#i mean if i'm back on tumblr for good i should make gifs of my first love right

[antrea]

[24.04.16] vs. atletico madrid (ucl quarterfinals leg 2)

#ian maatsen #borussia dortmund #bvb #champions league #i mean if i'm back on tumblr for good i should make gifs of my first love right #gif

[rynwritesreid]

A night to remember-Spencer Reid

A/N: Okay, firstly thank you for all the love on mind-games, honestly I might post the next chapter next week but I am not sure. Also, for some reason even if you @ is correct and everything, some times tumblr won’t let me tag you :(

Summary: Spencer is back from prison, and he’s changed but not in all the ways you want. You discuss with Spencer something you’ve been wanting to try and he is willing to give it a shot.

Content: Post prison Spencer. Fem!reader. Mean dom spencer. Sub!reader. Pet names/name calling. Degrading kink. Overstimulation. Orgasm denial. Begging. Established relationship. Smut (and some fluff). Spencer asks a lot of time for your consent (as they should, especially if you are in BDSM dom/sub relationship). Begging. Sex toys. Virginal fingering. Handcuffs(slight bondage ig) 18+

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It wasn’t a secret that prison, and the whole Cat Adams situation, had changed Spencer. It was evident in the way Spencer carried himself, the hardened glint in his eyes that pierced through the darkness. The weight of his experiences behind bars had etched lines on his face, transforming him into someone unrecognizable.

 

He seemed darker; he didn’t seem to mind having to kill in order to protect anymore. He had told you on several occasions that he would kill for you, well his exact words were; “you I’d kill for you. I mean if anyone ever tried to hurt you, I would make sure that’s the last ever thing they’d do.”

 

Though Spencer had always been protective, this was new, and while the rest of the team knew what he had been through recently had changed him, they had no idea just how much it had changed him.

 

Spencer had also changed how he was at home; he was no longer ‘vanilla’, but he wasn’t exactly rough. He treated you like a princess; he would not let you go to sleep until he had at least made you cum twice. And while you loved this, you wanted him to be rough with you, degrade you, to spank you and to deny you the pleasure he so often gives you.

 

But you didn’t know how to bring this up with him. You didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable, or like he wasn’t good enough and that you weren’t enjoying what he was doing. However, you also knew nothing would change if you didn’t bring this up with him.

 

One evening, as Spencer cooked dinner for the both of them, you couldn't help but find the perfect opportunity to broach the subject. The room was filled with the aroma of his signature dish, a comforting reminder of the old Spencer, and you felt a pang of nostalgia.

 

As you sat across from him, you took a deep breath and began, "Spencer, I know things have changed since your time in prison, but I need to tell you something that's been on my mind."

 

He halted mid-stir, his knife-wielding hand trembling slightly. You could see the cogs turning behind his eyes, trying to process the implications of your words.

 

"I want to try something new in the bedroom. I want you to be rough with me, to dominate me, to make me feel as if I'm entirely under your control. I mean don’t get me wrong I enjoy what you do now, but I want this, I’ve wanted this for so long.”

 

Spencer set the knife down carefully on the cutting board, wiping his hand on his apron before turning to face you. The look of concern had faded, replaced by a hint of curiosity and intrigue. He had always been good at reading people; this was no different.

 

"Is that all?" he asked, eyebrows raised. "You want me to be rough with you? To dominate you?"

 

You nodded, glancing down at your own hands, fidgeting nervously in your lap. A sudden surge of heat filled your cheeks as you spoke, "Yes, Spencer. I want you to control me. I want you to take me in a way that I've never been taken before. I want to feel completely vulnerable and at your mercy.

 

It was a request he had never received before, but he saw the raw desire in your eyes. He could sense the urgency in your voice, and the hunger that was burning deep within you.

 

"Alright, but I need you to trust me," he said, taking a deep breath. "This will be different, and it might be intense."

 

You nodded, your heart racing with anticipation. You had never felt this way before, this desperate need to be dominated, to give yourself completely to him. The thought of it made you shudder with excitement.

 

“Well, we can’t do anything now, we need to eat, so you just sit there and look pretty for the time been while I finish dinner, okay?” Spencer chuckled under his breath, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The look in your eyes told him that this wasn't just some fleeting desire, it was something that had been simmering deep within you for quite some time. He knew that he had to tread carefully, as this was uncharted territory for both of them.

 

Spencer continued to prepare the meal, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. He knew that he had to show you the intensity and control you craved without truly hurting you. He needed to make you trusted him completely, and only then could he truly take control.

 

As dinner was ready, Spencer dished up the meal and served it onto the plates. Sitting down, he took a moment to observe you. Your eyes were filled with a mixture of anticipation and a slight hint of trepidation. He knew you were scared, but he also knew that you trusted him enough to explore this new territory.

 

"You have my word," he said softly, looking directly into your eyes. "I'll take care of you, and I'll make sure you feel safe and cherished throughout this whole experience. But you have to trust me. Can you do that?"

 

You looked into his eyes, feeling a wave of relief wash over you at his promise. Trusting him was easy, you knew that. You trusted him with your life, and that was no small thing.

 

"Yes, Spencer," you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "I trust you."

 

He smiled; relief evident in his expression. "Good," he said, taking your hand in his. "Then let's eat, and we'll talk about what this entails later."

 

As you ate, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement building within you. This wasn't just about trying something new; it was about exploring a side of your relationship that you had never dared too before. You knew it would be intense, but you trusted Spencer to guide you through it.

 

After dinner, you both sat on the couch, the dishes cleaned up and put away. Spencer turned to face you; his expression serious but gentle.

 

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubts.

 

You nodded, taking a deep breath. "I trust you, Spencer. I know you'll take care of me."

 

He smiled, reaching out to cup your face in his hands. "I won't let you down," he promised, his voice firm and reassuring.

 

With that, he leaned in and kissed you lightly, a tender touch that spoke of the trust and affection that had always been the foundation of your relationship.

 

You watched as he moved closer, his eyes never leaving yours. He kissed you again, this time with more passion, his lips lingering on yours. You could feel his hand gently brushing your hair off your face, his touch sending a shiver through your body.

 

"You're mine," he whispered, his voice low and intense.

 

You smiled up at him, your heart racing. This was it, the moment you had been waiting for. You knew that it would be intense, that it would test your limits, but you trusted him completely.

 

"I'm yours," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

 

Spencer slowly pulled away, his eyes never leaving yours. He traced his fingers along your jaw, his touch gentle but firm. He could feel the heat radiating from your skin, a testament to the desire that was coursing through you.

 

He stood up, towering over you, his body tense with anticipation. You could see the change in him, the alpha male dominance that had been dormant for so long beginning to surface.

 

"Are you sure about this?" he asked one last time, his voice deep and commanding.

 

You nodded, your heart racing. You were ready for this, ready to explore the darker side of your desires.

 

With that, Spencer reached down and grabbed your hand, pulling you to your feet. He led you to the bedroom, the air thick with anticipation.

 

As you entered the bedroom, Spencer turned to face you, his eyes burning with intensity. He was no longer the gentle man you had known before, but a powerful and dominating presence that filled the room.

 

"Kneel," he commanded, his voice thick with desire.

 

You quickly obeyed, your heart pounding with excitement as you looked up at him. He stood over you, his muscles tense, his eyes fixed on your face.

 

"You're mine," he repeated, his voice a low growl. "And you will submit to me completely."

 

You nodded, your eyes never leaving his. You were ready for this, ready to give yourself to him completely. He reached down and grabbed your wrist, pulling you to your feet.

 

"Take off your clothes," he ordered, his voice firm.

 

You did as he commanded, feeling a thrill of excitement as you stripped down to your underwear. He watched you intently, his eyes never leaving your body. He knew what he wanted, and he was going to take it.

 

He took a step forward, touching your skin for the first time. His fingers traced the curve of your hip, the soft skin of your stomach, and the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. You shivered, feeling a flood of pleasure course through your body.

 

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

 

His hands moved up to your breasts, cupping them in his large palms, kneading them gently. You moaned softly, your desire for him growing stronger by the second.

 

Spencer's lips met your neck, his tongue tracing the curve of your throat, and his teeth gently nipping at your skin. He moved down to one of your breasts, taking it into his mouth and sucking it gently. You arched your back, thrusting your chest out to meet his lips, and he took the other breast in his mouth as well.

 

He stood up, undressing himself as he did so. You watched, mesmerized, as his body revealed itself to you. He was everything you had imagined and more.

 

He stood in front of you, his erection hard and ready. You reached out to touch him, but he stopped you.

 

"No," he commanded, his voice firm. "I decide when you touch me.”

 

You looked up at him, your eyes pleading. You wanted so much to touch him, but you trusted him enough to follow his lead.

 

"Turn around," he commanded, his voice low and seductive.

 

You complied, your heart racing as you did so. You knew that this was the moment you had been waiting for, and you were ready to give yourself to him completely.

 

Spencer stood behind you, his hands resting gently on your hips. He leaned in and whispered in your ear, "You're mine, and I'm going to take you in ways you've never imagined before."

 

He slowly began to touch your skin, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip, the soft skin of your stomach, and the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs. You shivered, feeling a flood of pleasure course through your body. His fingers moved up to your breasts, cupping them in his large palms, kneading them gently. You moaned softly, your desire for him growing stronger by the second.

 

Spencer's lips met your neck, his tongue tracing the curve of your throat, and his teeth gently nipping at your skin. He moved down to one of your breasts, taking it into his mouth and sucking it gently.

 

"You ready for this?" he asked, his voice low and seductive.

 

"Yes," you whispered, your voice shaking with anticipation.

