than he let on. He thought this would be the least painful way to help the stranger, but maybe it’s time to bring him to a hospital or a police department. The pit of his stomach clenches just thinking about it. He doesn’t think he can do it. It doesn’t seem like the right idea.

“This really isn’t a joke?” Ajax asks. “You really don’t know this guy? He just showed up at your work?”

Pat shakes and nods his head without looking up. Ajax puts a hand on his shoulder, and when he speaks again, he sounds furious.

“What the fuck are you playing at?” he demands. Pat lifts his head up now to see Achilles, not at all intimidated by what was frankly a scary tone of voice. All seven feet of Ajax is bristling at the stranger, and he points at him and says, “You need to leave. Whatever this is, it isn’t funny.”

[coureirsix]

that last post made me insane so here is what I have for latinxchesters: john winchester, still the whitest man alive, went down to mexico city on a holiday and as a result encountered the loveliest woman at a bus stop. yes ma’m this is maria esther castillo, she has dark eyes, dark hair and john is the palest motherfucker alive next to her. john stays a while. a long while after that. when she gets pregnant with dean he makes the move completely down there. maria doesn’t wanna leave mx and he doesn’t think she should have to. john gets a job as a mechanic down there, learns a better broken spanish and maria, who already had a solid grasp on her english because that’s what they do in technical schools in mx, keeps her job as a secretary to some big business. dean is born and he’s named dean because mary had a friend who dated another white man named dean and she loved the name. mary’s father’s name is still samuel, so that fit for sam when he was born. 

john and maria got married in this BIG catholic celebration under god and everybody in the fucking barrio, novela style wedding because john researched what a good mexican marriage was and he found a bunch of novels and novelas on tv.

dean grew up watching el barrio sesamo and topo gigio all while still listening to led zeppelin and metallica. his mom would make him atole when it got cold and when he got stick one time, she tried using vicks but dean got fucking bronchitis so she’s sworn off of it. after that when dean got sick she’d make him sopita. 

dean grew up with a few christmases, a few posadas where he got to hit the pinata and he was the baby passed around several pairs of arms who were ready to call him cute and adorable and their güerito because as we know he was blonde as a baby. then sam was born and dean never made it to the next posada. 

dean was taught to pray the angel de la guardia every night before he went to bed and john catches him and sam in the act one day, both of them little and praying together and he drunkenly tells them they don’t need to do that shit anymore. it’s the first time dean feels the culture clash, but he’s a child so to him it feels more like embarrassment. john talks to them about maria in the same way. she becomes a saint in the metaphorical way and in the way sam grows up praying the ave maria before he goes to bed whenever he feels he’s done something wrong.

dean and sam's first language is spanish and remains as such because it’s the language mary spoke to dean and the language he taught sam. when john takes them back to the states dean KEEPS the language because it’s what he uses to communicate with sam and as he gets older and he realizes he’s not home anymore, he doesn’t have his mom anymore, the language is really all he has left. so it’s a ten year old dean winchester, hair dark, eyes a dark shade of hazel green, tan skin going, “esquenoentiendesquesamsesientemal--” and john just. snaps at dean to speak to him in english because dean speaks too quickly and john can’t keep up. it’s when john begins dumping them at tio bobby’s house. 

dean, in his mostly still broken english, because he doesn’t go to schoooooool, goes up to bobby and says, “i can have... eh,” and he can’t remember the english word for juice and bobby gives this little brown kid a smile and goes, “whatcha need kiddo? agua? soda? jugo?” because bobby knows SOME spanish and dean’s eyes light up and he goes, “si! tantito jugo.”

and bobby notes how this is. overly important to dean as he gets a little older and comes to know him more so when dean is like. maybe 6 or 7 he takes dean into the kitchen, lifts him up in his arms and points to a pot and goes, “como se llama?” and dean gives him this silly look and goes, “olla.” and bobby picks up a fork and goes, “esto?” and dean goes, “tenedor.” and it becomes a game for them, it helps bobby’s spanish and it lets dean keep the language. sam joins in on the game when he’s old enough to. bobby asks about mexico and dean tells him what he remembers. he likes talking about the posadas because everyone was extra nice to him and gave him tonnes of food. 

one day john dumps them at bobby’s for christmas and bobby has bought, a whole chicken and mashed potatoes, some pie, and some frozen tamales for them and its the happiest day dean spends that year. dean tries to explain champurrado to bobby but he ends up just making chocolate milk for them. 

by the time they’re old enough to start school they still dont know much english and have to go through the process of showing up at a school with the name Winchester and have the white kids laugh at them because they don’t know english. dean gets by because theyre never there for long, he looks the way he does and all the girls think he’s so exotic and sam gets bullied relentlessly and he ends up screaming spanish obscenities at a bunch of kids more often than not. that is, until they get shacked up in a place like new york, or los angeles or houston. where sam gets approached by a ragtag bunch of kids browner than he is who know less english than he does. dean picks up english a little better than sam, and both of them eventually grow to be fluent but it never is the fluidity of a native speaker u know, they both have accents when they speak. 

so when stanford comes along sam is as usual ready to get the fuck out of there because the MACHISMO on john winchester doesnt change but dean buys into it even further. i wont go into the details of abuse when latinx but it’s nasty and even more complicated than it already is. dean and sam don’t get into fist fights. ever. because you just don’t do that when you’re family. and so when john tries to shove sam back and sam fights back that’s dean’s breaking point and he lets sam go. dean doesn’t necessarily agree with john but there are lines you don’t cross. dean still feels abandoned, he still feels resentment, but sam crossed a line. it takes him a while to unlearn that. 

and down the road, when sam gets slammed onto the ground that fateful night and dean looks down at him with the shit eating grin the first thing sam says to dean, annoyed, angry that his older brother is here is, “no mames.”  and its the first thing sam has said in spanish in like, the entire time he’s been at stanford. 

[ceruleanchillin]

5 Day Stay

| Or, Angel down bad for a week |

Angel x F!Reader

Warnings: language, infidelity, Angst (?), lil bit chili spice at the end

Mon:

Angel felt he was too young to consistently feel so bone-tired, yet that’s how his day had been ending for weeks now. Sometimes it was all he could do to get off his bike and make it to the door, only to have to rest his head against it to prepare to make it to the couch and collapse.

Tonight was one of those nights, and he wanted to be dead to the world until it dragged him back into it.

It was the smell of mixed spices that hit him first. It felt like he was in suspended animation, and slowly being released as different things started to register to him.

His TV was on, someone was rummaging through his kitchen, and music played faintly from his desk. Thinking back to the last time an unwanted guest was in his kitchen, he placed a hand on the holstered knife fastened to his back.

The fridge door closed, and you appeared in the window, eyes focused intently on whatever you were cooking on the stove.

He exhaled, feeling like complete shit. It only spoke to how weary his mind was that he could forget you were staying with him for the next week. Especially after the conversation that led to it.

“I don’t know Angel…really I can afford a motel for a few days.”

“Here? Rusted-through pipes will be the last thing your landlord is worried about when you bring back bedbugs and shit.”

Your eyes had widened at that, but still you brought up the thing that had been chained to your hesitation. “I mean….do you think it’s ok to do this? After we…Nails..Ang-“

He remembered a flash of irritation, more so at himself than you, when you said that. “Yes querida, fuck. If you’re so scared, I most likely won’t even be there the way things are going. Nails is out of town til’ next weekend…”

“Relax Ignacio.” you had cut your eyes at him, and he’d felt his dick jump like it did whenever you gave him attitude. “I’m just not trying to be a problem.”

Your voice calling his name brought him to the present. He caught the last part of your statement, that you didn’t know he’d be back.

“Yeah, we got in earlier than expected.”

“While you’re standing there like a weirdo, let me shame you real quick. How does a man in his thirties still have the kitchen of a frat boy?” You leaned on the sill of the divider. “You’re lucky I already knew you were sad in the kitchen. I had to bring my own tagine.”

He stepped into the kitchen, his stomach coming alive with interest. “One, I don’t know what that is, two, I can’t help it if the kitchen isn’t my preferred room of work.”

He peeked over your shoulder, but the unique pot kept him from seeing what you were making.

“Neither is the bedroom, unless that work is piling up dirty laundry.” you stuck your tongue out at him and turned back to your simmering dish.

“Ha ha. Dinner and a show, she does it all folks!” he collapsed at the table, the day catching back up with him. “Should put your ass on the club’s payroll. End the cashflow problem real quick.”

You turned to him, concern etched on your face. “I heard from Hank about that…sorry. I know now isn’t a great time for that at all.”

Things got awkward like they always did when you referenced the recent changes of his life. He wasn’t sad about getting another chance at fatherhood, this one more tangible than the last. However, he wasn’t entirely sold on everything he’d accepted along with it, and he was pretty sure you at least suspected that. It threw the previously comfortable confusion that was your relationship off track when it was touched on.

“No, it’s not.” was all he could manage.

It was quiet for a beat, the simmering of the food and quiet Neo Soul the only sounds.

“Well,” you started, turning off the burner. “At least you don’t have to eat like a ‘we got food at the house’ meme for once.”

He laughed, a genuine and needed laugh. “Ok, you know what? Keep talking about my pantry stocking skills, and I might take it personally.”

The rest of his night went that way. Anytime you and Angel got together, things were just…easy…better. You spent the evening eating in front of the TV (Angel getting all the way to thirds for what turned out to be olive chicken and roasted potatoes), trading jokes, and going over the finer points of Golden Girls. Angel learned you took it very seriously, and mocked you for being “old”.

It wasn’t until you were nodding off, and he was left with his own thoughts, that he realized he hadn’t enjoyed coming home this much since he moved in.

Tues:

Angel had dreamed he’d been back in his childhood home, but as a grown man. There was music coming from his parent’s room, and when he got to the doorway, his mom was at her dressing table. She hummed along to the soulful seventies music and smiled at him from the mirror. She said something, but he couldn’t make it out, and woke up in the frustration.

He jerked up from his position on his stomach, and slowly came to. With a grunt he wiped his hand down his face, glancing at his phone to find it was six in the afternoon.

It then occurred to him the music wasn’t just in his dream, it was coming from his bathroom. He got off the couch and followed the sound.

“Hey coma head.” you grinned at him from where you were doing your makeup.

He shook his head, trying to let go of the last vestiges of the dream, and how eerie the scene before him was.

He focused instead on the nightmare of products and alien looking tools surrounding you.

He kind of liked the mess, even if he couldn’t see the counter anymore.

“Hey hurricane Ulta.”

You made a face that was a cross between being amused and suspicious. “You sleep in your jeans and buy your shirts in pack form. Don’t act like you know what that is.”

He made a face of mock offense. “That’s so classist.”

This time you paused completely in you what you were doing and twisted your body to meet him. “Uh oh…let me find out you’re actually learning something from EZ.”

“Angel Reyes can know something about something, damn.”

You laughed, lowering your hands from where you’d been lining your eyes to avoid a mistake. “I’m only teasing you Angel Reyes.”

“Looks like you plan on teasing more than me. Some clown is gonna get his hopes and tiny dick up for nothing.”

“There’s this new club in the city that Belinda’s getting us into. It’s bad luck to buy your own drinks on the first night at a new place.” you adjusted the bodycon mini-dress for emphasis. “You doing anything?”

“Club shit.” he started picking through the products, sniffing them every so often. “Then I think I’ve got a call with Nails at some point.”

“You think?” you popped his hands when he got too close to the good stuff, or the things you were using currently.

“Yeah..I think.” he shrugged, only realizing how short he sounded when you winced.

He didn’t know why he got so annoyed when she was brought up around you. He wasn’t like that with anyone else, and he knew you were only trying to support his incoming changes.

“Ok..”

Awkward silence settled in before he found the words to break it.

“Why do you wanna know? You want me to be that clown?”

“Never.” you pinched his cheek, tone pure saccharine jest.

He muttered in Spanish, stepping around you to the toilet.

“Angel!” you exclaimed.

“What?! It’s my bathroom, I have to piss.”

“You better never make me angry Reyes, I could end your whole Casanova game with ease."

Wed:

“You holding on a little tight there mami!” Angel called over his shoulder with a laugh. “You said go fast."

“Shut up!” you giggled, but he wasn’t lying.

You’d asked Angel to take you to work on his bike since even though you spent so much time with bikers, you hardly got to ride one. You were going to the same place anyways. He had been all too happy to shake up his commute, but your speed challenge took it over the top.

He didn’t know how you were up so early, he personally felt like the bags under his eyes were like a PEZ dispenser. You’d gotten in at two am, and still got up with him at eight.

He loved watching you in the morning, you managed to be cheerful without being obnoxious, and it worked better than coffee for him.

He loved how much he was learning about you.

As he pulled onto the street beside the cafe you’d asked him to stop at, he felt your arms uncoil from around him. He may have pretended to shift just to make you pause and hold him a few seconds longer, but he wasn’t going to acknowledge that.

“I didn’t scream, and I’m not shaking, so you still have to buy my breakfast.” You unclipped your helmet, grinning the whole time.

You looked so pretty to him, with the sun hitting your eyes and hair just right. He could catch you at just the right moment, and you’d look so gorgeous, he struggled to believe you were real.

He cleared his throat, afraid his voice would crack if he didn’t. “Fair enough, come break my pockets then.”

You laughed, squeezing his chin and pointing out his pout. “You don’t even have to tell me once sir, I know my worth.”

Once inside, he trailed after you to the counter, using your head like an arm rest when you reached it. “That’s good.”

“Boy!” You swatted his hand away, and it was his turn to laugh at your adorable pout.

“New bet,” he stepped around you while the customer ahead of you wrapped up. “If I get your entire order just right, you buy lunch.”

“Deal.” you leaned on the counter, eyebrow raised at him in challenge.

Angel knew the best part of his day would be watching your expression go from smug to shocked out of the corner of his eye. He nailed every pastry, the iced coffee, and their preparation with ease.

The simultaneously impressed and amused barista looked to you for confirmation. She got a shocked nod in response.

“I know my worth too mama, so don’t skimp on lunch.”

“Fair enough.” You shook off your shock as you repeated his earlier words and shrugged. “Can’t complain I guess. I trained my work husband too well.”

He scoffed loudly, and the two of you went back to swapping smart ass barbs while he tried to ignore the lingering dip his stomach did when referred to him as “husband”.

Thurs:

Angel was a grown man, with years of grown man experience, yet he was sitting on the edge of his bed feeling like a teenager again.

The end of your stay was nearing, and every time he thought about you going back home, he felt weird. He was pretty sure that’s why he’d been a little snappy and annoyed easily at the club the past couple days. He just wasn’t ready to delve into that too much.

Regardless, he had to admit you had some growing effect over him. All morning, while he should’ve been resting and preparing for a charter visit, he was fighting off hard-ons thanks to you.

“Can I borrow your kitchen for the day Angel?” He mimicked your voice in a nasally mocking tone. “I’ll save you some when I’m done baking.”

He’d thought nothing of it when you asked the night before. Really didn’t even feel like you had to at that point.

He realized why when he saw that the desserts you were making for your friend’s brunch were elaborate as hell. The effort took all your attention, and unfortunately for him, his too.

You were baking a lot more than dessert and didn’t even know it.

Now he was hiding in his room, fighting off arousal he knew wasn’t appropriate. You weren’t his and he wasn’t yours.

That didn’t change the fact that you in a short silk lounge set, singing in French (how the hell did you know French?), doing domestic things in his home, did it for him.

He ran a hand over his hair, still damp from his cold shower, and forced himself to finish getting dressed. He had to be ready to face a room of dangerous bikers and prove his patched in worth. He couldn’t be thinking of weird little fantasies and parallels to his parent’s marriage.

He must’ve zoned out again, because you startled him enough to almost make him hit his wardrobe.

“Oh my god Angel try this! I think I did magic.” You excitedly thrust a red cookie his way.

Angel took the offered treat, and found it was a red velvet cookie. “It’s fucking good mi dulce.”

“Really?” You looked so hopeful, so beautiful, that he would’ve lied if the situation called for it.

“Yes, but you know you kill it in the kitchen.” He turned away to put on the flannel he’d fished out.

Now you were in his personal space, smelling amazing, and all his senses were under attack. He couldn’t trust Angel jr. at the moment.

“Baking is different. It’s a whole thing for me...I go all in.”

“I noticed your little Broadway production in my kitchen.” He kneeled down, pretending to look for his shoes as something to do while you were there.

“Don’t shame me.” You pressed your foot into his back, gently pushing him. “It makes for better results.”

‘shit.’ He cursed mentally at the contact.

Luckily, he heard you turn to leave the room. “Oh, EZ said to tell you to hurry up or pick up your phone.”

He rose up once you were gone and checked his phone. Sure enough, he had several missed calls and texts from Gilly, Coco, and EZ. He cursed aloud this time and finished getting ready, determined not to get distracted again.

Of course, his boys having to physically come in and get him when he did just that destroyed that promise.

Fri:

It had come down to the last night of your stay with him, and what he thought was a favor to a good friend, turned out to be more for his benefit.

The hell with the club seemed so far away when he was home now, and he’d laughed more times that week than he had the previous few months total.

Tonight though… Tonight had him so in his head he didn’t know if he was coming or going.

You, sensing something was going on with him, had invited EZ and Felipe to dinner. He didn’t know how you got the latter to agree, his dad had never even been in his home before, but you did it. It went over a hell of a lot better than the last time they tried it too.

The missteps that reared their head when his family tried to talk to each other at length were mitigated by you. You were the perfect buffer, able to get them to engage with you and then each other.

He saw his family in an unfamiliar, but favorable light. His father was actually enjoying his time with him in his house. He knew that night wouldn’t have happened if not for you.

Now, as he distractedly dried the dishes you’d washed, listening to you hit all of the high notes in Loving You, it hit him.

‘She should be my wife’ the thought came so quick, and was so loud he almost jumped, confused if it came from him or someone else.

“Hey dishwasher-less!” you nudged him with your hip. “Move those hands.”

“Why can’t we be a thing?” he blurted.

You dropped the silverware you’d been washing, eyes wide and focused on him. “Um..excuse m-…what?”

He knew that wasn’t the most tactful way to introduce his thoughts to you, but it was his way. Fuck…he didn’t even understand them fully himself.

“You heard me querida,” he put the dish down on the counter, turning to you. “When I stayed with you that weekend that my head was all fucked up-“

“Angel.” your tone made it a warning, but he kept going. He was never afraid of a challenge.

“I was inside you so much that weekend I forgot that’s not how I came in this world. I can’t believe I’m saying it out loud, but I felt home cause I was with you-”

“Stop it!” you hit the sink, rattling the contents.

“Fuck that!” he shouted back, startling you both. He stayed silent for a moment before speaking in a calmer tone. “Fuck that. Why can’t we talk about it? Why couldn’t we talk about it then?”

You didn’t say anything, but he saw your chest heaving with adrenaline, and realized you were just as affected by the conversation as he was.

“You just decided it didn’t matter and put it in this space we can’t touch now. It’s all fucked up!”

“Because,” you hissed. “If you remember, it was all over that Adelita chick, and I don’t know what kind of hold she has or had over you, but it was deep.”

He cringed at that, and turned his attention to the light fixture over your head, unable to meet your heated gaze.

“Whatever feelings I have for you Angel, I put them away in a place where I can still be your friend and keep things in perspective.”

“Feelings you have for me?” he latched on to the lack of past tense, hopeful.

You inhaled sharply. “You are having a baby and just got engaged. What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing..I mean a lot, but nothing to do with this. I know-“

“I know,” you pushed away from the sink and reached up to cup his cheeks. “That you’re scared Angel. You’re scared, because you’re gonna take two steps you’ve never taken before at once, and you’re trying to sabotage it.”

He shook his head, taking your hands from his face and holding them tightly in his own. “No..mi dulce, no. I’ve been struggling with this all week, longer if I’m being honest. Tonight sealed it.”

You snorted humorlessly, looking around the kitchen as if something in the room would help you get through to him. “I cook you some big boy meals, and treat your speakers to some musical taste, and you’re ready for vows?”

“Don’t put this all on me. Tell me you don’t feel it. Right here and now, to my face.”

He watched your expression soften, and let you put one hand back on his face, your thumb gently stroking his cheek. “Ok, I can’t do that, but I also can’t just fall into a situation with you either.”

He scoffed and shook his head. “We both know we didn’t just fall into anything. We sat here and let it build and didn’t say shit, and now I have to. This week just made it too real not to.”

He placed his forehead to yours, his own hands cupping your face. “Please…”

He watched you have an internal battle by your changing features before you finally leaned into him. The moment you did, his lips were on yours.

He knew it was more than just a kiss a few seconds in. Everything he’d felt that the previous week was alive and confirmed between you too. He could feel you telling him you had moments like his own.

He palmed your thighs under your sundress before grasping them tightly and lifting you up. He placed you on the counter while you two separated for air. Your chests heaved in unison, and neither of you had to say you wanted the other touching you again before it happened.

He gripped your hair, tilting your head back for access to your neck. The smell of vanilla and cocoa butter surrounded him as he worked his mark all over your skin.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you pressed yourself against his jeans.

He hated he couldn’t feel the heat he knew was emitting from your core through the thick material of his jeans, and slid his other hand up your thigh to your panties.

Your entire body twitched when he ran his fingers over you through the thin cloth. It wasn’t just hot it was soaked.

“You need me that bad mami?” he pulled away from your neck, satisfied with his work, and beginning to work at his jeans.

“And quick.” you breathed into his ear, your tone and the sensation making him shudder.

