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pagesfromthevoid · 11 months

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Traicionero | j.p.

Javier Peña x fem!reader

Word Count: 9.9k (Ahaha woops)

Warnings: mentions of canon typical violence. Oral (f receiving). P in V sex. Fingering. Dubious consent (Javi is drunk when he gets to her). Plot with smut basically. Poorly translated Spanish. Possibly OOC Javier?

Author’s Note: I don’t even know why I wrote this. More importantly I don’t know why I needed any sort of plot to fuck Javier Peña but alas. Here we are. Also, yes. I totally got the opening line from Teen Wolf. Don't fuckin' judge me.

Requests are OPEN

“Do you wanna hear it in Spanish, Peña?” She mocked, standing tall in front of the ambassador’s office door. He was glaring down at her, eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Fucking clever, princesa,” he countered, reaching out to move her. But she blocked his hands.

“Touch me, and I swear to God, Peña —Escobar will be the least of your concerns.”

“Ooh, you’re so scary,” he taunted, grabbing her upper arms to move her once more. With her heel, she slammed her foot into his boot and he cussed angrily and released her. “Jesus Christ. Just let me through.”

“I’m under strict orders to let no one in this office. Especially you.”

As the new assistant to the Ambassador of the US in Columbia, she wasn’t about to risk her job because of some pretty boy agent who thought he was the shit. Crosby had made himself very clear when she was hired: don’t let Peña boss her around; don’t let Murphy guilt trip her. She was the fourth assistant in three years, with the other three having quit due to pressure or been fired for not being able to follow orders.

Crosby blamed Javier Peña for the first two quitting; certain the agent didn’t call or hurt their feelings enough to make the women refuse to work with him. The third one was fired for leaking information to the press.

She would be different. She already was. Agent Peña wasn’t going to get her in bed, for one. He’d tried during her first week. Flirted up a goddamn storm. Complimented everything about her from her hair to her nails to her shoes. It was a fine daydream at first —he was pretty and polite as far as she could tell —until Crosby called her into his office and warned her.

So she stopped with that dangerous daydream, choosing to ignore Peña. Just because he was attractive didn’t give him the right to fuck around with everything that had a pulse. Besides, the whole better-than-you thing he had going on annoyed her after the second week. And the way he kept looking at her —like she was a piece of meat needing to be inspected —made her never want to wear a skirt again.

Which she hadn’t, by the way. She had taken to wearing slacks and flowy blouses that didn’t expose more skin than necessary. Was it inconvenient in the Colombian heat? Absolutely. But did it keep Agent Peña from staring at her? Not really at first, but he didn’t do it as much now. And that’s what she cared about.

“I will happily schedule you an appointment,” she offered, though she didn’t step away from the office door.

“Yeah, next fucking year.”

“Actually, I think he has an opening tomorrow at 10.”

“Yeah, I needed him 10 minutes ago, sweetheart. Not gonna fly.”

She just shrugged, hands on her hips as they stared each other down. However, maybe Peña realized he had been beaten. Or maybe he just didn’t care enough to fight with her anymore. Because finally, he threw his hands in the air and stormed off, bitching about wasting his time.

Fifteen minutes later, however, Steve Murphy tried his hand.

“I really recommend you walk away from me, Agent Murphy.”

“Yes ma’am.”

———

Four months into the job, and the war against Pablo Escobar, Ambassador Crosby ordered her to take up a desk at the base. She didn’t argue, given his reasoning was solid (“I need someone there to filter through the bullshit. They come to you, you call me.”). However, her new position meant a significant lifestyle change that was a bit more abrupt than she expected.

Turns out, living on a Colombian military base was awful. And even more so, if you were American. And a woman. And as if those two things didn’t make her question quitting her job almost daily (not that she would, but goddamn, she wanted to lately with the amount of bloodied soldiers and cops that came in) —it meant spending an annoying amount of time with Murphy and Peña, who had been sidelined.

Her desk was ten feet away from where the two DEA agents set up their space. Murphy offered to push her closer, joking that they could be the three musketeers, but she just returned to the paperwork she had already filled out, ignoring him.

“One of these days, you’re gonna be thankful it’s us here and not anyone else, hermosa,” Peña stated one evening, lighting the cigarette that hung loosely from his lips.

“I’ll be thankful when you actually manage to catch Escobar instead of fucking up raids,” she countered, not looking up from the notes she was rewriting for Martinez.

Murphy laughed at that, and she glanced up as his chair creaked when he leaned back in it. “She’s got a point there, Javi.”

“Shut the fuck up. Whose side are you on?”

“The side that’s usually right,” Murphy continued, looking at her with a grin.

She almost made a comment regarding listening to his wife if that was the case, but she stopped herself. It had been a bad day when he stormed out of the base the afternoon that Connie left; she wasn’t that cruel.

“Flattery gets you nowhere with me.” She hummed a bit, setting her pen down and rubbing her eyes with the heel of her palm. The words were jumbling together, and translating from English to Spanish was difficult for someone who was not fluent in the language. And low on caffeine.

“Oh, we know,” Peña replied, sitting on his desk. “If it did, we’d have so much more intel —,”

“Agent Peña,” she interrupted, looking up at him with tired eyes. For a moment, she swore he looked concerned but she chalked it up to wishful thinking; thinking he could care about anyone but himself was a reckless path to put herself on. “As much as I just love listening to you bitch about me doing my job correctly —I can’t handle it right now. So either get me coffee, or shut the fuck up.”

Neither he nor Murphy said another word, looking between each other for a moment before Murphy motioned for him to move. Peña was about to slide off his desk when the phone rang, and his attention snapped back to his actual task at hand as he answered it. She blinked a few times, shaking her head for a second to wake herself up, before she stood up.

Stretching her arms up over her head, she let out a quiet groan as her joints popped. When was the last time she stood up? It felt like it had been hours.

Peña looked at her curiously, phone still pressed to his ear. He paused for a moment, hand over the bottom of the receiver, and this time, she was sure there was concern evident in his tone. "You okay?"

She paused, surprised by the genuine concern in his tone. Dropping back into her chair, she ran a hand over her face, trying to think of something witty to say. But Peña's unexpected display of empathy caught her off guard. For a moment, she considered brushing it off with a dismissive remark, but the weariness in her body won over her usual defenses.

"You actually wanna know?” She asked, eying him closely as she wondered if he actually cared. But Peña nodded, kicking his feet up on his desk as he leaned back his chair, motioning for her to keep talking. She hesitated a moment before she finally spoke, her voice lacking its usual sharpness. "Long nights, endless paperwork…I’m just tired, that’s all.”

Understanding flickered in Peña's gaze, and he nodded sympathetically. "I get it," he replied, glancing at the phone for a moment before he let out a frustrated huff, though he motioned to the phone as if to say he was reacting to the caller. “Look, those notes are gonna be there when you get back. Martinez won’t be here for an hour or two anyway. Why don't you take a break, grab some fresh air –there’s a café down the street from the base that has the good shit.”

She opened her mouth to argue –to make some snide comment about his knowledge of the area –but stopped herself. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself not to let her guard down. Peña may have shown a brief moment of concern, but she knew better than to trust his actions completely. She had learned from both experience and word of mouth that he had his own agenda. She wasn't about to let her guard down just because of a momentary lapse in his usual demeanor.

But…maybe she’d be a little nicer, if only because he was also being nice. The skepticism still lingered, but she couldn't help but entertain the idea that perhaps there was a genuine moment of connection between them, however fleeting it might be.

“Do you want anything?”

He looked back at her, his brow raised as he considered her offer. A mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he snuffed out his cigarette and hung up the phone. "Finally offering to do a coffee run? Took ya long enough," he teased, his usual annoying self resurfacing. “Not today, cariño. Maybe tomorrow.”

Her momentary hope deflated, replaced by annoyance. So much for his newfound niceness.

She rolled her eyes, grabbing her bag and adjusting the strap on her shoulder. "Unlikely," she retorted, brushing past him as she walked out of the base.

When she returned an hour later, coffee in hand and the sun setting over the Colombian horizon, she found that her notes were typed up and translated, sitting in a neat pile on her desk. The aroma of fresh coffee mingled with the fading daylight, creating a sense of calm in the otherwise chaotic office. Her brow furrowed as she looked around the makeshift space they called an office, the empty chairs and silent surroundings indicating that Murphy and Peña were both long gone for the night.

A mix of surprise and intrigue washed over her. She hadn't expected anyone to take the initiative to organize her notes, especially not Peña. It was a small act, but it hinted at a flicker of unexpected consideration. Perhaps there was more to him than met the eye.

With a curious smile tugging at her lips, she sat down at her desk, her fingers tracing the neatly typed pages. As she perused the translations, she couldn't help but appreciate the effort that had gone into it. She took a sip of her coffee, savoring its warmth as she leaned back in her chair, contemplating the possibilities. Tomorrow would only bring more chaos –such was the life they lived in Colombia –but for now, she would appreciate what felt like an olive branch being extended.

Maybe she would be a little nicer to Javier Peña.

———

“Come out with us,” Steve offered about two months later, leaning back in his chair.. “We finally gotta win –we’re all going out to celebrate.”

In the weeks that followed Peña’s random act of kindness, the three Americans found themselves on far friendlier terms than before. Sure, Javier was still narcissist of the year —but he was nicer about it. What she would have deemed snarky commentary before had become a back and forth banter that Murphy swore up and down was flirting. Each time he made that comment, she gave him a dirty look and rolled her eyes, always responding with something along the lines of In his fucking dreams.

To which Peña would always have a comeback, usually following suit of Always in my dreams, cariño or something equally as cheesy. It was always returned with a little smirk on her end, or a wink from him.

Okay so maybe it was flirting.

But it was friendly flirting. Nothing more. That path was reckless, even if she was starting to hate him a little less than before.

“And watch you get shit faced while Peña flirts with anyone with a pulse?” She countered, fanning herself with the folder in her hand. Summer had hit Colombia hard, and she was melting in her blouse and slacks. Even pulling her hair up didn’t stop her from feeling like her body was more liquid than skin. “I’d rather not.”

“Got better plans?”

“Maybe I booked a nice hotel for the night so I could pamper myself,” she mused, resting her chin in her palm as she looked at the blonde agent. “Maybe I have a date. Who knows? It’s not really your business, is it?”

“There’s not any nice hotels around here, so try again,” Steve teased back, moving to sit on her desk now as he looked down at her. “About the date…I mean, you could but do you actually?”

She gave him a pointed look, before glancing around the base. One of the soldiers was walking by with a box of files, and she called out his name –Andrés. He paused, leaning over the rail to give her his full attention, just as Peña stormed into the base. She didn’t pay him too much attention as she smiled up at the soldier, batting her lashes some as she asked him out. Peña, however, stopped and watched the interaction, brow furrowed.

“¿Salgamos esta noche?”

The soldier looked surprised for a moment but nodded rapidly, smiling brightly at her as he offered to get her at 7. “Absolutamente. ¿Siete?”

“Suena bien.”

The soldier nodded again and walked off to finish his work, clearly a little more pep in his step. She leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest as she gave Murphy a smug grin. “You were saying?”

Steve just rolled his eyes in exasperation as Peña abruptly yanked his chair out, carelessly tossing his jacket onto the desk. She observed the interaction between them, her brow raised in curiosity as Peña began rummaging through his drawers, seemingly searching for something.

"What's wrong, Javi?" Steve asked, pushing himself off her desk and approaching his partner, concern etched on his face.

"Nothing," Peña snapped, his tone sharp and dismissive. He retrieved a cigarette from the drawer and swiftly lit it, remaining tight-lipped and refusing to offer any further explanation.

She watched as Steve glanced back at her momentarily, a mixture of frustration and confusion evident on his face. Sensing that they were about to engage in a private conversation, they leaned in closer to each other, their voices dropping to hushed whispers that shielded their conversation from her ears.

Unable to catch their words, she watched Steve’s back with a deep frown. It was moments like this, where the two shielded themselves from her earshot, that reminded her that they weren’t properly friends. They didn’t trust her not to rat them out to Crosby. The secrecy between the two partners only reminded her that she was not part of this little team of theirs.

Peña abruptly stood again, frustration etched on his face, and snatched his jacket once more. Steve, mirroring his partner's actions, swiftly straightened up and retrieved his own coat. He cast a brief glance back at her, his eyes reflecting weariness but also attempting to offer a reassuring smile, before the two of them hastily exited the base. The sound of their hurried footsteps echoed through the room, fading into the distance as they disappeared beyond the door.

Left behind, she remained seated for a moment, her mind swirling with a mixture of confusion, surprise, and concern. She stared intently at the retreating backs of Javier and Steve, their forms gradually vanishing from view. Questions flooded her thoughts, demanding answers to what the hell just happened.

***

She ended up canceling her last minute date, having decided that whatever was going on with Peña and Murphy was probably far more important than proving a point to Murphy that she could get a date.

It had been nearly three hours since the two agents practically ran out of the base, and while she didn’t directly ask Crosby what was going on, she tried to dance around the question. The ambassador just told her that someone was leaking information to Los Pepes, allowing the vigilante group to take down another one of Pablo’s guys without the DEA or Colombian police being involved. Crosby told her to keep an ear and eye out for anything off and well…

Javier Peña was off that afternoon.

However, she didn’t mention that.

She just promised she would and hung up, running her hands through her hair as she considered what to do next. As she tried to focus on her work, she pushed thoughts of Javier Peña from her mind. If she even began to think that Peña was the one leaking intel, then she would panic around him and she knew that was no good. It wouldn’t end well for anyone involved, especially if he wasn’t.

Another half an hour passed before Peña’s phone rang again. For the first few rings, she ignored it. It rang all the time –usually tips and intel, or Messina calling to scold him. Usually, it would stop and go to his voicemail. Tonight, however, it stopped then rang again. After the third time, she huffed in annoyance and stood, picking up the receiver. Before she could say anything, however, a voice that she’d only heard through captured recordings, hissed in her ear: Don Berna.

“I thought we were meeting for coffee, Peña?”

Immediately, she hung up the phone and stepped away, her eyes wide. Silently, she cursed to herself as she hurried back to her desk and grabbed her bag and satellite phone then rushed out the doors of the base. Maybe it was just a cartel guy who wanted to turn a new leaf. There wasn’t a reason to think that Peña was working with Berna or feeding him information. She couldn’t just assume the worst.

Okay, so that wasn’t true.

She always assumed the worst in Javier Peña. She had since the moment she met him, and she had continued even after he proved he wasn’t necessarily the worst. But she couldn’t assume that he was actually helping Los Pepes kill innocent people just to get to Escobar. There was just…there was no way.

“Answer your phone, you jackass,” she hissed into her satellite phone, listening to it ring a few times before being hung up on. She dialed it again, getting into her car with it pressed to her ear. “Javier Peña, I swear to God, I’m going to kill you myself –,”

“What the fuck do you want?” He answered, voice clipped and laced in anger.

“I think we need to meet,” she replied, and she wondered if he could hear the trembling in her voice. “For coffee.”

There was a silence that hung between the lines, static being the only sound that filled the cracks. She was shaking, her heart threatening to break through her ribcage as she waited for him to speak. To own up, or lie, or anything.

“Agent Peña,” she hissed, trying to get him to say something back to her.

“I’ll be at the café in ten minutes.”

“Is that the same one you fucking meet –,”

“Shut your damn mouth,” he snapped at her, hanging up the phone.

She stared at it blankly, taking a moment to calm her nerves before she threw it into the passenger seat and took off into town. Maybe it would have been better to walk, give her time to cool down and find a reason to justify why a cartel boss would be calling her, but she wanted a quick getaway if everything suddenly went south.

Not that she thought Peña would do anything to her –but she couldn’t be sure anymore.

She parked outside the café, sitting in her car for several minutes before she considered even getting out. What she should be doing is going back to the base, calling the ambassador, and telling him what she had learned. How could she be risking her goddamn job because of Javier fucking Peña? In what world did that make any sense, especially given how –

The passenger side of her car swung open abruptly, and a jolt of surprise shot through her body, causing her to let out a startled yelp. Instinctively, she pressed herself further into the door, her back firmly planted against it, as Peña climbed into the car. The sudden proximity between them made her acutely aware of his presence, and a mix of emotions washed over her like a tidal wave.

Her heart pounded in her chest, its rapid beats echoing in her ears, as she struggled to regain her composure. Wide-eyed, she stared at him, momentarily frozen by the intensity of the situation. The surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins made her briefly contemplate the idea of delivering a forceful blow to his face—a physical manifestation of the frustration and exasperation he had caused with his reckless actions.

As her mind raced, grappling with conflicting thoughts and emotions, his voice cut through the silence, jolting her back to reality.

"What did he say?" he demanded, his tone firm and unwavering.

She found herself gaping at him, caught off guard by the absence of denial in his response. The sheer audacity of his nonchalance left her momentarily speechless. A mix of anger and disbelief flickered in her eyes as she struggled to find her voice.

"You're not even going to deny it?" she managed to utter, her words laced with a blend of astonishment and accusation.

Peña met her gaze, his own eyes locking with hers, unflinching. "Why the fuck would I? You already know," he retorted, his voice tinged with frustration. "You're not an idiot."

His words struck a nerve, and she felt a surge of conflicting emotions within her—anger, disappointment, but also a lingering sense of understanding. But that understanding was being overtaken by the sheer anger she felt towards the agent. She watched as he briefly glanced out the back window, seemingly checking for any signs of surveillance, before returning his focus to her, leaning in closer.

"What did he say?" he repeated, this time his voice softer, his tone carrying a hint of vulnerability amidst the tension that hung in the air.

Her initial impulse was to withhold the information, to maintain an element of control and power in this nightmare they were engaged in. But as she looked into his eyes, the walls she had built around herself began to crumble.

“He just…he said he thought you were meeting him for coffee,” she explained, looking up at him with a small frown and her brow furrowed.

Peña's eyes darted away, unable to meet her gaze directly. His usual confident demeanor wavered, revealing a hint of guilt that played across his features. A heavy silence filled the car, punctuated only by the sound of their collective breaths. She waited anxiously for his response, her heart pounding in her chest, hoping against hope that he would vehemently deny the accusation. But as the seconds stretched into an eternity, his admission hung in the air, weighted with a sense of betrayal.

A mix of disbelief and anguish washed over her, the realization hitting her like a brick through a window. Her voice trembled as she spoke again, her words laced with a mix of sorrow and desperation. "Peña...please, tell me it's not actually you that's leaking our intel to Los Pepes."