 

As you spoke, you felt his hands on your waist, pulling you closer. His erection was now pressed against your back, a reminder of what was to come.

 

He guided you towards the bed, gently placing you down on the soft sheets. You could feel the anticipation building inside you, your heart pounding with excitement.

Spencer climbed on top of you, his body hovering above you. He looked into your eyes, his expression intense and full of desire.

 

"Are you sure about this?" he asked one last time, his voice deep and commanding.

 

You nodded, your eyes never leaving his. "I trust you," you whispered. "I'm yours."

 

With that, he leaned down and kissed you passionately, his lips crushing against yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring, and tasting you, as if to mark his territory.

 

You could feel his breath against your skin, hot and ragged, matched only by your own. His hips moved against yours, his erection pulsing with desire, and you knew that this was it. This was the moment you had been waiting for, the moment when you would give yourself completely to him.

 

He slowly pulled away, his eyes never leaving yours. He traced his fingers along your jaw, his touch gentle but firm. You could feel the tingle of his fingers on your skin, a reminder of the journey you were about to embark on.

 

He reached down and grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. You felt the rush of dominance that flowed through him, a primal instinct that had been dormant for so long but was now fully alive.

 

"You're mine," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "And you will do as I say."

 

His eyes bored into yours, filled with a fierce intensity that made your heart race even faster. You could see the animalistic hunger in him, the raw desire that couldn't be contained any longer.

 

He leaned down and nipped at your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin, causing you to moan in pleasure. You could feel the heat of his body against your own, and you knew that there was no turning back now.

 

Spencer's lips moved up to your ear, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered, "You're going to love this."

 

You felt his erection throbbing against your thigh, a reminder of what was to come. You were ready for this, ready to give yourself completely to him.

 

He slowly moved his hand down your body, trailing his fingers along your side until they reached your inner thigh. You could feel the heat and desire radiating from his body, and you knew that this was the moment you had been waiting for.

 

As his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin near your core, you felt a surge of pleasure and arousal coursing through your body. You arched your back, pressing yourself against him, wanting more.

 

Spencer's hand continued to explore your body, moving lower and lower until he finally reached your most intimate place. He slowly slid one finger inside you, feeling the warmth and wetness that welcomed him.

 

You moaned softly, your body trembling with pleasure as his finger moved inside you. He pulled it out and brought it up to your lips, smearing your essence on them.

 

"Taste yourself," he commanded, his voice deep and authoritative.

 

You complied, licking his finger clean, savouring the taste of your own desire. It only fuelled your desire for him even more.

 

"You taste delicious, don’t you," Spencer whispered, his eyes burning with desire.

 

With his other hand, he slowly pulled your legs apart, spreading them wide open for him. You could feel the heat between your legs growing, and you knew that this was the moment you had been waiting for.

 

As his fingers continued to explore your body, you felt a wave of pleasure wash over you like a tidal wave. You knew that you were completely at his mercy and that he was going to take you to places you never thought possible.

 

Spencer's hand continued to move between your legs, teasing and taunting you with its every touch. You were more than ready for him, your body trembling with anticipation, and yet he seemed to want to savour this moment.

 

Your heart was pounding in your chest, your breath coming quicker and quicker as you felt his fingers slowly enter you again. This time, he didn't stop, pulling out and plunging back in, faster and harder with each thrust.

 

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groaned, his voice ragged with desire. "I want you so bad."

 

You could feel his erection pressing against your thigh, throbbing with need, and you wanted nothing more than to feel him inside you.

 

"I'm going to make you scream my name," Spencer promised, his voice low and sultry.

 

As he continued to thrust into you, his fingers moving in and out of you in a rhythm that was both maddening and intoxicating, you couldn't help but moan softly, your body arching in response to his touch. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, your desire for him growing stronger with each passing second.

 

“You look so beautiful like this, surrendering yourself to me, letting me make you moan like the slut you really are.” He whispered; his voice filled with lust.

 

Your body trembled in response, your arousal increasing with every word. You knew that you were completely at his mercy, and you loved every moment of it.

 

Spencer's fingers continued to move inside you, pulsing rhythmically with his thrusts. You could feel his erection growing harder and thicker against your thigh, and you knew that he was close.

 

"I want to hear you scream," Spencer hissed.

 

Just as you were about cum, he pulled a way, a small smirk on his face.

 

“Did you think I was going to let you cum that easily?” he asked, his voice filled with amusement.

 

You gasped, your body flush with disappointment but also anticipation. He knew exactly what he was doing to you, and it was thrilling.

 

Spencer leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "I'm going to make you beg for it," he whispered, “and remember when you are begging for it, you asked for this, you wanted this.”

 

He slowly put his fingers back in you, but his pace no longer fast, it was slow, and it was deliberate.

 

"Please, Spencer," you whimpered, your body craving the release that he was denying you.

 

“Is that all you’ve got baby? And is this all it’s taken me?” he taunted, his lips still brushing against your ear. "You're going to have to do better than that, little one."

 

His fingers moved in and out of you, teasing your most sensitive spot, and you knew that he was going to make you beg for it. You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge, your body trembling with the need to cum.

 

And just like before he stopped, he wasn’t going to give in even though it was killing him not too. Your eyes were pleading with him, begging him to continue, but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

 

“Now if I remember correctly, you brought toys to replace me while I was gone, didn’t you?” he smirked, his eyes locked on yours, “I think it’s time to put them to use.”

Spencer’s eyes were scanning the room, trying to see where you might have put them, he knew it wouldn’t have been in any of the normal places. That’s when his eyes landed on the wardrobe, and he looked back at you.

 

“I can see that look in your eyes, baby. You’re so desperate for it, aren’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and seductive. “Now did you hide them in there, princess?”

 

You nod yes, unable to form any more words as you feel a surge of anticipation and desire.

 

Spencer walks over to the wardrobe and opens it, revealing a small collection of sex toys that you had purchased while he was away. He grabs a vibrator and a pair of handcuffs, his eyes never leaving yours.

 

"I knew you couldn't resist," he smirks, his voice filled with victory. "Now, let's see how much you can take, shall we?"

 

He walks back over to you, the vibrator in his hand, and secures your hands above your head with the handcuffs. You struggle slightly, but the desire coursing through you is too intense to resist.

 

You watch as Spencer approaches you, his eyes burning with hunger. He runs the tip of the vibrator along your sensitive skin, teasing you mercilessly.

 

"This is going to feel so good, baby," he whispers, his voice thick with desire. His tone is commanding, and you have no choice but to obey.

 

He turns on the vibrator and presses it against your clit, and you let out a soft moan. The sensation is intense, and you can feel your body responding to it.

 

"That's it, baby," Spencer encourages. "You're so wet, so ready for me."

 

He pushes the vibrator inside you, and you feel it pulsate against your inner walls. "Take it all, you slut."

 

Your eyes roll back as the sensation overwhelms you, and you let out a loud moan of pleasure. Spencer smiles slyly, watching as you lose control.

 

"There's my good girl," he purrs. "You're such a dirty little slut."

 

He increases the speed of the vibrator, and you arch your back, trying to get closer to the pleasure. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer, your body trembling with each pulse of the vibrator.

 

"Please," you whimper, your voice barely a whisper. "Don't stop."

 

Spencer grins, his eyes locked on yours. "Not yet baby. I want to see you beg for it."

 

He pulls the vibrator out of you and turns it off, leaving you desperate for more. You look at him in desperation, your pupils dilated, your breathing ragged.

 

"Please, Spencer," you beg, your voice shaking with need. "Please, I need it so badly."

 

He smirks at your desperation, his eyes never leaving yours. "You want it?”

 

With a sly grin, he takes the vibrator and runs it along your outer lips, teasing you mercilessly. You can't help but moan softly, your body arching towards him in response.

 

"Beg for it, baby," he commands, his voice a mix of desire and amusement. "Tell me how much you need it."

 

Your breath hitches in your throat, your desire for him growing stronger with each passing second. "I need it so badly, Spencer. Please, I'm begging you."

 

He chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "That's my good girl. You know exactly what you want."

 

And with that, he pressed the vibrator back inside you, and you let out a loud moan of pleasure. It felt amazing, better than anything you had ever experienced before. He continued to tease you with the vibrator, moving it in and out of you, and you felt yourself getting closer and closer to the edge.

 

"Please, Spencer," you pleaded, your voice shaking with need. "Please let me cum. Please make me cum."

 

He smirked at your desperation; his eyes locked on yours. "You're going to have to beg for it, my dear," he said, his voice low and sultry.

 

But you didn't care. You needed this. You needed him. And so, you let out a desperate moan, your body trembling with the need to cum. "Please, Spencer," you pleaded, "I need it so badly. Please make me cum.”

 

You were past the point of no return, Spencer's commands and denial only adding fuel to the fire. Your body was on fire, desperately craving the release he was denying you. You knew you could take it no longer, and yet, you found yourself begging for more.

 

"Please, Spencer," you moaned, your voice pleading. "Let me cum."

 

He chuckled, a wicked glimmer in his eyes. "Not yet baby. I want to draw this out," he said, running the vibrator over your clit, sending shivers of pleasure through your body.

 

"Please, Spencer," you begged, your voice hoarse. "I need it so badly."

 

He smirked, a devilish look on his face. "But you're forgetting something, you asked for this. You wanted to be treated like a slut, but now you’re begging for me to make you cum?”

 

You knew you needed to beg for it. You needed to surrender to him, to let him have control over your body, your mind, your very being.

 

"Please, Spencer," you whimpered, "please make me cum. Please, I can't take it anymore.”

 

He took the vibrator and ran it along your outer lips, teasing you mercilessly. You could feel the pulsating sensation building up inside you, your body arching towards him in response.