The ache against his jeans didn’t need to be told twice to find its way into your heat. He slid your panties to side and pressed his thumb against you. You jumped, whimpering your need again, and he pulled your panties way from you.

You’d gotten them around one ankle before he was inside of you, and they were no longer your focus.

You clung to each other so tightly there’d be evidence on both of you.

In the quiet, he wondered if your mind was racing with the same thoughts that his was. What now? How do we get this again?

He pressed kisses to your cheek just as he started to move. You inhaled, your nails sliding down his back. Not quite catching the skin, but enough to set him on fire all the same.

He mapped out a rhythm by your whimpers and how you grasped at him until he crafted the right one.

This was the conversation he’d needed. Every thrust from him, every cry from you, every bit of give and take to heighten the other’s pleasure. The two of you were admitting that everything that was between you was deeper, realer than you’d wanted to admit. He loved you, and you loved him, and you were engraving that on one another.

The flirtation, the way you could be yourselves around each other, the heatless jabs. Good friends was always a ruse.

Your face was buried in his neck, and when he felt dampness he knew came from your tears, he hiked your legs higher, moving deeper.

You cried out so loudly it echoed in the kitchen, drowning out the soft crooning of an eighties songstress.

“I know baby, I feel it too.” his voice was choked by the threat of tears of his own.

He’d never been here before. Not with Adelita, not even close with Nails. He was terrified. Terrified for it to end because he never felt so good. Terrified for it to end because it might never happen again.

“Angel..” your voice sounded so small, but it was strong enough to anchor him back with you. “I’m close, I’m so close.”

“Let go,” he encouraged. “Let me have it querida.”

Your body seized up with your release, his name the only thing he caught in your unintelligible babble.

You clenched up repeatedly in the aftershocks, and that drug him over the edge with you, biting your shoulder.

His vision tunneled, pinpricks of pleasure traveling up and down his spine. Your hands smoothed up and down the area, and he realized it was because he was shuddering.

He gripped the counter for support, pulling back slowly. He was searching for a way to ask if he’d changed your mind, but the act hadn’t made words for his thoughts any easier to find.

It didn’t matter, before he could even speak you stopped him. Your eyes were glazed over with tears that had nothing to do with pleasure this time.

“That was all that I can give you Angel. It’s not right, none of this is, but it’s all I can give you.”

AN:

Am I the only one who wishes she had reference photos for their home/club layouts? Lol, it’s such a weird non-factor thing, but still. From memory, I’m pretty sure Angel only has one bedroom though.

No shade, no hate but this was partially inspired by how over Nails Angel looked when she was putting her back into it….🥴

I played with a few canon-timeline things + knocked the dust off my smut writing ability (I’m going under my humiliation rock now, no calls plz)

[kainscape]

Hello, I'm kinda new so I'm sorry if you don't want to write this.

Asa and jesse with an reader that is Brazilian (idk if you have watched modern family but she is a bit like Gloria)

I hope this is okey (also I saw that you wanted something fluff to stop crying lol same! So could you make it fluffy maybe where the reader just goes into a raging fit and they have to calm her down bc she is cussing someone out in Spanish bc they told her to fuck off to her own land!)

Sorry this is maybe a long ask I don't normally write this much lol.

Alright, bye!

Hi!! It is perfectly fine to be detailed in the asks! I’ve never watched modern family :( but I have a decent idea of what to write for this! I don’t know if you wanted Asa and Jesse separate or together but for now I write those two characters separate. Once I actually get more comfy writing for them than I will do them together!

Jesse and Asa with a Brazilian S/O:

Jesse Cromeans

Jesse found your personality interesting to say the least. The way you told people off when they said something mean. You truly spoke your mind and he liked that. It showed you could take care of yourself.

Sometimes, your feisty personality can cause a bit of a commotion, yelling at people because of what they said. Like now, you were yelling at a rude person that told you to “fuck off to your own land.”

You called Jesse, knowing he could deal with this and telling yourself you had some place better to be. But the person just kept talking down on you. So you handled it your way, threatening them in your native language.

You didn’t care for the stares people gave you, just focused on not killing this Idiotic person in front of you. By the time Jesse arrived at the store you resided in, the poor person looked like they feared for their life.

Rightfully so, your tone and body language radiating confidence and anger. To be honest, Jesse found you attractive when you were like this. You’re a strong person and he searches for that in his partner.

Once he thought the scene should come to an end, he walked up behind you quietly as he nodded to the door, looking down at the frightened individual. They scurried out the building, watching from the glass window as they hurried down the sidewalk.

You were still pissed at the audacity they had, running a hand through your hair. You whipped around, heading to walk out the door too but there was a large figure in your way.

“Get the hell out of my way!” You didn’t bother to look up, only shifting to walk around them. A light hand grabbed your wrist, holding you to where you couldn’t move from them. You looked up, ready to call this guy off too.

That was until you realized it was Jesse. You scoffed, shaking your head as you moved to his chest. “About time you came here. Thought I was about to slaughter that guy right there.”

He wrapped his arms around you, a quick hug before ushering you out the door with a firm grip around your waist. You continued to complain about the guy, Jesse nodding along with everything you said as he opened the car door for you.

He would end up taking you to a more quieter store, a pristine place that was clam and collected. No more racist or misogynistic people. Just a place where Jesse can help you distract yourself from the incident.

After you’re done, you guys go to the park to have a nice, refreshing nature walk as Jesse signs to you all the different things he knows about plants. He might even ask you questions about your family tree and your home land.

He loves to learn from you, attentively listening as he tilts his head. He’ll ask questions to make sure you know he’s listening. Once you guys find a spot to rest at, Jesse will hold you close into his side, a comforting arm wrapped around your shoulders as you enjoy the shade from the sun. Such a good bf <3

Asa Emory

Asa doesn’t know how he stands you with your snarky remarks to him and the attitude you carry around. But, none the less, he loves it about you. Knowing that you’re not totally dependent on him when he’s doing his work. (But it makes him feel good that you still come to him for your problems)

He had just gotten home from the college, dressed up more clean and precise for the date you guys planned today. Luckily, you got up early with him so you had plenty of time to get ready.

You hurried down stairs in your nice outfit you bought, showing it off to Asa as he’d usually ask you too. Your smile was warm and sincere, the best thing to come home to he decided.

“How do I look?” He rolled his eyes at the question. Obviously he loved it, and by the way you were smiling, you already knew the answer. He would sigh, a small smile on his face as he complimented you. “Now, come on, I want to see the new restaurant they have opened up.”

You kept the smile, walking to the door as he exited with you, locking it behind him. You both entered the car and drove to the destination.

You knew by now that when something new and fresh was in town, Asa was quick to inspect it. Sometimes it felt like he was the damn health inspector. He would just avoid the workers entirely as he walked around the dining area, admiring the paintings and walls.

He heard a few conversations as he walked by, some spoken in an unpleasant manner. That was until he heard an all to familiar voice yelling. He was back to the other room in an instant, taking in the commotion.

You were yelling in your native language, mixing between English and Portuguese insults. Somewhere in the mix of words, he understood that you were yelling at them because they told you to “fuck off to your own land.”

Asa believed that you would be able to handle this, maybe a little to well by the way you were walking towards the now cowering person. Once you had quit raging at the man and your tone died down, the person ran out the restaurant in a hurry.

Though he knew you were well prepared to stand your ground, it didn’t stop him from feeling that rage and sadistic urges bubble up inside him as that pathetic person talked down on you. He didn’t like when people interrupted your time together, especially when it was in a negative way.

He was swift in his movements, grabbing your wrist to drag to you back to where he was once feeling of the wallpaper. The dining room was quite fancy and calm, opposite of the incident that just happened.

He knew you were in need of some peace, and so was he. Asa wasn’t about to let this night slip away because of some stupid persons words. He pulled out the chair, letting you sit down as he took place across the table in front of you.

He took in your facial features, noticing the hints of irritation and annoyance still there. He cracked his fingers, as he thought about his choice of words. Asa wasn’t the best at comfort, but he tried with you.

“Don’t let that useless person keep you frustrated. Let’s continue the night we planned.” He looked over you again, seeing if his words had any impact. Your face seemed to relax, sighing as you gave him that smile he liked. You nodded to his words, soon distracted from the waiter giving you menus.

A few minutes passed, Asa looking over his menu to you. You were deciding what you wanted, a clear thinking face on you. He was almost.. proud at the way you didn’t take the shit some people did to you. Of course, it’s not like he’s gonna outright going to say it, but he’s happy at the way you are.

You looked up, making eye contact with your boyfriend who quickly looked back down at the menu. Asa cleared his throat, furrowing his brows as he “read” the menu. You only chuckled, closing the booklet as you laid it down flat.

“What is it?” You had a smile on your face, your elbows resting the table. Asa glanced up at you, slightly shrugging his shoulders as he was quick to look back down to actually decide on what to order. “Nothing.”

It was a decent night for both of you, a few conversations you started up yourself. He didn’t answer back as much, but you grew used to it as you happily carried the small talks.

Once you two returned home, Asa acted a little more gentler, small touches here and there after you dressed into more comfier clothes to sleep in. He would hold you closer than usual, deciding that it would be best to keep you calm for the night and let you forget what happened entirely. At least he’s trying :)

[pennyserenade]

tags: nameless female oc x javier peña, nameless female oc x javier pena. rating: e ( explicit ) warnings: smut, language, talks of violence, unprotected sex, heavy angst, mentions of death, guns, pregnancy.  word count: 3k+ summary: not everything can be spoken the way it can be felt.  notes: i somehow managed to do this despite feeling entirely unmotivated all day, so that’s nice. this takes place during episode 3, season 2, near the halfway mark.   original gif by: @javierian

una guerra sin piedad 

scene eight, scenes from a marriage

Javier is a good husband, or at least he tries to be. He doesn’t mean to do this--probably doesn’t even recognize that she knows he’s doing it. He is faced with so many objectives in a day's time, Javier doesn’t realize how easy it is to catch on to his lies. They are hardly coated, though, obvious to anyone who pays attention to him as much as she does, but that’s just it--he doesn’t pay attention at all.

He’s unaware that his fingers are shaking right now. It is a subtle act, a tremble hardly notable to the untrained eye, but these are the fingers that have been touching her for twelve years; she has seen them and felt them and come to know them better than her own. They have remained steady and nimble even after too many cups of coffee and one too many pieces of harrowing news, because they are trained to be fingers that don’t give way to anxiety. A stone body, a man meant to be unflinching in the face of the most awful of tragedies, but here with her, it allows his lies to leak out without his consent. It’s pleading, this body, asking for respite because he won’t go easier on it.

She holds his hands, keeping them steady before they can reach out and lay flat against her growing stomach. Javier looks at her and confusion sprinkles across features that are too pale to be normal, even to him. His eyes reveal an undeniable sadness, too, some sort of impact from war that he’s on the verge of losing simply because he refuses to ask for help. He is all alone in there.

“Me estás mintiendo, Javi,” she tells him, voice level and collected. “Te mientes a ti mismo también.”

He looks startled, and perhaps it is warranted. The glass case he enclosed himself in wasn’t so transparent or frail to him, after all. 

He takes his hands away slowly. 

“No,” he responds. “About what?”

“No sé. Not completely,” she shakes her head. “That’s why I said it.”

“I’m not lying about anything.”

“Javi.”

“What?”

“The cigarettes.” 

She watches his face fall. 

“You smoke them when you think I’m asleep but I do your laundry, and I can smell them when you get back in bed,” she shrugs. “You don’t hang out the window far enough either, and you always get ashes on the ground.”

“I can’t quit,” he confesses. “Not now.”

“I never asked you to.”

“Yo sé, pero…” he begins, but falters. “I wanted to.”

“I would rather you smoke than you lie.”

“Okay, but that’s all,” he confirms. “Only the cigarettes.”

“Javi.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“You of all people should know withholding information is just as incriminating,” she huffs, “I’m stronger than you ever give me credit for. You aren’t the only one who sees the blood in the streets, you know. I saw it too, still do, because we live here and that’s the reality and I’m sick of having to deny it.”

“Baby,” he groans. “Please. I don’t ever ask you to postpone these things, but I cannot do this tonight. I cannot.” 

“What happened tonight, Jav?”

He shakes his head. Lips straighten into a tight line and his Adam’s apple bops. 

“It was nothing.”

“Please,” she pleads, in the same vein as his own. “You don’t know how bad I need to know what is happening in your mind.”

“Nothing.”

His eyes start going blank again, despite the small smile he forces onto his lips. It has gone quicker than it had come. 

She frowns. 

He senses that his control over this situation is ebbing away. Lies, denial, the cruel act of simply not telling—it oozes out of him. 

Deception ages poorly, if this is anything to go by. It is grotesque what the truth can do to something beautifully fabricated as their marriage has been the past few months. Those tiny cuts that had existed before are now bloody wounds, infected with the spoils of their selfishness.

He cups her face in his hand; she lets him. He swipes the pad of his thumb over the warm skin, and looks into her eyes; she lets him. He leans forward to kiss her; she does not let him.

She’s never done that. It hollows him out, digging deeper in the already sensitive heart he’s carrying around.  

“Te amo mucho,” she begins, taking the hand that cradled her face in her own, “but you are hiding from me and it hurts to see.”

He face twitches, as if he’s going to say something, but he grows hesitant. He realizes what he might lose, realizes what’s at stake. 

It is not that she hasn’t seen the violence, or that he thinks her too weak to handle it. He knows what she can bear, knows that before he ever met her she was reporting on what he found. Anyone in Colombia, reporter or not, knows, because this is what happens. Violence. She can’t not know. 

What she can avoid knowing is his involvement in it. Withholding the truth is just as incriminating, she is right, but she’s been here long enough to know that crime runs rampant. It infects the entire country with its allure—that promise of getting to better places faster—and he is someone who has been swept dangerously up in its tide. 

She does not need to know. Some things shouldn’t be told, just as those things shouldn’t have been done. 

Doesn’t need to know it had been a boy. Just a fucking mouthy kid who had been washed into a war he didn’t deserve to comprehend let alone contribute to. 

The gun was held by someone who should’ve protected him, too. Noble American hero he was, Javi stood by and watched. He hadn’t even wanted to tell Steve—was coerced out the way he refused to be with her. 

He swallows harshly and thinks once more about the line of English he muttered before it had happened. It was a plea the boy wouldn’t have understood or grasped, said because deep down Javier knew what was about to happen. He didn’t say it in Spanish, though. He has to reconcile with the fact that the plea was more for himself than it was the boy with the gun in his face. Has to reconcile with the fact that he won’t speak about it again, too, even though he knows it’s wrong. She doesn’t need to know that, does she?

“I’m not going to tell you,” he speaks with a harsh finality. Maybe it’s not so harsh; maybe it’s just the fact that it’s so final that really hurts.

She holds her breath, the pain of his answer sharp and sudden and irrevocably real regardless. 

“I can’t,” he repeats. 

There’s no way he doesn’t know he’s hurting her now, and she supposes he’s doing this for a good reason, but the ache of it still burns just as bad. 

“I know,” she says. Then, a sacrifice, “S’okay.”

Javier’s eyes shift down to her stomach. He has found an increasing need to keep his hands and arms wrapped around her nearly all of the time lately. Given, he has always loved the way she melts into his body when he wraps himself around her, but this is different; it is a sort of comfort that stems beyond liking the warmth of her. This is a need to protect. 

His feelings about the child still lean more towards confusion than they do anything else, but he’s begun to accept the fact that it is real. It’s hard to deny such a thing as her stomach begins to grow, but a part of him sort of likes knowing that it’s there now. He has given her something that isn’t pain, something that will be beautiful and innocent. He watches her, too, sees the way she holds her stomach and hears the way she speaks to it when she thinks he’s in a different room.

He remembers when she had told him that she was meant to be so much more than just someone’s mother or just someone’s wife. That felt like a century ago, those two people entirely different than the ones that lay here now and talk with each other. He doesn’t mourn for it, that time and those people, but he does think about them. 

She is still so much more than a wife and a mother, to be fair. Maybe she never accomplished everything she had envisioned when she had told him that, but there’s something so fiercely independent about her still, something entirely separate from anyone, even the one who grows inside her. 

She kept her last name. She reads all the time and piles books all over the house, adding personality in a way he never favored beyond his own shit until she came. She still writes. She’s compiled an entire record collection, full of artists and bands he’s never heard, and sometimes ones he has, the special sort that remind him of being a kid. She can sew. She is good at puzzles. She always burns her own toast but never his. She is good at oral because in the same way she had dedicated herself to a lot of things in life, she had also dedicated herself to learning how to suck a cock (her words, not his). She is filthy in a way that makes him ache sometimes, it’s so goddamn hot. She is kind. She is his everything. 

He isn’t happy or proud of the fact that he cannot find it in himself to admit what he has done. He knows she doesn’t deserve to be in a relationship filled with lies, ones so concealed she can’t even begin to find out what they are. Cigarettes are nothing in comparison to the things he witnessed tonight, and even those break her heart. 

His love for her is selfish, but it is still the very best part of him. 

“Let me touch you,” he whispers, hands ghosting lightly over her bare arms. “I just wanna make you feel good right now. Will you let me do that?”

She nods, and then, without him asking, she raises the slip she wears over her head, leaving her perfectly naked on top of him. He leans forward soon after and takes a nipple in his mouth. Her fingers rake through his hair as he runs his tongue against the sensitive flesh, but this time they do not tug. There is no rush or hunger in the way they are choosing to be with one other right now. Their bodies are too weak from emotional ware and tear, and their minds too numb from resisting the confrontation of the heaviness tonight has brought upon them. 

His fingers travel down to her core and when they find her clit, she pulls her back from her chest and kisses him, stealing a moan from his mouth. She breathes into him. After she pulls back, she rests her forehead against his own. Javi focuses more intently on her pleasure, measuring his success from the way her breath begins to quicken and the way her hips begin to rock up into his hand, desperate for more. He buries his face in the crook of her neck and she bites down gently at the skin of his shoulder, muffling herself as his fingers quicken the pace. She’s getting close, he knows. 

“That’s it, mi amor,” he tells her as she works herself on his fingers. “Use me, baby.”

It doesn’t take long until her lips part from his skin and find themselves letting out sharp moans, hips coming to a slow halt as she finishes working herself through the wave of her orgasm on his fingers. 

She presses her lips onto his, panting gently as she does so. When she allows herself to rest against him, he can feel how wet she is through the fabric of his boxers. 

He grabs onto the back of her neck and deepens the kiss. She wraps her arms around his neck and begins to rub herself against him, and he lets her for a few moments, enjoying what he can of her like this, before he rests a hand on her hip to stop it. 

“I want to taste you,” he tells her. She just looks at him. “Por favor.”

She nods, beginning to get off of him, but he grabs at her again, stilling her. Her eyebrows raise in confusion. 

“Sit on my face.”

“Javi, I’m too—“

“No you’re not,” he assures. He begins to lay down, pushing a pillow beneath his head. “C’mon, you like it.”

“Baby,” she hesitates. 

Javi tugs gently on her hand, urging her forward. She sighs, but caves in. 

He helps her, guiding her forward on his chest and she goes, but he can feel how nervous she is still.

He nips at her thighs before he adjusts herself over him. “I like doing this,” he tells her before he guides her forward the last few inches, and immediately he can feel all the tension ease from her as his tongue dips into her. 

She grabs a handful of his hair and licks between her folds, lapping up the last bit of her previous arousal. His nose grazes gently over her clit every so often and she cannot help the moan that escapes from her when it does. He is losing himself in her, transforming all the lies into nothing even for the briefest moments. 

He may not be the best husband, but he can make her feel good. He likes it too, genuinely enjoys the taste of her on his tongue and the accomplished, satisfying feeling of knowing he makes her legs weak and is the cause of the moans that part from her when she truly gets lost in this. And God, how they fall now as he sucks her clit. She unintentionally moves her hips forward. 

“Sorry,” she says, but Javi is quick to gently shake his head, not wanting to lose her. His hands wrap around her ass and he encourages it, going as far as moaning into her when she begins to develop a good pace. He gropes at her ass and she cums again, twitching gently this time. Javi cannot help the grin that forms on his lips as she does this. 

She guides herself off of him, collapsing next to him in the bed. Before he has the chance to wipe her arousal off his lips, she’s pulling him into a kiss. 

She loves this man. He may hurt her and hide from her, but she never feels unloved in his presence. Maybe that is enough. Maybe asking for any more than that is wrong. He is a good man. 

She kisses a trail down his chest, moving back in between his legs before she reaches the halfway point. 

“No,” he says, holding out his hand. 

“Why?” she questions.

“You don’t need to just because I did,” he says. “You don’t have to touch me at all.”

“I want to, Javi,” she tells him, hands shimming down his underwear. 

She kisses down his happy trail, then peppers light kisses around the base of his cock. His breath hitches, anticipating her next move, and he is delighted to find it is her tongue licking the underside of his sensitive member. He nearly jolts out of her hand, the sensation of her feels so good. 

He cannot help but tell her, saying, “Fuck, you do it just right.”

Despite all the ache still present in her, she manages a soft, unaffected laugh. He notes that, feels just as moved by that as he does the way her mouth wraps around his member and begins to be worked. 

She twirls her tongue around the top each time she comes back up, and she moves back down slowly, drawing multiple moans and “fucks” from his lips. He cannot look at her while she does it, unable to refrain from coming in her mouth if he does. He’s already dangerously on the edge as she includes her tongue when she’s going back down on his choke, running across each vein and causing his hips to twitch just as hers did. 