He sighed heavily, a mixture of regret and resignation etched on his face. "I wish I could say it's not true," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I've made some choices...choices that I thought were necessary, because things weren’t getting done.”

Her world seemed to crumble around her, the foundation of trust they had built eroded in an instant. A whirlwind of emotions raged within her—anger, hurt, and a profound sense of disappointment. She had trusted him, relied on him for months because she didn’t have a damn choice, actually managed to kind of like the bastard and now that trust lay shattered.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Javier?” She demanded, pushing herself upright, scrambling to hit him anywhere she could. She wasn’t necessarily the strongest, and truthfully didn’t really know how to throw a punch, but she was angry. And he deserved to be fucking hit.

And he let her.

He sat there, stoic and unmoving, his face a mask of acceptance. He made no attempt to dodge or defend himself, allowing her fists to rain down upon him. Her poorly trained punches landed on his arms, her fists colliding with his solid form, but he didn’t flinch or retaliate. His passive response only fueled her anger further.

The sound of her strikes echoed in the air, each smack a cathartic release of frustration and disappointment. Her fists became a conduit for her emotions, as if the physical pain she inflicted upon him could somehow alleviate the emotional pain within her. But with each blow, she realized the uselessness of her actions.

As her punches gradually weakened, exhaustion and sadness began to replace her initial rage. The weight of the situation pressed upon her, and she felt the heaviness in her limbs. Her fists gradually dropped to her sides, her trembling hands a reflection of the turbulent storm of emotions raging within her.

She looked at him, searching for any sign of remorse or explanation in his eyes. But his gaze offered no explanation; nothing that he was able to say to make her feel better. He knew what he did, and she knew he didn’t regret it.

Breathing heavily, she fell back into her door, the intensity of the moment hanging between them. The anger that had fueled her actions now subsided, leaving a void filled with a mixture of disappointment and a longing for answers. The silence between them seemed to stretch on, punctuated only by the heavy silence of unspoken words.

“Get out of my car, Javier.”

He swallowed hard, she could hear it, before he pushed her door open. As he turned to get out, he paused, looking back at her. She stared forward, gripping her steering wheel tight enough that her knuckles were white.

“I…,” he took a breath, looking down for a moment before he shook his head and got out. “Can’t believe it took this long for you to call me by my first name.”

She let out a watery laugh, trying to keep herself from crying. He stared at her for several moments, but she refused to meet his gaze, instead opting to start her car and wipe her eyes. For just a little while, she really thought maybe he wasn’t that bad. That Javier Peña was actually a decent person, who she was begrudgingly attracted to. She knew that he and Steve did things a bit against the rules; it was hard not to see it. But this was too far, even by that standard.

She took a deep breath, swallowing down her tears again. “I was so close to not hating you —,”

“If you’re gonna tell Crosby —,”

They spoke over each other, and both stopped as they waited for the other to finish.

“I’m not,” she finally said, before she could stop herself. But she still refused to look at him. “I…I’m not gonna tell him, Peña. Consider it the only favor I’ll ever do for you.”

He let out a wry chuckle, shaking his head as he finally got out of her car. The door slammed against the frame, and she watched from the corner of her eye as he walked around the front to her side of the car. Hesitating, she rolled the window down, finally meeting his gaze as he rested his hand on the roof, leaning down.

“Thank you, hermosa,” he murmured, voice low as he leaned into the car further. “And for what it’s worth —I’ve never hated you.”

Truthfully, she didn’t hate him either. Looking up at him from her seat, she had the sudden urge to pull him into a tight hug; tell him it was okay. That she understood why he did it.

But she’d be lying if she did. Because she didn’t understand; not really.

———

He was drunk.

No, that wasn't accurate.

He was shit-faced.

Javier stumbled through the dimly lit bar, his movements unsteady and his mind clouded by a swirling haze of alcohol. The weight of his actions bore down on him, threatening to suffocate him with a potent mix of guilt and self-loathing. Each step he took was a struggle, as if the weight of his choices had multiplied tenfold.

He had watched her drive away, leaving an empty void in his chest. The taillights of her car faded into the distance, a visual representation of the fracture he had caused in the barely there friendship they had in the first place. She wasn’t supposed to find out; no one was.

Driven by a mix of remorse and self-loathing, he turned on his heel and sought solace in the numbing embrace of a bottle of whiskey. The nearest bar became his sanctuary, a place where he could drown his sorrows and temporarily escape the consequences of his actions. He slumped onto a barstool, his weary eyes scanning the array of bottles lining the shelves.

As the minutes turned into hours, the world around him became distorted. The sounds of laughter and chatter blended into white noise that didn’t make any sense, and the faces of the patrons merged into indistinguishable shapes. His vision blurred, mirroring the fog that clouded his mind.

Javier's drunken stupor was a feeble attempt to escape the weight of his actions, to find temporary solace in a realm of blurred lines and diminished responsibility. But as the alcohol seeped into his veins, it only served to deepen his self-disgust. The numbness it brought was merely a hollow facade, concealing the pain and regret that gnawed at his core.

As the night wore on and the effects of alcohol began to really make him think shitty ideas were good ones. With the memory of her face —disappointed, angry, teary eyed —front and center in his mind, Javier made a decision.

He needed to see her, even if it meant facing the wrath of her anger and disappointment. It didn't matter that it was late in the night or that his thoughts were still muddled from the alcohol. He couldn't let her think he was this bad man, trying to fuck up everything they were working towards.

And he didn’t want her to hate him. Jesus fucking Christ, Javier didn’t want to go back to her snapping at him every time he spoke. Or glaring at him over her paperwork whenever he asked her questions. He liked whatever they had going on —flirting, banter, whatever it was.

Javier wanted it to keep happening.

Javier just wanted her, however she would take him. And by her reaction tonight, in her car, his whiskey-addled brain saw something that he hadn’t seen before.

Driven by a mix of determination and a glimmer of hope, Javier left the confines of the bar and stumbled through the dimly lit streets. Every step was unsteady, but his movements were fueled by a desperate need to find her and see her again.

Minutes felt like hours as he walked down the streets towards the apartments she lived in. The weight of his actions sat heavily on his shoulders, and while he didn’t regret what he was doing —he needed to at least apologize to her.

Finally, he arrived at her doorstep, his heart pounding in his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before he knocked on the door. As he waited, he rehearsed the words he wanted to say to her, hoping that they sounded at least somewhat coherent.

There was shuffling from behind her door, and Javier glanced at his watch with a frown —realizing it was well past midnight.

“Shit.”

Panicking, and suddenly feeling far more sober than he was when he was making the walk there, he turned on his heel to walk away. His hands ran through his hair as he started cursing himself for being so fucking stupid.

As Javier turned to leave, his heart pounding in his chest, he heard her voice calling out to him, stopping him in his tracks. He slowly turned back, his eyes meeting hers. She clearly had been woken up by him, her hair braided but messy from sleep.

She stood in her doorway, arms crossed over her chest, in her pajamas. Just a thin tank top that revealed the curve of her shoulders and shorts that showcased her slender legs and a look of confusion and frustration on her pretty face.

Unable to tear his gaze away from her, Javier felt his resolve crumble. The urge to be close to her, to reach out and hold her, consumed him. He took a hesitant step towards her, his heart pounding in his chest. His voice was a mere whisper as he spoke, filled with a mixture of longing and guilt.

She stepped back, frowning. “Are you drunk?”

He stopped short, recognizing her concern. But he nodded slowly, swallowing hard as he did so. “Just, uh. Just a bit, yeah.”

“Go home, Javier.”

“I can’t, cariño,” he admitted, running his hands over his face then up through his hair. “I…I can’t.”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

He considered his options –both, neither. He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t leave (though he definitely couldn’t), but he knew why he wouldn’t.

They stood there in the dimly lit hallway, the weight of their complicated relationship hanging in the air. Javier struggled to find the right words, to express the turmoil churning within him. He was not accustomed to vulnerability, especially not with someone like her. They weren’t friends. They didn’t even like each other most days.

That wasn’t exactly true, though. In recent weeks, they had gotten on better than before. Closer, friendlier. He liked having that in his life, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

“You hate me,” he finally managed to say, leaning against her door frame to look down at her. “And that’s fine. I deserve that.”

Her eyes softened momentarily, a flicker of something that he couldn’t pinpoint flashing over her face. She glanced down either end of the hallway, Javier following her movements, before she pushed her door open fully and motioned for him to come inside. There was clear hesitation on his end, standing stiff there for a moment as he considered what she wanted.

“If you can’t leave, Javier, then you need to come inside before I shut the door in your face.”

Decision made for him, he stepped through into the threshold of her apartment, breath stuck in his throat. As she stepped back into her apartment, shutting and locking the door, the atmosphere shifted from the tension-filled hallway to a space that bore the traces of familiarity and comfort.

He couldn’t help but look around her home –something he truthfully thought he’d never see, because let’s face it: she didn’t want him there. Even if they were friends.

The living area was tastefully decorated, and the walls were adorned with framed photographs capturing cherished memories and moments of laughter. In the corner, a small bookshelf stood on the opposite side of the couch, covered in various books and pieces of her that pulled it all together. The couch was the same couch as his –one provided by the embassy to ensure their agents and workers were at least somewhat comfortable. But throw pillows were stacked haphazardly on each end, with a blanket tossed back as if that was where she was asleep.

It must have been, because the bottle of open wine and empty wine glass sat on her coffee table. Javier stared at it blankly, considering the things he’d done to cause her to want to drink her problems away like he had that night.

She pushed him some, towards the couch, before she yanked the blanket into her arms and sat down. Javier hesitated again –where was the confidence he used to radiate when a woman let him into their home? He should feel cocksure and horny; the one unobtainable woman he’d been pining for since she arrived in Colombia was pushing him onto her couch while she barely wore clothing.

But that wasn’t why he was there. And that wasn’t what she was doing. He wasn’t there to seduce her, or fuck her. He was there to beg for her forgiveness; to have her be his fucking friend again.

"I don’t hate you,” she finally sighed, running her hands over her face. “Not anymore, I mean. I did, at least a couple months ago.”

“What changed that?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the couch, looking down at his hands.

“You finished my notes for me. The ones for Martinez, when we first got set up at the base.”

He blinked a few times, trying to pull up the memory of doing that for her. She never asked him for anything; either out of spite or because she didn’t want to rely on him. But then he nodded some, huffing out a weak laugh as he did.

“You looked like you were going to fall asleep at your desk,” he explained, looking up at her finally. “I just…I felt bad; figured I’d give you a break.”

“That’s when I decided I didn’t actually hate you,” she admitted, pulling her knees up to her chest as she looked at him. “I don’t know if I liked you, per se –that took a little longer to accept; that I liked you. That I thought we were friends –but I didn’t dislike you. And I…still don’t hate you.”

Hearing that she thought they were friends made Javier’s heart absolutely ache. He met her gaze, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and longing. It was in that moment that he realized his feelings ran deeper than he had ever admitted to himself. She looked at him as a friend, and Javier was suddenly realizing he wanted her more than that.

“Probably should.”

“I should,” she agreed, but then she shrugged some, taking a deep breath as she tried to fight back a yawn. “I don’t though. I’m just…I’m disappointed, Javier. Angry, because now I have to lie to the fucking ambassador of the United States. Risk my job. Pretend that I don’t know you’re actually a moron who makes shitty decisions.”

“You don’t have to do any of that,” he told her, shaking his head. “You should be covering your own ass, not mine. I told Murphy the same thing –,”

“Good to know that Steve is also a fucking idiot –,”

“Listen to me,” he cut off, turning to face her properly, suddenly serious as he stared her down. “If anyone asks –if someone even so much as hints at you knowing whose working with Los Pepes –you fucking tell them the truth. Do you understand me?”

He watched her closely, his heart pounding in his chest as she contemplated his words. Her exhaustion was evident, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt for adding to her burden. But he needed her to understand, to protect herself and let go of any association with him. He didn't deserve her loyalty, especially after what he had done.

“I’d be smart to walk away," she began, her voice wavering slightly. "It would be the right thing, the safe thing. Kick you out, call the embassy. But..." She paused, the unspoken words hanging in the air. Her voice dropped to a near-whisper as she continued, "I care about you, for some stupid ass reason. So, maybe I won't tell anyone anything. Maybe I'll protect you."

Her response, however, caught him off guard. Her voice, tinged with weariness and vulnerability, carried a sense of tenderness that he didn't expect. He listened intently, his eyes locked on hers, as she admitted her conflicted feelings. Javier's breath hitched as she revealed her concern; how she felt about him. His heart swelled with a mixture of gratitude, disbelief, and a touch of apprehension. How could she still care after all of this? After everything he’d done to her, how he’d treated her, and what he was putting her through now?

He wanted to reach out, to touch her hand, to thank her for her unexpected act of compassion. But a mix of emotions churned inside him, leaving him at a loss for words. Instead, he simply nodded, his throat tight with a gratitude that was choking him.

In that moment, he knew that her decision carried its own risks. He knew that he didn't deserve her protection or her care. But at the same time, he couldn't deny the warmth that spread through his chest, a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness of what he was doing.

As they sat there, something shifted between the two. There was a thread –a thin, barely there thread that tied them together now. And in that fragile thread, Javier found some sort of comfort.

“I’m going to bed, Javier,” she sighed, standing up from the couch with a yawn. “You can stay here, if you want –on the couch.” The last part was added quickly, as if she wanted to make sure he knew she wasn’t offering up her bed to him in any way.

He shook his head though, standing up as well. She looked up at him, and Javier couldn’t help but notice just how close the two of them were suddenly. They stood just inches apart, tired eyes gazing at one another. His gaze flickered from her eyes to her lips, his heart pounding in his chest, but he looked away quickly.

“I appreciate it, but I should go,” Javier replied, his voice slightly hoarse. He tried to ignore the sudden urge of longing that coursed through him; ignore the desire to bridge the distance between them and pull her into his arms. But he couldn't act on those feelings, not now, not after everything.

She nodded, a flicker of disappointment crossing her face. He could tell she was wrestling with her own conflicting emotions, just as he was. They both knew the boundaries they had set, the unspoken rules that controlled their actions. As they stood there, their gazes locked, Javier's resolve wavered. He wanted to kiss her suddenly. He wanted to taste the sweetness of her lips. He wanted to lose himself in her.

He was about to pull away; leave her alone for the night so they could pretend nothing happened when they got to work later. But then he felt her hand gently cup his cheek. Her touch was soft, her eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and a longing of her own. In that moment, she was the one that tore down the boundaries she had put up.

Deciding that he couldn’t take it anymore —gravity was too much and he couldn’t escape the pull of her touch against his skin —he closed the distance between them, taking her face in his hands as he pressed his mouth to hers. Months –he’d spent months wanting to kiss her to shut her up. Use the action to get her to be quiet, to stop scolding him. But now, she wasn’t yelling at him or arguing with him. She was pulling him into her touch, biting at his lip, returning the kiss. Her arms snaked around his neck, pulling herself closer as returned the kiss –biting his bottom lip as she responded with equal fervor. It was unexpected, her immediate response, but Javier wasn’t going to push her away now that he had what he wanted.

Tracing his tongue along the seam of her lip, he coaxed her lips open and licked into her mouth. A quiet whimper escaped her, and Javier swore he could feel it in his very bones as he pushed her back towards the couch again. One of his hands dropped to her hip, holding her against him tight, as the other tangled into her hair. She mimicked his motions, her hand finding its way down his chest to the exposed skin under his collar as the other tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck.

As he pushed her into the couch, refusing to break the kiss, she pulled him down on top of her. He rested on his knees, caging her beneath him as her fingers fumbled over the buttons of his shirt. His hands rested above her head, nipping at her bottom lip again while she finally pushed his shirt open and ran her nails down his chest. He hummed into the kiss, rolling his hips into hers involuntarily before finally breaking away to rest his forehead against hers.

They both breathed heavily, staring at each other with lust blown eyes. Her eyes darted from his face down, then back up at him and Javier wondered, momentarily, what she was thinking. Because all he could think about was slipping his hand under her shirt and feeling her skin against his.

“I can’t just be one of your hook ups,” she whispered, grabbing his wrist to stop him from moving further up. “I won’t be, Javier.”

He stared down at her, catching his breath as he slowly nodded. He understood the weight of her words, the depth of her desire for something more meaningful. He pulled his hand back, trailing his fingers over the skin of her stomach gently until his hand wasn’t under her shirt anymore. Instead, he rested it against the fabric of her top, looking down at her.

“You won’t be,” he assured her, his voice filled with a tenderness that surprised even him. “I…I haven’t — this won’t be —I’ve wanted for months….I want you, cariño.”

She searched his eyes, searching for any sign of deception or doubt, but all she found was a sincerity that mirrored her own. Wanting to find comfort in her touch again, Javier leaned in and pressed his lips to her chin –light, barely there. But enough to cause her to suck in a breath as if he had bit her. His hand slipped back under her stop, grasping at the hem of the thin fabric, so he could pull it up carefully. It was easily pulled over her head and tossed to the floor with his shirt –leaving them both bare from the waist up and pressed against one another.

Her hands, somehow impossibly soft, traced down his arms, nails barely grazing his skin. It was a careful gesture, but it was all he needed to continue. Taking to her wandering hands, Javier wrapped them back around his neck before his hands trailed down her sides until they settled at her waist. She sighed at the touch, tugging him closer to her as he gently clasped her waist, drawing her nearer, their bodies pressed together. His fingers pressed into her skin, no doubt leaving marks where his nails dug in. A gasp escaped her, mingling vulnerability with desire, as his tongue slipped into her mouth again.

Enthusiastically, she pulled him even closer, pressing her body against his like he had dreamed of so many times before. At any moment, he expected to awaken in his bed, painfully alone –painfully hard –left with nothing but fantasies of her consuming his mind. But the feeling of her biting his lip, of her hands fumbling with the button of his jeans reminded him that this was real. She was there, under him, touching him back just as desperately as he was touching her.

“Gonna take care of you, hermosa…,” he whispered, trailing kisses from her mouth down her jaw, to her throat. His hands deftly tugged at her shorts, trying to push them down her hips.

Her hips rose to meet his touch, helping him get rid of the last two pieces of her clothing that kept her from him. Once her shorts were tossed to the growing mess of clothes on her floor, his fingers trailed between her thighs, pressing just barely into her. Her head fell back into the arm of the couch as she whispered his name, as if trying to beg for more. He grinned into the skin of her throat before pressing a kiss there.

