Series Summary: Maybe reckless hearts come in pairs.
Series Rating: Explicit (18+ only)
Series Content/Warnings: Fluff and Smut, Smoking, PIV Sex, Oral Sex, Hands Doing Hand Things, light use of restraints, cats (in case you have allergies)
Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC!reader (has name and backstory, but is physically a blank slate)
Word Count: 4.2K
Previous Chapter / Series Masterlist
Chapter 2
He hadn’t meant to slam the barn door that hard after feeding the horses.
“Fuck.” Javi drops his head back, his muttered curse harsh beneath the pinkening sky.
The door dangles precariously from one hinge, swinging with an achy creak; the second hinge is now nothing more than a bent tangle of rusted metal.
“Barn door broke.”
Chucho is sitting at the table sipping coffee when Javi stalks into the kitchen and reaches for a mug from the cabinet.
“Good morning to you, too, son.” Chucho lifts his coffee cup with a smile.
Javi pauses mid-pour and looks at his father. “Sorry, Pop. Good morning.”
Chucho rests his mug on the table and stands, pushing in the kitchen chair. “I can fix that door today.”
“No, no.” Javi lifts his hands in protest. “I got it.”
A wide grin creases Chucho’s face. “I was hoping you’d say that. Cal’s got a rummage sale to set up at the church and I told her I’d pick her up in fifteen minutes.”
Javi can’t help but return his father’s smile. “Then you’d best get on the road, old man.”
Chucho waves over his shoulder as he walks out of the kitchen and in just a moment, Javi hears the front door slam.
He eats breakfast – two pieces of wheat toast smeared with peanut butter and another cup of coffee – then gathers his keys from the table by the door and heads out to his truck. There are two hardware stores – the new one out by the highway or the old one downtown – but it’s an easy choice. The one downtown is the same as it’s always been – no having to wander endless aisles under the harsh glare of fluorescent lights while some teenager in an apron tries to help him.
The downtown streets are nearly empty as Javi angles his truck into one of the empty spots in front of the hardware store. The bell over the door is a friendly jingle as he pulls the door open, and the tangy scent of oil and metal surrounds him. He lifts his hand in greeting to the wizened man behind the counter and walks down one of the aisles, his eyes scanning the packed shelves for the right hinge. He finds it, then moves a few aisles over to grab a box of screws.
Conversation drifts from the back of the store, and Javi remembers the folding table set up back there, where old men gather to drink coffee and share stories that get less accurate with each retelling. Javi is idly wondering if Chucho ever comes in for that when he hears a voice that doesn’t fit.
“I’m pretty sure the last time you told that story, that buck only had eight points.” It’s a woman’s voice, a little familiar, and it sparkles with an amused lilt that makes Javi’s head turn towards the sound.
A chorus of old men concur and the storyteller laughs. “Aw, hell, Tabby, why can’t you be forgetful like these old sumbitches?”
Tabby. Javi’s eyebrows lift and he moves stealthily towards the back of the store, switching the hinge from hand to hand.
“I’m just trying to keep you honest, Virgil. You’ve gotta show your face in church tomorrow.” Javi can see you now, leaning against the wall with a cup of coffee cradled in your hands. You’re wearing a gray sweatshirt that could only be described as ratty and a pair of jeans that hug your hips, and you have a kind of well-scrubbed, early-morning glow.
He takes another few steps towards the end of the aisle, watching you lift your mug to blow a breath across the steaming liquid. Your eyes drift closed as you take a sip and when you open them again, a smile spreads across your face as you spot him looking at you.
“Well, hello, there, Javier Peña.”
Javi likes the way his name sounds in your mouth, how your lips move as you shape it, but he only has a moment to enjoy it. The heads of the old men around the table swivel in unison towards him, and the rush of their greetings fill his ears.
He nods and says hello, answers questions about where Chucho is and how it is being back home, demurs compliments about Escobar and Cali. All the while he can feel you looking at him; it’s not unpleasant – the opposite, really. There’s a sharp curiosity in your eyes that feels more personal than the usual looks he gets.