“I’m gonna—“ he pauses, fighting the urge to release with all he has in him. “I’m going to cum soon and I want it to be in you. You—“ he pauses again, breath leveling, “—you gotta stop or I won’t make it.”

“I don’t want you to,” she manages, before returning to his cock, going up and down at an increased rate. His fingers clench the sheets beneath him as she does this, losing it when she moans against him. He can’t stop it, can’t resist the urge any longer and doesn’t truly want to, knowing she’s not going to let him. 

He opens his eyes and watches her wipe a line of his arousal from her chin before she swallows down the rest of it. Tired and spent as he is, he still manages to rise from his back quickly to kiss her. He can taste himself on her lips, but he does not mind it. The kisses are not as lust filled, more tender and caring, and he is all the more pleased when she guides him backwards again, before settling next to him and wrapping one of her legs around his. His heart beats rapidly and his mind is not yet void of thought (he isn’t sure if it will ever be), but the tension between them has dissipated. Even if it is temporary, and even if it is something that is going to come back ten times worse, Javi values this for what is now and appreciates her submission once more into this fantasy land with him. 

She herself wonders, despite all the unspoken heartbreak, and despite all the unknown truths, what their baby might look like and what qualities it might possess from him as she lies silently next to him. Wonders because what she has learned is that the future is her friend and that imagining it does no harm.

It is a place where nothing is broken or harmed, the future. A place where she can cling to the vestiges of hope she’s granted even when he holds her and doesn’t tell her what he’s done or seen. It’s a place beautifully untouched by the unfair quality of truth and pain; a place where he stands in the doorframe of their bedroom with a small, newly born child and looks happy in a way she hasn’t seen in so long; a place where she will never have to fret about whether she will ever get that from him or not, because it is hers and she does. 

The future has always been kind to her, kind in the way the present never, ever seems to be. She clings onto Javi and even manages a sad sort of grin at the thought of a child who’s hair curls the same way his does when it gets too long. 

She doesn’t share these thoughts with him, though—hardly ever does—because she needs things for herself. Admitting these notions into the world is to corrupt them, or to corrode the meaning they have to her now. She loves him, but these are her thoughts the way whatever he battles are his. 

This is a scene of a war without mercy; this is scene eight from a marriage. 

javi tag list : @wyn-dixie , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @disgruntledspacedad , @melaniermblt , @walt-breslin , @theorganasolo , @amneris21 , @over300books

forever/everything tag list : @astroboots , @frannyzooey , @wyn-dixie , @rosiefridayrogersunday , @melaniermblt , @theorganasolo​ , @amneris21​

scenes tags: @gravegoth​ , @sarahjkl82-blog​ , @cmonkeepmoving​

[deadinside-butstill-horny]

The Night We Met

Part Three - Most Of You

Pairing: Javier Peña/ Female Murphy!Reader

Words: 10k - Word count got away from me.

Summary: We learn a little about Y/N’s past. Tequila is involved and inhibitions lowered. 

Content Warnings: Mentions of death, themes of PTSD,18+ SMUT warning, oral, fingering, dirty talk, penetrative sex. Lots and lots of consent, cause consent is sexy and you know our boy Javi is nothing if not respectful.

MASTERLIST

AO3

Author Note: I really enjoyed writing this. It’s absolutely just porn with minor plot but I have no regrets.

Got the gif from this photo set during the week because THAT’S THE SMILE I’M ON ABOUT. That cute as fuck half smile; it melts my heart. 

Part One   -  Part Two 

It just so happened that when Javier decided to stop trying to seduce you, the two of you could actually be around one another and have a good time. Well, not quite as good as that night. But in the grand scheme of things; good-ish. 

After the debauchery that had occurred outside of the church the two of you had ceremonially agreed to a ceasefire on all hostilities with your second meeting. You were equal parts surprised and disappointed that Javier had been on his best behaviour, the two of you had successfully bought the ingredients and were currently producing what was sure to be a decent breakfast without either of you ending up naked. 

He was the picture of domesticity as he sat on the counter top with a beer in his hand at 8:15am as you whisked some eggs in a bowl using a fork, you paused for a moment, taking a sip of your own beverage, then resuming your task as you threw the eggs into the too hot pan making them sizzle on the skillet. 

"No, no, no, no." Javier cried and pushed himself off of the counter as he tutted, coming to your side and placing his hand on the curve of your waist to move you out of his way. His hand slithers forward and lingers a second on your own fingers before he takes the spatula and puts space between the two of you to manage the task at hand. 

For a moment, you're perplexed. The movement itself wasn't particularly invasive or breaking from the gentlemanly persona he had adopted in the last two hours, but rather it was an act of, well, familiarity. Which reason dictates simply shouldn’t exist between the two of you. 

You had known each other for a grand total of 48 hours and that was being generous as you had been comatosed for easily 15 of those. He had a bad habit of popping up when you least expected it and disarming you with an easy smile. 

You didn’t like how he made you feel. Everything you said, you measured his reaction, a pull of his lip, a flash of his teeth or a narrow of his brow; these were his tells, well his obvious ones. 

You tried desperately to convince yourself that this was platonic analysis. It would seem you could kid Javier but you couldn’t trick yourself. You felt things for the man that you really shouldn’t after knowing him for two days. You were frustrated with the situation, he’d slept with another woman hours after your encounter. You were jealous, sure, but not betrayed.  

It was a matter of pride, that evening had somewhat extinguished the fire for the bronzed man who was currently trying to save the eggs you’d flash fried. What you were experiencing were embers. Yes, embers. The fire hadn’t completely been doused and all you had was a residual heat. A deep glowing burning heat, sure. But eventually reality would be sure to dump some more water on this fire and you wouldn’t feel this lingering need for the man, right?

“¡Espero que te gusten los huevos calientes!” Javier hollered over the sizzling with a smirk on his face as he scraped at the pan with the instrument he’d stolen from you. 

“Eggs and Hot? That’s all I got!” You question a smile warming your face, apparently his enthusiasm was contagious. 

He chuckled at your words and nodded, “Tu español no es tan malo linda dama!”

“I got nothin’ besides español,'' you shrug. Javier let out another snicker, he seemed to laugh a lot but he was missing the soft wrinkles bracketing his mustache which made you think that maybe this wasn’t his natural state. There was a light silence whilst he sliced the loaf of bread you’d picked from the store. As you were setting the table your book caught your eye from its place on the coffee table and you couldn’t resist trying out some of your newly learnt infant level language. 

“Hola Javier, mi nombre es Y/N. Mi color favorito es el Y/F/C.¡Me gustan los perros!” 

(My name is Y/N, My Favourite colour is Y/F/C. I like dogs!)

Javier turned around his expression; a picture of incredulousness. His eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead, his mustache almost touching his nose as you got a view of his brilliant white teeth in a genuine honest to god grin. If you had a camera, you’d have captured that moment.

“I’ll have to be careful around you, huh, sunshine? These new Spanish skills of yours could get me into trouble.”

“Bailar es divertido!” You exclaim using the only Spanish phrase you know.

“What?...Dancing is fun?... Where the hell did you learn this stuff?”

“Español … para... niños”

“Española para niñas” Javier corrected helpful “Unless you’ve got something you need to tell me...” 

“Damn! The masculine and feminine, they briefly touched upon the theory in Spanish for Kids. It wasn’t as in depth as you might think though.” You joke with a huff. “Hey, do you know where I can get a better translating book?”

“Learning Spanish, huh? How long are you plannin’ on staying exactly?” You jump at the addition of a third voice, Steve appears looking thoroughly rested with his voice two octaves lower than it should be.

“Well ya’ know Stevie, it’s pretty ignorant to not learn a little of the language of the country you’re in.”

“You didn’t answer the question.” Steve points out, you’d hoped he would give in and let it go considering Javier was here. Though seeing as he greeted his partner whilst grabbing a cup of coffee before turning expectantly towards yourself, your chances of skirting around the subject seemed slim. 

“I don’t have any commitments at home, not like I got the hospital waiting for me to come back. So... I’mma stay… ya know … live a little!”

“Gillian? She’s not waiting for you?”

“Nah, I quit.”

“You quit?! It took you fuckin’ ages to get that job.”

“Stevie, If I have to clean up puke in a fucking grocery store once more. I honestly don't think I can take it- don’t look at me like that. Three times is three times too many!” 

“You’re fuckin’ out of your mind. This isn’t a holiday.”

“No, but I need some change, you clearly need to get your ass kicked back in line. We both win! If you help me get a job it’ll be great… I can practically speak Spanish already....” 

“I dispute that.” Javier piped up.

“Shut up.” You say as you throw the tea towel at him. “Look Stevie. Everything’s fine. You were fine with Connie and Olivia being here. I’m a grown ass woman.” There was silence as Javier continued moving around the kitchen, only this lull was a little heavier, you chalk it up to you being the youngest and the only girl in a family with three brothers. God knows they’d been benching you your entire life. 

“Fine.” Steve huffed and sat down at the table as you and Javier served up. The man in question gave you a conspiratorial wink as you passed one another. Nothing more was said on the matter as you tucked into breakfast. Infact, pleasant conversation was kept up all through the meal until it came time for Javier and Steve to go.

“We gotta get into the embassy. Heard rumours the new boss starts soon and we need to get our ducks in a row.” Steve nodded to Javier's words. “You ready to get back in the ring?”

“Been ready for the past two weeks, man. This leave of absence was bullshit”

Steve grabs his coat as you watch expectantly, waiting for your invite to the boys club, that inevitably doesn’t come. Instead you receive a much more in character; “Stay in the apartment, for god sakes Y/N. Just for today. I’ve left my number on the pad if you need me.”

You nod noncommittally and combined with a shrug the action hits its mark as Steve sighs.

“This isn’t funny. Bogotá isn’t safe for you.” You repeat your action, this time without the shrug. He huffs but carries on out of the door, he must have realised that was as much as an acquiescence as he was going to recieve, Javier follows him but stops on the threshold. 

“Te encontraré ese libro, Guapa.” He calls out before closing the door behind him.

“no hablo español, motherfucker!” You shout after him, you vaguely hear his warm chortle as he descends down the stairs. With your legs propped up on the chair in front of you, you huff and look around the room.  The absolute assholes had left you with the washing up. Yeah, feminism was definitely taking a hit during your time in Colombia. 

Apparently the agents hadn’t got the memo about the change in gender roles, you cursed their names as you turned on the radio to some latin music and began the arduous process of cleaning the entire kitchen, including the appliances and counters you hadn’t even used. 

You then moved onto the lounge, hey, if you were going to play the role of housewife, you were going to at least be a good one. You hoovered, reorganised and dusted your ass off for at least three-ish hours before you got bored, abandoning your work for snooping, you were only human after all.  

First you looked in the medicine cabinet and found nothing good, I mean, you don’t know what crazy drugs you were expecting your brother, the DEA agent, to have in his possession but you were crestfallen with the dull discovery of a spare toothpaste, American xanax and ‘aspirina bebé’.

With a lamentful sigh you took your sleuthing into the bedroom, pulling his bedside drawer open with a hesitant hand. You don’t know what dark sexual preferences your brother and Connie may or may not have and you didn’t want to risk permanent scarring. As you open it fully you glance inside remaining tentative, your eyes first fall on the badge left behind. He must have forgotten it. You take it out and place it on the bed beside you as you continue to investigate.

Your hands find a wad of folded yellow notepad paper, the jagged edges have been ripped from the main pad in frustration. Unfolding the wad, you do a once over of the sheet in front of you. The words ‘Dear Connie,’ make you halt in your sted.  Finding a gimp mask or weed was funny, this however crossed a line. So you placed the notes back where you found them, you turned to grab the badge and place it back on top of the pile but as the light shone on the metal an idea sprung to mind.

To say you were famed for your impulse control issues was an understatement. You often acted first with no regard for the consequences, hence your presence in Colombia and your extensive shoe collection. But as you drove your brother's Jeep through the streets of Bogotá, you realised that you may finally push Steve over the edge. Already in too deep you took the final turn, following the map you had spread out on the passenger side and were greeted with the American flag. Eureka. You had taken an embarrassing amount of wrong turns but had finally arrived.

You pulled up to the barrier and smiled at the Colombian guard donned in a dark green uniform. 

“Hola, Agent Murphy DEA asked me to drop off his badge.” You wiggle the object of your deceit in his eye line. 

“Identification?” The guard asked in heavily accented English.  You shut off the car's engine as you turn to your purse and pull your driver's license out and hand it over. He inspects the plastic, looking between you and the ID before nodding and handing it back to you, definitely not a social butterfly.  He then waved to the gentleman controlling the barrier, allowing you access.  

“DEA office is to the right. Personnel only.”

“I’ll be in and out, quick as a flash.” You reassuringly smile at the man and receive only a stony glare in return. Deciding to stop pushing the apparently limitless bounds of your dumb luck you pull through the barrier and into the car park on the right. You park up in what you hope is an unreserved space and hop out of the tall vehicle.

“Right, what's the plan again?” you mumble to yourself as you pause for a second, before starting towards the cream building and hopping up the stairs. You cling to the badge like a life raft, terrified you’ll be stopped as the imposter sight-seerer you are. Now in your defence, you knew this was dumb. Steve had an important job and distracting him wasn’t helpful in the least, but you couldn’t help yourself. Stay inside- like that was ever going to happen.

So you scoured the offices of the embassy for about fifteen minutes before you decided to break and ask for help, finally stopping an american looking woman with large stylish shoulder pads and even bigger hair. 

“I’m looking for the DEA office? Steve Murphy, Javier Peña?”  She seemed to bristle at the mention of the latter.

“Take that elevator to the third floor and it's the third door on the left, but watch out for Peña, he’s a real- '' She cut herself off with a huff, before nodding your way and walking off.

No shit, sister. 

Following the potentially scorned woman's instructions you found yourself in the DEA Bogotá headquarters; only Steve and Javier were nowhere to be seen.  

Fuck.

You looked around the room taking a slight step back getting ready to turn on your heel as an older white haired man entered the room. 

“Hey Newbie, I need two copies of each of these and I need these faxed to the team in Medellín.”

“Uh-”

“I needed them there yesterday, so get to it.” He dumps the two huge piles of files into your arms as you stare at him bemused. Looking back you still don’t know why you didn’t say anything, but you rolled up your sleeves and whipped out that can-do attitude and got to work, at what was apparently your new guerilla admin job. And that is how Javier and Steve found you two hours later, fighting with a fax machine and on the phone to the office in Medellín.

“No- I understand how the machine works… Yes… Yes I’ve turned it off and on, I think the problems on your side… No I don’t- Well Weaver needed the case file there yesterday so you need to figure something out! Yes… Yes I’ll hold. “ You turned when you heard steps behind you, pressing the receiver between your head and your shoulder and holding the fax machine manual. 

“Hey Guys!” You say cheerily, pretending like this was completely normal, like you hadn’t just dropped into Steve’s life and then surprised him every step of the way. 

“What in the hell are you-” Steve started, however the woman on the other side of the phone decided to pick up, you held up one finger to the two of them as a pause. 

“Oh, Hey Salome, It’s no problem… that’s great, I'll give it a try.” You drop the manual and press the green button on the fax machine, the machine begins making the whizzing sound you’d been chasing for the past twenty minutes. “Sounds all good on my end. Right, that's great I’ll send the rest across now. Thanks, have a nice day!”

“Am I high, right now? What the fuck is going on?” Steve’s tone matched his face with the disbelief painted upon it.  He had taken a seat at the desk which just so happened to be next to the fax machine and copier. Javier sat at his own in front of the typewriter with a smirk on his face lighting up a cigarette.

“Uh, well... I came to give you your badge cause’ you forgot it at home and then Weaver asked me to do some copies. Turns out that security here is pretty lax, cause’ I’ve been copying and faxing classified case files for the past two hours and no one seems to know or care that I don’t work here.” Steve’s eye all but twitched as he rubbed at his face. He reached into his bottom drawer and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and began pouring himself a glass.

“Fine.” He actually shrugged after downing the drink in one. Damn, You weren’t sure which had broken him, yourself or Colombia. “Better you’re here where I can keep tabs on you...Javi, can we get her an actual job?”

“I’ll run it by Messina,” Javier shrugged as he stood from behind his desk. “Probably best not to mention the perusal of classified cases though.”

So that’s how the three of you ended up at dinner celebrating your new job four days later, you were officially an office administrator for the DEA in Colombia, heading to the CNP base of operations in Medellín alongside your brother and his partner as their administrator, well, from what you understood, you were their dogsbody.  Your Spanish speaking ability had been greatly exaggerated but you were undeniably overqualified for the position, so, pending a background check you were through doors. 

Your interview with Steve and Javi’s boss; Messina, had been nerve wracking and your Murphy name had won you no favours. 

You’d given it your best and from what you could see you’d managed to convince her you were worth your salt. 

Yep, you’d proved yourself totally capable and more importantly, completely willing to move around 8 hours away to Medellín to live on an army base where a drug cartel was incredibly active. According to Javi this had apparently made you a very appealing hire to the DEA.�� As such you were being sent along with the boys to help out on the front line, well, as close to the front line as an admin/dogsbody gets.

The three of your glasses clinked in unison, before you drained your shot with a regretful gasp, Tequila was the devil. 

“Thank you to Javi, for not only saving my sister from her stupidity once, but twice… or is it three times now?!” Steve lifted his second shot as he gave his heartfelt speech. Picking up the lime you’d just sucked the juice out of you launched it at him, missing by some margin. He let out what could only be described as a snigger as both him and Javi threw their second shots back.

If you were completely honest with yourself, you were wasted. 

The three of you had enjoyed a meal and many, many subsequent drinks. Knowing full well the two men had a distinct advantage of having had at least a year to pickle their livers in whiskey from the stress of this place, you had insisted that for every two drinks they had, you had one. . 

Still, six drinks in with no sign of stopping you felt better than you really had any right to. The room had yet to start spinning and for those small mercies, you were thankful.

“Nah, Thankyou to you both! I’ve heard Medellín is lovely this time of year!”

“Well, you won’t know. You’ll be spending all of your time on base, where it’s safe.”

“Steve-”

“Non-negotiable. You wanna come to Medellín, fine. But you do what I say, and no Y/N’s day out like in Bogotá.” 

“Dude, you’re such a buzz-kill!”

“Dude? What are you 15?!” Javier jokes with a cigarette between his lips. You’d been here only a week and yet he’d managed to navigate how to defuse an impending Murphy fight from a mile away.

“You should’a seen her at 15. Those teeth!”

“Ya’ got any pictures?” Javi asks, half distracted with flagging down the waitress and showing her five fingers.

“Really Steve, you wanna go there? After the earring incident?” Javier turns his full attention on you. 

“Murphy had an earring?”

“No-” Steve tries to interrupt.

“Yep, a nice little hoop.”

“I didn’t…”

“It got caught on his windbreaker and he ripped it out of his ear, it got infected.”

“Wind breaker?” Javier was biting his lip and staring at your brother, not really trying so hard to contain his laughter.

“Can’t think why I didn’t want you around, Sis. Look- I was trying something out; It didn’t work, so I moved on.” You wait a beat, allowing Javier to take in the information before you helpfully and without prompt drop a nugget of information for the Hispanic man.

“... He had to go to hospital.” A chortle burst unintentionally from Javier’s chest as your comment caught him by surprise. 

“Y/N!” Steve burst out in frustration, making you cackle with glee.

“Okay, Okay.” You hold your hands in mock surrender as the waitress drops another round of drinks on the table.

“Let’s head over to the discotheque, live music- no Sicario’s. Big with Bogotá policia so very safe.” Javier pitched like he was speaking to a child as he tried to convince Steve. He knew you were in from the excitement that lit up your form.

“I don’t know, dancing-”

“Would be good for you! Come on Steve, this place is closing soon anyway-” You counter, only to be cut off as he frantically looks at his watch. 

“What time is it- I promised I’d phone Con tonight- FUCK!” He stood quickly grabbing the table to steady himself and ran to the phone box just outside of the bar, you could just about see him from where you sat in the window booth besides Javi.

The two of you looked at one another for a moment, you weren’t quite at the level where conversation came easy, but you weren’t uncomfortable by any means.

“Thanks for talking to Messina for me… honestly. You’ve done so much for me since I got here.”

“Like I said, it’s no problem, guapa.” He smiles at you, not a smirk for once but a delighted easy smile that rarely graces his face. “I saw your CV.”

“Oh.” The smile drops off of your face, his eyes analyse your reaction, the easy smile replaced by a sombre expression. 

“Yeah, Oh. You were a doctor, a surgeon? I thought you mopped up vomit in a grocery store in Miami?”

“It’s complicated.” You gave him no further explanation, you expected him to move on, except Javier wasn’t like other people, he didn’t make things easy. He stared at you expectantly with those deep brown questioning eyes.  “Christ, okay. Yes I was in my final year of residency, not quite a surgeon.”

“How does that happen?”

“How does what happen?” You question, you know you’re being difficult but this isn’t something you’ve talked about with Steve, for Godsakes. He did that trick once more, hitting you with those soul-full eyes. 

Honestly, it was lucky you weren’t working for Escobar, forget waterboarding, all Javi would have to do was look at you to get you to give up your darkest secrets. “Things didn’t go my way, I wasn’t happy there. The hours were long and that shit was heavy.” 

He didn’t seem satisfied with your answer but he didn’t push any further, finally respecting your reluctance, he nodded. Stubbing out his cigarette and tilting his head towards the shots he asked “...Another?” 