“Tell me what you want,” he continued, nipping at her collarbone as his other hand reached up to palm at her breast.

“Take off your pants,” she ordered –though she was breathless and arching into his touch.

Javier chuckled almost darkly into her skin, pinching her nipple as he squeezed her chest. Then he pulled back, sitting up above her. His eyes roamed over her figure hungrily, taking the chance to appreciate each curve of her body as he pushed his jeans and boxers off, kicking them to the side. Most of the women he slept with would try to cover themselves up under his gaze –turn red with sheepish grins. But she just rested her hand behind her head, meeting his eyes for a moment before taking in his naked self as well. Just as hungry for him as he was for her –it made his cock twitch.

“Still so bossy, even when I have you naked under me.”

“Someone needs to make sure you follow directions.”

Her laugh was airy and light, and Javier grinned down at her as he took his cock in his hand, stroking himself slowly. The way she practically glowed under him, radiating something he wanted to bask in forever, made him want her even more. His other hand slipped between her legs again, where he ran his fingers over her clit and through her wet folds. Her eyes closed in response, arching into the touch with a hum, and Javier savored how wet she was for him.

Javier adjusted, half kneeling between her legs and pressed wet kisses over her thighs as he spread her open before him. She gasped at the sensation, thighs instinctively closing around his head but Javier tsk’ed, pushing her legs open to continue peppering kisses along the sensitive skin of her thighs until his nose brushed just barely against her clit. Her reaction was to shoot her hands down and tangle her fingers in his hair, pleading with him to hurry up.

He made a satisfied noise, grinning into the skin of her thighs, before finally giving her what she wanted —what they both wanted —and started to lick and kiss at her clit as if it was the last meal he’d ever eat. She gasped, her legs jerking up only for her heels to rest on his back. The sounds she was making —begging, soft and breathless gasps —egged him on, involuntarily causing him to buck his hips into the couch to relieve his own ache.

“Fuck, Javi,” she moaned, arching up as his tongue delved deep into her core.

Her reaction only spurred him on, replacing his tongue inside her with a finger —then two, with ease. His tongue circled her clit as he pumped his fingers in and out, setting a steady pace as she clenched around him. She was tight, deliciously so, and the thought of her clenching around his cock was driving him wild.

“Come for me,” he whispered against her skin, pulling away from her clit just enough to admire her. Watching her chest heave from her ragged breathing, pretty face contorted by pleasure as his fingers continued to disappear in and out of her —she was close, he could feel it as she yanked his hair harder. “Come for me, hermosa.”

His mouth captured her clit one more time, his fingers curling just enough to hit the sensitive spot inside her. She cried out, squeezing his fingers with her pussy while trying to close her legs around him. But he didn’t let her, free hand holding her leg down as he nipped and licked at her clit, speeding up the thrusts of his fingers inside her.

She cried out suddenly, body trembling, as her orgasm washed over her. He slowed down, but didn’t remove his fingers from her, working her through her climax. She pushed him away from her clit, overstimulated and breathing heavily. He didn’t stay away long before he pulled his fingers from her and replaced them with his tongue once more, lapping up the juices that soaked her pussy.

“Javi,” she gasped, hands shaking as she pried him from between her legs.

She pulled him up by his chin, only able because he let her, and kissed him hungrily. This kiss was sloppier, all teeth and tongues, allowing her to taste herself. Javier groaned into her mouth, pulling himself back onto the couch properly, only to yank her by her hips into his lap. Straddling him now, she looked down at him with hazy, lust filled eyes as she grinded against cock.

He hummed, leaning his head back as his hands slid up her waist, gripping the flesh there tight and guiding her movements as he did so. Her hips rolled against him, coating him in the remnants of her climax, and the head of his cock caught against her clit, causing her to hiss in response. Javier grinned, unable to help himself, as his eyes opened to look up at her again. Releasing his grip on her waist, one hand reached up to the back of her head to bring their mouths together again. His other hand groped her chest, pinching and twisting at her nipples as he bit at her bottom lip.

“Javi, please,” she sighed, breaking the kiss just enough to breathe over his lips. She was reaching between their bodies now to grasp his hard cock in her hands. “I need you, Javi, I need –,”

“What do you need, cariño?” He teased, trying to keep his hips from bucking up into her. “Take what you want, baby. C’mon…”

She nodded frantically, rising up onto her knees above him. Javier’s gaze dropped to her hand around him, where she was guiding his cock into her soaked pussy. As she slowly eased him into her, one of her hands shot up to grip his arm, digging her nails into the skin to distract from the stretch. Javier’s head fell back again as she sunk down on him, his hands dropping to her ass just to hold something. Because if he didn’t –shit, he would lose any semblance of control he had.

Her grip on his arm tightened as their hips met again, sinking him entirely inside her as she tried to adjust to his size. Javier groaned as her walls clenched around him, and his hips involuntarily bucked up –causing her to cry out in surprise and lurch forward, her hands gripping the back of the couch. With her tits in his face, and his hands grasping her ass, Javier was done for –fuck control, he needed to ruin her.

Javier trails his fingers down her arms before wrapping them back around her hips, holding her tight against him as he pistons up into her. She hadn’t been expecting it, a surprised cry leaving her lips as he slapped her ass in the process of fucking her. He pulled her up, and she got the hint as she rose to meet his thrusts, bouncing on his cock to bring herself closer and closer to the edge.

“Been thinking about this since the first time you yelled at me.” He punctuated his last word with a hard thrust up that had the tip of his cock grazing a spot so deep inside her it made her drop her face into his neck, crying out his name.

“Fuck, Javi –you feel so good– Please, God– please, please–” Her words died in her throat when he yanked her down particularly hard, pressing her hips down to meet him and holding her there in slow, hard grind. She let out a choked sob of his name, pussy clenching hard around him and stealing a low moan from the back of his throat.

“Knew you fuckin’ liked me, princesa.”

She moaned again, and Javier jolted up some as he felt her tongue trailing over the vein in his neck and over his jaw. Her mouth was on his again, and he could feel her tightening around him as her wetness started to smear between their bodies. The sound of their skin slapping against skin only urged him forward, each thrust becoming messier and harder. It was almost too much when his one hand dipped between their bodies, fingers fluently toying with her clit.

Between the touch on her clit and the thrusts up into her, Javier could tell she was close and he’d be damned if he came before her. Kissing her harder –all tongue, and teeth, and spit –he sped up his thrusts in time with his fingers on her clit. She bit his lip for a moment before she gasped, closing her eyes tight as her body tensed up under him, only to spasm around him as she came. The only sound she made were airy gasps of his name, begging him to keep going. Javier wasn’t far behind as he thrusted up into her a few more times before his hips stuttered to a stop.

She dropped against him, breathing heavily as she slowly came down from her high. Javier’s hand dropped away from her clit, and while his grip on her hip loosened, he didn’t release her from his hold. Her forehead pressed against his neck, tucked just under his chin as she tried to catch her breath. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath himself, as he savored the moment of her skin against his, holding her close to his chest.

Eventually, however, she adjusted and pulled away from him –pulling his softened cock from her with a wince. He stayed there, however, looking over at her through half squinted eyes. She didn’t move far –having simply slid onto the couch to lean down and rifle through their clothes on the floor. When she came back up, she leaned back against the armrest of the couch, skin slick with sweat and glowing from their post-sex haze. In her one hand was a cigarette, that she lit with a lazy grin, before holding it out to him.

Javier watched her for a few moments before he took the cigarette and snuffed it out, pulling her back down the couch by her ankles. She yelped in surprise, but it devolved into a laugh as he leaned over her and grabbed her chin, kissing her lazily. Her arms wrapped around his neck, returning the kiss eagerly. When he pulled back, Javier melodramatically collapsed onto her, laying between her legs with his head on her chest. Her hand ran through his sweat-drenched curls.

“This doesn’t mean you get special treatment at work,” she murmured, and Javier could just hear the grin in her voice.

“Give me a few minutes to recover, and I bet I can change your mind,” he challenged, though he closed his eyes as she ran her hand through his hair.

“You can try to change my mind by staying, and taking me out tonight,” she countered, and Javier chuckled into her skin, nodding.

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere.”

#javier pena #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x y/n #javier pena fic #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #narcos #narcos fic

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sapphic-woes · 2 years

Note

So grateful to see you in your Abby era, I hope it's amazing. I'm in desperate need of some college au headcanons for my woman. If that's not your speed, maybe some cuddling headcanons? Whatever you want, I just NEED something about this girl.

Omg YES. COLLEGE AU. YOUR MIND!!!

Abby x Scorekeeper!Reader

You hated your fucking job.

It was freezing. You had brought as many layers as you could while still wearing the stupid bright highlighter yellow, scorekeeper shirt on top. Gloves, giant earmuffs...and you were still freezing.

You were just doing this to have something on your resume and earn some money from the school on the side. You hadn't actually expected anything eventful to happen...but Jesus, was this the most boring job on the goddamn planet?

But then of course, you scorekeep for a women's rugby match...and holy fucking shit.

You actually had your mouth wide open, flinching as she tackled yet another player on the field. You'd gotten her name when you took attendance, Abby Anderson, and as you watched her pin her opponent to the ground, have that smug grin spread across her face...

You realized she was definitely going to make this cold, boring night worth it.

And it was. You found yourself sitting up, paying attention. Watching those arms move and legs burst into runs, neck flex as she'd let out whoops of victory. God, she's hot. Was a thought on your mind time and time again, and you thought she was the perfect eye candy to pass the time...but that was it.

There was no way you'd be able to do anything more than stare longingly score keep. Flirting would be so...you blushed, shaking your head at the thought. Maybe you were a bit smitten, but you weren't an idiot. Someone like her definitely already had a girlfriend...or could find someone who wasn't dressed in three layers and giant earmuffs, freezing in the middle of November.

You dipped your head down, tallying up the points for each team to record onto the little tablet they gave you. Focus, Focus, oh–

"How much did we score?" There was a gruff, scratchy voice in your ear, and you nearly screamed.

"H-Huh? Oh! Uh..." You didn't trust your voice. She was so fucking close. She glanced into your eyes only a moment before looking at the glowing screen of the tablet, muttering under her breath as she read what you wrote out loud. It was enough to have your stomach twist something awful, and you tried to calm yourself as you watched her instense stare.

"Fuck yes..." She murmured, lips curling into a smile as she saw her team had won. She grinned wide, leaning forward to make your heart hurt even worse than it already did.

"I thought you hadn't written down shit." ...What?

"What?" You repeated your thoughts aloud. Her grin only grew more sinister.

"'Cause you were staring at me the whole time. Like. Every time I looked at you from the corner of my eyes..." Her eyes narrowed as the blush on your cheeks worsened, voice dropping down into a teasing drawl. "It got so bad I thought you were becoming a fan."

You couldn't keep her gaze any longer. Not when the embarrassment was eating you up inside. You dipped your head down, trying to rectify how much of a creep you must have seemed.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to be creepy or anything! I just thought you were really cool out there. So I guess you're right–not about being an actual like, fan. Just of...how you play! Yeah! Like, uh, like it's really..." Abby raised an eyebrow, and you thought you'd combust, cheeks aflame with how much of an idiot you were being.

"...neat?"

She hadn't believed you. Or if she did, she didn't care anyway.

"So how's my number one fan doing?" Was her routine greeting before throwing her arm around you, watching you stutter out a protest that you weren't. She never listened–only laughing before instructing you to make sure you watched her well this time.

Matches didn't feel like matches...they felt like teasing games between you and Abby. Your eyes would be on her, and suddenly she'd glance you way–smiling in approval if she caught your gaze. More times than not you'd be staring at her arms...her thighs...her ass–only to have your eyes trail up and have her own focused right back at you

She merely had her hands on her hips, but even that was enough to distract you. Her arms where no joke, and you could imagine them wrapped around your waist, the rift of them under the palm of your hands. How'd they feel flexing just as she did to them now–

Wait...why was she flexing?

You looked up to a smug smirk and twinkling eyes. Abby casually flexed once again, just for you to see, and you immediately glared back at her as if to demand she stop teasing you. That made her laugh in the middle of the field...to her teammates confusion, and had you burying your face back into your tablet.

That fucking idiot...

When she asked you out on a date, you'd nearly dropped the electronic.

No–you did drop it, but she caught it with ease, handing it back to you while scratching the back of her head.

"Do you...not want to or...?"

"What? No–yes I mean. Yes I do but–I thought I was like..." You shrugged, clutching the tablet awkwardly.

"Entertainment. Or something. Like you're always teasing me–"

"C'mon I'm not that bad–"

"You just said my earmuffs make me look like Dumbo." Silence followed before the two of you laughed, and Abby shrugged.

"Okay...maybe I am that bad. But I'm serious. You're cute...and you're fun to tease...fun to be around too...so why don't we actually hang out when I'm not covered in dirt and sweat some time?" You grinned at the suggestion, nodding as her lips broke out into a dorky smile in return.

"Sure Abby...I'd like that."

#abby x reader #abby anderson #tlou2 #abby headcanons #im in love with this WOMAN #also yea this is based off of my short scorekeeper experience lmao

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thefactsofthematter · 1 year

Text

and that’s the thing about illicit affairs…

javid / 686 words / just a drabble i wrote for fun last night!

“You’re married.”

Davey states it.

He doesn’t ask it, it’s not a question— no, he says it like he’s sure of it, like he figured it out somehow, like he saw through every perfectly crafted falsehood Jack has presented to him.

He looks utterly devastated.

Jack’s mouth opens and closes as he tries to figure out what to say. All that eventually comes out is:

“Dave.”

It’s immediate, the way Davey shakes his head, biting down on his lip like he’s holding back tears.

“No. Don’t Dave me.” He snaps. “You fucking lied to me… you’re married. You have a wife, don’t you? You—" He pauses, cutting himself off, and then continues. “God, Jack, do you have kids?”

Jack shakes his head.

“No! I don’t, I— listen, I have a girl, okay? But that’s not—"

“Jesus. That’s all she is to you, huh? Something to have? You don’t even need to respect her, or—"

“I do respect her!”

“You’re having a goddamn affair!”

“This has nothing to do with her!”

“It has everything to do with her!” Davey throws his hands in the air, exasperated. “You’re fucking married to her, you idiot! She trusted you, and you made a fucking commitment to each other, and now you’re naked in my goddamn bed every weekend. Are you insane or just stupid!?”

Jack drops his head in his hands for a moment. It wasn’t supposed to fall apart like this, not here and not now.

“Fuck,” he groans. “How’d you even find out, man?”

Davey rolls his eyes.

“You’re wearing a ring.”

Jack looks at his left hand in surprise— sure enough, his wedding band is still in place. He forgot to take it off. There’s no talking around it: the plain gold ring very obviously has one possible purpose.

“I thought you were just closeted,” Davey adds, when Jack has been quiet for too long, “but this explains it a lot better— not wanting to stay the night, never inviting me over, only hanging out on your schedule. I can’t believe I was too stupid to realize it.”

“Davey, I…” Jack starts, fumbling for an excuse and coming up empty. He sighs. “Damn it. I’m so sorry. It was never supposed to end up like this, y’know?”

Davey laughs, but there’s no humour in it.

“No. I don’t know. I don’t know what the fuck you expected to happen,” he snaps, “but look what you did. You ruined things with me and with her— because I’m gonna tell her, I’m gonna find out who she is and I’m gonna tell her how much of a scumbag you are— and you’ll be alone, Jack. You did it to yourself. Good fucking job.”

“It’s not—" Jack cuts himself off and restarts, fearing the inevitable word vomit that’s about to pour out. “Look, things aren’t good with her right now. Like, between us. It’s bad, and it’s been bad for a while, and I don’t want her anymore. I want you. I’ll leave her, I swear— we’re hanging on by a thread these days anyways. We’re practically separated. I’ll bite the bullet and get the divorce, because I know we need to do it, and then you and I can be together for real, okay?”

“You think I believe that?” Davey scoffs. “Come on. You’ve lied to me for this long— you think I can’t see that you’ll just leave me when you get bored of me? Maybe you’ll find some other gullible asshole to string along instead, and you can do this all over again. Is this fun for you?”

“No! No, it’s not fun.” There are tears in Jack’s eyes now. “It sucks, Dave. I didn’t mean to do this.”

Davey shrugs, aggressively nonchalant.

“Well, you did it, so you can go fuck yourself. Get out of my apartment and never talk to me again, okay?”

“Davey…”

“No.” Davey points to the door. “Leave. We’re done. Congratulations on ruining something really good.”

There’s nothing more Jack can say without digging himself a deeper grave here.

He leaves, and he doesn’t let himself cry until the door is closed behind him.

#well wasn’t that fun?#idk i wanted to practice writing shorter stuff so here it is lol #pls reblog if you enjoyed it!!!#my writing

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whats-wild-to-you · 1 year

Note

fight w/ jay?

that was more difficult than I expected. I did want to exclude cheating and the possibility of make up sex (since I had wrote about it recently), so that left me with limited options 😅 also you didn’t give me much to work with 😂 but then I got an idea 👇

Note: for the sake of the story I’ve set it around 2012/2013 (before AOMG was established) ____________________________________________

Jay slammed the door shut, indicating the end of your discussion. He was hot headed, you knew that. But impulsive? Careless? That was new.

Raising both arms in defeat you retreated to your room with a ‘not my problem’ attitude. Since it really wasn’t your problem. Except that it was. If Jay moved out you’d have to pay full rent. Finding another roommate was out of the question. You were uncomfortable being around others and only agreed to live with Jay since he was your best friend.

But now your best friend was betraying you, choosing that fake ass bitch he called his girlfriend over you.

Knowing better, you still confronted him about it, thinking, hoping, he’d take your side.

“Are you jealous? Is that it?” He stormed in your room, ready for round two.

“What?”

“Do you have feelings for me? Is that the reason you hate her so much?”

“She’s using you, don’t you see it?”

“So, yes.”

“Get off your high horse. When I say I love you, I mean it! I love you. You’re family. I care about you. I don’t want you to get hurt. She just wants to use you for clout.”

“Thanks for caring about me, but I’m a grown man!”

“Get out then!” You yelled back, throwing your dirty laundry at him.

Later that night you spotted the lovely couple in the club. Even from a mile away you were able to see she was just playing with Jay.

An arm wrapped around your waist as Kiseok guided you away from the entrance.

“Are you sure that you and Jay are just friends?”