One of the men – Hector Rivera, Javi’s memory helpfully supplies – squints at him through rheumy eyes. “You here to take your sister to breakfast?”
You laugh, patting the old man on the shoulder. “Not his sister yet, Heck. He doesn’t have to claim me until December.”
“Pfft.” Hector flaps his hand in the air dismissively. “What’s another two months? Family’s family.”
“Did you hear that, Javier Peña?” You arch your eyebrows, eyes twinkling. “Family’s family. I guess you have to buy me breakfast.”
You set your coffee cup on the table and place your hands on your hips, looking around with mock sternness at the faces turned up to you. “Don’t gossip about me while I’m gone, fellas.”
You hook your finger and Javi follows you down the aisle towards the front of the store. At the counter, you reach for the hinge in his hand and place it by the cash register.
“Merle, he’ll be back for that later. We’re going next door.” You smile brightly at the elderly man who beams at you with open fondness.
The bell over the door jingles again as the two of you step out onto the sidewalk, and you turn towards Javi, the morning sunlight behind you draping your shadow across him.
“First, you should know they’re absolutely going to gossip about both of us, because they’re worse than old women. And second, do you like pancakes? Because the ones there – “you point past him, to the glass windows of the diner next door – “are pretty good. My treat.”
Javi shifts his weight to his left foot, his fingers tapping against his thigh as he narrows his eyes. “I don’t know. Heard that family’s family. I think I have to buy.”
You laugh – he likes that sound, too, and the way your smile makes your eyes crinkle at the corners. Your arm brushes against his as you walk past him towards the diner and he catches the scent of your soap, something light and herbaceous. “I’m not going to say no to that.”
---
After the waitress has brought you coffee and you’ve both ordered breakfast – pancakes for you, steak and eggs for Javi – you lean back in the booth with your hands folded in your lap and wait for him to say something.
He doesn’t, just watches you with those dark eyes and an inscrutable expression, and you shake your head with a roll of your eyes.
“Okay, you win.” You lift your hands in resignation. “I can’t take the silence. Is this an interrogation technique? Stare until I crack?”
He smiles then, and you notice he has a dimple: a fact that makes you want to get him to smile more and often. “You cracked pretty damn fast.”
“Maybe –” you tap your chin thoughtfully with the tip of your index finger, then point to him – “you’re just that good, Javier Peña.”
“Javi. You can call me Javi.”
“Okay, Javi,” you say. “And you can call me Tabby.”
His eyebrows lift and he smiles again, this time with a razor-sharp edge. “Like a cat? Maybe I’ll call you Kitten instead.”
You squint at him. “I don’t know if I’d like that.”
He leans forward, forearms resting on the checkered tablecloth, and his voice drops lower. “Maybe I’d convince you.”
You lean forward, too, and meet his eyes. Your reply is a sultry purr that tips into teasing. “I doubt it.”
He laughs, a low rumble you feel in your chest, and picks up his coffee cup. “You know, I remember one of the Taylor girls babysitting me when I was in third grade. Was that you?”
“Wow.” You roll your eyes. “Is this because I won’t say you can call me Kitten? Because you know it wasn’t. I’m younger than you, asshole.”
He laughs again and stretches one arm across the back of the booth, his head tilted to the side as he lets his eyes rove over your face. “We went to school together?”
“Well, I was two years behind you, and we moved after 9th grade. So, I wouldn’t expect you to remember me.”
“You remember me?” His eyes twinkle and you grin with a decisive shake of your head.
“I’m not going to answer that.”
The dimple appears again and you like it even more than the first time. You also like the way the top two buttons of his light blue shirt are undone, revealing a scattering of freckles you’d missed in the dark of the porch.
“Why’d you move?”
You pick up your coffee and take a sip before answering. “Dad got transferred. He worked for Border Patrol and they sent him to Arizona. When he retired, he and Mama came back here to be close to my sisters.”
“You came with them?”