“Why not?” You reply hesitantly.

Taking the salt you go to shake it onto the back of your hand when a tanned one stops your movement in its wake.

“No, no, no. Let’s do it a little different.” His eyes shot up to where your brother was leaning against the phone booth before he took your hand in his. Adjusting his grip he lifts your wrist to his mouth. Your heart is beating in your ears as you watch as his pink tongue pokes out and laps one, twice at your pulse point. A long line of saliva is left on your wrist as he shakes the salt over it. His eyes meet yours for a moment, as if asking permission. 

You don’t know how you even instruct your brain to nod, but regardless you carry out the action. Javi brings his mouth to your wrist once more in one solid stroke of his talented tongue, your eyes clamp closed as he finishes swiping up the salt before draining both the tequila and lime.

You’re breathing heavy as you open your eyes, to find those mahogany ones laser focused on you.

“You missed a step.” You mumble, your eyes never leaving his as you hold the lime up to his mouth, rind first. His teeth close over it and his lips just barely graze your fingertips. You turn to check on Steve, thankfully your brother has his back to the two of you, deep in conversation with Connie. Probably for the best, given your plan.

You turn sideways to face Javi, lifting one of your legs up onto the booth and bending it at the knee to get a vantage point. The alcohol coursing in your veins gives you the courage as one  hand wraps around his neck and the other his shoulder, you lean forwards to give one long solitary lick up his neck, right on the pulse. You taste his sweat stained skin, salty and warm on your tongue. 

Reaching for the shaker, you apply it liberally, smiling as you drop some of it down his t-shirt. Though from the stare he seemingly refused to remove from you, you don’t think he much cared.  Once you considered your job done, you turned back and pushed his head to the side and began licking the salt from his neck, this time you tortured him with three small cat licks along the flesh, you felt his neck tense as his hand moved from its place on the pleather booth and wrapped around your thigh. 

You reached back to the table and sank your shot. Wincing you turned back to Javier, leaning forward to grab the lime from his mouth. As you did so, he dropped it purposefully, staring directly into your eyes, a clear challenge, before he grabbed the back of your head and pulled you forward locking your lips in a devastating kiss. He tasted of lime, tequila and just Javier; that unexplainable component which was both sweet and smoky. His tongue plundered the depths of your mouth, seemingly uncaring of your brother who was mere metres away. Your hands roved his chest before locking in the short hair on the nape of his neck. 

Unexpectedly it was Javi who broke the kiss. The two of you paused with your foreheads meeting, much like the night you met.  He seemed to be trying to regain control.

“Meet me in the bathroom?” You whisper, rubbing your nose against his beautifully angular hooked one. He breathed out heavily through his nose, his eyes opening and pushing you away by your shoulders.

“No, I’m not gonna fuck you in the fucking bathrooms of a filthy fucking bar- are you crazy?” Behind his eyes a rage and arousal battled, apparently you had rattled him with your question, he reached forward for his whiskey, and took a sip whilst shaking his head and trying to centre himself. “I’m giving you whiplash? Yeah that’s real cute. You change what you want every single fuckin’ day, then look at me like I’m a dick.”

You supposed he had a point, after all you had been the one to ask for the redo and then stared at him longingly every day since. “It’s not an easy situation to navigate, ok? I came here for Steve-”

“You didn’t come here for Steve.” He uttered under his breath, staring straight ahead with his elbow perched on the table and holding the glass to his mouth.

“Excuse me?”

“You didn’t come here for Steve, not completely. You came here for you.”

“That’s not-” Javier turns to you, locking you down with his gaze. It was easy to forget he was a cop; observative and attentive to a fault, he could call your bullshit from a mile away. 

“Everything you’ve done since you got here, that’s not for him. You’re desperate for some life back in those veins. You don’t just give up being a fuckin’ surgeon and feel fulfilled with your position at a fuckin’ grocery store, Sunshine.”

“Wow, you’ve got me pegged, huh? No wonder they’ve got you after Escobar, best detective on the fucking case.” You roll your eyes refusing to look at him, sipping a beer as a way of hiding how he’s unnerved you. Everything he’s saying true and you’re ashamed of yourself.

“You don’t come down to the embassy if you’re trying to make your brother's life easier. I’m not criticizing Guapa, but how about cutting the bullshit messiah complex.”

You’re embarrassed and trying to look anywhere but him. His hand reaches for your own as Steve rounds the corner, the tanned fingers instead lock around the shot glass in front of you. 

“So, what’d I miss?”  Your voice is lodged in your throat, you don’t think you could speak even if you could think of the words you wanted to use. Javi answers in some nondescript way you don’t even really listen to before ordering another round of drinks.

“Y/N/N, You alright?” Steve asked, ever the concerned brother.

(your nickname)

“Yeah, Javi- uh, he saw my cv.” It wasn’t a complete lie but you still feel bad for using past trauma to make your brother skirt around the issue in the way you knew he would.

“Oh, Uh… Drink?” Steve stared at you, uneasy. 

“Yeah, a drink would be great.” Your voice is monotone to even your ears, you reach forward and down the beer in front of you, desperate for this awkwardness to be over and the feeling in the pit of your stomach to vanish. You’re happy to say after around ten minutes of the two men holding up the conversation, it atleast eases slightly.

There’s a lull as you all wait drinks arrive and you have managed to regain your basic motor skills. This is the selfishness Javi is talking about. Steve needs a good night, without feeling crappy about his damaged sister stealing the lime-light. So putting your best foot forward you look across to Javi and smile.

“So, how was Connie?”

“She’s good! She’s enjoying getting back to work, her sister’s having Liv during the day.” Guilt swells in your stomach once again. You should be there making Connie’s life easier, but instead you abandoned her to play the hero in Colombia. The shame spiral is slowly clawing at your stomach, as you force yourself to take a deep breath. 

“That’s good…” You’re saved by the bell, or rather the waitress bringing over the tray of beverages. Taking your beer first, you reach across and controversially take two of the shots. Both men chuckle at your bravado as Javi asks the woman for an extra shot.

The night continued on much like that, minus the regret whirlwind as the tequila seemed to help get rid of any real self reflection. The three of you didn’t even make it to the discotheque, as by the time the bar closed, the three of you began the short walk home, you were carrying the large box of pizza that you had insisted on ordering.

Surprisingly, Steve was the drunkest of your trio. His phone call with Connie had sent him into his own spiral. He began drinking tequila like it was water, to the point Javier had thrown in the towel, deciding he’d much rather like to live to see tomorrow. So with your pizza in one arm and your other wrapped around your brother's waist, you and Javi half carried Steve home and up the stairs into the apartment. 

The two of you unceremoniously dumped him on his bed, carefully you placed the pizza box you had cradled to your breast on the chest of drawers before you stepped forward past Javier. 

You pulled Steves boots off of his feet and pulled his legs up onto his bed, taking his belongings out his pockets; yes, including his gun, you placed them on the bedside table. You then placed a glass of water and an aspirin next to them, feeling sympathy for his head tomorrow morning. 

Happy that your job was done, you shut the light off and went into the living room, once again cradling the pizza. Javier was slouched on the sofa/your bed flicking through your Spanish introduction book, as you entered the room he threw it back on the table and pointed at the empty whiskey bottle on the coffee table.

“Got any more?”

“Think, that was his last one…” you shrug.

“Come down to mine for a drink? I don’t like how we left things.”

“No more talking?” Javier looks at you reproachfully, scanning your body as if the direct proposition you’d accidentally given him was the last thing he expected. “Uh- I mean- no more hard questions and no more...touching.”

“Alright.” He nods, pushing himself up with a sigh. “But if there’s no more touching, I get half of that pizza Sunshine.”

You nod and smile, following him down the stairs to his apartment. As you cross the threshold emboldened by tequila, you don’t dwell on your self destructive tendencies as Javier’s recent comments would’ve made you if you were sober. 

You’re tired and all you want is a drink of whiskey, some pizza and for Javier to give you that smile, the one that makes the side of his mustache raises and reveals the pearly white of his teeth. Dropping the pizza down on the coffee table you make yourself at home, sitting very deliberately on the couch he hadn’t screwed someone else on. If he notices, Javi didn’t say anything. 

He hurried over, cigarette balanced in between his lips as both hands were taken up. One holding two glasses and the other cradling the whiskey. He sits himself down with considerably more grace than you had, on the other sofa. You reach down the side of the sofa where you spy the remote peeking out from beneath the leather cushion and begin skimming through the channels until you find the telenovelas you'd unironically begun watching since arriving in Colombia.

Opening the box of Pizza, you take a slice and begin devouring the meal. It’s not quite like pizza as you know it, but it's tasty and full of carbs to soak up the alcohol so you can’t find a fault with it.  The two of you eat in silence for around half an hour.

It seemed neither of you were eager to break the silence after the daunting conversation from earlier. It’s as you’re taking your first sip of whiskey watching two women argue in Spanish on the television you decide to speak.

“I figure I owe you some answers.”

“You don’t owe me shit, Sunshine.” He’s leaning back in his seat, whiskey balancing on his knee and a fresh smoke in his hand.  “Sure I’m intrigued, but I'll figure you out in the end. Miami’s own angel of death?”

You chuckle at how close to the mark he is as he makes a shot in the dark. “I’m gonna need a refill if we’re gonna talk about our feelings…”

“Feelings… woah, woah, woah. I didn’t sign up for that.” He has a brazen smirk on his face, as he takes the now empty glass from your palm and fills it up. You down a second and he repeats the task.

“I killed a kid,” You wheeze as you wince from the burn turning your head towards the television and nursing the now full whiskey glass between your hands. “You asked why I gave up becoming a surgeon. I... I was the lead resident on a fuckin’ appendectomy. I could do that shit in my sleep. I perfed the abdominal wall as I was geting ready to close him up; a tiny fucking knick. There were no bleeders and his vitals remained normal, didn’t even notice I’d done it.  It was as they were taking him back to the ward, he just crashed.”  

You finish another glass and as your eyes water, you pretend it's the burn of the alcohol. You breathe heavy, your upper lip quivering. You’ve heard of the sensation but never felt it. 

“I froze. I opened him up in the lift, by the time I got back in there, he’d bled out. A twelve year old; Justin Miller. Just a fucking kid.” Javi doesn’t try to interrupt or make you feel better, which honestly made the whole thing easier. 

“His mom sued the shit out of me and the hospital, can’t say I blame her. I took a sabbatical and when it was time to go back, I couldn’t. Couldn’t go into the OR without having a fuckin’ panic attack.” You hadn’t met Javi’s eyes for the entirety of the one-sided conversation, scared that when you looked up you’d no longer find those treacle eyes filled with warmth. 

Silence fills the air for a devastating second whilst Javier digests your words.

“You fucked up.” He mumbled finally,  your eyes shot up to his own and within the pools of chocolate you found his usual warmth, though his customary jovial expression was suddenly somber. Such an expression looked strange on the gentle man you’d come to know, but you knew it was far from out of place. “In our line of work, you mess up; someone dies. It’s not fair or easy, just is what it is.”

You don’t have a word for the noise you make, somewhere between a scoff and a gasp. You chuckle as his response to years of complex trauma you’ve never recovered from is boiled down to five simple words.

“It is what it is.” You repeat disbelieving.

“Can’t change the past. Useless to try.”

“Stuff it down with the brown?” You ask, lifting your empty glass in a cheers.

“Exactly, Guapa.” He unscrewed the whiskey bottle and began pouring you a generous portion. As he’s screwing the lid back on he sits back down, this time though he’s on the couch next to you. “Maybe someday I’ll get teary and we can talk about my fuck ups.”

Your only response is to punch at his hard thigh next to you as you take a long sip, thinking about the information you’d willingly just divulged to Javi.  “I’ve never talked about that before.”

“Not with Steve?”

“Not with anyone. I was ashamed for a long time, still am. But it’s different now; more manageable.”

“Ready to operate then, Doctor Murphy?”

“Asshole.” You say with a reluctant smile to the joke at your own expense.

“pendejo” he leaned back on the sofa as he translated. 

“pen-dejo?”

“Si muy bueno.”

“Another!” 

“Coger!”

“Co-g-er?”

“Si insistes…” He trails off with a smirk.

“You’re a dick.” 

“Yes, I am.”

After placing your drink on the coffee table, you lean over to Javi slowly, refusing to break eye contact, all the while and you lay your head on the plush leather of the sofa; nearer his shoulder than his own face. 

“Thankyou, Javi.” 

“I keep telling you, Sunshine. It’s nothing”

“It’s everything,” You close the distance and place a kiss on his lips. It’s neither heavy nor chaste, like when he initiated them. This is full of meaning, It speaks of letting go of the past and welcoming the future, it's deep and warm and delicious. Your tongue licks at his own as your hand rises to rest on his cheek holding him there, you explore the depths of his mouth instead of conquering them. He tastes of the whiskey and somehow residual tequila, you find yourself getting drunk off of the taste of him. 

Pulling away you rest your forehead against his own. “I’m so tired… and drunk.”

“Sleep with me.”

“Javier, you said- I mean, I don’t think-”

“No, sleep. Just sleep... with me. Gotta be better than the couch up there,”

“No funny business?”

“Scouts honor.”  After a moment of contemplation you decide that this was specifically breaking the rules of your selfishness, the tequila may have altered your perception of the rules somewhat but you had wanted this man for so long. After your emotional confession, falling asleep next to him seemed cathartic.

You take the remote once more and click the red power button, the screen goes black as Javier has already disappeared into his bedroom. You hear him rummaging around in his drawers as you cross the threshold. Once he’s seemingly found what he was looking for, he holds the article up to your inspecting eye. 

It’s a plain olive green v-neck tee, nothing particularly special about it, but it would do as pyjamas, so you accept it gratefully, much preferring a tshirt to the sundress you’d worn out to dinner. You push the straps off of your shoulders, letting them fall under your armpits as you clutch the dress to your front. You pull Javier's t-shirt over your head and are greeted by the fragrance you’d come to love. It smelt like washing powder, spice and cigarette smoke, you wouldn’t say smoke was on your top tier of smells list but it reminded you of Javi so you couldn’t bring yourself to turn your nose up at it. 

Once the shirt was covering all the important bits, you lowered your dress and stepped out of the offending cloth. 

“A little late for modesty, eh?” He smirks as he lights his cigarette, leaning against the pillows of the bed. He was referring to the morning after you’d arrived in Colombia, where you’d walked through this very apartment, bare as the day you were born. 

At some point Javi had rid himself of his dress shirt and dropped onto the bed still wearing his jeans. You shimmy your bra down the sleeve of the tee, to make a point. Winking at him as you finally pull it free. You fling it on top of where your dress lay abandoned. 

“You’re still a perv for that.” You smile fondly at the man as you clamber over to your side of the bed. He’d taken the left, closest to the door. He doesn’t reply as you make yourself cosy, under the thin blanket of the duvet.

You roll over to face him, he seems to be miles away. 

“Where’d you go?” You ask softly, though he startles still. 

“I’m right here,” He deflects, leaning over to the ash tray to stub the smoke out.

“Ok…” You roll your eyes as he turns off the lamp and lies flat on the bed next to you. The two of you are silent for a while. It’s not quite awkward but it's definitely not comfortable silence, the two of you know the implications of your decision tonight. Even if Javi is being a perfect gentleman. Your eyes have yet to acclimate to the dark as you stare out trying to search for his form. 

“Stop staring at me.”

“It’s dark, I’m not staring at anything.” You reply to his childish remark. You hear a chuckle catch in his throat. He seems then to have finally made his decision, he reaches forward and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you to his chest. You go to stop him, but there's nothing to stop. He makes no further move as he holds you there. Your cheek rests on the overheated skin of his pectoral, it has just enough give to be comfier than any pillow you’ve ever encountered. 

“Maybe, I’ll tell you about my fuck ups one day.” He whispers into your hair, despite the way he says it being non-committal there's a promise behind the words. You don’t reply, already drifting off into the best sleep you’ve had since arriving in Colombia, or perhaps ever. 

A part of your brain registers Javi placing a kiss on the crown of your head as your eyes finally shut, though it is quickly replaced by the singular thought of ‘God, I hope I don’t drool all over him.

                                                       “You sober?” You look up at the clock on the bedside table that reads 5am. You’d been asleep for about four hours. You make a non committal noise in your throat. 

“Javi?” You mumble sleepily, the man behind you is peppering kisses on your neck.

“You want this?” Again you groan, this time however, you nod your head. His arm rises to wrap around your neck, arching your back to get you closer to him. “Do you want this?”

“God yes.” You gasp, pushing your hips back against his bulge. His hands release your stomach as he kisses down your neck once more. His hands are hard on your flesh as they map out your body in the dark.

His hands continue to roam your body as they slide under his shirt, they land on your breasts, he can’t help himself as he weighs them in his hand. He groans in your ear at the feel of them in his palm. You’d always had Javier down as an ass man, he’d nearly burnt a hole through your jeans the night you’d met. But apparently Javi was a man of many tastes as he worshiped your nipple with the pads of his fingers, rolling the sensitive bud through his thumb and forefinger. 

You groan at the sensation and push yourself back into him, desperate to feel every inch of his body against your own. You pull away suddenly and he makes a guttural sound in the back of his throat, though all of his questions are answered as you pull his shirt over your head and throw the offensive fabric across the room. As Quick as a flash he’s back on you, his mouth attached to your neck, giving you absolutely no quarter. 

He’s the one bucking into you this time and that seems to awaken part of your brain, your hands reach behind you they’re clumsy from sleep and the angle you have is awkward, you struggle with the button of his jeans for a second before his hand leaves one of your breasts to undo it for you. His hand returns as quickly as it left though it doesn't stay there for long as it slowly roves south, stroking the flesh of your stomach and making your entire being tighten up in anticipation as he feels you through your boy shorts. His touches are light at first, testing and exploring your body, before his fingers begin teasingly rubbing at your clit seeming to delight in the way, your wetness seeped through your underwear.

You force your brain back to the task at hand as your hand finds his abdomen and lowers through the hair lurking below his zipper, mimicking the actions he had performed on you moments before, however you have no intention of teasing. 

They find their mark, and you have to stop yourself from gasping. You’d felt him on the sofa that night but my god, your imagination hadn’t done him justice as your hand just about closed around him as you pumped him awkwardly behind you. He groaned in your ear and began whispering in a blend of Spanish and English.

His hands rise to dip under your panties, they brush across your mound before they find their home. His fingers barely touch you at first, seeming to be getting the lay of the land. After a moment of teasing, a single solitary finger swipes slowly along your slit, gathering the evidence of your arousal on his fingers. 

He groaned in your ear. “So fucking wet, that sweet little cunt is so ready for me…” Instantaneously you lose all motor skills as your body goes into shock, Javier’s dirty mouth would be the death of you.

Fucksake Y/N he wasn’t even inside of you, yet here you were writhing in his arms like a wanton whore from a single sentence. 

Your reaction seemed to spur him on as he let go of your body and rolled you onto your back. He swung around on his knees to fit between your legs. His hands rested on your hips, gripping onto the panties that lay there before he rolled them down your legs and threw them behind him. He leaned forward on his elbows, to stare at the most intimate part of you. 

Javi began kissing down your thighs, placing small bites along the sensitive skin along the way, getting closer and closer to the throbbing warmth of your pussy. 

“I meant what I said, cariño. I want to know how you taste.” Your mind is brought back to that church, the way he had you pushed against those bars, you didn’t think your body could constrict any further. You were desperate for any kind of contact. And you knew right there and then that you had been right; This man would destroy you. 

He struck then, much like a cobra towards his prey. His tongue flattened against your warmth, breaching your folds and catching on your clit.  The tip of his tongue was skilled as it danced along your bud, drawing cry after cry from you as your hands grabbed at his short ink black hair. 

He takes one final lap at your swollen clit before his tongue goes lower, he pushes through and sinks his tongue inside of you. His nose, that you’d appreciated for its character bumped perfectly against your clit making stars shoot behind your eyes.  You clenched around his tongue, desperate to be filled, he seemed to get the message as two fingers were quickly buried in your aching hole. 

“So fucking tight,  Guapa, I don’t know if I can fit three...te lo vas a tomar tan bien.” His tongue had risen back up to your clit, the combination of the vibration and filth of his words made a whimper drop from your lips, before he started rotating his tongue in circles around your swollen bud as his two fingers pumped in and out of your cunt at a thundering pace drawing you closer and closer to the edge as the minutes went by.

Finally, his fingers curled inside you as he sucked your clit into his mouth and all at once you were pushed off the cliff. You couldn’t tell what pushed you over that first peak so quickly, maybe it was the fact that it was Javier, the man who had been plaguing your dreams since you arrived in Colombia, currently between your legs devouring your cunt like a starving man, perhaps it was a culmination of five days of foreplay, but whatever the reason, when you fell, you fell fucking hard. 

You clenched around Javi’s fingers like a vice, so much so he hissed into your pussy and began thrusting his fingers faster. Spots clouded your vision as your whole body curved upwards and around the man giving you this pleasure as your legs clamped around his head and your fingers must have scratched his scalp as your hips thrust, riding his face to your peak. You were as taut as bowstring before the tension finally snapped and your body exploded in euphoria. You let out a cry as you crescendo on Javi's talented tongue.

He didn’t stop straight away, even after your body slumped back against the bed, he coaxed you through the aftermath of your orgasm, lapping at your entrance and drinking your come like it was the most delicious wine he’d ever sampled, groaning all the while.