“Yes!” You answered with an extensive eye roll.

“For the record, I’m on your side. That girl is highly suspicious.”

“Right? Look at her? She just craves attention.”

You both stared at her and Jay. She took a ton of pictures on her phone, posing for the camera. Jay was visibly uncomfortable next to her but forced himself to a smile.

“He’s so goddamn stubborn, he won’t even admit it to himself.”

“Don’t worry about him. He’s got a lot of people who care about him. We’ll step in before things get hairy.”

“Right? It’s not my fucking problem!”

You pulled Kiseok on the dance floor, grinding against him, wrapping his arms around your waist. You would be lying if you said you didn’t feel attracted to him. His deep husky voice and piercing stare did several things to you.

Suddenly he was pulled away from you. When you looked up you saw Jay grabbing him by the arm, whispering something in his ear.

Kiseok laughed silently and shook his head. Jay dragged him into the VIP section with you following close by.

“What did he tell you?” You whispered in his ear when Jay was busy sticking his tongue inside his girl’s throat.

“He said not to make a scene since there might be reports about us.”

“Bullshit! What’s his problem? He should worry about his own love life.” You looked at Kiseok intently, smirking.

He understood your hint and got up, taking your hand and guiding you out of the club.

Making out in his car wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do for now. When reporters outside of the club snapped your pictures it was already too late. Unaffected by the flashing lights, you continued making out.

Jay stormed inside your room days later, pulling the curtains back.

“Jesus, what’s with you?” Still half asleep you checked the time, cursing when you realized it was only 6 am.

“Look at this!” He held his phone right in front of your nose. You took it from him, checking out the article.

Shrugging, you returned the phone to Jay, a smile creeping up your face.

“What? You think that’s okay?”

“If you can do it, so can I!”

“This isn’t a contest. And besides, I’m being careful.”

It was true. You never saw pictures of Jay kissing girls in the media.

“I’m sorry, but obviously there’s nothing we can do now!”

“At least don’t get caught next time.”

You thought it was weird how Jay reacted. Surely he had no idea you and Kiseok were attracted to each other, but shouldn’t he ask about you? After all, Kiseok was his friend.

“Did Jay say anything to you?” You asked Kiseok when you saw him later that day.

“About the photos?”

You nodded and he shook his head simultaneously. From the corner of your eye you saw Jay’s girlfriend entering. A staff member guided her to where Jay was.

“Last night I came up with an idea. Next time her and Jay go to the club I’ll follow them with my friend. I told him to seduce her and take pictures with her phone and send them to Jay.”

“Isn’t that too harsh?”

“It’s either that or she really cheats on him.”

The following weekend everyone, including Kiseok and his friend, went to the club. You stayed home, far away from any drama.

In the middle of the night you heard loud banging and when you went to check, you saw Jay cowering on the floor outside your apartment.

“What happened? Did you lose your keys?”

He looked up at you and you realized he was drunk. He also appeared to have cried a lot, as his eyes were red and puffy. Without saying a word you helped him inside and made him change while you boiled water for some tea.

“Did anything happen?”

He stayed quiet. Not that he needed to say anything. You knew exactly what had happened. Kiseok’s plan must’ve been a success.

“You were right.” He said after he had some tea.

“I’m sorry. I wish I would’ve been wrong.”

“Yeah, well. It’s all over anyway.”

He looked defeated, heartbroken and insulted. You pitied him. He closed the distance between you so fast, you had no time to react. When his lips touched yours, you instinctively pushed him away.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“You are the only one who really cares about me!”

“I’m with Kiseok.”

“You’re only with him to make me jealous. And it’s working. You can stop pretending now.”

“You’re wrong! And still drunk. I suggest you go to sleep. If you’re lucky you’ll have forgotten about everything in the morning.”

You went back to your room, locking the door behind you.

Against your better judgement, you texted Kiseok about what had just happened. To say that he was not amused would’ve been an understatement. You managed to appease him, saying that his friendship with Jay was more important than any woman.

But it was only the beginning for Jay. He wasn’t even trying to hide the affection he felt for you, while Kiseok introduced you to everybody as his girlfriend. The atmosphere was loaded whenever the two of them would be in the same room and it was messing with business.

In the end you saw only one option. Disappear. If you weren’t in their lives anymore they would be able to focus on the more important things.

With a heavy heart you wrote two letters, one for Kiseok and one for Jay. You dropped them off at their headquarters one day when they were both out on schedules. Then you drove to the train station and left.

Kiseok never contacted you again, while Jay called and texted every day. It was too much for you to handle so you eventually changed your number.

You kept avoiding them, admiring them only for afar. Years later when they became household names and known worldwide you would feel a sense of pride, knowing that it wouldn’t have been possible without your sacrifice.

#jay park #more soju please #park jaybum #park jaebum #park jaebeom #ask request #asks open #send me asks #ask me anything #anon ask #ask response #anon request

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harmcityherald · 8 months

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I realized I'm going to have to tell this story about 50 million times so I'm awake waiting for my coffee and my breakfast and I am writing a full account of events. They did just what I said they were going to do and I'm being gas lit very extensively by the doctor I fired yesterday he wrote up a nice little thing in his poopy there about me being pretty much crazy. I can see he's covering for all the terrible events that happened under his watch. I think he's just mad I didn't like him. He says he doesn't know the other guy but he sure acted like he did and he showed up only an hour after saying I imagine the whole thing and maybe I'm paranoid and do I think people are out to hurt me and everything. So I guess he's going to have to go into my long report of events. I'm going to have to tell this thing over and over. So I'm going to write an account of it so I can keep it straight and I can simply present it to them. I hate this is happening and I don't want to do it, but that guy really felt like a menace to me. And I bet other patients feel the same. So I will continue with my crusade to report it as well as my crusade to beat my cacophony of maladies and survive long into the future Past these idiots. im angry i must do it. I woke up this morning and decided that I had to start writing. But I am taking a break for a bit as I feel bad and I realize I have days to write it so there's no problem. Still I look up on my board and there's that doctor's name as I guess he is the attending for the weekend. How lovely is that. But everyone else is being so awesome to me so it's not like I'm staying at the Hellraiser hotel with Dr diabolical. Dr diabolical better not come into my room at all. Oh Jesus that's terrible..... Dr diabolical and Lieutenant dick. This drama just gets deeper and deeper I think I'm making it more deep by giving the nicknames and all but I've already rattled the Rattle and rung the Bell so there's no turning back now. Now I must sit here all weekend and write a God damn report about how this creepy dude acted. I will win in the end because they are a couple of creeps and I of course am not insane😆 my stomach decided now is a good time to wake up and start hurting me. I can't wait to taste my coffee this morning. my wife may come today to see me. I look very forward to that she might spend the nite. Anyone who supports me I'm thankful you're there. Anyone who doesn't fall off a cliff and get hit by a train LOL. I have been a crazy magnet since day one of my life. I guess it's because I'm honest and I'm open and I talk about everything that's what my wife says. She's such a perfect perfect woman for me. My Artemisia. I know if no one else stands by my side she will. So there is nothing to worry about. I'm going to write it the best goddamn account of these events anyone has ever heard they're going to publish it and it's going to become an eight volume movie no doubt LOL. 6:00 a.m. I'm going to go rest.

#hospital log

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walkerwords · 3 years

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"Share Your Burden" Daryl Dixon & Daughter!Reader

Request From Anonymous: "Your writing is the best! You probably have a lot of requests, but if you wouldn't mind I'd like to request some more dad Daryl fics where he basically adopts the reader. Those are just always so good. Not sure I have a specific story in mind, just more dad Daryl and Daughter reader in general please. You're the best! 💖"

Summary: The reader is like a daughter to Daryl. When she sees him taken by the saviors, she will get him back and keep him safe even if it means losing some of her humanity.

Word Count: 4933

Warning: Violence, Swearing

Song I Wrote To: “Carry You" by Fleurie and Ruelle

Note: Figured considering our show is coming back this month, I should get some stories in, huh? There are parts in this that are lightly inspired by Ellie in TLOU2.

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It had taken every ounce of strength not to move as you watched the man known as Negan brutally murder two members of your family.

Abraham’s blood was ingrained into your mind and Maggie’s screams echoed through your skull like bats in a cave. You wanted to scream, cry, and launch yourself at your new enemy to save those who you loved but you remained in the shadows of the tree you had climbed and waited. The group known as the Saviors milled around the clearing as Negan hauled your leader into the RV and drove off.

From your vantage point, you could see Daryl fading as he stared at the bodies of his brothers. Blood was dripping down his arm from the gunshot wound he had sustained from the blonde man above him. Looking at the way the sneering man held Daryl’s bow made you so angry it was hard not to drop down and plunge a blade into his pale neck.

Carl was with Michonne, trying not to look anywhere but the enemies that surrounded them. Carl was your age and he was also the person who you trusted the most to keep it together in situations such as this. You pulled your strength from your friend’s resolve and continued to wait.

Maggie was getting worse and that was why you had ventured out of Alexandria in the first place. Spencer had spotted you heading for the gate when he had tried to stop you. Ignoring him as always, you pushed past him and began the trek to Hilltop. It was on that journey that you came across the first roadblock and so you followed it.

You had never imagined that it would have led to the gruesome scene below you. Your knuckles strained around the handles of your knives, a pair that Daryl had given to you himself when you had settled at the prison. It was only after Terminus that he began to properly train you to use them. Right then, they had never felt more useless.

Daryl was your protector and he was the closest thing you had to a father. He had found you running from Walkers when the group was settled on the Greene farm. You had been alone for weeks and from then on, it was the two of you.

Daryl had been the one to protect you from Shane’s scrutiny, the piercing gaze of the Governor, and the cannibals of Terminus. In turn, you became his shadow, having his back wherever he went, always ready to defend him while also learning everything you could. Now, you felt as powerless as he looked. It had been a long while since the group had been this broken-looking.

It was heartbreaking.

It wasn’t long before Negan returned with Rick and after almost making your leader cut his own son’s hand off. Negan ordered his men to leave not without making demands of your family and hauling Daryl along with him.

Staring after the caravan of murderers, you weighed what you were going to do next. A weight was heavy in your pack’s front packet and while you knew it was risky, a plan began to form. One that would either get you or Daryl killed or perhaps even both. Still, you had to try.

Dropping to the forest floor, you took one last look at your people through the trees before taking off in the opposite direction and towards the main road, pushing your legs as fast as they would go.

“Hold on, Daryl,” you whispered in between haggard breaths, “I’ll be there soon."

-----------

Daryl was in the back of the truck trying not to grimace every time the vehicle rolled over an uneven section of road.

Everything hurt and nothing felt right. He felt sick and above everything, he felt guilty.

The shock was still coursing through his veins as he heard Negan laughing in the cab upfront but he tried to tune it out as he thought of Glenn. It was instinct to go after Negan. Daryl hadn’t even thought about the repercussions that might happen as he got to his feet and charged the larger man.

It hadn’t occurred to Daryl to take a breath and think about what would happen next. They had never faced a menace like Negan before. Daryl thought he had seen the last of the bloodshed when they had escaped Terminus. At least, escaped the violence for a while before it caught back up to them again.

It wasn’t long till Daryl’s pain began to increase as the adrenaline wore off. Dwight was sitting across from him, holding his crossbow and Daryl wanted to strangle the man.

He had helped Dwight with Sherry and Tina. He had tried to keep Tina alive when he returned the insulin. Daryl couldn’t help but be enraged while looking at him, but he understood the betrayal in a way. He knew what people became in the new world and according to Dwight, Negan was the lesser evil of trying to survive on his own.

Daryl then only wondered what happened to Sherry.

They were going down another road as Daryl leaned to the left as the truck turned sharply. He blinked away the sudden twinge in his shoulder and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning in discomfort. He wouldn’t give these bastards the satisfaction.

Suddenly, from the front of the cab, Negan shouted, causing Dwight to jump in his seat. “Shit!” Negan swore and then there was a flash of light, a loud bang, and then they were airborne. Daryl had barely a second to brace his hands on the roof of the truck before it slammed into the road, the metal exterior shredding sparks along the neglected asphalt.

Smoke and dust filled the air as Daryl tried to get his bearings. He could hear the muffled shouts of Negan and his men followed by a few gunshots but his ears were still ringing.

Across from him, Dwight was groaning in pain as blood dripped from his brow. His hands had let go of the bow and in a sudden surge of energy, Daryl dove for his loaded weapon.

Clutching his hands around the crossbow, Daryl scrambled for the back door, trying to get to his feet. A hand then circled around his ankle as Dwight realized what was happening. Turning around, Daryl blindly fired a bolt and it struck Dwight in the shoulder, mirroring Daryl’s own wound for good measure.

Dwight went down in pain and Daryl continued to move. As he fumbled for the door that was hanging half open due to the crash, he could hear yells of pain out in the warm air followed by the sound of someone choking as if they were drowning. Even half-aware of what was going on, Daryl could recognize the sound of someone choking on their own blood.

Daryl slammed his good shoulder against the broken door with a frustrated yell and finally felt the sun on his face. “Don’t kill her!” Daryl heard Negan scream. “Jesus fucking Christ, Arat!” Daryl tried to get back on his feet but everything was too bright and he was still trying to figure out what had happened and who Negan was talking about.

It wasn’t until he felt a hand around his arm that he seemed to snap back into his body. Aware that he hadn’t reloaded a new bolt into his bow, he swung his arm, trying to clip his assailant in the head with the bow. “Fuck! Daryl!” a familiar voice exclaimed to his right. The arm around him tightened as Daryl’s eyes finally focused on the person at his side.

“(Y/N)?” he breathed as he took in your face that was covered in blood and a wild look echoed from your eyes.

“We have to move,” you said earnestly. “Now!” Not questioning your demands, Daryl nodded and allowed you to take his bow as you grabbed for it. Slinging the bow onto your back, you grabbed the lighter Daryl had given you and he watched as you took a breath, no doubt sending some kind of prayer to the universe before you threw it into a pool of gasoline, igniting it and sending Saviors diving for cover.

Bullets flew by you as you hauled Daryl to the woods. “Don’t fucking shoot her! She’s a goddamn kid!” Negan screamed at his men.

Daryl leaned heavily on you as you dragged him towards the treeline. He didn’t hear much of what you said after that as his feet blindly followed you. “Negan,” Daryl choked out, trying to get you to understand.

“Leave him,” you said, trying to carry both of your weights. “Come on, Daryl, I can’t carry us both,” you pleaded, trying to get his mind to catch up with his body. It took another minute or so before the ringing subsided in his ears and the world got back into focus. Taking a few deep breaths, he got back into his normal gait and began speeding up his steps as he followed you through the woods.

You kept the crossbow on your back but he was soon able to walk on his own. “What did ya do?” Daryl asked as you stumbled down an embankment and carefully crossed a stream.

“What I had to to get you away from them,” you said as you helped him over the slippery rocks. “We can talk about this later. Right now, I need you to keep moving. There’s a town just through these trees, we can hide there for the night.”

“They’ll find us, (Y/N),” Daryl said as he pressed his hand against the bullet wound that was bleeding again. You looked at him, your eyes still wide from the fight.

“Then I’ll handle it,” you said. “It's my turn to keep you safe.”

-----------

The heat was horrid by the time you and Daryl arrived in the abandoned town.

Even with Daryl still in pain, you made the two of you circle back three times in order to cover your tracks. However, eventually, you knew he couldn’t take more before he finally keeled over. Keeping the crossbow loaded, you moved silently through the back alleys of the small town, looking for both Saviors and Walkers alike.

After the quarry horde had been redirected, the larger groups of the dead had been far and few between but that didn’t mean Walkers were gone altogether. Silently, you took down four Walkers before you found the destination you had in mind.

The old town library was something you and Sasha had found when you had accompanied her on a hunt one day. The latches on the doors still worked and it had enough blindspots inside to hide from the Living and the Dead.

You stood watch as Daryl wrestled with the doors. The Southern heat warped the frames a bit but eventually, Daryl was able to push one open and slip inside. You followed quickly and shut it behind you. Placing down the bow, you shoved a fallen bookcase in front of the double doors before collapsing against it for a second.

“Okay, this should hold,” you said with another breath. Daryl was swaying on his feet when you looked back at him. “Come on,” you said, picking up the bow and leading him into the main area of the library.

For such a small town, the library was a decent size. You figured that it was probably the main community hub for the neighborhood. It made its untouched books and abandoned keycards that much more sorrowful. Depositing Daryl on one of the lumpy couches, you grabbed your flashlight from your pack and clicked it on.

“I’m going to go make sure there’s no Dead in here,” you said. “Stay here and I’ll be back to take a look at that shoulder.”

“(Y/N),” Daryl said, grabbing your hand before you could move.

“I’ll be fine,” you promised. Daryl seemed to be wary but he was also exhausted so he relented and let go. You gave him your canteen, ordered him to drink, and then you began your search.

The dried blood on your skin was driving you crazy as it itched with every second. When you had set out after the Saviors, clutching the grenade you had stolen from Spencer’s stash a few days before, it hadn’t occurred to you that there would be a before and an after.

Before you managed to get to Daryl and after you got him.

Now, it was all about survival. You knew what you had done. Negan was pissed and if you knew anything about his temper solely based on the clearing, then you knew he wasn’t going to let this go.

You feared for your family back in Alexandria. If he wanted to, Negan could go and terrorize your family, perhaps kill more of them. None of that had been on your mind when you began your rescue operation. You weren’t thinking about anyone but Daryl. You had to save him and you were willing to risk your life. Though, now, you realized it wasn’t just your life you were risking.

Shaking the thoughts out of your mind, you finished your rounds through the two stories of the library. You were surprised to only find two Walkers who were less than “alive”. Both were barely hanging on and you figured one of them had been the librarian at some point. You took them both out to end their suffering and then headed back to Daryl.

Daryl was still awake when you joined him on the couch and helped him out of his shirt. The gunshot wound was getting worse and you could tell he was trying to put on a brave face for you. “You don’t have to do that, you know?” you said as you dug through your bag for the alcohol and bandages you always had with you.

“Do what?” he asked.

“Act as if nothing is hurting,” you said, pouring some of the alcohol on a rag. Not giving him a warning, you pressed it against his shoulder and Daryl swore as it burned the wound. “See,” you said with a smirk.

“Ya shouldn’t have done it,” Daryl said after a second.

“If I hadn’t, then you would be dead or worse,” you said. “I wasn’t going to let Negan take anyone else from me. Not after Glenn and Abraham.”