 

"Please, Spencer," you begged. "I need it so badly."

 

He chuckled; his eyes locked on yours. "You really are a dirty slut, aren't you?"

 

You nodded, your mind reeling with the intensity of the experience. Spencer did take some pity on you; he could see your eyes were filling with tears and he did love to watch you cum.

 

"That's it, baby," he whispered, his voice full of desire. "Beg for it, let me hear how much you need it."

 

You choked out the words, your voice rough with need. "Please, Spencer. Please make me cum. I need it so badly."

 

He smirked, his eyes never leaving yours. "Well, aren't you the perfect slut?"

 

With that, he turned on the vibrator and ran it over your clit, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You arched your back, your hips bucking against the vibrator.

 

"That's it, baby," he urged, his voice filled with command. “Cum for me, letting me see what I can do to you.”

 

And with that, you felt the orgasm building up inside you, closer and closer until you couldn't take it anymore. You let out a loud moan of pleasure, feeling the waves rush through your body as you finally succumbed to the desire that had been building up inside you.

 

"That's it, baby," Spencer said, his voice filled with triumph. "You're mine, every bit of you, and you'll never forget this moment."

 

You lay there, panting and sweating, feeling completely spent. Your body was trembling, your mind was still reeling from the sensations you had just experienced. You felt like you had been pushed to the limit and beyond, but you also knew that you had never felt more alive.

 

As you lay there, basking in the afterglow of your orgasm, you couldn't help but feel a sense of submission, a feeling of being completely under Spencer's control. You knew that you had begged for it, and you had enjoyed every moment of it.

 

Spencer leaned down and kissed your forehead, his breath warm against your skin. "That was incredible, baby. You'll always be my dirty little slut."

 

You couldn't help but smile, feeling a sense of pride in the role you had played in this scene. You knew that you had given him exactly what he wanted, and that feeling of power was exhilarating.

 

“Now I am going to go get some water, because that was intense.” You watched as Spencer got up to go get some water, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of awe and admiration for him.

 

You knew that Spencer was also going to need so aftercare, because that was his first time doing something like this, but you also knew you were going to have to drink before you could do anything.

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[ooffmlsorry]

Hold Me Closer

Law x reader

2.4k words, slow burn for a tumblr post i guess??

A/N: Law is such a touch-starved disaster in this god bless him. Don't worry...this is my last drunk post. I don't wanna accidentally promote alcoholism on this good Christian hellsite I just need to write my fav blorbo drunk and in love once and then I'm good.

CW: drinking, drunk behavior

"You know, for as smart as Law is you really can manipulate him into just about anything," Nami says. "He's no better than Luffy, as soon as you tell him he can't do something he has to go and try it."

"Huh?" You're drunk, and by the look of the Straw Hat's navigator significantly more so than her. (What are the Straw Hats' livers made out of? Steel?)

You follow your gaze to your captain, Trafalgar Law, and feel a giddy bubble of laughter make its way through you. "I'm just happy to see him cut loose for once," you say. From the looks of it he might actually be tipsy. Law’s cheeks are flushed a little and he’s talking animatedly about something. The shine in his eyes captivate you. 

Yeah, you're definitely feeling the effects if you're openly giggling at the sight of him.

Despite your last thought you take another sip of your drink. It stopped tasting sweet and sharp a while ago and is starting to taste more and more like I should be next to him.

"He's so beautiful when he's happy," you mutter.

"What?!" Nami presses her hand flush to her chest and turns to look at you. A mischievous grin passes over her tipsy face, "beautiful, huh?" She pokes your side playfully and giggles. "What's that supposed to mean?”

"Nothing!" You flinch away from her and drain your drink to quench your suddenly dry mouth. "You like seeing Luffy happy! It's the same thing!"

She laughs so loud and so hard she nearly falls out of her chair. "Oh yeah! Sure! But have you ever heard me call Luffy beautiful?"

At that exact moment you watch Luffy snort with laughter and shoot beer out of his nose. 

"Point taken.”

“He’s not my type, that’s for sure,” Nami says.

“No, your type is Alabastan princesses,” you tease back. 

“Hey!” Her ears pink a little more. “It’s not…” she stammers. “You know what! You’re getting me my next drink just for that!” She pushes her empty mug towards you. “Chop! Chop, Y/N! I’m thirsty!” 

You roll your eyes. It’s true all the Straw Hats are bossy in one way or another, no wonder they exhaust Law. You grab her mug and yours and head to the bar for another round.

Your eyes move back to where you last saw Law talking with someone, except he wasn’t there anymore. Where did he go? The room’s crowded with people talking and laughing, yelling and singing. Between the alcohol and another raucous round of Binx’s Sake sung across the banquet, it’s hard to focus. Did he leave already? Disappointment washed over you, but you weren’t surprised. That would be your captain, Trafalgar Law, ever restrained. 

You sighed. Hopefully he didn’t go back to the ship to get more work done. You fill up yours and Nami’s cup and start to head back to your seat. 

“You’re drinking poison, you know that Y/N-ya?” 

You nearly jump out of your skin at the hot breath against the shell of your ear. Then, you process what was said to you. Poison? Instinctively you reach for a weapon, and then remember you left it behind. 

“What? Law—” 

Barely have room to turn around, he’s standing so close to you. The flush in cheeks is darker than you realized and his dark eyes have lost some of their sharpness. A mischievous smirk plays upon his lips. “And you tell me I need to lighten up?” You’re not met with the level of seriousness you normally expect from your captain. “This,” he holds his mug up, only nearly sloshing its contents, “is poison. It’s the ethanol. That’s what slows you down, it’s not all that different from slowly poisoning yourself.” He puts the cup up to his lips and tips it back. You watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, the muscles of his neck visible to you until they disappear into his collar bones. You wish you could run your fingers down the column of his throat and watch goosebumps rise in your wake. If he would even have anyone.

It must be the drinks. That’s the only reason you can think of to explain why you want to place your hand there and feel his skin. To touch him. 

“Neither of us should be drinking this, Y/N-ya,” he says. There’s no sterness in his tone like he would if he was lecturing you, in fact, you realize your captain’s likely joking with you…in his own way. 

“Well, sometimes you have to die a little to live a little.” You wink at him. 

Law’s lips part a little and his eyes widen. “I–You–” He looks away from you and takes another sip. “That’s your justification? Ridiculous.”

“It sure is!” You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you take a small step closer, deciding to tease him a little. After all, he started it first by sneaking up on you, “what’s yours?”   

Law stares at you—speechless. 

“You’re something else, you know that?” You don’t have time to hide your laughter except behind your hand. “You don’t need to justify yourself, Law. I’m just happy you’re here!” 

Warmth spreads across your captain’s face. It travels up to the tips of his ears which look crimson next to his spotted white hat and down his chest to the heart tattoo that rests there. For a moment you fixate on his skin, the ink swirling across it, the blood pumping underneath, a sign that he’s alive and solid, standing in front of you. Curiosity rears its untameable head, how can you know he’s solid if you’ve never touched him? A missing piece of Law sits in front of you and you want. 

“Just don’t drink too much,” he says quickly and side steps to walk around you. 

You watch him go, shaking your head with a smile. “I would say, hope he does the same, but it’d be funny if he didn’t.” 

“Y/N!!” Nami calls. “Where’s my drink!?”

“Coming!” 

Later…

Oh yeah, you’ve done it now. Somewhere between fruitlessly trying to keep up with Nami, drowning your thoughts of Law, and enjoying the party, you’re certain you’ve overdone it…and you’ve only accomplished the latter. 

“That’s enough or I’m gonna die,” you stand up and your head swims. You use the chair you were sitting in to stablize yourself. 

“Boo!” Shachi says weakly. Although his head is resting on the table, barely awake.

“Yeah, Boo!” Nami repeats.“Who’s gonna watch me drain your crew of all their money?!” 

 You shrug,“Bepo will.”

The first mate of the Heart Pirates was laid out on the floor asleep. 

“Any chance you know where Law is?” 

“Last I saw him, he went outside,” Penguin says. He grins and laughs a little before slipping out of his chair with a thud.

Safe to say the Heart Pirates were a crew of light weights. 

You stumble toward the door that leads out to the balcony. Outside the night air is cold enough to send a shiver through you, but Penguin didn’t send you out there for nothing. Law is sitting with his legs between the balcony bars, his head leaning on another. In the light of paper lanterns you saw his hand moving in quick small movements. Next to him sat an empty bottle of umeshu.

“Either you’re jacking off out here or you’re working. Only one of those things would be disappointing to me,” you say. In the back of your mind you know you’d never say something like that out loud but alcohol makes your lips loose. 

The sound Law makes is less than controlled as he jerks a book shut and sits on it. “NEVER SAY THAT AGAIN!”  

You start laughing and fall down next to him unceremoniously, nearly landing flat on your back. “I’m sorry, captain! I couldn’t–I couldn’t help myself!” you howl with laughter. “Please! I didn’t–the joke was just right there!” 

You hear Law grumble-slur something, but he’s either too drunk or too tired to get up and leave you because he stays where he is. 

“I mean it,” you say, catching your breath. “I am sorry. I just came out here to tell you I think the party’s dying down. You can come inside if you want to. It’s only supposed to get colder tonight.” 

“I will when I’m ready,” Law slurs. 

“As always,” you sigh heavily. “I’ve learned to stop expecting you to do something just because I think it’s a good idea

That wins you a brief smile from your captain, a rarity, surely brought out of him by the drink alone. “You…you can stay,” he says quietly. “If you’d like to. I don’t care either way. Really, I don’t. ” 

Normally, you’d at least begin to believe him, but you know your captain…and he’s already draped half of his long blue coat around you. The scent cologne and antiseptic envelope you. 