Finally, he pushed himself forward, kissing at your thighs, your mound and finally your stomach as he came to rest over you, holding all his weight on his elbows. His face met your own as he kissed you deep, fucking your mouth with his tongue as he had done your pussy moments before. He leans back rubbing at your stomach, at your hips, at any flesh he can get his hands on. 

“Sabes mejor de lo que podría haber imaginado precioso.” He whispers against your breast as his mouth locks around your nipple. Javier Peña speaking Spanish did things to you, even if he hadn’t been stimulating your breasts you knew for a fact you’d be just as wet from hearing him speak in what you could only assume was a first language from the ease with which it left his mouth. You wished more than anything you could understand what was undoubtedly the filth coming from his mouth. 

You had recovered enough from his assault on your clit, to move your hands from your sides. They raised up and traced the tanned skin on his chest. He really was beautiful. He pulled back to stare at you, giving you a clearer view of his body.

He was muscled yet lithe and you took a self indulgent moment, committing the sight of him to memory, before your hands wrapped around his cock, which was standing to full attention through the undone zip of his jeans. He was what must have been unbearably hard, if you’d have had light to see, you had no doubt the head of his cock would be purple, straining with need. You pushed his jeans further down, recruiting your feet to push them down over his ass. Your hands roamed down to squeeze at the bountiful offering of meaty flesh. 

He chuckled as you pinched his cheek, before lifting his knees one at a time and kicking his jeans off of the bed and before you knew it he was lining himself up, brushing the head of his cock through your wet folds. Despite his groan at the contact, he had the discipline to check a final time. “This is what you want, Y/N?”

You didn’t bother to answer, you pushed his hand away from his cock, and pushed it towards your hole. You pushed your hips up against him in lieu of an answer, welcoming the head of his cock inside you. Even though all you could manage was shallow entry, the feel of him inside of you was glorious. 

 His hands, those talented, glorious hands found your own, wrapping his significantly larger ones around yours above your head. He pushed forward with one strong thrust of those lithe hips and he buried himself balls deep inside of you, rooted so deep you swear you could feel him in your cervix. He was everywhere, he was plundering every inch of you as his body surrounded your own, heat built between the two of you as sweat began coating both of your bodies. 

Every thrust brought you closer to your second peak, turning your head you couldn’t resist trying to get him to claim your mouth too. Though you couldn’t quite reach far enough to make contact, as if reading your mind Javier bent his elbow pushing his torso forward, coincidently pounding deeper into your body as your lips joined in a messy kiss.  He was fucking into you slow and deep, his tongue began following the rhythm of his cock as he claimed every single part of you as his own. 

The pace was brutally slow, just enough to get you to that edge and keep you on it, you could barely speak. You felt like you were drowning in Javier and every time you came up for air he bottomed out, meeting your hips with his own and the wave of pleasure cut off the oxygen all over again.

“Please… Javi…”

“W-what do you want Sunshine?” He panted out continuing with his slow tempo.

“Faster...please... God.” He ignored your cry for speed and continued fucking you into the matress at his own pace, though his thrusts were just as slow but they were harder. His hips hit against your own, as he put all of his power behind them, getting as deep as he could. If you didn’t know better you’d think he was trying to tunnel through to your womb. You clenched at the thought as he fucked you deep and hard. 

“... Javi…” You cried his name, a desperate plea as he kept you suspended over your peak, refusing to let you free fall. Finally he huffed, taking your legs and throwing them over his shoulders.

“You want me to fuck you properly, huh, Guapa?” He began thrusting into you at an arduous pace, the room was filled with your cries, his grunts and slapping of your connecting skin. Those telling black spots were clouding your vision, your second orgasm of the evening was fast approaching. Once again you clenched down on Javi’s thick cock. 

“I’m gonna’ come.” His hand lowered and began rubbing at your clit, not pausing for a moment as he fucked you thoroughly. 

“ven por mí...ven sobre mi polla… fuckin’ Sunshine, fucking taking my cock…. buena niña, podría follarte todo el día.” The second he lost his brain and began muttering in Spanish was the moment you were gone. You came for the second time as he was relentlessly hammering into you, drawing your orgasm from you. Your whole body braced against him, your eyes squeezed shut as you clamped down around his cock, milking him tightly.

“Fuck!” He growled at the tightness surrounding him. 

After a few moments he pulled out, quickly grabbing your and flipping you onto your stomach, after placing a pillow under your hips. He then buried himself back inside of you to the hilt his groans mixing with your own at the sensation. He kept up the pace he had before but this time the angle was deeper as he forced your legs together with his thighs. 

Javi’s hands grabbed at your ass (perhaps he was an ass man after all) slapping the meaty flesh which resided there and then instantly kneaded the tissue he’d just abused. His hands rose to carresse the skin of your hips before he took a punishing grip on them and began fucking you in earnest. Javier taking his pleasure from your body whilst you lay a drooling mess from the orgasm he’d already gave you was an image you didn’t know would turn you on, but it made you clench around his shaft as it plundered your depths. 

He began speaking again, though they were lost in a mix of Spanish and English, so much so you couldn’t differentiate. His pace was relentless and finally you felt him begin to shake as he gasped above you

“¿dónde?...w...where?”

“Come inside me, Javi.” He groaned at words and continued pounding until his hips stuttered and he brought it home and buried himself deep inside, filling you to the brim with his seed.  

The two of you lay there breathing heavy trying hard to get your breath back, half of his weight on top of you and the other half resting on the mattress.His cock was slowly going soft inside of you, yet you felt no urgency to move.

“So much for scouts honor, huh?” You ask from behind a veil of hair, turning your face which had been buried in the mattress moments before. Your voice is hoarse; completely wrecked much like the rest of you. 

He’s silent for a moment of consideration, before he leans forward in the moonlight and pushes your hair from your face. The action makes his cock shift inside of you and a little of his release spills out onto your thighs. He continues anyway and places a soft kiss on your lips before whispering “... I was never a boy scout, cariño.”

TAGLIST - Leave a message if you’d like to be added homies.

@drinkingwhileblogging @va-guardianhathaway  @jedi-jesi @obsessivelysearching @cannedsoupsucks @wantingtobekorra @littlemissoblivious @linnie0119 @pascalesque @pedrosmustache @sir-lili @obsessivelysearching @fairytale07

A/N: Fuck me that was the steamest shit I’ve ever written. This was especially for @drinkingwhileblogging and her turquoise titties, hope this makes up for me blue balling you all. 

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Addicted to You

Part 1: The Chain

Summary/Author's Note: As the sister of veteran turned freelance for hire Santiago "Pope" Garcia, you grew up close to his friends and ex-military squad. Frankie Morales always had your heart, in the same way you always had his--the two of you just never seemed to get the timing right. Trying to escape the violence of a military career based family, you turned to journalism and humanitarian work in war torn countries. But three days ago your crew was ambushed and after three days without any contact, Pope is getting the guys back together for a rescue mission. (Follows Canon events very closely with added character and liberties) Thank you to @winters-buck for headcanoning with me about Frankie and getting me pumped up enough to write this.

Pairing: Frankie "Catfish" Morales x Pope's sister!Reader Word Count: 4.6k (idk what happened...) Warnings/rating: (NC-17)/18+ Language, smoking, implied drug use, PTSD, sex/smut, kidnapping, blood, violence, threats, fluff and feelings

MASTERLIST

Present Day Somewhere in Texas, USA

Santiago "Pope" Garcia had always had a talent when it came to lying, but never had that talent been used so willingly on his closest friends. He was a good bluffer. It had helped his career in the military with his superiors, it had helped him on their weekly poker nights, but he had never planned on getting the five of them back together to boldly lie directly to their faces. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the locker room as Will looked him over skeptically.

"What did he say?" Will asked, straddling the wooden bench and crossing his arms to mirror his friend.

"He's taking a look at it," Pope sighed, taking off his hat and running a hand through his salt and pepper hair. "He may not be up for this."

Of course he was talking about their friend Tom. Tom, code name 'Redfly' had been their captain back in the day, their leader, and his brutality and no bull shit attitude made him a good one. Pope knew if he wasn't on board with this, then Will would be out, and the rest of them would drop like flies before this even began.

"You know he's the best with something this complex, and he needs this right now," Will said and Pope agreed with a silent nod.

Beyond the concrete walls of the locker room a cheering crowd could be heard albeit muffled. Both men turned and looked in the direction of the noise before Will shook his head and leaned forward on the bench.

"This shit is fuckin depressing," he said.

"Come on let your brother have some fun. Support him." Pope offered with a wave of his hand like Will's brother getting the shit kicked out of him for a couple hundred bucks wasn't a big deal.

"I've been supporting him since the day he was born." Will pointed to the wall that stood between them and the mixed martial arts arena. "That kid's a one in a million talent, going out there playing the fucking clown to a bunch of hillbillies."

Pope started to respond but the door opened and a man dressed in nothing but loose fitting shorts and the med tape wrapped around his hands entered.

"Where are my boys at?!" He yelled in a deep voice like an announcer and threw his hands in the air.

"Benny! There he is!" Pope embraced him before patting him on the back and passing him off to his brother who stood up from the bench.

"Hey, shithead," a familiar voice said in Spanish and Pope turned around to see Frankie, a wide grin on his face.

Frankie "Catfish" Morales, known mostly by 'cat' or 'fish' to his friends, was probably the closest thing Pope had to a best friend. Even though it had been two years since they had last seen one another, Frankie looked exactly like he always did. His dark curly hair stuck out under his trademark, ratted, ball cap. His lips held a full mustache while the rest of his face had what was probably week old scruff and the brightest smile of the group. It didn't hit him until they were embraced in a tight hug just how much he had missed the man.

"How' you doing?" Pope asked, patting him on the shoulder.

"Hanging in there, I guess." Frankie nodded, finally letting go and moving to sit on the bench opposite of Will. "Is Tom coming?"

"Yeah, he said he would be here," Pope nodded looking at all of them in front of him. "You assholes get my texts?"

All of them looked in various stages of guilt, rubbing the back of their neck, adjusting their ball cap, not meeting Pope's eyes. Of course they had gotten his texts and by the tension in the room none of them had responded.

"Yeah," Frankie finally broke the silence. "Yeah I got your texts."

"And? I need a pilot." Pope looked at his best friend.

"I don't do that anymore, man." Frankie shook his head and sighed. "Besides, I lost my license."

"I don't need a pilot with a license, I need a pilot I can trust. And that's you." Pope pointed at his chest and held his gaze.

Frankie rubbed his hand over his face and stood up, leaning back against the lockers and looking up at the ceiling. "Will, you in?"

"I told Pope, if Redfly was in, then so was I." Will turned his sights to his friend and shrugged.

"And what about you, Benny?" Pope said, asking the man who had been quiet the longest.

"Of course I'm in."

Pope ruffled his short, dirty blond hair roughly with a smile and a word of praise and Benny shoved him away with a grin.

"Fuck," Frankie sighed and shook his head. "So, what's the job?"

"Can we talk details later? It's fight night--I got other shit to think about." Benny pleaded, looking around to the other three as the crowd cheered again through the concrete walls.

"Sure, wouldn't want you to be late," Will scoffed and stood, offering a hand to his brother and helping him up off the bench. The three men left the locker room and started down the concrete tunnel that led out to the arena. Benny was in front, holding his fists out in front of him like a true heavyweight and mumbling what sounded like a well rehearsed pep-talk to hype himself up.

Frankie and Pope hung back a few steps beside the other two, falling into step with one another like they shared the same brain. The other boys often joked that they did. Frankie put his hand on Pope's shoulder and rubbed his own beard in thought before he broke the silence.

"So, I got busted. That's why my license lapsed. It's not a big deal." He let the sentence hang in the air before he shook his head and sighed. "Okay, so it is a big deal."

Pope turned and looked at him. "Coke?" When Frankie nodded in agreement Pope rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Cat."

"It's still pending. But I'm clean now--I swear."

Pope nodded as they kept walking. He believed him. Frankie was a man of his word, and he knew he didn't have to prove anything to him. If he said he was clean, then he was clean. And cocaine or not, Frankie was the best damn pilot he had seen in his entire career, he wanted him for this job. No one else was going to cut it. Not when the objective was this important.

"Hey," Frankie said, trying to act casual but sounding anything but. "Have you talked to (y/n) lately? How--uh, how's she doing?"

There it was. He had to hand it to him, it took him longer to ask than he would have thought, but where it was normally endearing how much Fankie was still in love with you, this time it made Pope sick to his stomach. Did he tell him? He should tell him--even if it was just him. It was the right thing to do. Instead, as they approached the arena, the lie fell from his mouth.

"She's uh--she's good. Took a job down south, but I haven't heard from her this week." It wasn't a total lie. Pope didn't look at him and he could feel his friend staring intently at him.

Frankie let it go, even though his expression said he didn't want to. "So, what is this job really? What aren't you telling me?"

Pope looked over his shoulder, "It is what I said. Simple recon. We can talk details after the fight."

"Sure, whatever you say, man," he shook his head as they walked into the crowd and Benny greeted Tom with a cheer and a hug as the taller man started passing out beers he had just gotten from the concession stand. "I'm in." Frankie said flatly and walked passed Pope, taking a beer from Tom and giving him a clap on the shoulder.

Pope stopped short and watched the other man smile and interact with the rest of his friends. Frankie was his oldest friend, and lying to him hurt worse than that time he was shot down in Peru. Frankie had been in love with you for as long as he could remember, and if Pope was being honest with himself, he was the only man that deserved you and that he trusted to take care of you. He thought you guys would really make it work, and the day you called it quits hurt him too. Why wouldn't he want his best friend to take care of his sister? Protect you when he couldn't? Make sure you spend the rest of your life happy.

The four of them sat in the front row as Benny walked up the steps to the raised fighting platform, ducking under one of the ropes and bouncing around like there were springs on his feet. Pope looked back at Frankie and when the other man smiled, Pope returned it but it was a lie. He knew he was going to be crushed when he found out why the gang was really back together. When Frankie found out you were missing, nothing was going to stop him from getting you back--that's the real reason Frankie was the most important part of this crew. Because just like Pope, Frankie would get you back...or burn the whole country down trying.

--

Two years earlier

It was just supposed to be drinks and pool, maybe some darts if he talked you into it--you were a terrible shot and it made him laugh until his eyes watered. Frankie had asked you to go to the bar while he was in town and you had happily said yes. You missed him. And by the look on his face you knew he missed you too.

It was never awkward when you were with Frankie. No matter how much time had passed, as soon as the two of you were back together it was like picking up right where you left off. Gentle touches, knowing each other's drink order, holding hands, it was all so natural. He opened every door for you, bought every seven and seven you ordered, and paid for every round of pool, shoving more quarters into the metal slot and racking up the balls the second the previous game ended.

The first part of the date ended when Frankie tried to teach you how to do a trick shot in the corner pocket. He leaned his pool cue against the table and stood behind you, wrapping his arms around yours and putting his large hands over yours on your own pool stick. He smelled like fresh air, like the woodsy smell of recently cut grass, clean earth, and just a hint of campfire smoke--musky and comfortable and safe. He spoke in your ear telling you where to aim, and even though he had to speak over the other patrons and the juke box it felt like he was whispering just for you. When he pressed himself against your ass, your body erupted in goosebumps. He must have felt it too because he asked, "Wanna get out of here?" And all you could do was nod.

The both of you fumbled into your apartment, he barely got the door closed by kicking it, as you dropped your purse and keys on the floor and started unbuttoning his shirt. Of course all of this would have been easier if either of you could pull away from each other's lips, but that wasn't happening.

"Bedroom or couch?" You said as you shoved his shirt off of his shoulders.

He grabbed the hem of your own shirt and pulled it over your head in one smooth motion. "Both." The two of you laughed and kept kissing as he walked you backwards towards the hallway. "Kitchen. Floor. Shower." He kissed you after each word and you blushed, laughing again at his suggestion. This was the Frankie you remembered. This was the Frankie you fell in love with.

"Got big plans for this weekend, do ya?"

"Yup," he bent slightly and gripped the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. "And they all involve you."

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him hard on the lips. His tongue slid into your mouth like it had so many times before, exploring, tasting, moaning softly into you. He knew where your bedroom was, walking down the hall like he lived there and nudging the door open with his hip. Some summers, back when both of your lives were simpler, it was almost like he did live there. He had his own drawers, his own side of the bed, and you made sure his favorite coffee was always in the cabinet.

"Frankie," you breathed against his mouth and his grip tightened on you. You slid your fingers into his hair, removing his ball cap and tossing it behind you.

"Tell me, baby," he mumbled back, putting you down on the bed and crawling over your body.

"I missed you," you said and he froze, looking down at you with those enchanting brown eyes.

He swallowed hard and tried to slow his breathing. "I missed you, too."

The both of you took a moment just staring at one another. He leaned down and gave you another soft kiss before moving to trail his lips down your jaw, moving to your breasts and unclipping the snap in the front. He took each of your breasts in his hands, squeezing and kneading them as you closed your eyes and carded your fingers through his hair again. When he took one of your nipples between his teeth you gasped, arching your back off of the bed and holding him against you.

"You still like that?" He mumbled, moving to the other nipple and repeating the motion, sucking it into his mouth along with as much of your breast as he could. The feel of his teeth against your skin was exquisite and you could have let him do what he was doing all night.

"What do you think?" You laughed as he moved from your breasts down your stomach, biting and kissing his way to the edge of your jeans. "You always were a boob man."

"For your perfect tits? Absolutely." He undid the button and zipper, grabbing opposite sides of your pants and underwear, shimmying them off of your hips.

"Charming." You scoffed, raising your hips to help him as he stood and did the same to his own.

"You always thought so."

He knelt on the bed, stroking his half hard cock before he fell on top of you, making the mattress bounce gently. You gripped his shoulder and rolled him over onto his back, enjoying the surprise on his face and the absolute adoration as your breasts hung directly in front of his face. He started to raise up to put them in his mouth again but you pressed his shoulders back into the bed.

"My turn," you grinned and he nodded, letting you move down his body, kneeling off to the side.

As soon as you wrapped your hand around his dick, his eyes fluttered closed. You worked him slowly before bowing your head and letting some saliva pool in the front of your mouth and letting it drop slowly onto the head and down the shaft. Your hand worked the liquid down, making it slide easier as you pumped him.

"Fuck, (y/n)," he sighed as he watched you. "You're killing me."

"You still like that?" You asked, playfully, mocking his earlier question and he chuckled.

"Smart ass."

You smiled again before taking him in your mouth and you revelled in the way he moaned softly and slid his hand into your hair at the back of your head. You bobbed in tandem with your hand, working the entire shaft as you sucked the head of his cock and his grip on your hair tightened. You took as much of him into your mouth as you could, your lips meeting your fist and a small sound escaped you as he hit the back of your throat. He thrusted up involuntarily and when you gagged slightly, he opened his eyes and looked at you worriedly.

"I'm sorry," he breathed and you shook your head, continuing to suck him off, running your tongue along the large vein that ran the length of him. There was no apology needed, you were just as desperate to remember his body as he was yours. He held out for a few more pumps, rock hard in your hands before he sat up and grabbed you by the arm. "Come here. Come here, baby."

You let him pull you to him as he leaned his back against the headboard and pulled you into his lap. He reached his hand between the two of you and ran two thick fingers along the slit of your pussy.

"Shit," he cursed quietly as he felt how wet you already were. He loved how quickly you were ready for him, it had always been like that. He could have you dripping for him before he even got you undressed and he loved reaching up your skirt or your dress and feeling you against the lace of your thong. "You're so wet."

"You love it," you said as he continued to stroke you and you straddled his hips, putting his arms around his shoulders.

"Always have," he said and it was in a voice tender enough that you weren't sure if you were talking about the same thing any more.

You leaned up on your knees as he took his cock in his hand and lined it up between your thighs. You lowered yourself on to him, sinking down slowly and letting your body adjust to his length. He throbbed inside of you as you paused, letting yourself adjust to his girth. The stretch was intense and you wanted it to last forever, feeling every inch of him as the bottom of your thighs touched the top of his and you settled in his lap. Your fingers found their way into his dark, soft hair. It was a little longer at the ends and you liked the way it curled around his hat, but that hat was currently on the floor with the rest of your clothes so you could touch the soft locks as much as you wanted.

"You ready, baby?"

You nod and hold him close, your breasts pressing against his chest, your foreheads coming together as he wrapped his arms around your waist. "Fuck me, Frankie. Please, please." You whisper the last few words over his lips as he started to thrust up inside of you.

You both released a contented sigh at the same time and it made you smile. Even in your worst days, it always felt like you and Frankie were in sync, two halves of a whole. How your body had missed him, missed the soft way he said your name and the way he held you close to him like he wouldn't be satisfied no matter how close you were.

"I missed you," he said, closing his eyes as he guided your hips up and down, rocking against him as your stomachs brushed together.

"You said that already," you smiled, moaning softly as he hit a particularly sweet spot deep inside of you.

"And I'll say it again," he grinned, pressing his nose against your cheek and kissing your lips.

"Charmer," you kissed him back, soft and slowly.

He dipped his head and kissed your neck, sucking along the soft skin of your throat. You wanted him to leave marks like you both were in grade school, making out in the back of the movie theater, kissing in the bed of his truck, back when things were simpler. His arms tightened around your back as you nosed his hair, breathing him in and kissing the top of his head.

"Fuck," he cursed quietly as you ground your hips down on his lap. "You feel so good, baby."

"Don't stop," you moaned softly in his ear as he picked up the pace. "Harder, Cat, harder, please."