“You are so full of questions, Javier Peña.” You playfully bat your eyelashes. “I am very flattered by your interest.”
He smirks and doesn’t speak, and you sigh and rest your chin on your folded hands. “God, you’ve already figured out I can’t handle the silence, haven’t you? To answer your question: no, I didn’t. I was finishing college and then I joined the Peace Corps and…I just sort of…never came back. Until now.”
He raises his eyebrows. “That’s a long time to be gone.”
You lift your mug in his direction. “Says one prodigal child to another.”
“Fair.” He takes a sip of coffee. “Do you always spend your Saturday mornings at the hardware store?”
The waitress approaches and you hold up one finger as she slides your plates onto the table. You thank her as you reach for the small metal pitcher of syrup, then answer his question. “I live there.”
“You live at the hardware store?”
“Over it.” You point your fork towards the ceiling. “There’s an apartment above it.”
Javi looks up from his plate. “But you come down to drink coffee with old men?”
“That I do.” You fork a bite of pancake and chew thoughtfully. “Almost every Saturday morning. They get to tell completely fabricated stories and flirt with me shamelessly and I get unsolicited advice and all the coffee I can drink. It’s a win-win.”
“You like old men flirting with you?” He rests his knife on the edge of his plate and reaches for the salt shaker, his gaze flashing sideways at you.
“Is that what’s happening now? Then yes.” You grin at him, and he meets your eyes with a smirk.
“What about your boyfriend?”
“My boyfriend?”
“Ray the insurance agent. Does he like other men flirting with you?” Javi casts his eyes downward as he cuts his steak into cubes.
“Ohhh. Ray.” You shake your head. “Ray is not my boyfriend.”
“Seemed like he might not know that.”
“He should, because we’ve discussed it often enough.” You shrug, wiping a drop of syrup from the table with the corner of your napkin. “Ray’s nice and I like having someone to go to movies with or out to dinner, but we’re just friends.”
Javi’s response is a low grunt, and you narrow your eyes at him. “Why so curious, Javier Peña?”
“Just getting to know –” he stabs a square of steak with his fork and winks at you – “my new sister.”
The waitress returns, topping off Javi’s coffee and sliding the check onto the table. After she leaves, you sigh with a forlorn shake of your head. “Darn. That’s disappointing.”
He chews, and silences stretches between you like warm taffy, but you wrap your hands around the heat of your coffee mug and smile placidly; you cheer inwardly when he speaks first.
“Disappointing?” He drums his fingertips over and over against the handle of his cup, a quick tattoo of muted thumps; you’ve noticed he has a hard time sitting still, tension coiled in his body like an overwound watch spring.
“Yeah.” You shrug, then glance at your watch before wiping your mouth with your paper napkin. “I hate to eat and run, but I’m supposed to be helping at a rummage sale this morning.”
You reach for the check, but Javi is quicker, sliding the slip of paper out from under your fingertips. “I got it.”
“You sure?”
He nods. “Family’s family, right?”
“Hmm.” You rise from the booth and tilt your head to the side as you slowly slide your eyes over him. “Just so disappointing. Thanks, Javi. I’ll see you later.”
---
On the drive home, Javi thinks about the best way to repair the hinge. He may need to replace the whole board along the edge if it’s rotted out, and he hopes a piece of the lumber leaned in the corner of the barn will work. He definitely doesn’t think about you – doesn’t try to remember the exact shade of your eyes, doesn’t picture the way the back pocket of your jeans was frayed at the top corner, a small hole pulled into the denim.
While he cuts the board to the right length, sending sawdust swirling into the air, he doesn’t wonder if the scent that drifted past him as you walked away was lavender or rosemary – so sharp and green and fresh.
As he screws the new hinge into place and hangs the door, he certainly doesn’t consider what you meant by ‘disappointing.’
He opens and closes the door, checking that it’s level, then latches it and walks to the house. The two barn cats follow him – he doesn’t know their names, isn’t sure they have any – but since he’s been home they’ve attached themselves to him, curling around his ankles whenever he’s outside. He tried ignoring them for a while, but eventually their purrs wore him down. He sits down on the edge of the porch and talks low to them, scratching around their ears for a moment before lighting a cigarette.