“You probably should’ve said that before you put your coat around me, Law.” 

He tenses for a moment. The brim of his hat hides his eyes. “Forgive me, Y/N-ya I’m being ridiculous,” he mumbles.

So shy! 

“I was going to stay anyway,” you say, before he can pull away. “And thank you, I’m probably chillier than I know.” 

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while connected only by this moment and Law’s coat draped over both of you. You can feel the warmth radiating from his arm, his side, his thigh, all nearly touching you. 

“Did you have a good time?” 

“As long as I don’t remember any of this tomorrow, you can tell me I did.” 

“Good!” You chirp. “I’ll take it!” 

Law picks up the bottle and takes a long pull. “Did you?” 

“Yup! It’s the first party I’ve been to in a long time. Actually, I haven’t been to any, but that’s another story from before…well, everything.” 

Law snorts, but he doesn’t turn back to leaning his head on the guard bars, instead he stares at you with an expression close to contentment. “Good,” he says. 

Your faces stay a few inches from each other. There’s an eyelash resting on his cheek, just out of your reach and before you can think you gently cup your captain’s face and swipe the eyelash away. 

In an instant he’s solid. Smooth skin and bone rest just below your fingertips. And somehow, despite the sharp angles of Law’s face all you feel is softness and warmth against your skin. To your surprise he doesn’t move away. 

“I’m sorry, you just had an eyelash…” You go to pull your hand back and Law catches your wrist in a grip that’s nearly too tight.

His eyes flutter as he rests his face in your hand. “It feels so nice,” he says. He doesn’t stop you when you slide your fingers up his sideburns into the silky spikes of his hair. You remove his hat and place it beside him. 

Contact between you and Law has been minimal, even after you explained your devil fruit only works on inanimate objects. You think he’s been especially cautious around you not to touch you–even if by accident. Touch doesn’t come easy to you, unconsciously building a wall between yourself and others, with Law being the same that wall felt doubly thick. Only to come crashing down over drinks and an errant eyelash. Touching Law plugs a hole dug out of both want and curiosity that you’ve been ignoring.

Law leans into you as if being pulled down by magnetism until he’s almost on top of you. Your thumb settles behind his ear along the nape of his neck and rubs back and forth slowly. 

You look down at him, his eyes shut and lips barely parted. If it weren’t for the fingers working up the back of your shirt, you’d think he was asleep. Law’s hand stops at the small of your back, resting there like a warm patch. It feels so utterly right having the captain of the Heart Pirates in your arms, as if holding Law was one of the many things they were made for. 

Honesty takes over you. “I think I like being close to you, Law. It feels…warm…good,” you speak softly. If you could be like this all the time you wouldn’t complain. You receive a throaty rumble in response, not unlike a purring animal. “You must be drunk,” you chuckle.

“Extremely.” 

You’re not sure if you feel like you’re spinning from all the alcohol or because of this moment with Law. Eventually you begin to hum softly, and sleep begins to take hold of you. 

“Y/N-ya,” you hear Law say groggily. 

You hum a sound in response to show you’re still awake to listen to him. Law’s arms tighten around you and you understand instantly what he won’t let himself say. Against both your better judgment you drift off to sleep together on the balcony.  

The Next Morning…

Law awakens to dawn’s blinding sun and a pounding headache. His mouth feels cottony and his stomach roils in a way that doesn’t immediately threaten vomit but could. The second thing he takes in is that he’s outside; he never made it to his bed or any bed for that matter. And third, you. 

You’re still asleep, your chin nearly touching your chest and soft snore escaping you with every exhale. You don’t stir as he pulls himself away from you. The realization that he slept on you rocks through him. The sun’s barely risen and his heart’s already racing.

What did I do? 

He rubs at his eyes and scrubs a hand through his hair. Where’s my hat? He quickly finds it and pulls the brim down low enough to block the sun. 

Law takes off his jacket and covers you with it, only when he’s wrapped it around your shoulders do you grumble and smack your lips sleepily. “Don’t worry, Law. All’s good, had fun,” you mumble. 

He freezes. Out of everything he thought you would say, reassuring him didn’t cross his mind. 

Your eyes crack open just enough to look at his stunned face. “Yesterday’s already forgotten.” Loose limbed, you make a sealed lips gesture as if to say your secret's safe with me. 

Law stands and grabs his journal. He takes one more glance at you and feels butterflies flutter from his stomach up to his chest. That's the second time he's felt safe around you, he notes. It's information he chooses to ignore.

#i really loved writing this lol #it's the way he tries to flirt with you by sneaking up on you #god he's so clueless I love him #one piece #law x reader #law one piece #trafalgar law #law x y/n

[gentlebeardsbarngrill]

01/15/2024 Crew Recap

Hey all, today has been a very very very long day. I’m typing this with my eyeballs glazed over and half open. However, so much has happened in such a little amount of time I wanted share a few things before I pass out I know a lot of you are in different timezones, are busy with life, and taking a break, so maybe this will help with parsing through some of the crazy stuff the crew has been up to.

The petition hit 50K, and is at 52.5K at the moment

Fundraisers: I didn’t even realize there were two different fundraisers for Palestine/Gaza going on but we blew both out of the water. (Note: the second picture is from a November campaign but I think its just as important to highlight— ty for the correction anon!)

The Emmys hashtag turn out was great tonight. There was some pretty amazing and creative stuff going on across all the platforms. Some can be seen on IG, but if you wanna see the majority of it, check out twitter #SaveOFMD #75thEmmys

---We have new ways of protesting and advocating for our show, see here for the thread on tumblr (from twitter):---

And to support that @saltpepperbeard was kind enough to put together a wonderful guide on how to Call It Through as a Crew: Alleviating Some Phone Anxiety which as someone who is socially anxious and sometimes verbally vomits on people when on the phone, is AMAZING and thank you so much for doing that to help.

-- > There is also this new thread on some new places to call into. Don't quote me on that being an official thing we should do, I'm sure @renewasacrew and others will have more in the AM, I just wanted to share it so people could follow if they wanted to.

------------------

New Articles!

Our Flag Means Death: Here’s why season three deserves to be aired

Petition to save BBC show with rare Rotten Tomatoes score gets 50,000 signatures

------------------

There's so much more that's happened today-- but I can't write it all down because my brain is couscous.

<---So instead, I'm going to use this last part to gush over you all and your amazing contributions in all your unique ways. The community support the last few days has been SO INCREDIBLY UPLIFTING.-->

I saw (and experienced) people reblogging asks where random followers, anons, and mutuals just reached out and sent love because they could tell people were struggling.

I've seen comments all over the place on Tumblr, IG, Twitter, and Facebook where each and every person is encouraging each other to speak their mind, or complimenting their artwork, encouraging them if they were feeling uncomfortable with things outside their comfort zones, coming up with new and exciting ways to fight back, people reaching out to the cast/crew just to say hi and remind them we love them.

I've seen Self-Care checkpoints all over, reminding people to drink water, take a break, block your notifications for a while, not engaging in negative behavior.

I've seen people being so nice on instagram posts that the people who were being dicks about all our comments turned around and decided to watch OFMD!

I saw so many people doing new analysis of scenes and characters, and having really deep and friendly discussions that make everyone think in new ways.

I saw people digging through old tumblrs to bring life back to old posts and artwork.

I saw so much NEW artwork, new FICS! New GIFS! So much new art and love!

I could literally go on and on, but I've just...I had to dump this out of my brain otherwise I'd explode. I've just seen so much today that continues to make me so proud of our little safe space ship and so happy to be apart of this community.

You all continue to be the best of the best of humans, and I am so very grateful to get to witness and be apart of it. Rest up lovelies and have a good day / night, wherever you may be. May you dream of sexy middle-aged gay men kissing, or hugging, or whatever else you want them to be getting into.

#ofmd #our flag means death #stede bonnet #gentlebeard #edward teach #renew as a crew #rhys darby #blackbonnet #save our flag means death #save ofmd #ofmd s3 #renew our flag means death #renew ofmd #ofmd daily recap

[body-face-words]

Let's look into "Maybe I should've married Michael Sheen" and "And he's my lover!"

Thank you @killerqueen-82 for providing the links!

I made gifs of these two instances slowed down and zoomed in to see them better, but tumblr is not letting me upload them so here they are.

Starting with David:

In the video, you can see him think, staring off for a split second and answering with 'maybe I should have married Michael sheen.

He pushes himself back, resting on the chair, shuffles, and crosses his legs. In previous interviews, he crosses his legs because he's getting comfortable and shuffling around. That's normal for him, but when we take his face into account, this action has more meaning behind it.

He's aware of what he's saying and probably thinks he's said too much. His lips are pursed, eyes opens, brows raised as leans away while crossing his legs.

His eyes are wide with a serious look on his face. His mouth is in a straight line, with the corners horizontal. This wasn't meant to be funny or a joke. Like in other events, he shuts himself off before anymore comes out.

The wide opened eyes are because he's (consciously or unconsciously) trying to watchout for any threats/danger OR trying to get his point across (look into my eyes, I'm saying the truth). His leg crossed and arm went in front of him in a defensive position. I don't think he was protecting himself from the audience or the person next to him. It's most likely something personal. Shielding himself from what he said because he feels vulnerable.

David then looks down, takes a breathe in trying to soothe himself, thinks and continues with his answer.

Overall, Davids reaction to his answer is of caution. It was not a joke or something he found amusing/funny. It's something that made him feel vulnerable in some way, yet decided to say it anyways.

This takes place from 7:15 - 7:29

Michael is more telling on his face than body. His legs/feet shuffle, plays/grips the bottle cap.