He held you tightly as he looked up and put his hand on the back of your neck. "Look at me." You opened your eyes and leaned back slightly to look down at him with heavy eyes. "God damn, you're so beautiful," he whispered and it made you blush. You kissed him hard and slid a hand between the two of you, frantically searching out your clit as his thrusts started to get sporadic and uneven.

"I'm gonna cum, Cat-" you watched as he looked at you and nodded encouragingly.

"Come on, baby. Give it to me. I got you," he panted close to your face as his cock hit the end of you, pumping up inside of you.

Your orgasm took you suddenly and completely. Your mouth opened but no sound came out as you clenched around his cock and squeezed your thighs around his lap. You felt the heat rise up from your core to the rest of your body in a way that made you curl your toes against the bedspread. You threw your head back and groaned out your pleasure to the ceiling, his name falling from your lips with sweet ecstasy as you clung to his shoulders.

He followed right behind you, spilling himself inside your cunt, the feeling of him hot and wet around his cock and starting down your thighs. He thrust hard, and spaced out, a few more times, grunting a mixture of his pleasure and your name with each movement.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed, leaning back against the headboard and pulling you against him.

You pressed your cheek against his chest, breathing hard as you ran your hand up his neck and played your fingers against the scruff along his jaw. He was still inside you and you clenched your thighs again, an afterthought of a muscle twitch left over from your orgasm. It made him groan again and tighten his grip on your hips.

"Sorry," you laughed softly and he chuckled.

"We still got it, don't we?" He asked, looking down at you with a boyish grin.

"I never had any doubts." You crossed your arms on his chest and laid your head on top of them, looking up into his eyes. You shivered as he lifted your hips slightly and his softening cock slid out of you and you both got more comfortable. It was definitely quicker than the two of your normally liked it to be, but after being apart for so long, you had a feeling anything that happened tonight would be desperate and fast.

He dipped his head and kissed you softly, each kiss punctuated but a soft pop in the silence of your bedroom. He brushed your hair away from your face and smiled.

"You want me to head out soon?" He asked, trying to hide the fear in his face of the possibility that you would make him leave.

"No," you said quickly, shaking your head and staying firmly planted on top of his lap. "No, stay the night. Please." You added the last word sweetly and his face relaxed.

"Sure thing, sweetheart." He nosed your hairline and kissed your forehead.

You knew this couldn't last. You knew he was leaving tomorrow for another mission, another pilot seminar, and you were headed upstate for your job as well. You loved Frankie Morales with all of your heart and he felt the same way--life just always seemed to have other plans. And yet, life was just as cruel as it was sweet because somehow, someway, it always brought you two back together.

---

Present Day Some where in the jungles of Columbia

You weren't sure how long you had been traveling. In fact, when you thought about it, you didn't know much of anything. You twisted your wrists in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure the zip ties were leaving on your skin.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you whispered, leaning your head back against the side of the van. The bumps and potholes in whatever shitty road you were on caused the back of your skull to bump against the metal. How had this happened?

The last few days had been a blur. You and a group of journalists were having dinner in a local village. You had teamed up with a group of doctors and, in between travel, were lending a hand providing basic medical care to anyone who needed it in the surrounding towns. You cut bandages, gathered clean water, played soccer with the children, and took photos to add to your collection and publish when you got back to the States. It had been a pretty uneventful trip, enjoyable actually, until Lorea's men had shown up. No one seemed to know what the dangers narcos drug lord would be doing in a place like this.

Before you knew what was even happening, there were guns pointed at your crew, men yelling in Spanish that you only vaguely understood, and you raised your hands above your head shouting back, pleading them to calm down. Did they want money? No, that would have been too easy, and as a traveling journalist that dabbled in humanitarian efforts, money was not something you had a lot of anyway.

A rather large man grabbed you by the wrists and even though you struggled, even though you screamed, it didn't make any difference. A hand on your head made you duck as you were shoved into a van along with a few of the others on your crew and the door slammed shut behind you.

"Stop, stop," you tried as the van revved and pulled away down the street. "You don't have to do this--" The man who grabbed you ignored your words, if it was because he didn't understand English or because he didn't care, you weren't sure.

He jerked your wrists in front of your body and wrapped the zip tie around them, pulling it tight. Your heart was beating way too fast and you could feel the blood rushing in your ears and on instinct you pulled your hands away from him and screamed again, turning towards the door. He yelled something in Spanish and pulled his arm back before punching you in the side of the face. Your world exploded into flashes of white as you hit the floor of the van. With the wind knocked from your lungs, you gasped for air and coughed, your eyes burning with hot tears.

The man driving turned and yelled something over his shoulder, obviously upset at his partner for roughing up the merchandise. Your stomach felt nauseous and the last thing you remember was some kind of scratchy material being put over your eyes and the rest of the world went black.

Tag List: @stevieharrrr​ @zeldasayer​ @winters-buck​ @seawhisperer​ If you wanna be tagged, lemmie know!

[merakiaes]

Truth Will Set You Free - Oscar “Spooky” Diaz

Pairing: Oscar “Spooky” Diaz x reader 

Requested: Yes. 

Prompts: None. 

Warnings/notes: This is not proofread so I apologize in advance for any mistakes, and I also apologize if it’s a mess😂 Let me know what you think xx

Wordcount: 2253

Summary: Oscar finds out you’ve been keeping it a secret from him that you come from a rich background and naturally, a conflict ensues. 

Oscar was fuming where you stood in front of each other in the living room of the Diaz residence, his hands balled into fists at his sides, constantly clenching and unclenching. 

You took in his rigid posture and met his murderous glare with no fear, throwing your arms out in exasperation. 

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you.” You told him, shaking your head. “I knew you would react like this.”

He was up in your face in no time, poking a harsh finger into your shoulder as he glowered down at you. “Don’t even try to put the blame on me.” He seethed through his teeth, his lips pulled into a tight line. “You think I’m mad because you’re the daughter of some presuntuosa arrogante?” He questioned. 

You swallowed as he shook his head and let out a dry laugh.

“Nah, chica.” He continued, his face getting hard again. “I’m mad that you give me all this shit for not telling you every little detail of what’s going on in my life and then you go and pull something like this.”

You swallowed again, guilt bubbling up in your stomach at his words, that you quickly tried covering up with a glare of your own. You weren’t scared of him, not by a long shot, but when he was angry at you he made you feel so small. So vulnerable.

“It’s always something with you. Do rules not apply to you, ¿es eso? What happened to honesty is the best policy?” He continued, challenging you. “I had to find out find out from Sad Eyes that he saw you strutting around with some pedante in a suit in Brentwood. How do you think that made me feel?”

When his right hand had brought him the news, a regretful look on his face, Oscar had almost blown up from anger right then and there.

He’d been self-conscious and scared of you walking out on him for someone better ever since you first started seeing each other and his first thought when hearing this was that you were cheating on him.

Naturally, he had confronted you, and you had been forced to spill your entire life story, that you had been working so hard to hide the past few years. Reluctantly, you told him that the man Sad Eyes had seen you with was your father and that you had grown up in Temecula.

The first feeling he had felt was relief, knowing you weren’t seeing someone behind his back. But the relief had only lasted a few seconds, quickly being replaced by anger. Because even though the possibility of you cheating was now completely out of question, the betrayal still ran deep.

Cholos held no respect or acceptance for the rich bastards that lived effortlessly on the less fortunate’s hard labor. If it made the streets that he was dating one of them, things could get really bad. Not only for him, but for you, too, and even though he was basically fuming and absolutely resented you at this moment, he would rather die than see you get harmed.  

You couldn’t find the right words to say once he had gone off on you because even though it was hard for you to drop your pride and admit your fault in the situation, you knew he was right.

Wealth was a big thing to lie about in these parts. Privileged people weren’t welcome and you knew it. It was because of that you hadn’t told him. 

Partly, anyway. The rest of it was just you being a complete asshole; something you realized now that you stood in front of him and saw the angry hurt behind his eyes. It made your heart ache with regret.

“That’s what this is, huh? You’re with me because you want to act up? Get your father to notice you and give you attention? No más.” As you were momentarily stunned, fighting with yourself in your own head, he kept talking, breaking you out of your trance and pulling you back to reality.

And when those words left his lips you finally found your ability to speak, a glare settling on your face at his accusations.

“Do you hear yourself right now?” You asked. “Don’t you think our relationship would have ended a long fucking time ago if this was just some rebellious phase?”

You could understand why he didn’t trust you anymore, but this was just absurd, even in these circumstances. You had been with each other for over five years. Anyone would have been able to see that you were in it for the long run.

But Oscar only shook his head, taking a step away from you. “I don’t know what to think about you anymore.” He spat out, and you rolled your eyes.

“Now you’re just being dramatic.”

His eyes narrowed into slits and before you knew it, he had marched over to the front door with two long strides and flung it open, the loud bang cutting through the room as the door hit the wall behind it causing you to jump.

“Leave.”

As that one little word reached your ears and processed in your brain, you felt all of the anger you had previously been feeling melt right off. “What?” You questioned, voice small and stomach dropping.

It was only then you realized the severity of the situation, the panic settling in that he was truly about to cut you off.

He didn’t even seem to notice the fear now evident in your eyes, and even if he did, he didn’t seem to care.  He simply threw a head-motion to the door, urging you once more. 

“You heard me.” He confirmed. “We’re through. Go run away with some blanco, make your daddy proud.”

“I only live to make myself proud. Fuck everyone else.” You fought back, tears now starting to build up in your eyes.

When seeing your eyes turn glassy, he finally seemed to react, turning his head to look to the side in order to avoid your gaze. But he was persistent, nostrils flaring and chest heaving up and down as he breathed heavily. “I don’t give a shit. Go.”

You couldn’t hold back the small sniffle as the first tear fell, but you didn’t move. You couldn’t move. 

“You’re calling it quits after all this time, after everything we’ve been through together, because I was born into money?” You questioned, your question making him turn his head back in your direction.

“I got a rep to uphold around here.” He spat. His face remained stoic but as his eyes met your tearful ones, they turned slightly softer, a strain forming in his voice as if it was physically paining him to say. “I can’t be fooling around with no freza. Keeping you around will make Cuchillos and the boys doubt my loyalty. I gotta remember what I come from and stand by it.”

“I’m not asking you not to!” You exclaimed, walking over to him. 

He watched your every move as you reached out for his hand on the handle of the door. You expected him to back away from your touch, but he didn’t, letting you grab a hold of the hand and remove it from the door.

“We’ve been together for five years, have I ever asked you to change something about yourself?” You asked sadly, staring up at him. “Have I not been here every day and every night, patched you up without judgment every time you’ve gotten beat up and covered for you when the cops have been on your ass? Did I not visit you every week when you were in the hole and take care of your brother like he was my own during that entire time?”

His body remained tense and his face was still as stern and you could practically feel the anger of betrayal radiating off of him, but he let you speak, eyes not once leaving yours.

“My father cares more about his brand than he does about me.” You confessed, running your thumb over the back of his hand. “We don’t have a good relationship, we never have, and if it’s what it takes to get you to stop being a stubborn asshole and drop it, I’ll gladly cut him out of my life for good because you’re the one I want to live every moment of my life beside, even the moments like this when you’re acting like a complete cabrón.”

His eyes narrowed and his fist tensed in your hand. “Watch your mouth.” He scolded, staring down at you with a warning look. 

But the corner of his lip still twitched at the sound of the Spanish word leaving your lips. No matter the situation he would always get proud when hearing you pick up his language.

You gave him an apologetic look and waited, allowing him to process your words in his own time. A few seconds later, his body relaxed and he stepped away from the door, shoving it shut as he took a step closer to you.

“You’d really do that for me?” He questioned with a raise of his head and you nodded in return, squeezing his hand.

“Yes.” You let go of his hand and brought your hands up to his neck, pulling him down to your height. “I don’t need my father’s money or status to be happy, Oscar. I only need you.”

You smiled as you felt his hands make contact with your waist, pressing your forehead against his.

“You could marry rich. Get a stable life with a happy marriage, a family, a nice house in a nice neighborhood. I can’t give you what they can. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.”

His face was guarded as he spoke but you could see right through him. You would have been able to identify the self-doubt from miles away, without a second thought. 

“I don’t care. I don’t care about all that stuff.” You frowned, shaking your head.

“And that’s the problem.” He fought back. “Those things should matter. You deserve better than this shit. Being with me is not good for you, it never has been.” 

His eyes narrowed and his body tensed up again, but he still made no move to let you go.

Out of pure instinct, a glare settled on your face. “That’s not your decision to make.” You told him. “And you know damn well I would slap the living shit out of you if you ever tried to make it for me so don’t even think about breaking up with me because you think that’s what’s best for me. I’m the only one who gets to decide what’s good enough for me. Not you, and certainly not my dad.”

“I’m not good for you.” He kept persisting, glaring back, causing you to shake your head, your foreheads rubbing together.

“No, you’re not good.” You agreed, and you saw his jaw tense for the slightest second. “You’re the best for me. You been treating me real good, papi. Better than anyone else.”

Before he could even think of a response, he felt your lips tilt up and make contact with his. His hands automatically squeezed down harder on your waist and his feet moved closer until you stood pressed together by your chests.

You smiled into the kiss, hands placed on either side of his face. When you broke apart, his eyes remained closed, allowing you to admire his features.

“You’re too good for me, mamita.” He spoke, hands now caressing circles on your waist. “I don’t deserve you.”

You caressed his cheeks right back, nodding your head. “Yeah, you do. Ride or die, for better or for worse, remember?” 

You touched your nose against his. “No marriage will be happy if it’s not with you and you’d catch me dead before I get pregnant with a temecula. I only want you. And I know that you want me to, no matter how tough you try to make yourself.”

His eyes opened at that, and your heart swelled when your eyes made contact with his deep browns. “I want you more than anything, mi amor.” He confessed, and you pouted slightly.

“Then give me a chance to let me prove to you that you’re worth more to me than my family’s money.” You begged. “Let me show you how much I really love you.”

His eyes fell shut once more, his hands squeezing your hips as he battled with himself and you bit the inside of your cheek, anxious that he was still going to want you to go your separate ways.

After a good few seconds of standing in silence, he released a heavy breath through his nose and his eyes opened once again. 

He stared at you, jaw tense and eyes warning. “If I find out you’ve been lying about some other shit-“

“You won’t.” You hurried to cut him off, your eyes widening as you shook your head frantically. “I’m really sorry I lied to you, Oscar. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

He nodded his head, “Te perdono.” He muttered. 

Before you could say anything back he pulled you into an embrace and you happily obliged, wrapping your arms around his torso and resting your head on his chest, closing your eyes as you listened to his heartbeat.

It was clear by the look of his hard stare and the feel of his still tensed up body that he was still very angry, but you were forgiven and at the end of the day, that anger would be as good as gone because he knew you would follow through with your promise and chose him undoubtedly. Just like you had for the past five years. 

[olivarryprompts]

Fanfic Friday #10

Welcome to Fanfic Friday! Each Friday I will post a new fanfic here and on A03. Enjoy x

Read and save it on A03 here 

{peter stark and a no good very bad day}

Ship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Steve Rogers & Peter Stark

Warnings: swearing, fluff otherwise :)

Wc: 3,984

Today, everything had gone wrong. He stayed up way past his bedtime the previous night and had gotten barely three hours of sleep by the time he arrived at school. He forgot his Spanish homework in the lab and that was the one grade he needed to pull from an A- to an A. He chugged a couple shots of espresso, and his usual store on the walk to school was closed. Meaning he had no redbull to sustain him through his classes.

Also, guess which class was straight bangout first, Spanish. So he hadn't done the homework and had no time to do it. Great. Fortunately, he made it through first period Spanish, only getting slightly scolded for not handing in the assignment. Then he had a break, and the kid desperately needed a pick me up coffee and muffin. He went to the closest cafe, one he’d come to love, only to find the whole football team there. Which would have been fine, if he wasn’t so goddamn awkward. He stood there for a solid five minutes before he asked the jock in his way to move so he could order.

Then, when the kid did get to ordering they ran out of fuckin chocolate muffins. What kinda cafe runs out of chocolate muffins at ten am? This one apparently. So coffee and blueberry muffin in hand, he headed back to the student lounge to get some work done.

The next portion of his day went as planned, a welcomed change of pace. Well Flash was a bitch, but what was new there. And his senses were through the roof. But other than that. That was all until the last period. To start, he got a text from his boyfriend, explaining that he’d no longer be arriving this Friday, but instead the following Saturday. Peter wanted to cry. He missed his boy. Leaving Harley on read, he tried to focus on chemistry, but he’d done the stuff they were going over about 100 times with Dr. Banner. He zoned out the entire class.

Finally, the bell rang and put him out of his misery. He quickly texted Ned asking if he was coming in the following day. He had been sick that day. He went to leave, but the class was stopped by the announcement of a test and more homework. For fuck sake.

He did get out, though. And he got straight in the car, barely pausing to say hello to Happy. Noticing the boy's unusual quiet, he didn’t press for more details about Peter’s day. Happy, though he’d never say it, enjoyed hearing about the kids day. He had come to really care for Peter, and his accomplishments made the older man happy. Ironic, he knew.

They had arrived at the tower in almost record time, and Peter was glad to have avoided extra time in the car. What he really craved was a couple hugs from his dads, a chat with his boyfriend, and to get through the stack of busy work that weighed him down.

Happy went round to the private entrance, wished the kid a good day, and headed off to some other errand. Peter exited, scanning his pass at security and being recognized and let through by Friday. So, he’d finally made it upstairs and there the sofa was, filled with a few avengers. Luckily his parents were among them. The two were sitting close to each other, as normal.

Peter simply put his head in his pops lap, and he laid his feet on his dad. Neither Steve nor Tony said anything, but they gave each other the look. Steve ran his hands through his son’s hair lovingly. “Pete?” Tony asked, “What happened kid?” “Nothin’” Peter replied, still buried in his Pop’s lap. “You sure about that?” Steve pressed. “Just a bad day,” Peter mumbled. “What happened паук?” Nat spoke up. She is very protective of Peter. “What didn’t happen?” he sighed dramatically. “Well you mope for as long as you like, Pete,” Tony joked. “Thanks dad,” he said, closing his eyes again in search of sleep. “Teenagers I tell you,” Clint said, rolling his eyes. “Fuck you Barton,” Peter mumbled before falling asleep properly. “He really is your child, Tones,” Clint laughed. “Hey Peter just said a bad language word,” Nat remarked. “God I hate all of you,” his Pops groaned. Then Peter fell into peaceful, safe sleep.

“Pete?” his Pops said, entering his room. He moved around, noticing he’d been moved from the sofa to his own room. He groaned. “Hello to you too.” “Yes, Hi, father, Captain America, Leader of the Avengers, Man of Strengt-” “Ok relax,” Cap rolled his eyes. Peter sat up, smirking. “Wanna tell me what actually happened today?” “J-just everything that could possibly go wrong went wrong.” “Did that start with you staying in the lab way past a normal sleeping time?” “Perhaps. How did you kn-” “You are aware that your dad designed that whole lab situation, right?” “Fair enough.” “Do we have to initiate Insomnia protocol again?” “God no, it was one night.” “Promise.” “Swear. Just an awful day. Spidey senses all acting up, being annoying, no chocolate muffins. Speaking of which, can I have the day off tomorrow? I have basically no classes.” (he wasn’t sure why, but all but one of his classes were cancelled.) Steve thought for a moment. He knew the kid had been through a lot always, and a day off never hurt anyone. Also, he was far too smart to be there anyway. “Yeah. Let me just double check with Dad, okay?” “Thanks.” “We’re eating dinner now so get cleaned up?” “Yep. Coming.”

The next day

Peter awoke at 10 with a smile on his face. He’d peacefully regained energy. He’d finished his school work the previous night, and he was happy to just relax for a day. He pulled on some SI sweatpants and a hoodie he’d stolen from Harley awhile back.

“Hey parentals,” he greeted, still holding his smile. “Morning,” his Pops said as he cooked breakfast. “Morning? Is it already?” I bet you can guess who that came from. “Tones,” Steve said, voice full of its normal concern. Peter just laughed, taking a stool at the bar. “What? I’m fine. I’m having fun.” “You promised you’d at least take a nap.” “Oops,” he smiled, heading back in the direction of the lab. “You’re a great role model to our son!” “You really are dad!” Peter added. “Love you both dearly.” Steve rolled his eyes and Peter chuckled. “Where’s the rest of the team?” Peter inquired. He’d come to realize that saying team was easier than naming all the residents of the tower. “Nat, Clint, Wanda, and Pietro are training. Thor and Loki went back to Asgard last night, and Bruce is in his lab.” “Oh, Loki didn’t tell me he was going back.” “Some emergency. Sorry kid.” “Yeah, i-it’s fine.” “He told me to assure you they’d be back soon.” “Good.” “Keaner getting here soon?” “Nah coming tomorrow now. Something about something, I don’t really know.” “Ok. Made grilled cheeses and tomato soups. It's almost done,” Steve offered. “Thanks,” Peter said. “What’s with Loki leaving that's got you so down?” “I just miss him a lot.” Steve knew that his Kid and loki had come to get on surprisingly well. They were as close as he and Nat. Not even Clint had managed to get that close.

Peter practically inhaled a couple of sandwiches. “I’m going to go work with Dad.” “Have fun!” “I will.” “Love you.” “Love you, too.” He sped down to the lab, where he could hear his Dad’s ACDC blasting as usual. “Heyo, what you working on?” “The suit nanotech. Wanna give your old man a hand?” “Always. Bring up the blueprints. What adjustments have you made so far? “Just the molecule distance and expansion weight. Trying to help stabilize the structure.” “What about the build construction stacking?” So they dove into work, Peter easily keeping up with the genius.