“You saw,” Daryl said and it wasn’t a question. You began cleaning the excess blood off before finding your suturing kit.

“I was in a tree,” you whispered, threading the needle, suddenly very grateful for the lessons Herschel had given you. “I thought he was going to kill you.”

“Maybe he should have,” Daryl said and your hands froze. Looking up at him with wide eyes, you could see the emotions that were raging in him.

“Daryl…”

“He said not to move, kid,” Daryl said. “I lost it after he killed Abraham. If I hadn’t… Glenn would still be alive.”

“You don’t know that. We slaughtered that outpost, hell, I’m surprised he didn’t take more people out. I know you and the others think I’m just some kid but I notice more than you think and I have learned to read people. Negan is… I don’t think he’s some kind of deranged maniac but he’s ruthless and he’s not going to stop until he feels as if he has all the power again. At least I can see that he’s not willing to kill kids. Guess that means Carl and I are gonna be on the front lines this time,” you finished with an attempt at humor.

“Not funny,” he said.

“Daryl, you and I both know that this isn’t going to end without a fight.”

“You ain’t fighting,” Daryl said sternly. You ignored him and began stitching up his wound, careful not to pull too much.

“Considering the way Rick was looking at Negan before I left, it doesn’t look like he had much fight left in him. Someone has to do it.”

“Rick has a lot of pressure on his shoulders,” Daryl defended but you just shook your head.

“I watched him tear a man’s throat out with his teeth, Daryl,” you said. “This was different. I warned you about his pride and how it was going to be his downfall. He just needs to be reminded of the leader he is.”

“Since when are ya so mature?”

“Since I watched the people I love get killed again and again,” you said as you tied off the last stitch.

“You blame Rick,” Daryl said.

“I blame all of us,” you said, picking up the clean bandages. “We believed that moron at Hilltop… We never should have gone after the Satellite Station, Daryl. We keep doing this, getting involved in fights that aren’t ours.”

“We have to help people,” Daryl said. “It’s what we do.”

“Why? Why do we have to? Why is it our responsibility? Why can’t we just survive like everyone else?”

“Someone has to be the good guys,” he said, though it didn’t sound like he believed it.

“I’m sick of being them,” you admitted, finally sitting back.

“Ya really mean that?” Daryl asked as he shrugged his shirt back onto his shoulder. You sat there for a minute before sighing.

“No,” you whispered. “I’m just sick of the death.”

-----------

Daryl was asleep finally and you became the sole protector.

It was odd, the role reversal. So many times you had been the one hurt and cowering as Daryl protected you. Now, after seeing all the horrors you had since Terminus, your skin was stronger than stone. It was going to take a lot more than a bastard with a bat to break you.

You could hear Daryl’s soft snore from the lounge as you scanned the darkness. You stayed there, watching until the soft rumbles of a truck echoed through the night. Ducking down, you watched as a pickup truck drove slowly through the town, a spotlight scanning the empty storefronts.

"Fuck," you whispered. Glancing at the bow by your side, you made a quick decision as the truck came to a stop and three men, Saviors, jumped out.

Sneaking back towards Daryl, you left his bow, loaded, by his side. Taking one last look at him, you slipped your jacket over your shoulders and headed to the second floor. An open window welcomed you near the back exit. Being an avid climber it was easy to maneuver out onto the slanted roof and grab onto the drainage pipe to take you to the ground.

Muffled voices reached your ears as you kept to the shadows. "Spread out, kill the man, take the girl," a man said, a voice you didn't recognize.

"That girl nearly killed Negan," another said.

"We are Negan," the third said. "And we do what he orders. Saviors don't kill kids. Find her." While it was a bold statement, you knew it was false. Hilltop had said, a boy was murdered. None of that fit.

Trying not to overanalyze anything, you focused on the task at hand. Picking up a large rock, you threw it as far as you could. The sound of breaking glass shattered the air and a set of boots took off in that direction.

As the second man went West, you focused on the solo scout who headed towards the abandoned police station. As you got closer, groans reached your ears. Spotting the Walker first, you snuck up behind it and slit its throat with a single slice. The gargling of Dead blood and empty lungs perforated your surroundings but it was enough to call attention to the Savior.

"Ugly motherfucker," the Savior said, not yet spotting you as you stood behind it. As the Savior drew his blade to silently end the creature, you shoved the Walker forward onto the man.

Stunned by the sudden momentum, he cried out as the Walker bit into the face before it. The Savior’s scream was cut off short as the Walker found its next meal. As soon as the damage was done, you finished off both, making sure to stifle the sounds that would pull your other two targets closer. Dragging both bodies out of sight, you slipped back into the shadows.

-----------

Moving West, you avoided any other Walkers who were wandering.

Not looking to be tracked by the Walker equivalent of breadcrumbs, you made sure to stay hidden for the most part. Finally spotting your next target, you began wishing you had grabbed Carl’s gun with his silencer before you had followed after the caravan. Only armed with knives now, you had to make do.

The Savior was looking through a desolate pet shop as you snuck in through a broken window, careful not to make too much noise with the shattered glass.

Picking up a tennis ball that had been neglected, you rolled it towards the aisle the Savior was looking in. Just like a curious golden retriever, the man followed the little ball right into your path. He barely had time to shout a warning before your knife was embedded into his carotid.

His eyes were wide as blood poured onto your hand. Keeping your nerve, you twisted the knife and fully severed the artery. The man fell to his knees as you pulled the blade free. Clutching his throat, he tried to speak but no sound came. “You’re not going to find him,” you whispered as he fell back and his eyes rolled back into his head.

Quickly, you shoved your blade into his brain before grabbing his weapon. It wasn’t silenced but it would have to do if it came down to a firefight. Turning back towards the main street, you ran from the store in hopes of catching the final Savior before he sounded the alarm.

-----------

The truck was still there but its driver was nowhere to be seen.

Noticing the keys were still in the ignition, you rolled your eyes. Pocketing them, you waited in the cab, hoping the final man would return soon.

Fatigue was starting to set in as you waited and you began to think of when the last time you slept was. Before the turn, you had imagined your teen years to be full of parties and late nights studying for tests in high school. You did not envision you would be waiting in the dark of a truck, ready to get more blood on your hands.

Unlike Carl, it hadn’t been at the prison when you first killed someone. It had been before you had even met Daryl. Before you wandered onto the Greene farm and Daryl and Carol had found you, you had been traveling with your aunt and uncle when bandits had attacked you and killed both before turning their sights on you. Not knowing how to use a gun, only ever seeing your uncle use it and of course, in films, you blindly fired and killed one and then the other. The third, who was just a teenager, had runoff.

After that, you felt ashamed at how you didn’t feel bad about doing it. Shane had explained that it was okay because you did it out of self-defense and Daryl and Maggie had agreed.

Now, as fresh blood joined the flaking blood on your hands, you tried to rationalize that what you were doing now was in defense of another. If the Saviors got Daryl back or killed him, you would not have been able to handle it.

“Focus,” you whispered to yourself. “Handle this and get back to Daryl. He needs you.”

It didn’t take long for the man to return. The man was speaking into his radio and it had never occurred to you to take the other walkies off the other bodies. However, now you knew you weren’t leaving without this one. If Rick wanted to fight and you were hoping that he was, then having a Savior’s radio, attuned to Negan’s base of operations would be a great start to gather intel.

Angling yourself in the front seat, you waited for him to open the door. Steadying your hand, you took a deep breath in, leveled the stolen gun, and just as the driver’s side door pulled open and the overhead light clicked on, you fired one bullet, hitting the man in the head.

Surprised by your own accuracy, you shuffled out of the cab, grabbed the radio, and shoved the body underneath the car. You waited then, for either more Walkers or the cavalry but when none came, you ran back to the library, hoping the shot didn’t wake Daryl. You weren’t in the mood for a lecture.

-----------

“Are ya really that reckless?” Daryl said as soon as you snuck back into the library.

“I don’t know what you're talking about,” you said, nonchalantly.

“Bullshit, I can practically smell all the blood on you,” he said, folding his arms. His bow was still by his side and after the small amount of rest, he was clearly not in the mood for your aloofness.

“I told you I would protect you,” you said as you moved to your pack and grabbed the discarded canteen, and poured some water on your hands in hopes of ridding yourself of the sick smell of iron. "Now, we need to figure out what to do," you said.

"We need to get home," he argued.

"We're going to Hilltop," you said. "They'll be looking for you at Alexandria and you know it."

"Both of us," he pointed out with a slight glare.

"Negan doesn't scare me," you said to him.

"He should."

"We've seen worse," you countered.

"You're too young for all this shit," he said, running a hand through his hair.

"So you've said before," you reminded him.

"(Y/N)..."

"If you're about to say that I need to distance myself from you. You'd be a moron. I'm not leaving you. If you don’t like it, any of it, then you never should have taught me to fight.”

“That’s right, I taught you to fight, not to kill,” he argued. Throwing the water bottle down, you turned on him.

“What is this about? I’ve seen you kill people. I’ve seen you do worse than taking a few people out to protect someone in our family. What is actually going on here and don’t say that it’s because you’re feeling guilty. It's more than that.”

“Ever think I don’t like seeing you like this," he gestured to your bloody clothes. "Do ya think I want ya to become someone like Negan? Ya act like taking a life ain’t that big of a deal!”

“Will you stop shouting,” you hissed, moving closer to him. “Daryl, I did what I had to. I am so sorry that you think you are the only one who is allowed to cross lines to protect us. I think you forget all the times we have had to save you.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is you getting mad at me for saving your life. Do you not realize how much you mean to me? I lost my parents before the turn and then my aunt and uncle and I had nobody. Nobody until you found me in that field. You are the closest thing I have to a father, Daryl and I don’t care what I have to do to make sure I don't lose another parent. I can’t handle it, okay? Please, just let me protect you for once!"

The emotions were taking you over then and it was hard to control them. “I don’t mean to cry and all that,” you said, sniffing back the tears, “but you can’t expect me to just sit back and do nothing when people keep trying to take you away from me.”

Daryl’s stern look dissipated then and it made you feel a bit worse. Wiping at the tears on your face, you turned away from him. Soon, you felt his arms around you as he pulled you into his chest just as he had earlier.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right, you were just tryin’ to help. Okay, I ain’t mad.”

“Doesn’t sound like it,” you said into his chest.

“I just worry about ya,” he said. “Ya know why?” Shaking your head, he tightened his hold. “Cause I see ya as my kid, too and I would do anythin’ to keep ya safe. I guess I gotta accept you’re going to do the same." Stepping back, he wiped the tears off your cheeks. “Just no more sneaking out, alright?”

“Alright,” you agreed. "Daryl, just know you don't have to carry it all. You can share your burden."

"I thought I was the parent here," he said.

"Family works both ways."

"Yes it does," he said.

Then with a bit more of a smile, you produced the keys you had stolen from the car. “I got us a ride cause you're still stuck with me."

"You're so stubborn," he said.

"I got it from you," you said with a gesture to the street. "You're going to have to drive."

"Right, no need to almost die twice in twenty-four hours," he said and you offered him a small smile. Daryl then took your hand in his as he gathered your pack. "I ain't leavin' you. You're stuck with me, too. I got you, kid,” he said. "And thanks for comin’ to get me.” You looked up at him and nodded.

“Always.”

TAGS: @thanossexual @felicisimor @agent-laufeyson @lucillethings

#The walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl x daughter!reader #apolloloki97 #walkerwords #negan #twd #daryl dixon imagines #twd imagine #daryl dixon

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orange-waterfalls · 3 years

Text

This Is Love

Darkiplier x gn!reader

A/N: OH BOY it’s been a while, kids! God! I’ll be honest, only wrote this because I couldn’t focus on any of my other writing projects so I just. Darkiplier! Angst! Fluff! You know how it is. I listened to this song on repeat and thought about Dark and next thing I knew I wrote this. Some blood, just a nosebleed. It’s an accident. It’s fine. Well, it’s not fine but ya work through it.

Not beta read. I didn’t even go through and make sure it was linear or made sense. Enjoy lmao. And Happy Pride, everyone.

word count: 2.0k

“Where the FUCK is my GODDAMN CANE?!” You flinched as Darkiplier’s voice rang out through the mansion. You didn’t know where the cane was, but you wish you did, if only to get the entity to calm down. He’d been especially irritated recently, and you weren’t sure why. Maybe it was the date with Mark. Maybe it was how nobody was listening to him. Maybe it was Wilford. Just Wilford being himself.

You didn’t know. You didn’t care all that much, and decided not talking to him would be the best move. In case you said something stupid to piss him off more. Which you often did on purpose because you knew he’d never do anything about ir. You did text Bing, asking if he knew where the cane was. If anyone was dumb enough to take it, it’d be him. Or Wilford, of course.

“Jesus Lord, that man is angry,” Mr. Iplier wheezed nervously. He walked up to the chair you were sitting in and rested his arm on the back, leaning on it.

“Yeah… know why?” You asked.

“I mean, he’s just been annoyed by everything. I don’t think I’m annoying. I think I’m perfect,” You rolled your eyes at him, “but maybe he just needs to de-stress somehow.”

“Somehow,” You repeated.

“You know, spa day, exercise, read a goddamn book, something,” He tapped his fingers on the chair for a moment, “You could help.”

“Pardon?” You looked up at him.

“You’re not that bad, at least not in his eyes.” Mark explained.

“Wow. ‘Not that bad’. Greatest compliment I’ve ever gotten. Thank you.” You deadpanned.

“Don’t you sass me. Sassing is Mark Iplier’s job.” He pointed a finger in your face. You acted as though you were going to bite it and he pulled it back with a smirk. “Could you try? At least a little?”

“Uggggghhhhhhh, fiiiiiiiine.”

“Try not to get killed?”

“I make no promises I can’t keep.”

“Alright… Thank you, you’re the best!” He ruffled your hair a little and walked away.

“Better than you at least!”

“Don’t push it!” You smiled and jumped when you heard another yell from Dark. You groaned and stood up, making your way to Dark’s office.

You walked into the room and were immediately greeted by a wine glass being thrown directly next to your head. You looked at it without emotion, watching the wine trail down the wall. You looked at Dark with an eyebrow raised, static starting to fill your ears. He was breathing heavily, his hair was a goddamn mess, and his suit was torn at the shoulder.

“Wow, nice welcoming committee.” You scoffed.

“Shut. Up,” He growled. You slammed the door behind you, making him startle a bit. You smiled.

“Why don’t you make me?” You blinked innocently. He stalked over and stared at you.

He had that look that he got whenever he tried to intimidate you or anyone else. It worked the first few times, but you’ve since realized that, when it comes to you, he’s all bark and no bite. So, you just smiled at him. His scowl faded a little.

“... go away,” He took a few steps back and turned away from you. You hummed, pretending to think about it.

“No,” You said.

“I could kill you,” He warned.

“Do it then, pussy,” You mocked. He took a deep, calming breath.

“Leave,” He demanded.

“Found your cane yet?” You asked. He seemed confused for a moment, his controlled facade failing for half a second. It was long enough that you noticed it.

“No,” He hesitated to answer.

“Then, no. I won’t,” You walked further into the room, stepping over broken wood and glass, and sitting in a love seat in front of the fireplace.

When he approached, you settled down into it to show him you weren’t leaving. He sighed, understanding the message. He stared at you, and you stared back defiantly. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and put a hand on his hip. You waited to see what he would do. Eventually, he walked into the corner and grabbed the broom. You grinned smugly as the great Darkiplier began to clean up his mess of wood, glass, wine, and ash.

“Move your feet.” He instructed, poking your foot with the broom so you’d move them. You stared at him. He gave you another look, this time a warning-mother sort of look, so you pouted and lifted your feet.

“You’re gonna have to vacuum this rug.” You informed him as he picked up the bigger shards of glass.

“Yeah, I know.” He sighed.

“You wouldn’t have to if you’d just… like, chill.” You looked at him as he stood back up.

“Wow. ‘Chill’. Never even thought of that.” He whacked your head with the business end of the broom and you held it.

“I’m serious, dude. Mark’s anger issues are objectively worse than yours but he doesn’t break shit.” You crossed your arms after rubbing the top of your head for a bit.

“Well, I’m not Mark, am I?” He gritted out.

“No, you’re not, because Mark isn’t such a petty little bitch.” You claimed. He slammed his hands on the arms of the chair and glared down at you. You curled in on yourself a little. Static filled your head, and it hurt, but you wouldn’t dare move to cover your ears.

OK, maybe you should stop with the teasing.

You blinked rapidly as you felt something dripping from your nose. He looked down for a moment. He let go of the chair and walked to the other side of the room. He continued to sweep. You wiped the water from your eyes (no, you were not CRYING, thank you very much) and felt under your nose. Pulling your hand back, you see the blood. You wince a little at it, and try to wipe it with the sleeves of your (technically Wil’s) jacket and accidentally let out a tiny, pathetic little noise of complaint when it wouldn’t stop. Dark sighed, his shoulders sagging from where he was kneeling on the ground.

“There’s toilet paper in the bathroom. Just don’t get any blood on my chair.” He turned to look at you. You flicked your eyes from the velvet chair back up to Dark. His eyes widened and he stared. He pointed at you. “Don’t.”

You maintained eye contact as you wiped the sleeve on the chair. His eye twitched. You just smiled and stood up, walking towards the door.

“Thank you, Dark!” You said sweetly, leaving the room and shutting the door behind you. He stared at the closed door with a blank face. His mouth twitched into a smile after a little bit, and he chuckled quietly. He sat back on the rug, laughing to himself, thinking of you. He looked over at the chair you’d sat in, the blood on the arm and on the rug. He stopped smiling.

You groaned as you tipped your own head back after shoving toilet paper up the side that was bleeding. Your head was pounding a bit from the fucking noise Darkiplier was emitting from his body. You didn’t know he could do that. You didn’t think he knew he could do that. It hurt though. Not too much, but it did.

Granted, you maybe should’ve refrained from pushing the buttons of a demonic entity who was already pissed, but that was part of the fun. At least now you knew what was going too far. That was one good thing that came out of this situation.

You jumped when you heard a knock at the door.

“Occupied!” You yelled. They knocked again and you groaned. “Occupied!!!” Another hard knock and you stood up, throwing the toilet paper away, causing your nose to continue dripping.

“What the fuck do you-” You started. You stopped halfway through because of Darkiplier standing at the door. His hair was neat and his suit seemed to be fixed. You looked at him, brows furrowed. He quirked an eyebrow at you. “... may I help you?”