Outright, he is ticked off about not knowing this information.

Michael during this section of the interview, snaps his head 4 times in total. This action is usually done when anger, disbelief, or astonishment is felt out if nowhere.

For example, when someone tells you information about your bestest friend in the world that you had no idea about. You'll probably be confused as to why your best friend didn't share that with you, then maybe be annoyed/pissed off that they didn't.

Michaels last smile is fake. It's stiff and his movements, especially his head, are sharp and snappy. His cheeks don't reach his eyes, causing them to become smaller which means a forced smile was made. When he first looks off, his thinking with a smile, then second before"he never mentioned that" his smile stiffens and falls. His instant reaction was think and put a good face on.

When he says "and he's my lover" Michael grips the bottle cap he has in his left hand. Not knowing this information really did throw him off. After stating the David is his lover, Michael takes a drink from his water. It could be that he was thirsty or unconsciously stopping himself from talking. Drink or eating is also something done to calm ourselves down, whether we're aware of it or not.

Michaels tone is playful and, the best way I can describe it is stiff/rigid. Playing it off and not making a big deal. The body flinch (an instant reaction done usually without thinking) at the end is kind if like a kid when they say "its mine!" and stop their foot or shake their arms up and forth. Or it could also be disbelief "He's my lover! Why didn't he mention this?"

Edit: I forgot to mention! The knee squeeze has different meaning - excitement, control of energy, and (this next one doesn't apply to Michael here but I'll include it) nervousness/protection.

Neither of them, from my point of view and analysis, neither was joking about what they stated.

David was serious and his micro expressions and body language only transmitted seriousness and defensiveness while Michael was more ticked and trying to play it off.

Neither of them took the idea of being in a relationship with the other as a joke or something to amuse other people. Perhaps Michael waa trying to play it off as a joke, but it makes me doubt with how personal he took this.

#david tennant #michael sheen #im baCk

[thelastofhyde]

you cut your hair, and take some space.

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 1 of 2 !

warnings. no use of y/n, age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, officer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, so much crying ( reader spends half her time crying over javi p which is honestly a mood ), violence, undetailed depictions of sa ( not javi ), smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 15k

hyde’s input. this was written over the course of four months and could easily be used in court to prove i am, in fact, unequivocally in love with one mr. javier peña. if you take the time to read it, just know i appreciate it so much. i really poured my heart and soul into this and, as someone who's been writing for years, it's been so long since i've written something so self-indulgent that's brought me nothing but joy to write. as the fic has surpassed 30k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it, i've decided to post it in two parts. part two will be posted within the following weeks.

(it'a nearly 4 am as i post this, please look the other way at any typos or editing errors.)

“i told you, corazón mia (my heart),” he can't meet your eyes. “made it clear from the start i wasn't looking for anything serious.” “i know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “but if it wasn't serious, why'd you treat me like it was?”

I cut my nose to save some face You cut your hair and take some space.

The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.

Where there are usually your eyes, there’s a discoloured splotch of brown. A crack runs down the left of what should be your face. Someone’s taken it upon themselves to draw a cartoon penis just where your mouth is. But in your drunken haze and laser focus, you don’t care enough to notice. All you see is the spot where your nose is, a tiny ball of silver nestled just above your right nostril.

It’s something new to fidget with.

On the flip side, it stings like a bitch. Or, more appropriately, like the tequila shots that led you to this run-down tattoo parlour.

You wonder if, come the morning and mental clarity, you’ll regret it.

If you do, you’ll blame him.

Your night was going fine. Good, even. And, with a lack of good nights in the recent week, that was an accomplishment.

You’d dressed up, let loose, had fun. A friend on either arm and a drink close at hand, you’d giggled and gossiped your way through this impromptu girls’ night.

They’d ambushed you, in a way, forced their way through the barricade of tissues and take-out boxes into your apartment. A skimpy dress tossed at your head and four hands dragging you, limb by limb, into the shower.

Get some dinner, hit the town, get fucked up. That was the plan they set out for you.

You skipped dinner, dove head-first into the town.

You were careful all night to never speak of him.

One part fearful it would summon him, another part embarrassed to admit just who you’d gotten tangled up in. A third part, tucked away in a locked closet, ready to do it all over again.

And then it happened.

You didn’t say his name, no.

Not aloud.

You thought it, for just a second, hearing the person beside you at the bar order the same drink you’d watched him nurse time after time. It wasn’t him but, instead, a man far too short and a clean-cut kind of handsome to even begin to compare to the ex-agent.

But it was enough to make you want to leave.

Giving up your space, you’d made your way back to your girls and made up some little white lie, surprised neither of them called you out on it- what kind of bar doesn’t have white wine?

They left to find someplace with wine, you left to find some peace of mind.

The bar they dragged you into was familiar, the setting of many of your father’s stories. It only took you walking through the door, tugging down the dress-too-short, to hear your name called across the floor.

“Hey kiddo!” Your dad’s a tell-tale kind of drunk, his eyes giving away even the smallest sip of alcohol he has. He was just tipsy, scooting his way out of a tattered booth to wrap you up in his arms. It felt as nice as it did guilt-inducing, knowing you’d been avoiding his calls all week since The Incident. A punishment to yourself more than one aimed at him. “You here yourself? Could join us for the night, if you like. Ain’t that right, boys?”

It was only then that you’d realised two men were sat within the booth, collars undone and ties loosened after a week’s work.

There were usually three of them.

"We’re just waiting on Peña." Oh god, it makes you feel sick. Heart in your throat, stomach at your feet. His name no longer feels real, not when spoken by anyone but you.

“And raising bets on his tardiness,” one of your father’s friends said. You recognised him from a few of the barbecues and Christmas parties your dad's thrown. He's nice, responsible. Married, to a woman his own age. “I’m saying he’s chasing some tail. God knows he could use some stress relief. Boy’s been wound up all week, nearly bit my head off for asking him about some files."

It’s a wonder none of the three men- one a retired lawyer, the other two members of the force- noticed the blood drain from your face.

“My guess is he’s pulled some muscle in his back and can’t get himself out of bed,” a nudge from your father’s elbow, delivered straight to your ribs. “Whatcha think, kiddo?”

You didn’t have an answer.

You didn’t get to give an answer.

“You need to quit speaking ‘bout me like you’re not a whole decade my senior, viejo (old man),” it came from behind you and threatened you to look. Like the foolish final-girl in a slasher, you ignored your basic instincts and glanced over your shoulder.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you know what you were hoping for.

Tired eyes, chewed lips, unkempt facial hair. A twitch of sadness drawn between his brows and the stains of cigarette ash on a worn-out suit.

Javier Peña was none of that.

The suit, grey. One that fit him all too well and had you wishing you could stain it with your drink.

The signature moustache, perfectly groomed, sitting perched above the bow of his pouty lips, rosy-red and fresh for picking.

His eyes have always given him away but, staring down at you in that moment, they read only as passive, unaffected.

It was like, nothing.

And, yes, that’s what you’d asked for- from now on, whenever you see me, can you at least pretend that none of this happened?

But he's smart enough to know you didn't mean it, right?

“Hey officers, sorry to interrupt but,” a hand curled around your arm. It tugged and you let yourself be inched away from heavy brown eyes and your father’s smile. “She’s ours for the night. We’re going clubbing!”

That was never part of the plan.

Neither was skipping dinner, though.

You caught the back of him as you were dragged away, some pleading from your father to take it easy and call me in the morning, and noticed it only then.

His hair, freshly cut.

“‘S getting too long,” a mumbled sort of thing, hidden in your neck, spoken against your pulse. A kiss placed upon it, and then another for extra measure. Fingers dragging through his hair, ridding him of the knots your very same hands had worked into them an hour of passionate touching ago. “Lo sé (I know).”

A pause of silence. The blissful moan birthed from nails on his scalp. And, then, “no. It’s nice, I like it.”

That puppy-dog stare, so particular to the cool-down moments between you, meets your own, chin propped up on your sternum. He’s sweet like this, honeyed skin and pleasant smiles.

“Yeah?” He asks, like he even needs to. “You like it, corazón (sweetheart)?” You opt for a hummed confirmation, finger tracing over the arch of his nose. “Guess I better keep it this way, then.”

Now he’s gone and chopped the overgrown curls off.

In a way, it feels like he’s cut you off with them.

We don’t speak cause it’s too tricky But if I’m tricky, why’d you kiss me?

The next time you see him, a wedding is taking place.

He sits on the groom’s side, you sit on the bride’s.

It feels unreasonable to be surprised by his presence. Why wouldn’t he be here, sitting four rows from the back, at his cousin’s brother-in-law’s wedding?

The bride is gorgeous, the groom is in tears. The priest drones on a little too long.

Somewhere between the exchanging of vows, and the ceremonial kissing, and the cheering of guests, your instincts get the better of you and you glance back at him.

He’s already staring right back, eyes ignited with something that weakens your knees and shakes your confidence. The newlyweds walk down the aisle, cut through your line of sight. He’s still staring at you when they’ve passed.

The reception takes place in the events room of some glammed-up hotel, the kind you can barely afford the one night you’re booked in for.

An open bar, a local band. The catering is tasteful, handpicked by the couple, and the table you feast at is so far away from his that you don’t get that chance to see if he chose the chicken or the beef.

You find a friend behind the bar, in the shape of a bottle and toothpick-impaled olives.

You dance till your feet hurt, slip away to your table, take off your heels. You’re back on the dance floor in time to catch the bouquet, too busy basking in the envy of the other women to notice his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.

If it weren’t for the dent in your bank account made by the room you booked, you’d gladly dance away the whole night. But if a bed with a view costs double your rent, you’ll be damned if you don’t get to sleep in it.