Javi knows when a woman is flirting with him – knows when she likes what she sees. He knows that you were – that you do.
But he doesn’t know what to do about it.
A year ago, two years ago, five years ago: it would have been easy. He would have made sure that you both wanted the same thing – nothing serious, just a good time until you both were ready to move on – and then he would have taken you home. He thinks about that now – lets himself wonder about the sounds you’d make, about which places on your body would make you arch or whimper. He finishes his cigarette, pinches a stray bit of tobacco off his tongue, coughs. He resists the urge to light another.
Things are different now. On the plane ride back from D.C., the breast pocket of his suitcoat feeling light without his badge, he’d told himself it was time to settle down and meet his responsibilities. He’d told himself no more fucking around.
But that was before he knew about you.
He gives each cat a final skritch under their chins, then stands up and dusts off the seat of his jeans. He trudges up the porch steps and sighs as he walks into the house, the rest of the day stretching out ahead of him like a wasteland.
---
There’s a football game on the living room television – Red Raiders, or maybe the Longhorns – but Javi isn’t watching. It’s background noise, something to fill the silence as he scrambles eggs for his dinner. He scoops them onto a plate and douses them with hot sauce and is just about to sit down to eat when the phone rings.
He answers it, catching himself before he says ‘Peña.’ “Hello?”
“Hello, Javier Peña.” Your voice is playful and he can picture the flecks of color in your eyes sparkling as you smile.
He taps the tines of the fork in his hand against the edge of the counter and drops his voice lower, finding a gruff growl. “Who’s this?”
Your tsk-tsk is teasing. “Oh, Javi, that was not convincing at all.”
He drops the fork onto the counter and smooths the corner of his mustache. “Oh. Kitten.”
When you laugh, Javi realizes he’s grinning.
“See, I knew you recognized my voice.” Those words are almost a whisper – damn near purred into his ear across the line.
You continue, your normal volume returning. “Want to come over for dinner?”
He glances at the eggs congealing on the plate, the hot sauce a neon orange under the bright lights of the kitchen. “I could eat. What are you making?”
You chuckle. “No, no, not to my place. I’m at Mama’s. She’s made enough chicken and rice for an army.”
“Oh.”
“Your dad’s here. And my sister and –” you pause, muttering softly to yourself – “I think maybe four of the kids? Could be five. Oh. Yeah, it’s five.”
“I wouldn’t want to interrupt.” He eyes the eggs again – they’re looking somewhat more appealing than an evening in a crowded house.
“You can’t interrupt if I’m inviting you.” Your tone turns sweetly wheedling. “And think of it as a favor. No one will make me explain my life choices if you’re here to quiz instead.”
He hears another voice in the background, a woman who must be your sister: “We’ll still make you explain!”
You chuckle wryly. “They love me, but they also love tormenting me. Anyway, what do you think, Javier Peña? Are you coming to dinner or breaking my mama’s heart?”
“When you put it like that.” One hand moves to the buttons of his dusty denim shirt, swiftly undoing them as he tries to remember which shirts are clean. “I’m on my way.”
---
There are four steps up to the porch, but Javi takes them in two, knocking on the door before he has a chance to change his mind. The door flies open, and a little girl peers up at him, her eyes suspicious slits behind her glasses.
She cocks her head to the side and gives him a stern once-over. “I’m Charlie. This is my grandma’s house.”
“I’m Javi.” She is clearly unimpressed, so he continues. “Chucho’s son.”
“Charlie, let the man in.” You appear behind her, bringing your hands to her shoulders to steer her away from the door. You watch her go, then meet his eyes, a grin lighting up your face. “She’s our bouncer. Gotta keep out the riffraff.”
Javi arches one eyebrow. “Then how’d you get in?”