“Looks like you’re the one who needs help.” He starts to smirk as he talks. You frown and squint at him.

“I was doing fine until someone interrupted.” You wipe your nose with your hand, which does nothing except spread the blood across your face.

“Oh, and who was that?” He asks. You scoff and turn back to the stool you’d been sitting on. You plop yourself back down, put more toilet paper up your nose (to Dark’s disgust), pinch your nose and lean your head back. Dark frowns at you.

“What?” You ask with a nasally voice.

“You’re doing it wrong.” He says simply.

“Oh, am I?” You roll your eyes. He takes a few small steps forward. You glare at him, so he stops.

“You’re supposed to lean forward, not back.” He explains.

“I think I’d know how to--” You start. But he’s already right next to you, adjusting your position himself. He straightens your back, tilts your head forward a bit, and grabs more toilet paper to pinch your nose with. You do it, hesitantly.

“5 to 10 minutes.” He says and kneels on the floor next to you.

“How do you know?” You frown.

“I just do.” He shrugs.

“Hm.” You look away, suddenly realizing how close he was and getting a little uncomfortable. “Was it Dr. Ip-”

“I’m sorry for this.” He said at the same time. You stare at him. He stares back. You both look like you don’t want to have this conversation. Ever.

“... um.” Your voice wavered.

“I’m sorry for causing your nosebleed.” He repeats.

“It’s… fine-” You start to laugh nervously.

“It’s not. I should have better control.” He admits. You feel your ears get hot and you really, really don’t like this.

“You didn’t hurt me. Not really. It’s just a nosebleed.” You try.

“But it could be something more than a nosebleed next time…” He counters.

“Then… we’ll deal with it.” You start to get frustrated with the apology.

“I don’t…” He starts to raise his voice. You go to cover your ears. He looks at you like a kicked puppy and you immediately lower your hand. “I don’t want to deal with it, I want to prevent it.” He looks down at the floor. You look away again.

“Then… chill.” You shrug. He blinks and looks back up at you.

“Chill?” He scoffs.

“Yeah. Massage, spa, read a book, listen to music, just… chill.” You suggest all the things Mark had said earlier.

“Hm.” He taps his knee with a finger. “Would you like to read… with me?”

“Ehhhh, I’m not really the reading type.”

“We can listen to your music while I read, then.”

“I don’t think you’d like my music.”

“I doubt that somehow.”

“Fine, fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He chuckles softly at you. He stares at you while you try to avoid direct eye contact. More of your face starts to heat up. “WHAT.” You yell, making him jump.

“What?!” He asks.

“You’re staring at me!” You accuse.

“Nothing, no, I just…” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing at you.

“What?” You ask, getting anxious.

“... I... love you…” He grits out.

“AM I GONNA FUCKING DIE?!?” You shouted.

“CAN I NOT JUST EXPRESS MY AFFECTION FOR YOU THROUGH WORDS?” He barked.

“NO, YOU CAN’T, BECAUSE YOU DON’T.” You crossed your arms.

“Fine, I just won’t say it then.” He basically pouted and turned away from you.

“Say it again, I’ll be good this time!” You pleaded. He didn’t look at you. “Pwease? Pwease Dawk?” He turned back to you and sighed.

“... I love you.” He muttered.

“One more time for the road?” You gave him a cheeky grin.

“I. Love. You.” He said slowly and loudly.

“... love you too, Dark.” You removed the toilet paper from your face, since your nose had stopped bleeding. You tossed it in the trashcan and smiled at Dark.

He shifted forward a bit, putting a hand on the back of your head. He brought yours forward until your foreheads were touching. He closed his eyes and you both just stayed like that for a bit.

“So… This is love, I guess.” You said. He laughed.

“I guess.” He teased.

“Not perfect.” You took the hand that wasn’t holding your head.

“Not bad either.” He entwined both of your fingers.

“I love you.” You told him again.

“I love you.” He whispered.

“Ayo, Dark!”

“What?”

“Found your cane.”

“What? Where?!”

“Literally on the mantle.”

“God fucking dammit.”

“You’re a moron, Dark.”

“I know...”

#darkiplier x reader #darkiplier x y/n #darkiplier x you #darkiplier #x reader #x y/n #x you #markipler egos #markiplier egos x reader #darkiplier x gn!reader #x gn reader #x gender neutral reader #darkiplier x gender neutral reader #i did not write this specifically for pride #but i felt like i should post it #this was our month kids!#i almost missed it hhhh #it's been months im crying

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winter-soldier-vibes · 3 years

Text

We Need You

Bucky x reader

Word count: 1901

Summary: Bucky comforts a reader with imposter syndrome (inability to believe that one’s success is deserved)

Warnings: imposter syndrome, low self worth/self esteem, feeling worthless, slight angst, mostly comfort

A/N: I have issues that present similarly to imposter syndrome, but I don’t experience it fully or severely. You belong and wherever you are, you fucking earned that. You worked hard to get where you are. I hope this fic can bring you some comfort, I apologize if I did not serve the topic justice. Sorry it took so long! As always, if anyone needs anything from me or just wants to talk and vent, I am ALWAYS here! <3

Tags: @buckys2thicc @buckfics @thatfangirl42 @mardema @barnesplums @bucks-bunny @stucky-on-spiderman @peggycarter-steverogers @freigeistundanderes

Add yourself to my taglist! Masterlist

------

You were calm, cool and collected. Smart, dedicated, and hard-working. You were an Avenger, one of the more valuable assets to the team with your training in hand to hand combat and knowledge of weaponry.

At least, that’s how everyone saw you. Everyone except you.

Every “job well done” translated to “I could’ve done better” for you. Compliments in a way felt like pity to you. Like it was all a lie or something. You could’ve been better, you didn’t think you were anything special.

Anytime someone gave you praise you would wave it off with a small smile. Everyone saw it as you being modest, but internally you just couldn’t accept it. You couldn’t accept praise knowing you could’ve done better.

Settle for nothing less than perfection. But nobody’s perfect.

You were endlessly grateful for your team, your family, but you couldn’t help but feel like you didn’t deserve it. You had so much good in your life, but you felt like you had to keep proving yourself.

You had everything you could ever want, but you still felt like you had to earn it.

You thought you had done a good job at keeping it hidden. Imposter syndrome you had heard someone call it at one point. You had looked into it, realizing more and more of it resonated with you. You didn’t feel that you deserved your spot on the team, even though most of the team could agree that you were one of their best fighters.

You were also one of the kindest people on the team, and everyone enjoyed being in your company. Again, you wrote it off as them feeling obligated to talk to you rather than them choosing to talk to you.

Everything you thought about yourself, the degrading names you called yourself, and the way you waved off all of your achievements didn’t match up at all with the way anyone thought about you.

It went unnoticed to most. You would put up a front, small smiles and thank you’s occasionally. There would be small side comments that you would make occasionally, but it was nothing that would cause red flags to arise.

It’s nothing, really.

I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have done.

It’s no big deal.

No worries

That’s why I’m here I guess

Compliments were deflected. Whenever you received criticism you would internalize it even though you knew it was nothing against you. Friendly advice to improve job performance. But for you, it reinforces the thought that your performance needed to be improved.

No matter what you did, you would never be good enough. You used to chase achievements, telling yourself that if you did well enough, if you did good things, that you would feel a sense of self worth. That maybe if you achieved things you would be filled with a sense of pride.

Instead you were left feeling as though you didn’t deserve any of the recognition you received. In a way, it made you feel even more insecure.

You thought that if you accepted the praise you would seem self indulgent or boastful that if you said what your achievements were you would seem prideful. So you accepted them with a small smile and thank you. At least until people moved onto the next topic and you drop the smile when it seemed safe. When no one was watching.

When you thought no one was watching.

Which is how Bucky had come to notice the discomfort you had.

When he had first joined the team, he was very quiet. He did a lot of listening and observing, not wanting to speak much himself. That was understandable to anyone. So when you had been introduced to him and your skillset had been mentioned and you waved it off saying no big deal, he had noticed how you shifted as if you were uncomfortable and your smile dropped as soon as the attention was on someone else.

He didn’t think much of it. If anything it had to do with being uncomfortable around him.

But as time passed he started relaxing around everyone too, especially you. He was still accepting what he had done and who he was now. He was still reserved but he wasn’t silent. The two of you had become good friends, being two of the quieter personalities on the team.

Now you had someone to keep you company when you stayed at the outskirts of Tony’s parties.

But as more time went on, he noticed small things that you did. Behaviors you had, things you said. Clutch phrases. The way you would seem embarrassed when people complimented you. The way you would say that there were no worries even if you were the only reason that a mission was successful.

Sometimes when you thought you were alone or no one would hear, he would catch you mumbling things to yourself. Things like yeah right to compliments before giving a genuine response. The slight shakes of the head in protest. The nervous habits you had when you got a compliment. The little things that others were too distracted to notice, too small to

Bucky was an observant man.

Which is how one night, you hadn’t realized him come into your room to talk to you about something that Bucky completely forgot about once he saw you. You were sitting down at your desk, head in your hands and rubbing your eyes.

Jesus why am I so stupid

What the fuck is wrong with me

They don’t mean what they say

How could they like you?

I’m worthless

Just like everyone else

I don’t belong here

You were so trapped by the marathon of degrading thoughts that you hadn’t heard Bucky come in. He stood beside you, concern etched on his face.

“Y/n?” you jumped slightly and took your hands away from your face, blinking in surprise. You had been crying. Why was he here?

“Y/n what’s wrong?” he asked, coming over to you.

You shook your head and shrugged, wiping a few loose tears from your face. “‘M fine Buck,” you whispered, struggling to keep your emotions out of your voice.

“Y/n,” Bucky said, crouching down in front of you. “You wouldn’t be crying if something wasn’t wrong. It’s okay to be upset, there’s nothing wrong with that. Just tell me why you’re upset.”

You shook your head again. “Really Buck, I’m fine.”

“Y/n, I may not be able to read minds like Wanda, but I know something’s bothering you.it’s okay.”

You sighed, taking a breath before looking at him. “Do you guys really mean it?” you suddenly asked meekly.

Bucky drew his eyebrows together in confusion. “Mean...what?”

“After missions, when you say I did the right thing, that I did a good job, that you guys need me - do you mean it?”

Bucky looked more puzzled now. “Yeah, of course we do. Why else would we say things like that?”

“If you thought you were supposed to.” you said suddenly. “Or if, you know, you wanted to be polite, or you thought I wanted to hear it, or you didn’t really mean it I don’t really know I -”

“Y/n, hold on, slow it down...What?” Bucky said. “Why on Earth would you think that?”

You crossed your arms and shrugged. “I dunno, I just don’t really feel like I’m all that valuable to you guys here. I don’t do anything you guys couldn’t do without me. I make so many mistakes all the time and no matter how hard I try I just don’t feel like I belong here.”

Bucky took a minute to look at you. He had known you doubted yourself but this was beyond what he had thought. To think that you, y/n, weren’t valuable to this team was a crazy idea to him

To you it was the truth.

“Y/n, no, we need you. Why on Earth would you think you don’t belong?”

“Because I haven’t earned it. I’m on the team, I fight with you guys, but I still don’t feel like I should be. The mistakes I make all the time, the wrong calls, the selfish calls, bad judgements...I could go on. I just...no matter how much good I do it doesn’t make the mistakes go away.”

“Y/n, you are one of the best people we have, we -”

“No I’m not,” you said firmly, surprising Bucky. You shook your head. “You guys don’t need me. I don’t deserve to be on this team.”

“And I do?” Bucky asked.

You looked back at him. “What do you mean? Of course you do. Your the best fighter we have, Steve's best friend, we need you.”

“But I’ve made so many mistakes. You know all of the horrible things that I’ve done y/n. I was made into a weapon.” he said.”

“Bucky you know that wasn’t your fault. You didn’t choose that and you would've done anything to stop it. That’s different. You’re a great fighter and a good person, Bucky.”

“So are you.” he stated simply. “Do you believe that?”

You took a deep breath. “I believe you believe that. But that doesn’t mean it’s true.”

Bucky put his hands on your shoulders. “You are a fighter. A hero. You’ve saved so many people doing things that some of us couldn’t or wouldn’t do. People out there remember how you saved them. How you protected them and gave yourself to them. That was you, no one else. You are a part of this team, you help make it what it is. We would be lost without you. You put your blood, sweat, and tears into this team. You give your heart and soul to this team. You’ve earned every goddamn bit of praise you get and more. You fought your place onto this team and you deserve to be here just as much as everyone else here. So when your head tells you that you don’t belong or that we don’t need you, tell it to fuck off. Because you’re one of the best people we have.”

By now you had tears in your eyes again, but not ones of shame. Ones of appreciation and relief. You had wanted to hear those words directly for so long and to be affirmed in that way was something you needed. “Thank you Bucky,” you said softly, giving him one of your first genuine smiles at a compliment.

He squeezed your shoulder reassuringly. “Anytime. Anytime you want a reminder, you let me know. I’ll tell you as many times as you need to hear it before you can start to believe it for yourself.”

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somebodycall911onabc · 3 years

Text

A Space Already Taken

Ep4x12 Buddie ficlet (not really any spoilers for season 4).

Read on AO3

Buck can take a hint. Particularly when it comes to romance and attraction—he knows when someone wants him and he knows when to make a move. Honestly, at this point he’s had so much practice charming people into bed that he could teach a class on it. One Night Stands 101 or something.

Which is why Taylor Kelly confuses the hell out of him.

Since the treasure hunting incident, she’s backed away from him three times. She’ll lean in close, lower her voice, flutter her eyelashes, brush her hair behind her ear…

And then lean away! Buck is losing his mind.

So when she does it again, when they’re at his apartment after a dinner Buck cooked for them, leaning against each other on the floor in front of the couch, Buck sighs out,

“Taylor, what are we doing?”

She’d turned away from him already, faked a laugh over some conversation they’d been having (i.e., she’d been having while Buck was getting lost in her eyes), but at his words she freezes.

Slowly, like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, she turns back toward him. The expression on her face is familiar. He’d seen it on Abby a lot, near the end. And Ali.

It’s regret.

“My bad,” Buck says hastily, holding up his hands, “Sorry. If I’ve been, you know, pushy about it.”

Taylor bites her lip.

“I’m sorry, Buck,” she says. “If we weren’t friends then… yeah, a tumble would be fun. But we are. And it gets… messy.”

“I would have thought you’d be kind of into a friends with benefits situation,” Buck says, non-judgemental. “Don’t have to waste time on romance or relationships, you know?”

“I don’t have an issue with it,” Taylor corrects. “But you would.”

“Me?” Buck says, surprised. “Most of my relationships have been no-strings-attached ones.”

“Yeah…” Taylor says gently. “But that’s not you anymore. You know I’m right. You want romance, Buck. You want marriage and kids and love. Real love. And you deserve it. Which is exactly why you shouldn’t waste your time on me.”

“That’s bullshit,” Buck protests, but his heart is sinking because, well, she’s right.

Taylor shakes her head. “I can’t give you those things, Buck. I’m not sure they’re what I even want. Love, yes. But the rest of it?”

“Who says we need to figure it out now? Who says we can’t give it a shot and see where it goes?”

“Because I don’t have all that many friends,” Taylor admits. “And I don’t want to lose one over something stupid like a lack of self-restraint.”

“Who says you’ll lose me?” Buck asks, grasping at straws now. “You keep talking like you can predict everything, like the future’s already set in stone. But from what I’ve seen, the future’s pretty fucking unpredictable.”

“Buck,” Taylor says, swaying close to lay a hand on his cheek, “even if I did love you as more than a friend, I wouldn’t be able to hold a candle to Eddie.”

Buck feels the world stop turning. For just a second. Stalled on its axis like a wind-up toy that reached the end of its mechanical loop.

“Oh, Buck,” Taylor says, pulling her hand away. “C’mon. You revolve around him like he’s the fucking sun.”

“No, I…” Buck shakes his head like a dog dispelling water from its fur. “We’re friends. Brothers. I love him, yeah, but not like…”

“Brothers don’t look at each other the way you two look at each other.”

Buck’s palms are sweating. “Look at each other… how?”

Taylor gives him a long look, somewhere between disbelief and pity.

She says, “like they want to devour each other whole.”

Buck doesn’t sleep that night.

Taylor left with a kiss to his cheek and an open invitation to call her therapist—not her, she made abundantly clear, because she’d done enough to help Buck through the ensuing emotional crisis over the next three hours and two bottles of wine. But Buck just stares up at the ceiling and relives every moment he can recall about Eddie.

And there’s… a lot to get through.

Eddie smiling as Chris reads out a poem he wrote for class.

Eddie concentrated and intense, fists raised as he efficiently and elegantly attacks the punching bag at the station.

Eddie lying pale and cold in the hospital bed after nearly drowning, Buck gripping his hand and thanking every God he can think of that he won’t have to tell Chris he lost another parent.

Eddie’s eyes, warm on his, smiling that conspiratorial smile he saves just for Buck, that makes Buck feel like he’s swallowed the sun.

And Buck realizes that, on some level, he’s always known. He’s never felt this way about anyone. Like the world glows a little brighter when Eddie’s around, like his heart is a skipping record every time Eddie touches him.

He can’t remember a time when it didn’t feel like this.

Buck throws off the covers and stomps down the stairs, grabbing his keys from the kitchen counter on his way out the door.

The drive to Eddie’s is full of white noise and Buck’s memories.

“Real funny, Buck.”

“I know you did.”

“You could have my back any day.”

“Buck, there’s nobody in this world I trust with my son more than you.”

Buck finds himself at Eddie’s door, the porch light flickering on as it senses him. He thinks about knocking, but he doesn’t want to wake Chris, so he pulls out his phone and texts Eddie.

Within a minute, Buck hears noise from inside the house. Eddie’s always been a light sleeper. He makes it to the door three minutes after Buck texts him, ‘I’m outside.’

It’s enough time for Buck to shiver a little at the cold night air, realize he’d put on two different shoes, and chicken out.

Eddie swings open the door and blinks at Buck, a tiny frown on his face.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, stepping aside so that Buck can come in.

Buck curses internally while he toes off his mismatched shoes. “Nothing. I… I just couldn’t sleep.”

“Not your leg, is it?” Eddie asks, making his way down the hallway to the living room. Buck’s heartbeat kicks up, because here’s Eddie sleep-rumpled at four in the morning, opening his door to Buck and worrying about an injury from two years ago.