So you stumble to the elevator.

Clutch your heels and flowers to your chest, struggle to remember your floor number. The fifth floor seems to ring a bell, but it might’ve been the eighth floor. Your room key! Maybe, you hope, that’ll have your floor number on it. You struggle with your purse’s zipper, trying your best to pry it open.

You succeed, but at what cost? Heels and bouquet tumble to the floor, thumping and clunking as they knock against it, flower petals falling loose.

You try to bend down, stretch your fingers out to grasp the clasps, seize the stems. A wave of exhaustion mixed with too much alcohol washes over you and you stand up straight again. Take a calming breath, do a little song and dance before reaching down again.

“Déjame. (Let me.)”

Scuffed shoes come into view as you’re halfway down, bent at the waist and holding your balance with one arm against a wall. You stand up straight, too fast, lose your balance and stumble forward.

He catches you.

For a moment, it feels like you’ve never left his arms.

“C’mon, let’s get you to your room.” You hate the way he ends his sentence, no term of endearment and no impure intentions.

He asks for your floor, you give him your key. He punches the number into the elevator and it shakes to life.

Neither one of you makes an attempt to part. There’s a chance he pulls you closer to him. You let yourself melt, regardless, muscles relaxing and sinking into his arms.

He’s still warm. He’s still steady. but his cologne’s different and it makes your eyes sting.

You’d warned him he was about to run out of his signature bottle, made a note to buy him another one for his birthday or Christmas, whichever came first.

“You look like you had fun,” he rasps out, eventually, as the elevator slips past the fifth floor.

“I did,” you tell a partial truth. You would have had more fun, if he’d stood at your side, ate at your table, danced in your arms. But you can’t say that, because he doesn’t want that.

“I’m glad.”

It turns out your floor is the ninth. He’s careful to guide you out the mobile-box, hand on your hip, pressing you to his side. Your heels dangling from one of his fingers and the bouquet gripped in his palm, smacking against his thigh every other step. A little down the hall and there you find it, your precious and expensive home for the night.

It’s easier to let him open the door, he tells you.

It’s easier to let him guide you to bed, you tell yourself.

Dropping the heels on the floor, he disappears out of your line of sight and you stare motionless at the ceiling above, buzzing in your brain and pain in your heart.

You’ve never shared a space like this with him, one that’s hollow and decayed. The shell of a creature that’s long abandoned it, grown too big for its home.

Your eyes sting all over again, this time enough to brim with unfallen tears.

A thud against the nightstand.

You roll onto your side and find he’s still here, a glass of water and some painkillers lay to rest at your bedside. The first tear gives way, running down your cheek and dropping to the crisp white sheets below. Even more fall as he raises a damp cloth to your face, wiping away smudged mascara and bringing your lips back to their natural colour.

The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.

Fingertips drag down each inch of skin released as he unzips the back of your dress, tugging it down and folding it by your heels. The weight off your chest helps you breathe as he unhooks your bra. Left only in your underwear, the sheets ruffle as he drags them up your tired limbs and tucks them under your chin.

“Get in bed, please,” you plead like you have any right to ask that of him. “Javi.”

It’s the first time you’ve said his name since that night in May. His shoulders tense and release, his fingers smooth down his moustache. He looks like he’s going to fulfil your request, slip in behind you and wrap you up in his soft but steady embrace.

He looks like he wants to.

His back cracks as he bends down and presses a kiss.

Against your forehead, lips that linger.

Then, he stands up straight and walks out the door.

On the forehead, way up north Pressed the scar and found the source

Vermont, ‘98.

That’s where it all began.

Your dad, turning fifty.

Javi just hit forty.

It was someone in the station who had the wild idea they celebrate it together. The sheriff and the station’s rookie- really, a hardened, inching-out-of-a-fresh-retirement former DEA agent your father manipulated back into the force, some promise of a light workload and a hefty pension. With no need for money, you wonder why he ever accepted the offer.

Plans were set, money was put in a pot, and a wheel of fortune was spun. It landed on the northern state, a downpayment to rent a ski lodge placed within a matter of twenty-four hours.

Somewhere along the way, you’d been roped into joining this boys-only trip. Your dad argued you needed a break from studying. Your mother argued there needed to be a responsible adult to supervise your dad. and, well, a free holiday never hurt nobody, right?

Wrong.

The final evening, with a constant pounding of a hangover never-quite-nursed, a litter of bruises down your back from falling and a firmly closed chapter on any possible career as a ski prodigy you may have had, you trailed your way down to the only bar in the tiny ski town.

Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.

A half-drank glass of cabernet, an empty plate.

Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.

The cheer of a frat-boy out in the wild warrants the same response as hearing a lion’s roar in the dark of the Saharan night.

The kind you hear them before you see them, spilling through the door in their obnoxious jerseys and their face-painted cheeks. one wore the badge of honour, a giant Soon To Be shackled Married printed poorly onto the back of his jersey.

You put your head down, breathed more subtly.

The pride stormed their way over to the bar, pounding their fists onto the surface and gnashing their teeth, spit spilling down their mouth as they brutally tore into the bartender, demanding pints of beer and rounds of shots.

The key was to avoid eye contact, keep low and out of sight.

They dispersed through the area, sniffing out free booths and the occasional local to irritate out of their seats.

One of them found the jukebox and wasted his coin on blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. The group of older women playing bingo scowled and made their way out of the joint, calling it for the night.

You got up to follow suit, hands slowly packing up your belongings and slinging your bag over your back.

Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.

“Woo! Look at you,” just as you were close to slipping out the door, a single member of the pack spotted you, prowling his way over. He already had his chest puffed out by the time you turned around. “Ain’t seen an ass like that since we left the city!”

Hardly charming. Tame, compared to other things frat boys have said to you.

“Why don’cha come join me and my buddies over there?” He nodded back at them, like they weren’t the obnoxious centres of everyone’s attention.

You were not scared of him, exactly. But you’ve seen where things can go. Heard about it, countless times, from your own father.

So you spoke with caution, gripping your bag a little tighter, “thanks, but I’ve got an early flight. Have a nice night-” He told you his name, like you cared. “Yeah, thanks, bye.”

And then you were stepping out into the quiet of the night.

Fresh air, cold enough to sting your lungs. You breathed it in like it was going out of fashion.

You barely got a moment to compose yourself before that grating voice was back in your ears.

“Oh don’t be a buzzkill!” He whined, you cringed. Took a step back, watched him move an inch. “It’s early, stay. Have a drink.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“To have fun?! C’mon, it’s too cold to be out here by yourself.”

“I have an early flight.”

“It’s just one drink, sweetheart. I ain’t asking you to sign your life away.”

A couple bumped past you both, weaved their way between you. His eyes trailed after them, your feet twisted around, carrying you away from him slowly, carefully. Best not to make yourself look like prey, not to this predator.

“Hey!” He called after you. Your steps sped up. “Where you going, sweetheart?”

It didn’t even matter that you were walking in the opposite direction of the ski lodge. You told yourself you would find your way back, once this lion was off your back.

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”

The lion pounced, sank his claws into your back and ripped through you.

Your hand flew out to break your fall, the contents of your bag spilling out onto the sidewalk.

Pain, the kind that stings. It nipped at your knees, and your hands, and your eyes. Pushed it down, pulled yourself up.

He froze, maybe surprised at his own actions, maybe waiting on the chance to pounce once more, this time with his fangs instead of his claws.

You wouldn’t give him the chance. Filled your bag, collected your senses and ran.

It was tricky on frozen ground, trying so hard to not look back.

He followed and you knew it, heard it. Roaring and growling, chasing you down streets you’d never walked.

You slipped, momentarily, slammed into a wall. A crossroads, go right or go left.

You don’t remember which direction you turned.

“Quit running, you bitch!”

He was still following, how was he still following?

Caving in, you glanced over your shoulder and saw the blurry figure of him running after you.

He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.

You came to a screeching halt, body smacking into something solid. Eyes shut, mind alive. You feared the worst, hoped for the best, expected to open your eyes and find yourself trapped in a dead-end, nowhere to run from this predator.

Instead, you heard your name. Called softly, at first. Gentle, coaxing you to pay attention. The second time it was more urgent, worried and aggressive. You sank deeper into the wall, felt your feet shuffle on the gravel below.

“...Gotta let me know, nena,” the wall pulled you back from it, a firm grasp on your forearms. Your eyes opened and met his. “Fucking Christ, look at the state of you.”

You’d not known much about Javier Peña at the start of the trip.

Your dad had mentioned something about a family ranch. Your mom let it slip that he’d enjoyed the pumpkin pie she’d brought to the station’s Thanksgiving feast.

There’d been one time you’d caught the end of a conversation between him and your dad. Nothing concrete, just some shameful mutterings about Colombia and Los Pepes. You’d left once you heard your dad start to comfort the man, deciding your intruding on the moment had already gone too far.

You now knew he liked his whiskey, no ice. His coffee, no milk. His bread, no butter.

He didn’t like the mess of mixing things, and you had to wonder if it had always been this way. Or had he learned his lesson, the hard way? Mixed the wrong things, burnt his own blessings?

“You’re bleeding,” he announced it, fresh news for you.

A pleasant warmth thrummed through your veins as he took hold of your hand, inspecting it under his scrutiny.

His thumb swiped over your palm.

Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.

He held you in place.

Something visceral shifted in him, enough to coax you to glance at him.

He was looking past you, eyes a deadly killer stalking their prey. You followed their line of sight and found the lion at the end of the street. Standing still, arms at his side, eyes a little wider than you remembered them. You’d not really been looking, in the first place.