“Nicely done, getting too smart for me. What are you even doing in high school?” “Being bored and failing my humanities classes.” “You're not actually failing your classes are you? Grades are not everything bu-” “Relax father, I’m doing well in all my classes.” “I should probably know that. In fact I’ll actually show up to your next parent teacher conference.” “Please don’t,” Peter smiled. His father was generally very embarrassing. “Friday, make sure I’m at the kid’s next conference?” “Reminder set.” “Thanks, Fri.” “Anytime boss.” “God Fri please remind me to not show up for my next conference.” “Heyyyy,” Tony said, faking offence. “Dad, you can be very overbearing.” “I know, but-” “No.” “Fine, guess I’m not coming. Trying to be a good father and parenthood isn’t for me.” “I beg to differ,” Steve said, coming in to check on us, “realise you're no match for Peter’s intelligence yet?” “No fucking way. I’m a genius. Many PHDs. Kid hasn’t even finished high school, plus he has an A- in Spanish,” Tony laughed. “How did you-,” Peter rolled his eyes. “Friday just sent them to me.” “You’re awful.” “Hey watch it, MIT is still your dream school?” “I fucking hate you so much,” Peter really did loved this kind of banter with his father. “Maybe I do agree that parenthood isn’t for you, love.” “Capsical, you are a traitor. You’re supposed to always be on my side.” Steve kissed Tony’s cheek and ruffled Peter’s hair before saying, “Pepper needs you. Something about important business.” “Really important?” “She says if you don’t come she’ll lock you out of the company.” “That important then. Fri, tell Pepper that I’m coming.” “She has been notified, sir.” “Thank you. Bye then, Peter don’t fuck anything up.” “The same to you Mr. Stark.” Tony left the lab with a chuckle. “You two will be the death of me.” “Almost certainly.” “You staying in here?” “Nah, I have some projects in my lab waiting for me.” “You know your dad was joking about the grades right? Because grades really don’t mean anything, and they don’t define you. Nor does your intelligence. You are so much more than all that. And all these suits and mechanicy genius things-” “Pops. I’m fine. I know,” he smiled at his dad. “I just read in this parenting book that something smart or gifted kids can feel like th-” “Pops, you and dad are the best parents a kid could ask for. Stop worrying too much or you’ll turn grey like dad.” Captain America just smiled at his kid because he was the best. “Right. Good. Have fun.” “Will do.”

He messed with the design for the 100th millionth time but he couldn't get the vibrainim to synthesize with the web fluid. “Fri, get me another cup of coffee, please.” “For fuck sake, why isn’t this working,” he said to himself. He began to mess with the 3d hologram again. He typed in Mock 32 for the design and started trying again. “Pepper Potts is requesting access to the lab.” “Access granted,” he said to Fri. “Hey Pete, how’s it going?” “Badly, but it's fine. IS THAT COFFEE?” “White mocha latte, triple shot espresso,” She said, placing it down on the desk. “Ok..back up. What do you need?” “What, I can’t just bring my favorite stark a coffee?” “Aren’t you busy?” he asked skeptically. “Yes. Incredibly. So it is a peace offering. I allowed a tour access to this lab to look around, and see what a higher ups lab looks like in action. Fri will hide all of the classified things, and I thought you’d be at school. Tony just told me you weren’t so, here we are.” “He actually showed up to your meeting?” “Yes, and it wasn’t my meeting. He just needed to be there, and I didn't.” “I take your peace offering. It’s fine, I don’t care. So long as they don’t touch my shit.” “Good. Greet them, let them look around. Smile your cute smile. They’ll be up in five.” “FIVE MINUTES?” “Yep. Sorry, Hun, got to run. Thanks.” “You owe me one!”

As promised, the class showed up in five minutes. He was fine with the concept of a class showing up, he was not, however, good with his class showing up. “Is that Penis Parker?” He heard Flash. “Holy hell that is Park?” “IS THAT PETER?” “Did Peter break in?” “How is Peter here?” He couldn’t exactly kick them out. So, embracing his inner Tony Stark charm and Steve Rogers kindness, he opened the lab door, stepping into the corridor.

“EVERYONE PLEASE BACK UP AND BE QUIET!” The tour guild, Aliah, yelled. They were a kind person who Peter knew a bit. The classes quieted down.

“Hello, Aliah.” “Hi Peter,” they greeted, “Sorry, I hadn’t realized you’d be in today. I’ll just take them to our next stop.” “No, no it's fine. If it’s alright, I’ll give them a little tour sorta thing. I don’t mind, plus I kinda promised Pepper.” “That’d be really cool. Thanks.” “Yeah. Call ‘em over.” “Yeah. We’re just waiting on their teacher, he’s in the restroom.” “Course.”

Mr. Harrington showed up, questioning Aliah about the next stop. Then, he saw Peter. “Mr. Parker!” he exclaimed angrily, “How dare you show up here without a permission slip and claiming to be sick. What is this? We will be speaking with the principal and your parents about this! I am so sorry Aliah. Peter shot Aliah the “I got this” look. “Hi Mr. Harrington, I was unwell this morning, but I felt better so I came into work. Yes, I do have an internship here,” he said, loud enough for the class to hear. “The next stop on your tour,” they said, “is to Peter’s lab. He’s been so kind to give us a run-down.” Peter simply point at the door which read “Lab #55: Peter Parker.” “Right, uh, um, sorry Mr. Parker, please let us continue.” Peter smiled through his nerves. “Right, hello there class! I will be giving you a tour of my lab. I do some pretty important work, so I’m going to ask Friday to activate the ‘Guest Protocol’ to hide the classified stuff. It’s also very dangerous, so please do not touch anything.” There were nods from the class. “Right, Fri complete guest protocol and allow tour of Aliah to enter.” “Yes miniboss.” He re-entered his lab. “So, most of the time I work here,” he said, pointing to the biggest holograph table, “I work on designs, changes, and any mockups that need to happen. I then make them a reality. I can also run simulations on any formulas to see if they would be successful.” “Fri, please pull up the WFV project I was just working on for Spiderman.” “Right away mini-boss.” “So as you can see I’m trying to get the vibranium intertwine itself with Spiderman’s web fluid. This would allow the webs to be almost 47 times stronger, and also would allow them to conduct electricity, which has many uses. Anyone have any questions?” Ava raised her hand and Peter nodded at her, “Hey, so how did you learn all this? Like, it seems really complicated and you're in my chem class, so.” “I’ve worked a lot with both Mr. Stark and Bruce Banner, who’ve taught me most of what I know throughout the years. I also took a few online courses to solidify some subject matters I didn’t quite understand,” Peter, satisfied with his answer, asked if anyone else had inquired. “How did you get an internship here?” “Mr. Stark found me on the internet and took a liking to my projects. He met me and decided I’d fit right in here,” Peter explained simply. It was a lie of course, but it functioned as their cover story. “Anyone else? No. Cool, so moving onto some other sections in the lab. Over in that corner are the testing rooms. I have some more equipment scattered around for certain projects or just overall help on making things. Feel free to look around for 5-7 minutes and ask any questions you may have.” Some kid, Peter wasn’t sure of their name, raised his hand. “Why do you have cars in here? Are they yours?” “Some of the cars are mine, courtesy of Mr. Stark, who claims no lab is complete without some collection of cars. I can’t even drive them, to your point, but I guess I will when I’m eighteen. Some of the cars are Mr. Harley Keener’s, who I occasionally share my lab with. He doesn't do Avengers related projects, but he does love to tinker here and there. ‘Specially on the cars. See that red one, yeah he bought it for 5k and fixed it up. It’s actually an electric car, he just likes the old timers look. Guess that’s on him and da-Mr. Stark.”

No one seemed to have any other question, so he allowed them to look around. MJ nor Ned seemed to be in this class. He guessed they were in another group that wasn’t coming up here, or they went to a different location.

The tour went smoothly, and Flash seemed too shocked to say anything. “Peter! Peter!” Bucky came in yelling. Peter ran over to him. “Please keep it down uncle Buck.” “Oh shit your class is here!” “Yes now please don’t embarrass me.” “Won’t do! Just wanted to ask where Loki went.” “Asgard official business,” I said with a frown. “Really? He didn’t say a thing!” “I know.” “That little shit.” Peter laughed alongside Bucky. “Did you need anything else?” “Yeah, my arm's a little fucked up. Need a hand.” “Happy to give it a look. Dad in a meeting?” “To all our shock, yes.” “Ha. Give me a sec to get my class outta here.” Bucky nodded. “Right everyone, thanks for visiting. Please head towards the exit. The lovely Aliah will take you to your next location. They are awesome!” A murmur of “thanks Peter” and “is that the winter soldier” spread through the room. “See ya round,” Aliah said to him personally, “And thanks for this.” “Anytime. Bye!” They smiled a warm smile before leading the class out.

“What’s not working so well?” Peter asked. “Just some tightness in the finger motion. “Alright, okay. Fri, get me an update of the schematics, please.” “Yes, sir.” They appeared on the holographic table Peter was working at. “Right, can I please get a current scan of Uncle Bucky’s arm?” “Yes. Shall I place them next to the schematics?” “Yep. And highlight all differences.” “Yes miniboss.” “You gotta stop with that Fri.” “Name unable to be changed under the authority of Tony Stank, Badass Boss, God of Mischief, and Fiance.” “Glad the whole team is against me living a good life,” Peter remarked with an eye roll. “You drama queen.” “Thanks,” Peter smiled. “You know what’s wrong yet?” Peter opened up the schematics, looking at the highlighted section of the 3d arm model. He didn’t speak for a moment. “So I reckon, you fucked up the wiring and section T4’s minigears. None of the important tech is messed up, it’ll be fine. Maybe a half an hour fix. Max.” “Good, good. Thanks kid,” Bucky said with an appreciative smile. He nodded, disconnecting the arm carefully. He placed it onto his table next to the holographic model. He gave a skeptical look. “Something bad?” “No, no, I was just thinking. Thinking, hmn.” “Care to share with the class?” Buck said with a sense of humor lingering in his voice. “Well, you’re not on mission all that often, and this is quite a bulky arm. Ever think about getting one that’s your skin colour, lighter weight, more, I don’t know, arm like. Less hydra murdery vibes. Help get rid of that, that time.” “I have…” “So can I make it?” Peter said excitedly. “You mean it?” “Of course Uncle Buck! No clue why dad hasn’t offered before!” “Guess he never thought of it. Maybe thought I liked the scary metal thing,” he suggested weakly. “Well that’s stupid,” Peter said casually. Bucky never understood how the kid could be so compassionate so easily. “Thanks. Really.” “No worries. I’ve been looking for a new project to throw myself into. It'll be fun. And as much as I hate to admit it, I need to work on my smaller scale mechanical work.” All Bucky could do was smile his beaming smile. “Bucky!” the voice of the Black Widow shouted. “Hey Nat,” Buck replied. “Wanna train?” she asked. “As much as I want to,” he said, pointing towards the area his arm would have been. “Oh, what happened this time?” “Nothing to major, some gears and wires,” Peter filled it, “Give me twenty minutes I’ll be done.” He’d already opened the arm and gotten to the section where the wires were screwed up. “DAN-E get me the soldering kit, please,” he asked the robot, “Oh and some new T6YU wires. Red and purple.” The robot gave a vaguely human nod. “Right, I'll be waiting. Test the adjustments out on me?” She suggested. “Alright,” Buck said. “Oh and I’m in charge of ordering food. What do you want?” “Burgers?” “You boring, bland little boy,” Nat scolded. “Thai?” Buck requested. They looked over to Peter, “Sure, yeah.” Nat headed out, greeting Tony with a “Hey Stank” on the stairs out of his lab. “Yours is so much smarter than mine, why is yours so much smarter than mine,” Tony fake (real) whined. “I’m the superior mechanic, father, deal with it.” DAN-E, almosting proving his point, dropped the materials on his desk, and he continued to work. “I’m donating DUM-E,” Tony glared at him, “What happened to the arm Buck?” “Stiff fingers isall.” “Oh, ok. Pete, need a hand?” “Nah, I’m good. Not much to do. Some wires got fucked up, just replacing them now. Going to look at the minigears in the palm too, just to make sure the oil regulation and gear’s aren't broken. I think one of the gears is, but it's one of them that's easy to replace,” Peter replied, not looking up from his work. “Right, sounds good. Your pops and I are going out for the night. Be back around 12 let’s say.” “Cool. Can I borrow some vibranium from your lab?” “Sure thing kiddo. Call us if you need anything. Fri, give Peter access to vault B3 in my lab.” “Thanks,” Peter smiled. “Anytime. Good luck with ya know.” “Shouldn’t he ask you what you're going to do with a substance that costs 10,000$ a gram?” “Something about trusting me.” “Parents trust their kids with going out later or or doing their homework not fucking multimillions of dollars.” “Uncle Bucky, my parents are Iron Man and Captain America. There was never a shot at normal.” “Fair enough.”

Peter finished up the adjustment on the arm by changing a gear. “Thanks a lot kid.” “Of course. I’m going to work on your new arm now.” “Alrighty, I’ll get out of your way.” “Oh could you ask Auntie Nat what time she’s ordering dinner for? So I know when to head up, just get Fri to tell me.” “Will do.” “Thanks.”

So Peter was left to making some blueprints and drinking many red bulls. The red bull mini-fridge was actually a gift from Shuri, and his fathers had many words with him about it. He managed to convince them that he should keep it, god knows how. Well, he used the whole Princess of Wakanda and making peace and Stark Industries relationship with Wakandan products and companies as well as international relations and blah blah. It worked, who cares.

After a few hours he was called up for dinner, and he sat there and enjoyed the absolute chaos of his family.

Save/comment on A03 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/33320938

[forthegothicheroine]

Opinions on Into the Dark Movies

I’ve seen a lot, though not all, of the Blumhouse series of Into the Dark, direct to Hulu horror movies themed around various holidays.  Some of them suck.  Some of them are surprisingly good!  Most are mediocre.  Still, I keep watching.  Rather than try to rank these movies, I’m just going to give a few of them awards.

Favorite Movie: Pooka Lives

If you were there for the height of Slenderman blogging, this will hit you hard!  The first Pooka movie was a psychological thriller and definitely interesting, but the horror-comedy sequel was the thing that touched my heart.  It’s all about how the internet creates memes that completely change from where they start by the whims of each new viral art piece.  While watching it, I said “according to Twin Peaks, this would be a a tulpa” at one point, and then Felicia Day said “I’ve got it, it’s a tulpa!”  She heard me!  Rachel Bloom kills Whil Weaton in the opening!  All you really need to know going in is that Pooka is a stuffed animal bear-rabbit-monster who repeats words in a “naughty” or “nice” voice.

Most Effective Horror Movie: I’m Just Fucking With You

Somebody on the Bloody Disgusting website said the stuff in this movie is worse torture than Saw or Hostel- but the kicker is, the torment is mostly mental and emotional.  An unlikeable internet troll checks into a sleazy motel, only to discover that the guy in charge of the place is a nastier troll than he’ll ever be.  This bespectacled, southern-accented slacker just keeps pulling pranks, each one more mean-spirited than the last, until they escalate to murder and the total destruction of our hero’s remaining humanity.  The constant neon-lit look of the motel is super intense, but the most important thing about this is that it shows you how really fucking annoying the Joker would be if you actually met him.

Sexiest Villain: Pilgrim

Look, I dunno.  Brother Ethan is just the sexiest evil Puritan you’ll ever find, as small as that pool may be.  He’s totally invested in what he’s doing, he fully believes in the lessons he’s teaching, he’s maybe a ghost or a trickster spirit or something, he has a great accent, he has a great laugh, and he has great piercing eyes.  Also he has this ongoing dynamic with the final girl that’s maybe sexually charged or maybe isn’t, but the whole thing is definitely a battle of wills and beliefs between them and that is hot.  Honorable mention goes to the hitman in The Body, but he only looked hot, he didn’t actually act hot, and there’s a difference.

Most Believeable Villain: New Year New You

Maybe the murders aren’t all believeable, but “Get Well” Danielle is!  Once a loathesome high school bully, she has now found fame and fortune as a loathesome social media influencer, and a culture that supports vapid self-promotion is one she thrives in.  Are the others in the movie any better, though?  They hate her, but isn’t it partly because they want to be her?  Don’t we all kind of want what she has, even while disdaining every part of her that got her where she is?

Movie I Could Have Written Better: Uncanny Annie

This movie about an evil board game sucked, but it didn’t have to!  There’s so much a horror comedy could parody about the modern board game scene.  It could have been an incredibly complex game with mutliple expansions where you’re two hours in and still haven’t gotten to using all the mechanics.  It could have been a super artsy Euro game with stunning evil art but instructions that are very poorly translated into English.  I work for a book and game store!  Give me a chance, I could script a greatdark parody of the the Arkham Horror franchise!

Movie That Might Have Been Scarier Without the Supernatural: Pure

I actually really respect the whole setup of this movie.  The notion of a “purity camp” father-daughter celebration is stunning and sickening, the fathers are holding their daughters to impossible standards and threatening to remove their love if they ever fair, the girls can’t trust that anyone they meet won’t reveal their secrets to the Reverend, and the camp itself looks like if that Midsommar farm was just No Fun Allowed.  Anyway, I don’t think they needed a weird rewriting of Lilith.  It’s a psychological cult horror, so let it stay that.  The girls can kill their dads at the end without any supernatural power.

Best Cheese: School Spirit

As soon as I saw the trailer and realized this was a Breakfast Club pastiche, I was in, baby.  You’ve got the prep, the class clown, the stoner, the nerd, and the delinquent all in for detention.  They resist the mean disciplinary teacher, they bond, they share secrets, they get high, they see beyond their cliques, and a masked slasher murders them one by one.  The villain reveal is ridiculous but kind of charming, a fun riff on the Norman Bates archetype, and the final girl’s speech to the killer at the end should be on all those “Good for her!” female character gif compilations.

Best Villain Outfit: Midnight Kiss

I love that giallo-killer-meets-gimp-suit look!  So creepy, yet so believeable for a club scene!  (Or at least, it would fit in with my memories of Folsom Street Fair.)  The movie itself isn’t super interesting as murder mysteries go, but it’s not bad, the whole thing is super stylish, and it is neat that almost the whole cast of characters, from heroes to villains, are gay.  But yeah, great costume, great party scenes, great beach house, shame about all the murders.

Movie I Wish I Hadn’t Sought Out Spoilers For: Culture Shock

I was trying to decide if I should see these movies and looked at lists of which ones were the best and then I looked into this one and...I spoiled the entire reveal.  It’s a great reveal!  I’ll try to avoid spoilering it here, but in this Spanish and English language movie, our heroine goes from dodging cartel men while trying to cross the border to existing in a beautiful, multicultural suburban town...where they dress like it’s the Tranquility Lane part of Fallout 3, and nobody will let her hold her infant son.  One of the more serious attempts at making a good movie, and I think it succeeds.

Movie That Does a Plotline Better Than Hannibal Did: Flesh & Blood

This movie, while following a pretty typical “Lifetime Movie” style plot (she says, never having seen a Lifetime movie), it understands one important thing: a story about a girl struggling to escape the influence of a pseudo-incestuous serial killer father figure is her goddamn story.  This will have to be my Abigail Hobbes fix fic.

Worst Movie: Tree House

Man, of all the horror movie characters not to get killed...

[spideyyroos]

are you kidding me? - peter parker (soulmate!au) - part 3

pairing: peter parker x stark!female!reader

summary: during your everlasting rivalry against peter parker, you’re unlucky enough to find out that not only is he spider-man (your dad’s new kid), but he is also your soulmate. god help us all. (soulmate au where you have a mark of where your soulmate first touches you)

word count: 2511

requested: yes!

warnings: language, slight angst, stab wound

a/n: GUESS WHOSE BACK BACK BACK BACK AGAIN!!! hey guys! sorry i’ve been mia recently, school has really been piling up on me and i pushed off this part for so long! tbh i think this is gonna be slightly slow burn?? i don’t want to rush anything oof. hope you guys like it :)) 

THE NEXT DAY

As both Peter and Y/N made their way to school, they communicated to one another on how they should act and when they should tell their individual friends about the whole soulmate ordeal. For the time being, they decided to still hate each other at school--which, technically, they still hadn’t been too fond of each other ever since the previous day. Y/N, being the more stubborn of the two, couldn’t push aside the decade-long rivalry between her and Peter. She was still in denial that he was her soulmate, the one who she would spend the rest of her life with. 

Chewing on her lip, Y/N thought about her future with Peter in it. She always knew that he would stick around in her life but never where. After the almost-kiss that they shared last night, she muted her thoughts from him, not wanting to distract while fighting crime. As she did so, she wondered why she cared about the well-being of the boy, not just in academics.

-at Midtown-

As Peter and Y/N made their way to their first period, they cautiously stood at different places from one another when passing through the hallway. Thankfully enough, Ned found Peter and they weaved their way into their history class. Y/N found herself in the class moments after, taking a seat in the back corner to ensure that she could take a nap for the period.

Y/N had always prepared ahead of time for the classes she decided to take naps in. Her phone was programmed to pick up what the teacher was saying during the lecture; later, Y/N would listen and add extra information to her notes (a/n: i suggest this highly; it works super well! :)).