Buck never had a chance, did he?

“No,” Buck replies, following Eddie onto the couch. “Not the leg.”

Eddie fixes his eyes on Buck and gives him a long, assessing look. Unlike Taylor, Eddie’s gaze is tinged with concern and sympathy.

“This about Taylor Kelly?” He asks, eyes narrowing.

“Jesus,” Buck mutters. “What is it with you two reading my mind lately?”

“You’re just an open book, Buck,” Eddie says, fighting a yawn. “Not much to it. What happened?”

“She just… turned me down,” Buck says with a shrug. He can’t bring himself to feel that bad about it.

“And you’re… upset?” Eddie asks, because of course he can tell that’s not what Buck is really here about.

“No,” Buck admits. “Not really.”

“What is it then?” Eddie asks. And the way he says it, so patiently, resting his cheek against his fist as he sits sideways on the couch to face Buck, breaks something down inside him.

“It’s just…” Buck picks at a loose thread on his jeans. “I just wonder when someone is going to look at me and like… want me. When someone is finally going to love me back.”

The room goes still, like it’s holding its breath the same way Buck and Eddie are. Buck can’t bring himself to look up at whatever expression is on Eddie’s face.

Eddie breathes out. In barely more than a whisper, he says, “I do.”

Buck’s vision goes white for a moment.

His voice cracks as he says, “what?”

“I love you,” Eddie says, firmer now. He’s committed to it. That’s how Eddie is. He doesn’t back down. Buck’s always admired that about him.

“You… but… Ana?” Buck splutters, staring sightlessly down at his own hands, which have fallen still in his lap.

Eddie lets out a hollow-sounding laugh. “Ana broke up with me,” he says.

“What?”

“A few weeks ago, actually. Says I wasn’t trusting enough. That I didn’t really want her in mine and Chris’s lives. She wasn’t wrong.”

“No?” Buck feels like he’s breathing underwater, like there’s no air in the entire goddamn universe.

“Because I already have you,” Eddie says. “Hard to fill a place that’s already taken.”

Buck is horrified to feel a tear slide down his cheek. Jesus, he’s a mess. Eddie’s in love with this?

“Hey,” Eddie says, reaching over to lay a hand on Buck’s shoulder. Buck feels his tell-tale heart skip a beat. “Buck, you alright?”

“I just found out my best friend is in love with me,” Buck chokes out, “after realizing that I’ve been in love with him for years. Give me a minute.”

Eddie doesn’t.

He reaches a hand over to Buck’s jaw, turning Buck to face him. Eddie’s smile is ecstatic, radiant, like someone just told him every Hildy product in the world had been destroyed.

“That so?” He says, his other hand slipping over Buck’s shoulder and down his back, bringing them close. Close enough that their noses are practically touching.

“Yeah,” Buck says.

He can take a hint. He knows when someone wants him. He knows when to make a move.

But when Eddie kisses him, it takes Buck completely and wholly by surprise. Because apparently Buck is hopeless when it comes to love.

Eddie pulls away and Buck chases him with lips and hands and muttered pleas. Eddie breathes a laugh against his lips and Buck wants to feel that every day for the rest of his life.

“I love you,” Eddie says, “so goddamn much.”

“I love you, too,” Buck echoes, feeling warm and soft inside and out. Like he’s incandescent.

“Good,” Eddie says, kissing Buck on the nose, which makes him feel like his bones have turned to jelly. “Can we go the fuck to sleep, then?”

Buck laughs. “I’ll try to save my earth-shattering realizations for daytime from now on,” he says.

“Please do. I’d hate to have to kill you before the wedding.”

“Wedding?” Buck asks, laughing again.

“M’serious,” Eddie protests, rubbing his nose against Buck’s cheek. “I’m going to marry you, Buck. I’d ask you now, but the ring’s in my nightstand.”

“Bullshit.”

Eddie presses his smile to Buck’s. “Why don’t you come to bed and find out?”

Turns out, Eddie does have a ring. It’s black and polished metal that he shyly admits he bought more than a year ago.

“Wasn’t that during the lawsuit?” Buck asks, admiring the ring on his finger. “Weren’t we not talking then?”

“Why’d you think I was so mad at you?” Eddie says, eyes closed, laying back against the pillows. He’s got one arm wrapped around Buck’s waist. “Mad at myself too, ‘cause I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I wasn’t ready. I didn’t think you could ever… I didn’t think you felt the same.”

“Guess tonight was a surprise, huh?”

Eddie slides his hand up to twine his fingers with Buck’s, brushing his thumb over the ring on Buck’s hand.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “Life likes to throw me curveballs, I guess.”

“Excuse you,” Buck says, settling down into the curve of Eddie’s arm. “I’m not a curveball.”

“Sure you are,” Eddie says. “But I love you anyway.”

Buck rests his cheek on Eddie’s chest, closing his eyes. “I’m gonna have to send Taylor a thank you card.”

Eddie snorts. “Go to sleep, Buck.”

Buck, smiling to himself, does. After all, they’ve got a pretty big day ahead of them. Starting with Christopher.

#buddie #long post #ray writes

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cblgblog · 3 years

Text

So my issues with Irondad are well documented at this point, starting from their very first scenes. Specifically the utter tone deafness of Peter’s recruitment, by both Tony and the writers. Tony starts the movie being blamed for the death of a 20-year-old kid who was in the wrong place, wrong time in Sokovia. That accidental death that can be put down to negligence on his part, is pivotal to what happens next. So pivotal he uses it in his pitch for why the other Avengers need to sign the Accords.

Tony, midway through the movie, deliberately brings a 15-year-old child into this conflict. A child he blackmails into going with him, because if you don’t, I will tell your aunt.

Charles Spencer was an innocent civilian, wrong place, wrong time in Sokovia. He died. That tears Tony up, as it rightfully should. And yet, in the midst of his crusade about following laws and accountability, he lies to May Parker about taking her 15-year-old nephew out of the country and into a warzone. Ignoring some well-established laws about child soldiers.

Tony blackmailing a child who’s had his powers for 6 months into participating in this conflict makes no sense. Ever. It especially makes no sense in the context of Charles Spencer and his mother. Yet neither Tony nor the writers seem to comprehend this. Which is why Irondad has been bullshit from the start. Blackmail and kidnapping are not sweet, father-son moments, even if you ignore the fact, as the MCU wants to, that Peter had a father already, in Ben Parker. He has a loving adult parental figure in May Parker. Both of whom cared about him before he had spider powers that might be helpful to them.

All of this, I’ve said before, so have others. And then I realized that I actually hate Irondad more than I thought. That Feige and co. mishandled it even more than I thought, and why? Because of this.

We know the story. Peter was, supposedly, this kid Tony saved at the Stark Expo in Iron Man 2. Started out as a fan theory, and then was confirmed that yes, this is true, this is exactly what we intended.

Now, we know Civil War had different writers/directors than Homecoming or FFH did. We also know that, for all the lip service of, ‘It’s all connected,’ we know that the creatives in these different franchises do not always talk to each other, and that they often blatantly contradict each other.

Taking all that into account, acknowledging that…the dumbasses at Marvel did not think up the idea of Peter being the Iron Man 2 kid. They heard the theory, thought it was cool, then took credit for having meant that the entire time, yes, that was totally us.

We know this because it is never mentioned in canon. All those Tony and Peter interactions, all those times of yes, Mr. Stark, I just want to be like you, Mr. Stark, and Peter never mentions that? When Tony takes he suit from him in Homecoming and Peter says that he just wants another chance, wants to be like Tony, would he not mention that hey, you saved my life, Mr. Stark. You saved my life and I just wanted to be like you, and now I can be, now I can save lives like you, just please give me another chance.

If the Iron Man 2 theory were true, would he not say that? In FFH, when he’s all guilt-ridden, I didn’t save him, would he not mention that hey, he saved my life before I was Spider-man, before I was special, before I was anyone?

Now I know what you’re thinking. The Iron Man 2 thing isn’t that big a deal. It’s not a crucial thing. And you know what, you’re right. It isn’t, it’s just always annoyed me, in an eyeroll way, that the same people who couldn’t count properly between 2012 and 2017 (8 years later flashing in giant letters across our screens means that Homecoming was meant to take place in 2020), that these same people who let something so blatantly timeline breaking get through then took credit for a kind of cool, kind of clever fan theory. It’s annoying.

I’ve now realized, however, that it is far more than annoying to me. Because TPTB at Marvel did not think of that idea for themselves, but if they had, and if they’d run with that idea? If they had, it would’ve made Peter’s recruitment in Civil War so much more fucked up than it already is, but so much more interesting. So, so, so much more interesting.

I’ve talked about why Spidey’s own movies (as much as you can call them that given the level of Tony infiltration) prove that the theory isn’t true. Now let’s go to Civil War. Different writers, yes, but let’s talk anyway about why we can tell from CW that Peter was not that kid.

He gets home. May is like, look who it is, Tony Stark. Not, look who it is, the hero who literally saved your life. When Tony locks himself in Peter’s room with him (still fucking gross, Jesus Christ), Peter is just, nope, I got no idea what you’re talking about. That’s—no, I’m not a superhero, no. He’s defensive. He’s apprehensive. He’s trying to figure out what fresh hell this is. He’s trying to hide stuff from Tony. If this is the guy who saved him at the Stark Expo, why this reaction? Why not, oh my god, you saved my life, I thought I’d never see you again, not, not up close I mean. When Tony asks him to do a thing, why is it not, well yeah, duh , you saved my life, where do we start? Or even, okay, I don’t really wanna do this, but, you saved my life, I owe you?

So, nobody wrote a fucking word of any of Peter and Tony’s interactions under the theory that he was the Stark Expo kid.

But what if they had?

Tony shows up at May’s place. He does not know who Peter is, in relation to their “meeting” before. He’s expecting to have to do some level of smooth talk to get in here but, nope. May’s just, oh my god, you saved my boy’s life, come in, come in!

We don’t know for sure that Peter was orphaned by the time of the Expo, but if we base it on comics and prior films, he likely was. Most versions seem to have him fall under Ben and May’s care between 2 and 6. O1’ birthday means he would’ve been around 9 at the Expo. So, more than likely, Ben or May or both were the ones there with him. They may credit Tony with saving their lives as well.

So, Tony starts the movie being called out by a grieving mother. Going down this route, we’re at the midpoint…and here’s a different mother telling him how great he is. How he saved the most important thing in her life. How if Ben were here (May’s wearing her wedding ring around her neck btw, you can see it in the scene), Ben would say the same thing. Shake his hand. Hug him.

Now, Tony’s got a sharp ass mind, when it’s not clouded with booze or drugs or the like. Since he wasn’t wasted at the Expo, there’s a good chance that, given some details, he remembers saving this kid. He remembers how small this little boy actually was. He remembers how light this kid was when he grabbed him. It was a few seconds in a long ass night, that he hasn’t thought about in years, but to May Parker, it’s everything.

So maybe at this point Tony’s rethinking this. He’s remembering that little boy, realizing how young he still is. He pulled that boy from danger. And now here’s this woman who invited him into her house, told him how her husband just passed recently, things have been hard, especially for Peter but God, he’ll love to see you. Maybe Tony’s rethinking this, coming up with a way out, when Peter shows up. And then, aw hell. The kid’s just a mess of excitement and shock, possibly tears…okay now it’s just gotten harder to make an exit.

Let’s pause here to say that May Parker is not fucking dumb (“Cut the bullshit. I know you left detention. I know you left the hotel room in Washington. I know you sneak out of this house every night.”).

May is not dumb. Letting the 50-year-old dude go into her nephew’s room with him, alone? Arguably dumb, even if it is Iron Man. Letting him grab the kid for some Stark…thing, and take him wherever Tony said he was taking him on 12 seconds notice? Even more arguably dumb. CW as it’s written dumbs down May’s character for the sake of an already questionable plot point. Especially since she literally says she’s not a fan of Tony in Homecoming. Yes, her comment there comes after the “internship,” her noting Peter’s distraction and stress because of it. But still, it’s fucking weird that she’d let this man take her kid out of the country, alone, in CW. It makes her dumb for the sake of plot.

But if Stark saved Peter’s life not so long ago? It at least makes a bit more sense. He’s a hero. Peter literally wouldn’t be here without him. Why would Tony hurt him now?

So, back to the scene. Peter’s probably less paranoid about showing his stuff to Tony. Probably not spilling everything himself, but when Tony notices things, Peter’s probably less panicked over it, more willing to confirm. Yes, he’s got these powers, okay? And he hasn’t had them for long, but he’s trying to do good, like Tony. He’s trying to do the right thing, like Tony.

Now, this kid has such literal hero worship going, and he’s so damn inexperienced, he admits that. And Tony’s still got Charles Spencer’s mom in his head. He’s dead, Stark. And I blame you.

Can Tony really take this kid—actual minor kid younger than Charles was—take him and put him on the field against the goddamn Avengers? That woman out there with the dead husband and the ring around her neck, what’s he going to say if Peter gets hurt, or worse? Sure the kid obviously has skills but, can he risk another grieving mom?

So, maybe Tony’s rethinking this. Maybe he can still get out of this, improvise a Plan B. But then there’s a text from Nat or Ross. Where are you? We’ve only got a few hours, what’s the play?

Special circumstances, nobody in that group is really gonna fight to kill…it’s special circumstances, and he can keep the kid mostly sidelined.

This time, he doesn’t have to blackmail Peter. He doesn’t have to threaten to expose his secret. Peter’s willing, either because he genuinely wants to, or he feels he owes Tony a debt. So there goes the dick factor of Tony literally blackmailing a child. And the lack of questions Peter seems to ask about what he’s fighting for, the acceptance of vague answers, that’d also make more sense in this context.

In this version, Tony is both more and less of a dick. He’s doing less active threatening and manipulation…but he’s also being doubly manipulative. His genuinely good deed gives him an easy in with the Parkers. He’s playing on the credibility of an earlier, at least somewhat better version of himself. One who saved Peter Parker and hadn’t yet ended Charles Spencer.

Look, I won’t lie, I legit don’t know what I’m saying anymore, except that Marvel sucks for taking credit for a thing that they definitely do not have credit for. Which isn’t particularly new for them, and wouldn’t particularly matter if the thing they took credit for (and didn’t do anything with) could’ve offered some interesting story possibilities.

#anti tony stark #anti irondad #iron man 2 #peter parker #may parker #kinda fuck marvel though really #spider-man #civil war

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elise-51-blog · 3 years

Text

I made a thing.

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/JayDickSummerExchange4/works/32921749

Congrats to everyone who participated in the 2021 Jaydick Summer Exchange!! Over 100 works, by golly. Here's a snippet of mine. Please leave a comment if you like, and read everything else too!! :D

In which Terry McGinnis meets the family...

Excerpt from "Even the Losers":

As a young man, he'd been alone so long, assumed he always would be. Alfred, so necessary to what was left of Bruce's wellbeing, would be there until he couldn't anymore. Then the old premonition would be realized, and he'd be truly alone. The Greying Ghost of Wayne Manor.

But then this delicate, precious...thing happened. It creeps up on him. Years go by. It starts small, but it grows. It's moody, and never gets enough sleep. It wars with itself, bitterly at times. Sometimes it splinters open, raw like an ever unhealing wound; but it patches itself up again, slowly, painfully. This thing, you see, it's battered and weary, abused and traumatized, and stabbed and shot and blown up and beaten down again, over, and over, and over again. Somehow, it keeps picking itself back up.

It picks a little boy up from an alleyway. Takes him home, and refuses to ever give up on him. It falls from impossible heights, but refuses to break. It gets buried six feet deep, and it scratches and claws and crawls up and out and screams its pain to the world; but it comes home again. It hunts down the truth, refuses to let go, to be dismissed, or pushed aside, or left behind, or abandoned. It becomes its own hero, even when it's told to give up or stand down. It speaks up even when it's taught to be silent. It battles its own demons, its own hubris, its own hardness; it acknowledges its need to be loved.

Nothing about it is perfect, but it's real, and good, and ultimately true of heart.

It is his family. Bruce's family.

And apparently, it's not done yet.

* * *

Friday Afternoon

"You're kidding me."

"Nope."

"Where's he even find 'em anymore? He’s too goddamn old to go lookin’."

"This one found him, apparently."

"Well, that's always the story, isn't it. At least tell me he doesn't have black hair…"

"..."

"Are you shittin' me?"

"I mean, it's not like he hand picked us from a lineup--"

"You sure about that?"

"You know, technically this one's not an orphan--"

"Oh, give it time, Timbers, you weren't either. We’ve made sure this kid's not a secret love child or somethin', right?"

Tim snorts like a little kid. "That was Damian's first question."

"How old?"

"He’s 16."

"He any good?"

"...well. The suit helps. A lot."

"He's already been out?!"

"B didn’t know."

"Oh, well, that's a lot fuckin' better. So he stole a suit and ran around town with no supervision or training?"

"Pretty much. When Bruce found out, he hopped on the suit’s comms. So. He had that."

"Which one'd he take?"

"What?"

"Which suit?"

"Oh! The new one."

"What?! The badass prototype he won't let Demon anywhere near? The red one?"

"Oh yeah. It definitely kept him alive. B was so pissed, I thought he was having an aneurysm when he told me."

Jason’s deep laughter rolls over the call. "Jesus, that's fuckin' funny. He gets that vein poppin' out, I can't even look at him when he reams me anymore, I just start laughin'."

"Poor Bruce. I went back and watched all the Cave surveillance. Quite the verbal flaying. But the kid’s still around. You could tell B was impressed."

"Impressed he didn’t get himself killed, maybe."

"Oh no, I meant he was impressed with how the suit performed. He was shitting himself over Terry."

"Well, the Old Man is at the Age of Incontinence."

"Jesus, thanks for that image, Jason, I'm trying to eat lunch."

"Edith Wharton wrote a whole book about it."

"That's not even a joke, it's just stupid."

"You're just stupid. So Terry's the new kid?"

"Yeah, Terry McGinnis, 16 year old white male: black, blue, 5'10, buck seventy. Born August 16th, got a little brother named Matt. He's a C-average student, very athletic, and generally well liked. Did a three month stint in juvie for gang related activity before cleaning up his act. Parents divorced, father recently deceased. And if you happen to ask his girlfriend Dana, not too bad with the ladies, apparently."

"You're a creep, Tim."

"I do my homework."