The former agent twisted you behind him, an effortless shield. Took an urgent step toward the frat boy, and then another three.

You grasped at his sleeve and tugged him back, didn’t let him stray too far.

“I’m fine,” you lied. He didn’t believe you, furrowing his brow. “I’m just cold.”

He seemed to hesitate, softened by a tremble in your voice.

He glanced back to see the lion was retreating, staggering his way back to the pride of frat boys. A perfect opportunity for him to attack, from behind and unexpectedly.

“Leave it, he’s not-” The sting in your eye got the best of you and a tear tracked itself down your cheek. You wiped it away with your scraped hand, leaving behind a smear of gravel and blood. “It’s not worth it.”

You said it not for the agent’s sake, but the boy’s.

The agent puffed out a breath of frustration, then followed your plea. Turned back to you, licked his thumb and swiped off the dirt on your cheek. Pulled you in, against him once more, and pressed a deliberate kiss against your forehead.

It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.

He did it because that seemed to be in his nature: to nurture.

“C’mon, the lodge is this way,” he pointed in some direction.

You didn’t bother paying attention, more than willing to follow wherever he led.

“Put this on.” It was not posed as an option, not when the agent tugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.

Somewhere along the path, you realised you’d lost your key to your cabin. Your dad carried the other.

Officer Peña offered to take you to him, drinking down in the ski lodge’s bar with the rest of the men.

You shook your head, told him your dad couldn’t see you in that state.

He took you back to his own cabin instead.

Cleaned up your hands, put on the fire, poured you a drink.

Then fucked you into his bed, till you clawed and sobbed around him.

If you don’t love me, Why’d you act it?

Late june brings nothing but gloom.

You get bored quick, no college to fill your days. Pick up extra shifts, hope to combat the empty feeling in your chest with the rush hour traffic that torpedoes it’s way through the cafe.

Friends invite you out, you rarely go. They tease you’re becoming a recluse, and that just makes you want to shut yourself in even more.

Tonight, you’re appeasing them.

Some line dance event, downtown in a bar that’s only gimmick seems to be a worn-down mechanical bull. It’s missing a horn and no one seems to know why.

Truth be told, you don’t want to go.

You want to stuff your face with take-out while you melt into your couch, watching reruns of the first season of Friends and drooling over Joey till you forget about another smooth-talking, raven haired man.

Here you are instead, fighting against the cheesy cowgirl hat till it sits on your head correctly.

In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.

The clock sits at eight forty-seven.

They’re 2 minutes late.

You give up, decide to pretend you want the hat this way. Slip on your jacket, do a sweep around your apartment: windows locked, flat iron off, fridge closed. Grabbing your purse, you unzip it and wrestle around in it’s contents, searching for your keys.

You pull on something and- it’s a pack a gum.

Dive back in, search again.

An empty tube of lipbalm.

Third time’s a charm, you think, and try once more. Something scratches your fingers, coaxes you to tug it out and inspect it.

A broken earring.

A familiar car honk’s outside, you stay frozen in place, staring at the broken hoop and counting one, two, three.

Bile burns the back of your throat.

He opens on the fifth knock.

Any other night, he practically rips the door off it’s hinges and tugs you in, before you can so much as raise your fist for a second knock.

Maybe he was busy, on the toilet or on the phone. You don’t think too much into it.

He steps aside, lets you in. Stands so far away, it’s hard to read his eyes.

The air’s uncomfortably quiet.

You think’s it’s all in your head, self-doubt at an all time high after a bad day.

“My earring snapped today,” there’s a growing pit in your stomach, just from staring at him. He looks so distant, not present. Mind a galaxy away. "Your favourite ones, too. You know, the little hoops with-”

“The hearts dangling from them.” He finishes, on your behalf, and it’s the first green flag you see. Green enough to lull yourself into a faux calm.

The silence returns.

You rock backwards on your heels, glance around the apartment. Try to find what has changed, because this no longer feels like the place you’ve grown so familiar with. And neither does the man observing you from a distance, hands glued to his sides.

He should be touching you by now, in any way he could: his foot bumping against yours under his dining table, his hand trailing patterns over your shoulders as you settle into his side on the couch, his tongue delving between your folds as you lay splayed out on his sheets.

You notice his bedroom door is shut.

It’s never been shut before.

“Is- Am I-” You don’t have to find the words, but the courage to speak them. “Do you have someone over?”

He blinks, slowly.

It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.

“Because if you do, that’s fine!” It’s not. “I understand,” You don’t.

He doesn’t answer.

You keep talking.

“Totally chill, I’ll comeback some other night. Or, you can just come by mine! Yeah, actually, that sounds better. Won’t risk interrupting again-”

“This needs to stop.”

You don’t have to question it.

You do, anyway.

“What?”

“Us. This-” He’s pointing between you both, a little haphazardly. It’s like he’s rushing to get the words out, get it over with. Get you out his apartment. “Thing we’re doing. It’s done.”

“I don’t underst-”

He cuts you off with your name. “Why’d you come here tonight?”

He’s stern.

Not in the way that makes you want to bend to his will and indulge in all his sins. But in a way that makes you feel dirty, wrong. A child scorned for touching fire and getting themselves burnt.

“I,” you’re beginning to wish there was someone else in his bed, so she could stroll out of his room in one of his stupidly soft shirts and interrupt this conversation. “Uh, I had a bad day.”

“Okay,” he nods. Smooths a hands over his chin, pops out his hip. “What’s that got anything to do with me?”

Everything, you want to tell him.

For every single thing that went wrong throughout your day, seeing Javi gave you something to look forward to.

“I just thought-”

“You thought, what?” His face twists up, just like your insides. He’s angry and you’re the one to blame. “This isn’t a- I’m not your boyfriend.”

I know, you mouth.

Because you do know. Repeat it to yourself all the time.

When he calls to make sure you got home safe.

When you sneak off to pee in the middle of the night and are welcomed back to bed with a forceful tug into his chest, a sleepy, gruffed out ‘where’d you go?’ whispered into your neck.

When he picks up on the things you say, remembers silly things like your favourite toilet paper brand and the exact milk to cereal ratio you enjoy.

Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.

So why does he act like it?

“Look, kid, you’re young, and I know-”

Kid.

That makes you angry.

He wasn’t calling you kid when he bent you over your parents’ bathroom counter.

“Don’t call me kid.”

“And I know,” he pushes through your protest, keeps up the distance. “This can be a lot at your age. Don’t blame you for getting caught up. But whatever you think you’re feeling for me, it’s not-”

“Is this about the p-” The word won’t come out of you, so your change the verbiage. “The hospital? Because I told you, Javi. We’ve been safe. Safer than a pair of purity-ring wearing teenagers-”

“No, this is about me needing to do the right-”

At this point, you’re just interrupting one another.

Fighting to get in the next word, frowning at what you do hear.

He tilts his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, a groan leaving his cracked lips. You’d imagined him doing that tonight, but not like this.

Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.

Silence.

You take the lead.

“So, what? That’s it just... over?”

“I told you, corazón mía (my heart),” he can’t meet your eyes. “Made it clear from the start I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”

“I know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “But if it wasn’t serious, why’d you treat me like it was?”

It takes him a few minutes to answer. There’s a twitch, in his hand, reaching up only to drop back down at his side.

Usually, he wipes your tears before they get chance to fall.

The rug at your feet turns darker with each wet spot that drops.

“I got caught up,” his eyes seem so sad, so lost. Staring across the ocean of his living room, searching for a lighthouse to pull him safe to shore. But he won’t let you be that. “In the way you deserve to be treated, instead of some sleazy secret.”

He breathes out your name, the most painful melody you’ve ever heard.

“This has to end,” you’re unsure if it’s only you he’s attempting to convince. “Before someone gets hurt.”

Too late, you want to say.

You’re already being torn apart by his hands, and he’s standing ten feet away.

“Corazón, I’m so sor-”

The car honks, again.

You breathe in, and find it’s hard, snot piling up in your nose and tears splashing down your cheers.

Another honk.

You never make it to the line dance.

You curl in on yourself, instead, and fall asleep to the sound of Joey and Chandler’s bickering.

Love’s a verb And not a bandage

In retrospect, it’s hard to tell where the lines begin to blur.

A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.

Whenever you think about it, for too long, your mind carries you back to the same night. A few months after Vermont, you don’t recall the exact date.

All you remember is a pounding at your front door.

1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.

You nearly trip over discarded shoes, curse earlier-you for assuming you would remember their existence. Undo the bolt, grab the key and then-

Pause.

This could be anyone, anything.

You check the peephole, find exactly who you were hoping for.

He’s on you like a moth to a flame, pressing you flush against him the instant he can fit through the crack in your doorway. Mouth on mouth, hands on waist. The door thuds as he closes it behind you both, you’re too distracted to notice.

You let him invade your senses.

Smell his aged leather and nicotine thrill. Feel his strong arms and bulging crotch. Hear his laboured breaths and muttered pleasantries. Taste his whiskey tongue and metallic lips-

You pull back. He follows.

It’s flattering, his inability to get enough of you, but you halt him nonetheless.

Cup his cheeks, pull down his face, and stare.

“My dad finally figure out who those panties in your glove-box belong to, Peña?” It’s meant to be a joke.

There’s nothing funny about his bleeding lip and split eyebrow.

He graces no response, dives back into you and submerses himself in your touch. Kisses you slow, with deliverance, his final mission to arrest all your sense of self till you turn yourself in to his embrace.

Only as you pass by those discarded shoes do you realise he’s inching you both deeper into the dark of your apartment.

This time, you do trip over them.

It’s okay though, Javi’s there to catch you.