“Ohhh.” You clap your hands together, your eyes widening in delight. “You’re going to walk into my mother’s house and give me shit, huh? Bold, Javier Peña. Very bold.”
He tries not to smile, but it’s hard with you grinning at him - especially when you cock your head to the side and let your eyes drift from his face to the toes of his boots and back again.
“Did you get dressed up for us?” You narrow your eyes, teeth catching the plump of your lip as you look at him.
He glances down at the blue button-up he’d carefully chosen from the closet.
“Just changed shirts.” With a lazy smile, he reaches out a finger to stroke the cuff of your sweater. It’s a fuzzy, green thing that is easily two sizes too large, but the color makes your skin glow. “But you did, too.”
You grin as you pull the door wide and gesture for him to come in. The house is buzzing with activity – two children are arguing over a checkers game at the coffee table, dishes are rattling in the kitchen, the television in the corner is announcing a touchdown for Texas. He follows you – past the squabbling kids, past Charlie who is now upside down in a chair reading a book – into the dining room where the adults are gathering around the table.
“You made it! I’m so glad you came, Javi.” Mrs. Taylor – Cal, he corrects himself – appears behind him, resting her dainty hand on his arm and giving it an affectionate squeeze, before looking him over with a critical eye. “When’s the last time you had a good meal?”
“He had one this morning, Mama.” Javi runs through the names he’s been working to learn and comes up with ‘Ruth’ for the woman smiling at him. She looks pointedly back and forth between you and him. “Right, Tab?”
You roll your eyes and angle your thumb over your shoulder. “Ruthie, your kids are about to murder each other. You might want to get in there.”
As she hustles out of the room towards the yelling, you shrug apologetically. “Regretting coming over yet?”
He thinks he sees a crack in your bravado then, your fingers lightly rubbing against the hem of your sweater where it hangs against your thighs. If this house wasn’t filled to the top with watching eyes, he might reach to still it – just to see what expression would cross your face at the touch of his hand.
But instead he shakes his head, holding your gaze. “Not yet.”
---
The phone in your apartment is ringing as you unlock your front door, but you make it to the kitchen in time to grab it.
“Hello?”
“That was interesting.”
You kick off your shoes and lean against the kitchen wall, twisting your pinky into the coil of the phone cord. “What was interesting, Ruth?”
“You, little sister.” Her voice bubbles with amusement. “You were interesting.”
“I will one hundred percent hang up on you. Don’t think I won’t.”
She laughs. “Okay, fine. I just noticed you looking extra…sparkly tonight.”
“’Sparkly’?” You push off the wall and grab a glass from the cabinet, tucking the phone into your shoulder as you fill it at the sink. “What the hell does ‘sparkly’ mean?”
“You just looked happy. Bright-eyed. And I just wondered if –” you can hear the hubbub of your nieces and nephews in the background, then the hushed clunk of a door closing – “it had anything to do with our dinner guest.”
“Ruth.”
“Tab.”
“Stop it.” You take a sip of water then place the cup on the counter. “Stop trying to match-make. I’m not about to settle down in Laredo.”
“Who said settle down?” Ruth’s voice is all sweetness and light.
“You did. When you invited me to dinner and your neighbor was there. When we had lunch and your friend Jamie just happened to stop by. When you gave your insurance agent my number. You said, and I’m quoting – ‘maybe if you meet a nice man, you’ll want to settle down here.’”
“You might. If it’s the right man. And you like Ray, right?”
“Ruthie.” You sigh. “I know you want me to be happy, but I am. I like my life.”
“Tabby.” Her voice softens. “Not every man is Ted.”
“Thank God for that.”
“And I like having my baby sister home.”
“I like being home. But maybe don’t try to marry me off to keep me here, okay?”
She chuckles softly. “Okay. But Ray really is a good man, Tab. Sweet. And he likes you a lot.”
“I’m hanging up now, Ruth.” You hear her laughing goodbye as you rest the handset back on the cradle. You pick up your glass of water for another sip when the phone rings again.
“Got another detail for his resume?”