When the lecture started, Y/N was out like a light. She got plenty of sleep the night before, but still preferred to be asleep. Peter, who sat across the room, tried to focus on his notes, but felt the strong urge to stare at her. Similar to Y/N, Peter felt hesitant to feel affections toward his usual enemy. Ever since yesterday, he cringed at how the two treated each other. 

Needless to say, these circumstances were more than overwhelming.

-lunch-

After their fifth period Spanish class, Y/N and Peter walked side by side in the hallway. Before they knew it, Flash called out at Peter.

“Hey Penis Parker! What are you doing, flying out of your league?” 

“And what would you know, Flash? Last time I checked, your homecoming date left you in the dust to go and grind with some other egotistical prick.”

Flash’s jaw dropped at Y/N’s words and Peter covered his mouth to stifle his laughter. Y/N turned around to face Flash, deadpan--clearly unamused by his ever so endearing nickname for Peter. Then, as if in some world-turning moment, she realized that she had just defended her rival.

Nobody knew that they were soulmates just yet.

She couldn’t let that happen--not now at least.

However, before she could make an excuse for standing up for Peter, Flash suddenly changed his target of ridicule.

“Aw, I’m sorry babe. Do you have a personal score to settle with Lindsey? Or, better yet, come over tonight and we can,” Flash continued to advance towards her and corner Y/N onto a locker, “make up for lost time.” Flash was face-to-face with Y/N, expelling his hot breath over her face. Although Flash was yet another person who knew how to make Y/N’s skin crawl, she decided to swallow the vomit coming up her throat and let herself be “enchanted” with the king of douches.

“Umm...you sure have a way with words, handsome,” Y/N’s mind was screaming at her to kick him in the nuts, but her pride didn’t allow her to let up and run to her only safe space--Peter. She feigned a gleaming smile, letting it hit her eyes. Flash only smirked at his supposed “power” over women, though it repulsed anything that walked--no, breathed--on this very earth. Y/N continued to keep this act up by biting her lip and forcing herself to eye his lips, misshapen and topped with peach fuzz for a mustache. It sent her back to last night with Peter, and she mentally sunk into thoughts of the blessed day when she’d put her guard down and allow herself to love him--woah, wait...what the fuck?

Just as she was about to dwell on her absurd thought, she felt the disgustingly warm body heat in front of her being ripped away and an angry Peter now in front of her. His back was facing her and he held his death grip on Flash, who now looked scared as all hell, was panting from the sudden movement and wide-eyed.

“How about we don’t do that?” Peter threatened, gritting his teeth and shooting daggers at Flash. Y/N walked directly behind Peter and performed the trick as old as time: playing with the angry boy’s hair to calm him down. As she laced her fingers through his wavy hair, Peter fell victim to the affection. He let go of Flash, freeing him to run away from the previously seething Peter--not sparing to look back at the nerd who once could never have the heart to kill a fly. 

Y/N grabbed onto Peter’s shoulder and turned him around, hand still interlocked within his curls. Peter’s expression showed pure relaxation, contradicting the near-death that he could have caused. They looked into each other’s eyes, once again letting the rest of the world slip away. Thank God that everyone else had cleared the hallway and went their own ways to the cafeteria. The young Stark filed her hand through his exceptionally soft hair--what conditioner do you use? They chuckled, knowing that only these two could see into her comedic genius. Peter’s eyes wandered her face, taking in her features and mentally noting small details that he would’ve never noticed beforehand. He suddenly cupped her face with his hands and went to lean in, only for Y/N to abruptly rip her contact from him.

“Peter--”

“I’m sorry--”

“Can we just give...give whatever this is--a moment to breathe? Jesus, it’s been a day and now I have to make sure that no one ever hits on me because God forbid Spider-Man’s soulma--” Peter’s hand clamped over Y/N’s mouth, eyes wide and desperate for her to shut up.

“I’m sorry, ok? Now will you stop talking before someone hears?” Y/N shoved his hand off her mouth and made a beeline towards the exit, not dealing with anymore of this bullshit.

Y/N, frustrated and fed up, went home to the complex--this, and she swears by it, was by far the worst week of her life. She wished that she wasn’t so difficult, that she could have been dealt a different soulmate, that she could start over, that she could be anywhere else but here. She made an effort to ignore his thoughts and mute her own. She didn’t want to be burned again. She has always pined after the well-deserved love and freely gave her heart to the people who gave her half-assed compliments--believing that each time would be different. Yet time and time again she would be let down, until she had enough. She sealed her walls with super-glue and rejected any form of genuine interest in her well-being. 

-at Avengers complex-

4:56

Peter tried to busy himself with expanding his patrol area, patrol hours, and homework--anything to avoid facing the obvious. He may as well be dead to her, right?

God, no! Don’t ever say that. Just--give me time, alright? This is just...a lot.

Look--we’re adjusting right now. Us even talking is already some sort of sign that we can try to get along. I know you’d prefer to stay at the very least 6 feet apart but--fuck, I’ll be honest--ever since we…connected I’ve been able to see you in a different light--

--pretty sure that’s called being horny--

--will you just...you know what? No. You don’t get to find out what I was going to say. Are you happy now?

Y/N didn’t respond. She just laid on her bed, aggressively staring at her window, hoping that he just might swing by.

It wasn’t long until she felt a searingly white hot pain on her left side. She screamed out in her room, trying to haphazardly relieve some of this unbearable punishment of having a superhero as a soulmate. Tears blurred her vision and she clutched her side, unable to move in fear that she would break her entire body. With as much effort she could put out, she reached for her suit tracking device--jesus christ, what the fuck happened to him?

Y/N saw the spider icon deep in the streets of Queens, at one of the many Mom and Pop restaurants. She saw an update on the suit condition:

OPENING ON LEFT SIDE - COULD BE KNIFE WOUND?

Peter, are you okay? Please get out of there as soon as you can! I’ll call the police right now--OW!

Y/N received a crisp punch to her right cheek, wincing and letting the new tears fall over her face. She tried to stay strong, despite everything hurting so much. She pressed “NOTIFY POLICE” on the device and curled into a ball, hoping the pain would stop soon. Just as she thought it was over, a square kick to the stomach almost caused an upheaval of her last meal. Stars taking over her vision, she fell unconscious onto her bedroom floor.

-meanwhile-

Peter has had his fair share of difficult and strong criminals, but damn! This group was one for the books. Not considering the soulmate tie between himself and Y/N, he fought the band of robbers and took each hit as a grain of salt.

Peter, are you okay? Please get out of there as soon as you can! I’ll call the police right now--OW!

“Oh shit--” Peter mumbled, allowing himself to get punched in the face by the one of the last men standing. Easily knocking him out with his special “pow, pow, POW” combo, as Peter liked to call it.

Unfortunately, before he could safely escape the scene, with the criminals webbed up against the wall, the final “stupidhead” (once again, as Peter liked to call it) attacked him with a swift kick to the stomach.

Shit.

Peter heard the sirens nearly a block away, so he opted to avoid any more conflict by webbing the kicker against the ceiling of the restaurant--stealing away into the city and on the way to the complex.

He remembered the backpack that was so secretly plastered next to the window of Y/N’s bedroom and was quick to change into his street clothes. Practically breaking into her bedroom, Peter was instantly at Y/N’s unconscious side--did her body show where he got hurt also?

Unsure if he was throwing away all of Aunt May’s well-taught respect and manners of “don’t put your hands on a girl unless she says you can and she wants you to,” Peter lifted her shirt to check if she was stabbed as well. Fortunately, either soulmate can have the sensation of pain--not the actual injury itself.

Y/N woke with a start, breaking her eyelids open to see Peter lifting her shirt to check the left side.

“What are you doing?” Y/N flinched away, tearing the material out of his hands.

“I’m sorry--I was checking if you were okay--”

“--people don’t check under other people’s shirts--wait. Am I stabbed?” Y/N went to check herself, only to double take at Peter’s blood stain growing larger by the second.

“Oh my god--stay right there, ok? I’ll go get a first aid kit--holy shit…”

Peter chuckled at her antics, but winced as he realized that...I got stabbed and it’s an open wound and now I’m laughing and oh my god--

“Ok, holyshitok--lay on my bed, please. Lay on your side, with the wound facing me. Also, please take off your shirt,” Y/N took a deep breath, preparing the sutures to properly address the injury. She concentrated, despite her hands shaking horribly. 

“This is going to feel even worse than when I start to sew but you can grab onto something if you need,” Y/N softly spoke, ready to clean, with alcohol, around where the knife had tore into his flesh. Peter nodded, unsure what he could grab onto without breaking her concentration. He opted for her bedsheets, which were slightly wrinkled and smelled like the expensive detergent that often surrounds Y/N--what? Why am I--

Y/N hummed in content and smiled to herself as she finished disinfecting and started to sew. Although Peter was used to his clumsy hands dangerously stitching together his deeper injuries, Y/N’s precision and patience to ensure the least amount of pain almost...put him at peace. She would glance over at him to reassure herself that he wasn’t passed out--though that would make the situation far less intimidating. Here he was, Peter Benjamin Parker, shirtless and occasionally bleeding (though it was far less than before), on Y/N M/N Stark’s bed. When she wasn’t looking at him, Peter would steal glances at the young Stark, appreciating her calm nature in such a scenario like this. On the other hand, when he wasn’t staring at her, Y/N would give a side eye to Peter--who was focusing on the small design on the bedsheets. He recognized the R2-D2 and C-3PO duo that continued across the dimensions of the mattress, tracing the dark outline of each character.

“Ok, I’m almost done. I just need to apply the gauze and the skin adhesive,” Y/N stated, quickly exiting the room to go fetch the proper dressings.

When she came back, Peter was still in the same position--but with stilled breathing and relaxed muscles.

Oh my God, he’s asleep. At least the hard part’s over--I think.

Y/N finished the full treatment for the wounds, briefly waking Peter up to tell him to get changed into some loungewear. He barely obliged, grumpy from having been woken up from his short nap. He pouted like a toddler, wanting to return to the “comfy bed with the nice blankets.” Y/N did her best to not laugh, admiring the adorable nature that came with him. He returned to the bed and Y/N made sure that he was comfortable enough without laying directly on top the wounds. She tried her best to be a better person and reluctantly played with his hair, hearing a small “thank you” in response. Peter fell asleep immediately, exhausted from a mentally and emotionally gruelling day.

Y/N watched as he finally relaxed into his sleep, thankful that she could at least help the superhero everyone loved.

Someday, I will love him. Just not now--not yet. I can’t let you in just yet.

taglist: @mega-bi @lordofblamo @sadstrudel @ispiderdudei @everythingsship @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @annathesillyfriend @mybitchborky @randxmthxughts @dear-selena

[tired-college-student-writing]

Tim’s Secret Weapon pt. 12

I’ve been slightly obsessed with @ozmav​ ‘s Damian Wayne/Marinette Dupain-Cheng pairing as of late, and just saw a post that has inspired me more than anything else has in months, so I felt the need to write it

Summary- Tim has always seen the numbers floating above people’s heads, been able to perceive their threat levels with a single glance. After being a hero for so long he thought he was desensitized to seeing high numbers above people’s heads until Damian brings a new friend home.

Part 1

Part 11

Part 12(HERE)

Part 13

____________________________________________

Jason had started cackling as soon as Tim explained why he was cross, pulling the ring from his hand and tossing it back to its proper owner. Damian Bruce and Alfred were intrigued by the prospect by the fact Jason was predestined to be a miraculous wielder. Dick, on the other hand, was pouting at Jason being ‘officially more of a cat than him.’

“You’re not a black cat,” Tim snapped, using the door frame to stay upright, glaring at the stark white number over Jason’s head, “He may claim he’s all about destruction but it’s who he was made into not who he is at his core.”

“What?” Jason huffed, “You’re the one that said my number went up to 15! I’m a cat now, I’m leaving the birds to join Selina.”

“No,” He nearly growled in frustration, staggering over to the couch, “Adrian is the real cat here. At his core, he’s sweet and kind and trustworthy, but he also has chaos at his center. He can destroy a person he believes deserves it without a second thought, tarnish a reputation permanently with no remorse if he believed it was the best course of action, manipulate a person into behaving how he wants with precision and grace without anyone realizing that the ray of sunshine would be able to do so. He’s literally destruction. You aren’t like that Jason, not at your core. You’re a true holder, but you aren’t a Black Cat.”

The room was silent as he finally finished and he couldn’t help, but look around at their stunned faces with confusion. Even the Kwamis had frozen from where they had been whispering on the side table, glancing between each other and Tim.

“What?” He snapped, too tired to deal with anything else tonight.

“You’ve only just met Adrian,” Kim drew out, “And just spouted off stuff I never knew about the sunshine boy with such confidence I’m pretty sure you’re not lying.”

“What do you mean? Of course, I know that stuff, can’t you guys tell it too? That’s just what I can tell from observing if I really wanted to know anything important about him I’d have to do research,” He explained with a groan as he leaned against Dick’s shoulder.

Dick just looked down at him in amazement, “No Timmy, most people can’t tell that kind of stuff just from spending a few hours with someone.”

“Huh? You guys never acted like I was crazy before,” He pointed out looking at his brothers.

“I always assumed you researched our targets before we needed the information,” Bruce hummed, “We had meant to ask you how you knew some of the skills you had listed when you had never met the heroes before making the entries in your journal.”

“I mean I did look up some stuff, but isn’t most of that stuff common knowledge?”

Jason snorted, “I didn’t know Bruce spoke Portuguese before reading his journal entry, replacement. I can say with confidence that there’s no video footage of B or Bats speaking or reading Portuguese anywhere or any reason you should know that before I even kicked the bucket.”

“I…” Tim tried to think back, to why he knew this information, where he had put together the man had known so many languages.

“Tim,” Marinette piped up, “What languages does everyone in here speak?”

“French and English.”

His deadpan earned an eye roll from her, “No, I meant past that. Start with your family and then my team, tell me all the languages. Go.”

He was skeptical of what she was trying to do but decided not to question it, “All the bat speak Mandarin, Spanish, Arabic, and BSL. Bruce knows Romanian, Portuguese, Dutch, Cantonese, and Greek. Alfred speaks German, Italian, Japanese, Russian, and Polish. Dick speaks Romani, Romanian, Dutch, and Russian. Jason has Portuguese, Japanese, Korean, Cantonese, and Russian. I can do Japanese, Romanian, German and Polish.

Damian knows Japanese, Korean, Cantonese, and is just short of fluent in Romanian.”

His eyes turned to the Parisian teens, ignoring the surprise at their extensive list of languages, “ Adrian knows Mardiran and Japanese. Chloe knows Japanese. Kim is fluent in Vietnamese and is nearing passable in German. Max knows Korean and Safan. Alix knows Ancient Egyptian and Arabic. Kagami knows Japanese and Mandarin. Viperion knew quite a bit of Italian but wasn’t quite fluent. Marinette knows Italian, is nearly fluent in Arabic and… actually, I’m not sure what the last one is, but it’s ancient, something close to Sino-Tibetan I think?”

Eyes flashed around the room, before settling on Tim.

“Seriously?” Tim groaned, “None of you knew that?”

Jason's eyes flashed to Damien, “Since when do you speak Romanian?”

He scowled, the tips of his ears burning, “It was going to be a surprise for Grayson, I was hoping to be fluent by his birthday…”

Marinette broke in before any of the brothers could make a comment, “Tim, Damien only practiced Romanian when he knew everyone was out of the house. Nor should you know about the Guardian Language.”

“Guardian Language?” He whispered, head too fuzzy for him to process more than that.

She winced a little, “When the role of Guardian was handed over to me, the language of the Guardians was basically downloaded into my head. It allows me to read the Guardian Grimoire and perform the spells within it to heal kwamis, fixing broken miraculous or create potions to allow them different abilities they don’t usually possess. Usually, there’s a lot of training to be able to deal with the new knowledge being shoved into their heads but my gaining of the guardianship was more than a little unorthodox so I had to deal with migraines for about six months after. I had to decode the secrets for myself even with knowing the language.”

“I don’t even know what the Guardian is,” Tim whispered as the truth set it, “I really shouldn’t know this stuff about you guys…”

“Another aspect of your power, no doubt,” Alfred cut in, “Hardly the worst thing in the world for a detective to have intuition-based knowledge of the people he’s looking up, hmm?”

Tim laughed, “Thanks, Alfred.”

The butler merely nodded, “However, I am fairly certain Master Tim hasn’t been truthful about how much sleep he’s gotten this week and a miraculous drain is dangerous even when well-rested, I suggest suspending this discussion until a proper hour?”

Damien gave him an innocuous look, “ You tried to lie to Pennyworth? Are you completely braindead.”

“Panicking over my secret being out means lots of comfort coffee,” He groaned back as he attempted to bury himself in Dick’s side.  

“Go to sleep Replacement,” Jason huffed, as Dick pulled the other man to his feet. Zombie Tim's duty was something they all had plenty of experience in. It wasn’t long before he was stripped of his costume and sweatpants and an oversized tee pulled on over his bike shorts.

Tim barely registered the lights being turned off as he was bundled into bed, half asleep already.

When Tim arose the next morning he was surprised to see it was only 8 am, seven hours after when he remembered his brother’s getting him to bed. Typically, after the kind of crash, he felt last night he needed a solid thirteen hours of sleep and two cups of coffee to feel this alive again. His answer came from the tiny horse resting on the nightstand.

“Kaalki? What are you doing here?”

“Kwami healing,” She offered in an attempt to be nonchalant as she floated up in front of him, “ Tikki is best at it but every Kwami, barring Plagg, can offer some form of rejuvenation to those who need it. My way of healing is to replenish the energy that has been lost in a timely manner. It was the least I could do after causing you so much distress last night.”

Tim frowned and offered a flat hand for her to land on, “Don’t do that, there’s no blame on you or Marinette or anyone else. Accidents happen, and it’s not like there’s an instruction book on miraculous and metas.”

She fidgeted, “I believe you are correct but I still felt bad for causing such harm to befall you.”

Tim just shook his head, “Either way, thank you. I feel amazing right now.”

She smiled, “Perhaps if you hurry you can join your family for breakfast, I heard they were setting out to leave soon.”

He quickly pulled on his clothes and did his morning routine in the ensuite before entering the main room where his family froze in place as they were pulling on coats and shoes.

“What the fuck are you doing up?” Jason hissed, ready to force him back into bed.  

“Kwami magic has its perks,” Tim defended, hands raised in surrender as Kaalki floated next to him, “I feel more awake then I have in years.”

Alfred grinned, “Ah yes, I remember how Duusu would help us relax after battles. Well come along then,

Marinette squinted at him judgingly, trying to figure out how he was allowed out by his family before Kaalki darted from his jacket over to Max’s. Instead, she just huffs and begins leading the entire group of heroes towards her parents’ bakery, Damien quickly falling in step to her left, glaring at Adrian who had fallen into step on her right.

“SO, replacement,” Jason drawled, dropping an arm around the short brother’s shoulders, “I didn’t get to ask last night cause you looked more zombie then me, but if I’m not a cat, what am I?”

“I don’t even know where to start with miraculous,” Tim huffed, pushing the older man away, “Where would I even start with which miraculous to give to you?”

“Well, how about we give you a starting point,” Adrian asked, turning to walk backwards so he could look at them with a twinkling smile, “Miraculous are broken into two categories, indirect and direct. Direct miraculous powers affect the target of the power directly like the Bee’s venom freezing someone, while the Indirect affect the world around the target, like the Horse’s teleportation. The Black Cat and Ladybug fall outside of the groupings as they’re both direct and indirect. Indirect users can’t use Direct miraculous effectively and can even have adverse effects of transforming too long and vice versa. So does Jason feel like a direct or indirect holder.”

“Indirect,” Tim started, finding the words just started flowing as he stared at the 11 swirling about over his brother’s head, “Jason’s cocky and more stubborn than the Blue Boyscout if you get him going, but he’s also loyal to a fault and filled with so much determination I’m not sure whether to be scared or impressed. No matter how angry he is at someone, or how much he thinks they deserve the consequences of their actions he will be there to protect them by any means necessary. He may talk tough and act stupid but he’s unbelievably wise with instincts unparalleled by normal humans when it comes to trust and how to get out of sticky situations. He can and will kill, but only if it’s the only option left to make it out of a situation alive.”

Jason scowled and pulled on the end of his jacket sleeve as he looked away, “Geez, rip me open why don’t you?”

“Hey, you asked,”

Marinette stared at him with a cryptic eye, “No, he’s right I can see it. I think I know what miraculous to give you.”

Tim’s attention fell away from the conversation as Jason tried to pry the newly found information from the young Guardian. Because that was the least of his worries.

Not when his eyes landed on vibrant blue hair, strikingly familiar, attached to a man sitting on the wall around the Seine, strumming his guitar absentmindedly.

“Found you,” Tim said, causing the man in front of him to smile up at him.

“That was quick,” He laughed, the thick gothic steel-colored 13 made his blue eyes take on a silver hue.

“It’s easy to spot such a high number when most don’t reach past six,” He shrugged.

“You and I aren’t very different, you know?” Steely grey 13 offered, looking back to his guitar.

“I think the masks gave that away,” Tim mussed, “I’m Tim.”

“Luka, Luka Couffaine,” Steely Grey 13, Viperion, Luka offered easily, “And I meant past the masks.”

“How do you mean then, Luka?”

The younger man looked up at him and waved a hand at the chair across from him, “How about you take a seat, Uccellino, and we can compare notes on what it’s like to be meta.”

____________________________________________

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