#fanfiction #batfamily #jaydick #batshipping #dl;dr #terry mcginnis #batman #batman beyond #jason todd #red hood #tim drake #red robin #batfam #jaydick summer exchange #jdse2021

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autisticandroids · 3 years

Note

hi i'm trying to keep up on spn fandom drama without actually watching the 6 seasons I don't care enough to watch so could you tell me what on earth "why lamp" means? tysm

ok so this is a long one.

so the way i see it there are three major pieces of evidence, in the last two seasons, that dean is going to reciprocate.

i’m not talking about like, evidence that i would use as a textual analyst if the author was dead: if i use everything that looks to ME like dean being queer then i would have mountains. i’m talking three pieces of evidence which i am absolutely convinced were intentional on the part of the people who write the show, meaning that they suggest deancas might actually go canon officially.

that’s also why i’m only counting the last two seasons; cas made his deal with the empty in early season fourteen and it was definitely intended to come off as romantic. why do i know this? because it has the same goddamn terms and even wording as angel’s curse from buffy: angel experiences “one moment of true happiness” and he loses his soul, cas experiences “one moment where he is truly happy” and he dies. on buffy, angel’s true happiness is..... well.......... sex with buffy. so when i heard the deal i was like hm. at the time i thought they were just fanservice/easter egging me, but now i know better: they intended that. so i think mr. dabb has been planning deancas endgame since at least them lol. i’m pretty sure they knew the show was ending at that point so they could do it.

anyway the first piece of evidence is dean’s michael fantasy in 14x10. this is imo the second strongest. in it, he’s a bartender, accompanied only by a woman he can never sleep with because she has a boyfriend. they flirt endlessly, and she comments “how come you only want what you can’t have” which is a mirror for what cas says in his confession: “the one thing i want, it’s something i know i can’t have.” she also later comments “besides, you don’t want me, you just like to flirt. i’m psychic, i know.” suggesting that dean is faking his interest in her, which could be normal but reads to me as intentionally suggestive that he’s either uninterested in women or simply hung up on someone else. like “dean pretends to be interested in women to show off his flirting game and flex his dudeness muscles” is a subtext that’s present in a huge amount of the show; like, there are a few female love interests he has chemistry with, but mostly his sexcapades read like i-need-to-prove-i’m-manly bedframe notching or showing off for his buddies. this is even explicit-ish a couple of times, like i said in this post here. but they’ve never explicitly pointed it out in words i don’t think. and like. “pretending heterosexuality” is pretty queer lmao (even if dean is bi he’s still faking ultrastraightness to prove he’s manly/straight).

also, it’s weird as hell that they picked pamela barnes for that scene. she never had a particularly close connection with the boys or anything, why not someone else? but she’s 1) psychic, so she can say that line about dean not wanting her, and 2) much more importantly, she’s intimately associated with cas. like, she first appears in lazarus rising, and she’s the one who gets her eyes burned out looking at cas’ true face. like that’s her biggest deal: Woman Who Got Her Eyes Burned Out To Show How Dangerous Cas Is. and then she died off pretty quickly because she was a woman on spn s4.

also, in the scene, she wears an angel wing necklace and a shirt that says “to hell and back” (pointed out to me in the same post). plus the guy who wrote the episode also wrote lily sunder has some regrets which i hope we can all agree is an ICONIC destiel episode.

the second piece of evidence is the purgatory confession in 15x09. this is the strongest evidence. i don’t really have much to say about it because it’s so blatant? like, when i first saw it, i was literally like “this is intentional deancas fanservice jesus christ.” like i lean towards generally interpreting deancas stuff as an accident on the part of straight writers and the purgatory thing did not feel accidental to me. and then cas cuts dean off at the end of the confession, before dean can say some final thing, and dean looks devastated, and then we never find out what the final thing was. like, it’s pretty blatant.

the third piece of evidence is the lamp dance. this is the weakest of the three. basically, dean has a dream sequence in 15x10 where he dances romantically with a lamp. given that one of the things that’s going on in 15x10 is that dean is realizing that he could be allowed to have domestic bliss, the apple pie life, and still be a hunter. the dance with the lamp does kind of come off like it’s implying that there is a partner shaped hole in his life. he has no female love interest in s15 and he hasn’t for years. here is a really cool, if way too smart for spn, piece of meta about it, and here’s another which is less cool but acknowledges that spn is dumb and doesn’t think that hard and is therefore imo more correct. also, andrew dabb himself wrote the lamp dance episode, which makes it stronger evidence than it would be otherwise imo.

anyway when i was Feeling the Madness on saturday, i decided to make this joke post based on the format of that one alvin and the chipmunks meme, you know, “if women are oppressed then why ___” (i would not suggest looking at it on my actual blog because tragically that breaks the format, open it in dash). i was basically using the lamp dance as slightly-ridiculous synecdoche for all three of these pieces of evidence because it’s the weakest.

then later that day, because i treat my blog as a deeply self-referential internal monologue, i made this post documenting the madness i was experiencing, and i ended it with “then WHY LAMP” as a reference to my earlier post. that one got popular, and now “why lamp” is a common way to refer to the lamp dance meta.

#spn #asks #why lamp #Anonymous

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 3 years

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We've Got Tonight - Ch 2

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

This is the longest chapter, but it's worth it, I promise.

Word Count: Ch 2 - 2952

In case you missed it: Chapter 1 ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

...

We've Got Tonight

Chapter 2

Clutching the strap of her backpack in a death grip, Andy silently crosses the landing. She places her foot on the top stair just as Dean rounds the corner from the hallway below her, both hands fisted in his hair. Even from this distance she can read the lines of tension in his shoulders. Her stomach twists, nausea and joy warring at the sight of him, and she can’t decide if she should turn and sprint for the door or throw herself at him and admit absolutely every foolish thing she’s done.

No. No, not foolish. She’s saving the world. That’s only a little stupid. She’s saving Cas and Sam. That’s good. She’s saving Dean.

That’s non-negotiable.

Then her weight settles on her foot, and the goddamned step creaks. Dean’s eyes snap to hers. For one hopeful moment, relief and genuine happiness flood his expression, and he smiles. The unclouded light shining from his face scraps any thoughts she has of bolting, and Andy makes it halfway down the steps before she’s engulfed in his arms.

He embraces her fiercely, and Andy allows herself a couple of seconds of peace and comfort, of the sense that she’s somehow home even though she’s only known him for a few weeks. Then the overwhelming realization of everything she’s signed away comes crashing down, closing her throat, choking off her air, and suddenly even the heat and safety radiating from Dean into her very bones isn't enough to ward off the chill of dread.

But she’s doing this to save him, to save Sam, to save...everyone. So, really, she’s not losing anything. If you save something, it’s not lost, so, really, she’s not losing anything.

Right?

Then her face is trapped between his hands, his face inches away, his eyes boring into hers with that burning intensity. The lies evaporate on her tongue, and she wracks her brain. What was she supposed to tell him? She has to say it before he starts questioning her, or she’ll blurt out every single thing she swore she wouldn’t.

“Are you okay? Where the hell were you? Was it those anti-Jesus freaks? How did you get away?”

What? Oh, yeah. The cultists. The whole reason she has a lovely new scar on her left arm and she met the Winchesters in the first place. The source of all their current troubles. Well, the main source, aside from her blood. Yeah, that would have been a good cover story, too.

Shit.

“Andy?”

“I’m fine, Dean,” she manages, thankful at how little her voice shakes. She puts forth the effort of the ages and extricates herself from his grip, an act she recognizes as necessary while regretting it all the same. “I’m sorry I scared you. I had a lead, and I had to leave right away. They were really twitchy when I first contacted them, and I thought they might take off if I waited too long or tried to take anyone else, and by the time I realized I’d lost my phone it was too late to come back.”

Anger and disbelief seep into his expression, tainting the relief that animated him only moments before. “Okay, first of all, we’re going to have a long, detailed talk about taking off on your own for any reason without backup, much less chasing your own leads, because no. Just no. Second, what the hell? Did all phones between here and wherever the hell you went just vanish?”

“You programmed your numbers into my cell, but I never memorized them. I didn’t have any way to contact you once I got there, and-”

“And you couldn’t leave a damn note?!”

Deep breath. Keep steady.

“Look, I’m really wrecked, Dean, it was a long drive, and it ended up a bust. The guy never showed. I’m dying for a shower and some food. You can interrogate me all you want, but can we not do it right here, right now?”

She pushes past him, brushing him off in a way she’s never done before, but if he keeps gazing into her soul with those jade laser beams of his, she’s going to lose every ounce of self-control. Her fingers tremble with strain, and she clutches her bag tighter, determined to hold herself together for his sake.

She only gets a couple of seconds of reprieve, though, just barely making it off the staircase. He catches up with her as she passes the map table, aiming for escape through the library, and he snatches her elbow. His grip is harsh as he pulls her around to face him, and her fingers fumble at the fierce heat behind his eyes. Her backpack drops, spilling its contents on the floor.

Her stomach bottoms out. She immediately tries to crouch down, to stuff her papers and books back in before Dean can see them, but his grip tightens on her arm, and he forces her back up to meet his eyes.

“You don’t get to disappear for two and a half days and then just-”

“Andy!”

Oh, thank god for Sam.

Andy takes advantage of Dean’s surprise to pull out of his grasp, but before she can bend down, she’s engulfed in a second, longer set of arms that feels almost as much like home as his brother’s.

God, what has she done? She really is going to lose everything. But this has to be worth it. Saving them is worth it, she knows it is. It’s going to be okay.

“Andy, are you okay? Where were you?” Sam is still in his concerned phase, and she’d like to make her exit to gather her thoughts before he hits Dean’s level of suspiciously pissed. She knows of no force in Heaven or Hell that can withstand the combined onslaught of Dean’s anger and Sam’s lectures.

“She says she found a lead,” Dean cuts in before she can try to explain herself. He’s definitely on the outer edges of pissed, and that’s fine. She can handle pissed, she just has to figure out what to do before he reaches volcanic levels of anger.

She drops down before anyone else can stop her and starts shoveling handfuls of papers in her bag. She needs to get them out of sight. She should have burned them, why didn’t she burn them, god if Sam sees some of it, he’ll know what she did without her having said a word to him, and -

“Andy, what the hell is this?”

Dean’s voice has dropped to a low, measured growl, and her eyes slide shut in dismay.

Don’t admit to anything, you don’t know what he found, just -

“You said you lost your phone, and now it falls out of your damned bag? You’re lying to me? Why-”

“Maybe because of this,” Sam cuts in, and she hears a rustle of papers from her other side, and she swears that it’s the loudest sound she’s heard in her entire life. It doesn’t matter which of her papers or which book Sam is showing his brother. They are all equally damning, and she really should have known better than to think she could get away with this plan.

“I had to do something. We were running out of time, so I made a decision while I still could.”

She’s impressed and surprised at the steadiness in her voice, the actual conviction. She is equally surprised to find herself standing when she opens her eyes, looking down at two of the most important people in the world, one of whom is regarding her with dismayed shock, and the other…

Her stomach wars with her brain; rational thought says the logical response to someone glaring at her with as much venom as Dean is packing is to run. Her stomach, on the other hand, is fully in favor of ejecting all contents in sheer terror. Somehow, she manages to shove down both impulses and stand her ground.

There’s a long moment where it seems like the whole bunker, the whole world, holds its breath, waiting for something to snap the tension. To Andy’s astonishment, Sam breaks in before Dean’s temper can explode.

“Tell me you didn’t. After everything we’ve told you, everything you know about us and our history, you called a crossroads demon? Where did you even find the summoning spell?”

She turns incredulous eyes on the younger Winchester. “Sam. I...really, Sam? When I asked to help, you put me on research. I didn't know where to look, and you gave me a stack of books, most of which had some variation of that or a similar spell in it. You gave me access to one of the world’s biggest fix-its, and you didn’t think I would do something with that?”

Sam opens his mouth, his face set with stubborn indignity, but he falls silent as Dean stands abruptly. He stalks past Andy, his silence far more worrisome than any shouting or lecturing could ever be. He stops at the bottom of the library steps, gripping the back of his neck like he’d rather have his fingers wrapped around something’s throat, and he stands like that for what feels like forever.

“I made a deal. To save you, Sam, Cas. Everyone. I had to do it.” Andy can’t stop the words that tumble from her trembling lips, and she can only be thankful that she doesn’t have to see Dean’s face as she says them. She should never have tried to lie to him, to them both, but especially not to him. Not after all the lies he’s had to live through.

“I won’t apologize. I found a way out of the end of the world when we had no other options, and I took it.”

Dean stands stiffly, unmoving as she confesses to his back. Sam wisely keeps his mouth shut, kneeling on the floor to look through Andy’s papers, avoiding looking at either of them. The gravid silence that hangs over the room is broken only by the thudding of her heart and the crinkle of pages as Sam rifles through her backpack’s spilled contents.

“Explain. Now.” Dean’s words are quiet and caustic, their bitterness cutting Andy straight to the heart.

This isn’t what she wanted, but their time is too short to try to work everything out. There will be nothing like a fairy tale ending for them, so she forces herself to say what she can. There are still some details she doesn’t want to tell him; if he knew everything, he could keep her here, keep her from going back to finish the deal, and she absolutely cannot let that happen.

“I did what you and Sam do every day. I did my research, I made a plan, and I faced the monsters. I made a choice, Dean.” She only just keeps the notes of desperation from creeping into her voice, though it’s a near thing.

He moves as she speaks, turning back to the table, his face inscrutable as he leans down to grip the back of one of the chairs. He holds onto it as if it’s the only thing keeping him together, and she feels a ridiculous stab of sympathy for the piece of furniture that’s bound to come to a bad end.

“And you think sneaking around, lying to all of us, and making a deal with a crossroads demon is going to magically fix everything?”

He’s too calm, too quiet. The chair creaks ominously under his fingers, and Andy takes a hasty step back. Sam rises, his forehead wrinkled with concern as he takes a step towards the table.

“Andy, just tell us the details,” Sam interjects, his tone low and placating, like he’s trying to calm a cornered animal. “We can figure out a way to get you out of the deal. What did the demon you met with look like? Did they tell you their name? How much time do you have?”

“God DAMN IT!”

Dean slings the chair to the side, and it skates over the floor, shredding through her papers before slamming into a support pillar with a deafening metallic clang and careening across the room. Sam steps up protectively next to her, his hands half-raised like he can’t decide if he should try to talk his brother down or block more pieces of flying furniture.

“Why, Andy? Why didn’t you just wait for Sam or Cas to find something? We were looking!”

“There was no time left, Dean!” She knows there aren’t enough words in any language to explain her decision in a way that will satisfy him. It doesn’t matter to him that she’s one of the sources of all their troubles right now, or that she is an adult who was perfectly capable of making decisions about her life long before the Wonderful Winchesters and their guardian angel rode into town.

“We had days left, at best! I don’t want this anymore than you did, but it was my blood that started this whole disaster, my blood the cult needs to finish everything, literally everything! It’s my blood that’s the solution to this whole shitshow, and that means it’s my mess to clean up. I learned that much from you and Sam, at least! You clean up the messes you make, whether you meant to make them or not. You, of all people, could at least try to understand!”

“Understand what?! That you think selling your soul will actually fix anything?”

Dean closes the distance between them, his fingers digging hard into her shoulders, knocking Sam to the side as he disregards all concepts of personal space.

“Selling your soul never solves a damned thing! And don’t you think for one second I’m gonna let you go through with this deal.”

“I’ve already gone through with it, I signed the contract. You can’t stop it, and you can’t change it. He said you’d try, and-”

“Wait a minute, ‘he’?” Sam cuts in, and Dean’s face flushes a deeper shade of crimson.

“You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t make a deal with that son of a bitch Crowley.”

Fuck.

“I made a call,” Andy finally answers. “I was either going to hell and taking the rest of the world with me, or I was going by myself and keeping the rest of you safe.”

“You had no right-”

“To make decisions about my life? The hell I don’t, it’s my life, Dean! Who gave you the right-”

“We were supposed to be in it together, you and me! It’s not just your life, and you damned well know it!”

The three of them stand frozen, the words echoing faintly through the enormous room. Sam gaping at the two of them, Dean grips Andy like he thinks she’s about to bolt, and Andy tries desperately to remember why she’s not simply throwing herself into Dean’s arms.

Castiel, with his impeccable timing, chooses this moment to enter the bunker. The creaking door catches their attention, and all eyes turn to Cas, who stands on the landing, surveying the tableau of chaos beneath him. His eyebrows lower, his consternation clear.

“Andrea?” Cas’s voice is confused but gentle as he cautiously descends the stairs. She knows from the stories Sam and Dean have told her that her friend has a fearsome warrior side that makes even the worst demons think twice before approaching, but she’s never seen a hint of that part of him.

She’s seen this man soberly examining a bowl of Cheetos, questioning their attractiveness to large, feline predators; she has a difficult time picturing him facing down the worst monsters the universe has to offer, and yet, according to Sam and Dean, he does so without hesitation on a regular basis.

Which is why his cautious approach should really worry her.

“Dean, is it really necessary to hold on to Andrea quite that hard? You’re bound to leave bruises, and she doesn’t seem to be attempting to leave.”

Dean releases Andy abruptly. His face is dark and lined with the effort of repressing his rage, and he storms past the bewildered angel. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, hand on the banister, legs flexing and trembling as if he has to force himself to stop even that long. Sam takes a step towards him, but Cas holds out a restraining hand, and for once, Sam complies, though he looks seconds away from protesting.

“You should’ve waited, Andy. You should’ve talked to me, given me a chance to find something, anything but this. I can’t...I’m done. I’m fucking done.”

He climbs the stairs three furious steps at a time and is out the door before anyone can think of how to stop him, leaving Andy lost in the remnants of his anger and her shoulders aching more from the loss of his grip than the roughness of it. Her throat is burning, her jaw aching with strain, but her eyes are dry.

There was no other way, there just wasn’t. I did the right thing, and damn Dean to Hell if he thinks I’m going to cry for that.

“Andrea?”

Cas reaches out and steadies Andy, his grasp gentle and comforting in stark contrast to Dean’s furious hold. He considers her for a long moment before finally speaking.

“Our lack of information regarding your whereabouts was quite troubling, and we assumed the worst.”

“Maybe not the absolute worst,” Sam sighs, leaning wearily against the table. He scrubs his hands over several days’ worth of stubble before rubbing his eyes. When he speaks again, he can’t even meet her eyes, and an acidic splinter of shame twists in her stomach.

“You really should have waited, Andy.” ...

Chapter 3

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