“Uh…Tabby? It’s Ray?” He lifts the final word into a question, and you can picture his befuddled face.
“Oh, hey, Ray. Sorry. Thought you were Ruth.”
“That’s a first.” His laugh is pleasantly warm. “You have a good Saturday?”
“I did, thanks.” You pull out a kitchen chair and sit, pushing a stack of essays to the side to make room for your elbow to rest. “Worked at the rummage sale, did some grading, had dinner with the family. A nice day. How was yours?”
You don’t mention your breakfast with Javi. Even though it’s not a secret, some part of you wishes it were.
“Nice day here, too.” He clears his throat quietly. “I wanted to see if you felt like catching a movie tomorrow afternoon. They’re showing Tin Cup?”
“Who can resist Kevin Costner? Tell you what – I’ll get the tickets, you buy the popcorn. Sound good?”
“Sounds good. Pick you up at 4?”
“Let’s just meet there.”
“Okay, Tabby.” You hear the disappointment in his sigh, but you’re determined not to mislead him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Bye, Ray.”
You hang up the phone and lift one essay from the top of stack to read the title: “A Darkling Plain: Themes of Despair in Fahrenheit 451.”
Not bad. But not tonight.
You drop the paper like it’s on fire and switch off the kitchen light, walking to the bathroom to get ready for bed.
*takes a deep breath* Okay, let me engage with you in good faith here. Let's give this a shot.
The context of your question is this: Is it okay if news sites like Buzzfeed and stuff have Pedro Pascal read horny tweets or ask him his opinion on how people are calling him Daddy.
The question you are asking is this: Saying that this is shitty is just Puritanism.
Here is my answer:
Anon. Pedro Pascal is a service worker. For the purposes of this context, he is quite literally not the slightest bit different from a Starbucks barista or a Target cashier or a mall food court employee. He is someone who is performing their job, and their job entails existing in public and being polite and smiley and not making the public uncomfortable, even if the public is, say, sexually harassing him.
By placing celebrities into scenarios in which they are forced to answer or acknowledge the fact that there are fans who are objectifying and fetishizing them, and asking those celebrities to respond to said fans, those celebrities are now being forced to experience a form of sexual harassment. I do not care if you are calling Pedro Pascal daddy on the Internet. He's hot. I've called him Daddy, for Christ's sake. The problem is not that people enjoy seeing what movie stars look like on a screen. That is their literal job description.
The problem, the sole and only problem here, and it is a big one, is when those movie stars are being shown tweets or fanfic or whatever, I don't care, of how their fans have graphic and explicit sexual desires for them, and this is being done to create content, and that content is being made to make someone a lot of money because people will click a link to watch or read how Pedro Pascal reacted to learning about his fans calling him Daddy and what they want him to do to them, when he is in a public interview where whatever his reaction is will be unavoidably recorded and picked apart by dozens of thousands of parasocially horny vultures with no sense of tact or boundaries.
Does this make sense, Anon? Do you understand now why this isn't "just Puritanism"?
Having a crush on your local Starbucks barista is okay.
Having a crush on your barista and telling other people about it is okay.
Having a crush on your barista and writing lurid self-insert fanfic about you and the barista is okay.
Having a crush on your barista, writing lurid self-insert fanfic about you and the barista, and then mailing that shit to her workplace so she's forced to see it and then asking her invasive questions about it in public, while she's making you a latte, is weird and gross.
Photocoping your coworker's lurid self-insert fanfic about them and the barista you know they have a crush on, and then mailing that shit to her workplace and then asking her invasive questions about it in public, while she's making you a latte, is weird and gross for both her and your coworker.
He wore this look for like one interview with ET Canada and then never again (it’s Narcos promo and he’s talking about El Chapo and how the story is still happening)
Fanfiction and fanart are bonus content, brought directly to you without monetary motives. That is so rare nowadays. You can and should if you're able to support these creators with donations, kudos, comments and reblogs. But you're not obliged to. You can consume it for free, because people enjoy sharing their talents with you. Make them feel loved for their gifts for us.
I used to think Steve and Bucky cared for each other so deeply and tragically that their love – even if only viewed as platonic – could not be denied by anyone. Not after Steve spent THREE whole movies, the entire Cap trilogy, proving how much Bucky meant to him over and over and over. Steve was willing to fight for him and die for him in every single movie. I used to think that even if Marvel gave Steve another love interest, even if he died in Endgame, it wouldn’t change or negate how devoted they were to each other. That they would still be friends “til the end of the line.”
Little did I know what awaited me in Endgame was a fate worse than death.
Steve left and in doing so rewrote everything we thought we knew about him and his relationship with Bucky. About who Steve is as a character entirely. It wasn’t just that he abandoned his supposed best friend, who he had been chasing and obsessing over for years. Who was there for him and looked after him ever since they were children. If Steve had left the Bucky he used to know in the 1940s for some love interest and a life without him, it would still be pretty out of character, but I would eventually get over it. 1940s!Bucky was confident, happy, and had family and friends who cared about him. Endgame!Bucky is not that Bucky.
Endgame!Bucky is broken and lost and just now learning how to be a person again. Endgame!Bucky has no friends and no family. Endgame!Bucky just spent the last 70 years of his life going from one fight to another, being brainwashed and tortured and manipulated and abused. Endgame!Bucky is clinging by a thread to the one and only thing he knows and values in this world: Steve.
This is the Bucky that Steve chose to leave.
If Steve was any kind of friend at all – if Steve was truly a hero and the morally upstanding person he’s portrayed as, a person worthy of wielding Mjolnir – he would know these things about Bucky, his best friend since childhood, and at the very least, would refuse to leave his side until Bucky had some sort of support network and seemed well-adjusted enough to handle it. But he doesn’t. Even in their farewell scene when Bucky (looking like a kicked puppy) says to him “I’m gonna miss you” Steve won’t even echo the sentiment. He just says “it’s gonna be okay,” as if he’s aware of the pain Bucky must be in and essentially tells him, “don’t worry, you’ll get over it.” And I’m not even going to get into the terrible way Steve treated his other best friend, Sam, by keeping him completely in the dark about his plans for absolutely no reason and abandoning him as well.
Marvel didn’t just make Steve act out of character in Endgame in an effort to no-homo him and create a ~surprise twist~. They didn’t just make him a bit selfish and a bad friend. They straight up made him a villain, and I will never ever forgive them for it.
Paz Vizsla x fem!reader (no use of y/n)
Word count-4.5k
Summary- Paz saves your life when the pirates attack Nevarro. And then you find out he likes it when you’re bold…
Warnings- 18+ ONLY minors do not interact, takes places on Nevarro during “The Pirate,” protective!Paz, mutual pining, smut, handjob, fingering, breast play, oral (f receiving), cumplay, size kink, competency kink, praise kink, squirting, creampie, multiple orgasms, “good girl”
Notes- This one is dedicated to the Paz girlies. This started as more towards the action and protectiveness and then I had the idea to add the smut and I ended up spending more time on that lol! Enjoy!
@flightlessangelwings-updates is my update blog to also follow and turn on post notifications to stay up to date on when I post!
~
You let out a deep sigh as you scanned the rubble that was once the capital city of Nevarro. You and the others counted yourselves lucky to be alive, but nerves still pulsed through your veins that you had just been through. As you helped the others clean up the mess and start to rebuild your homes, you relived the past day in your head. But it was the liberation and the rescue of your home that stuck with you the most.
It all happened so fast. The Nevarro sky rained with blaster fire as ships poured out of the large pirate vessel that descended on the city. You tried to run, but the pirates grabbed you and a few others and held you hostage, forcing you all to act as their bartenders as they enjoyed their victory over your largely defenseless city.
I feel bad for all the people who aren’t going to watch the film because they don’t wanna see P in a role where his love interest a man like it’s your loss motherfuckers he’s gonna be amazing
this is a new day, a new beginning @lainawankenobi - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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