He finds refuge in your neck, burrowing in deep, mouthing at the skin like a dog does a wound. Your arm shoots out to find a light-switch. A warm glow fills the apartment, bathing you both in an orange hue.

The gold of his skin shines brighter.

The red on his skin appears darker.

“What happened to you?” You don’t need to worry about him. And, yet, doing so comes naturally.

“S’not important,” it’s spoken against your skin, as if he intends to seep his gravelled tone into your pores and have it grow a new life for itself within you. A gentle scraping of his teeth sends a shiver down your spine. “I’ll tell you later.”

Later with Javi never seems to come.

‘If you’re not busy, I’ll make you dinner later.’

‘Keep it up and I’ll be fucking that attitude out of you later.’

‘I’ll get these back to you later.’

He’d never made you that dinner.

He’d dragged you into the station’s bathrooms and fucked the attitude out of you only seconds after.

You’d never gotten those panties back.

You decide to grant him no time for later. Shove him down into a seat at your dining table-for-two. Roll your eyes as he asks if you’re “gonna put on a show for me, corazón?”

The makeshift first-aid kit put together by your mother resides at the back of a cupboard, hidden by mugs and cups. It takes several minutes and a smashed glass to manoeuvre it out. You step over the pieces of glass and head straight back to the table, dumping out the contents.

You click your tongue, point your finger. He scoots the chair back from the table and you slip between the space. Press back against the surface, stand between his parted knees and do your best to not look down at the jeans that grant him no modesty.

Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.

He’s insisting he’s okay, yet he’s hissing when you dab at the tears in his flesh with betadine. His hands find a place upon your hips and give a tight squeeze as you press butterfly stitches to his no-longer bleeding brow.

“I,” he starts up, an indefinite time of silence passing between you both. He shakes his head.“It’s stupid.”

“Javi,” you stroke your finger over his jaw, tilt his head back to meet your eyes. “The less you tell me, the more I’ll worry.”

It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.

“I was just wanting one drink, was gonna head home... Or to you, after. I had a shitty day at work and... You probably don’t care about that,” he has no idea you’ll hang onto those words for the weeks to come, wondering how to lighten his workload, ease his tension. “Heard some loud-mouth kid beside me at the bar, he was talking to this girl. She gets up to leave, he follows. I was just gonna go back to nursing my drink but-”

He hisses.

You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.

There’s no malice in his eyes as you pull your hand back, only soft and tender. He must sense your remorse for hurting him, chasing after your fingers and grazing a gentle kiss upon them.

A splotch of red stains your skin.

“Corazón,” he croons, shifts himself closer to you. His hands grip the backs of your exposed thighs, his chin presses into your lower stomach. A few movie-strand hairs cover the molten brown eyes that stare up at you. “You’re exhausted. Vamos, basta de preocuparte (C'mon, stop worrying), I’m fine. I just wanna crawl into your tiny bed so I can wake up to your bedhead and more back pains.”

It’s a tempting offer, and one you’ve given into far too many times acceptable for the casual agreement you both share.

A deep breath. Your hand lands on his cheek, his eyes flutter shut.

There’s bags under them. Heavy, dark. Bearing the exhaustion he hides behind charming winks and dashing smiles. Your thumb grazes over one and you ache to give him the rest he deserves, the rest his body craves.

“But, what?” You persist, pleading for him to continue his story.

Javi sighs, gives in.

He always gives in, to you, eventually.

“I just- I don’t know, it’s crazy, but I kept thinking of you,” his eyes reopen, sorrow buried deep in his soul and a worry-line etched into his brow. “In that bar. Alone, in Vermont, when you...”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

He doesn’t need to.

“So what did you do?” It’s best to keep him talking, drag his mind away from whatever dark thoughts those memories bring up.

“I followed them outside,” he admits with a tinge of shame. “Tried to be subtle about it. Lit a cigarette, took a few drags, scoped out the street. Neither of them were around,” you’ve long abandoned the first aid kit, transfixed by the tight grip he holds you in, his hands smoothing up and down the backs of your thighs in an attempt to soothe himself. “I thought I’d maybe read into it wrong. Maybe she was into him, and they’d got a cab back to her place. Or his.”

He’s rambling.

Stumbling through words he deems unimportant, rushing to push out the thoughts that clog up his brain pipes.

You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.

“It was just as I turned to go back inside that I heard something,” his hands no longer dance over your skin. They sit stagnant, halfway up your thigh, fingers flexed and nails digging into flesh. He’s burying himself into any part of you he can, rooting himself in your solid figure. “Rustling, or something. Coming from the alley. And I just... I felt my stomach drop. Followed after it. Found them, him-”

He chokes.

On his words, on his breath, on his failure.

You run a hand through his curls, soothe the lines off his face.

Bend down, drag him up, press your lips to the arc of his nose.

“Didn’t think, I just dragged him off. Punched him, a few times. Felt his nose crack under my fist.” He’s still pushing through, his earlier unwillingness to talk now a streaming fountain you can’t switch off. “I must’ve tripped on some glass, lost my balance. Gave him the space to get a few hits in, and-”

“Did you arrest him?” You cut him off.

He nods.

“Did you help her?”

Another nod.

“Did you get her someplace safe?”

This time, a reply.

“An officer checked her in at the hospital, stayed till her friend arrived.”

“Then Javi,” you make a point of saying his name, remind him of who he is when he’s not on duty. Not parading around with a badge and a gun, and answering to Officer Peña. The shift in his stare tells you it helps. “You did enough.”

A weight slips off his shoulders and he slumps further into you, eyes squeezing shut.

“I didn’t,” frustration steals the show, coursing through his voice.

“What more could you have done?”

“I don’t know... I could’ve-” He groans, like something pains him, and purses his lips. “I should’ve helped her sooner. Followed them, the minute they left. Shouldn’t have let...” A whiff of whiskey reaches your nostrils. Javi pulls you in tighter, breathes in the mixture of sleep-sweat and lingering cologne on the shirt you wear- Pink, the top buttons undone, left behind by him. “Shouldn’t have let you go out alone.”

You whine out his name.

The air is miserable, dragging through your lungs and staining them.

The chair creeks at the loss of his weight, knees straightening him up to his full height. Instinctually, you lean back into the table, head tilting to meet his broken eyes.

He’s searching for comfort, in the only way he knows how.

Slap a bandage over a bullet-hole, place a kiss upon his gaping-heart.

“Not everything about that night was so bad,” you play into his game, splay a hand upon his shirt. Trace a finger over a stained blood spot. “If I hadn’t gone out, then maybe we wouldn’t be...”

The words catch in your throat.

Partially because you don’t know what you are anymore. Boundaries crossed, lines blurring. Hands that hold and eyes that linger. Too close to be nothing, too reckless to be something.

But mostly because he kisses you.

Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.

He’s a man on a mission, to consume your soul right out your willing body. Unravelling you where you stand, he takes pleasure in peeling his shirt off you.

Hot mouth to hot skin, the tip of his tongue meeting the peak of your breasts. Your hands pull at his hair and he grips at your waist.

The descent into madness is quick, bodies melting together in a dance that’s unique, improvised, and yet always in sync.

He tugs at your panties and you undo his belt. He hooks your thigh over his hip and you anchor yourself to his chest. He teases you with a pinch to your clit and you torture him as you cup his heavy balls.

When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.

The table thuds and scrapes along the floor with each punctuated thrust he gives, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your welcoming cunt, the coarse hairs at its base gifting you the occasional thrill of friction on your aching clit.

He’s slurring out curses and pet-names, lavishing you with delightful proclaims of what a pretty girl you are when you 'shut up and take my cock'.

When he does manage a full sentence of logical wording, his forehead’s pressed to your shoulder, his cum coats your thighs and the sweat between your frantic bodies holds you both together.

“There’s not a universe where this doesn’t happen, corazón,” you feel him softening against your thigh, yet you still delight as he drags a finger coated in his own spend up your folds. “Want you too damn much to miss out on you.”

Curling up into your bed that feels too big these days, you grip at the pink shirt and wonder when that changed.

When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?

And I’m spiritual cleansing (but the truth) Is I’m good at pretending (oh and you)

By July, things change.

The stud in your nose is traded out for a silver ring.

The lonely nights in your apartment turn into stumbling back home from some nameless club in the early hours.

Boredom leads to hobbies.

At first, you try pottery.

Four plates broken and a crumbled mug later, you put on your dance shoes.

Slip. Almost break your arm. Wrestle with the doom placed on your budding dance career. Throw out the dancing shoes, bring home running shoes.

You hate it, running.

You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.

But when you’re gasping for a breath and your feet pound into concrete ground, you don’t think about it.

The heartache.

The headache.

The agent.

You drop a few pounds, tone up your muscles. Watch your body’s shape outgrow your wardrobe, investing in a new one while clinging onto the items you love too much to lose.

Like the dress that now rests just below your ass, instead of it’s usual place mid-thigh. Or the sweater that once hung loose, that now hugs new curves and creases. The jeans that were tight now sliding off your hips.

The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.

But you’re not thinking about it, or it’s previous owner.

Not right now.

Now, you’re balling your fists and counting your breaths. Music blasting through your headphones, sweat dancing on your forehead.

The sun is warm on your back, even as it makes way for night to begin. This is the best time to run, dusk, you’ve discovered.

No kids loitering on park grounds, no threat brought on by the dark, no slow-walking pedestrians crossing your path.

You run your self-made circuit with freedom, switching off all your senses and emptying your mind.

Today, however, it’s more challenging.

The thought of him creeps through, no matter the effort you put in to fight it. Your father’s the one to blame.

You have to come, kiddo.

The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.

Because it wouldn’t be the same without you there.

You’d wanted a better explanation than that.

Then, you tried some lame excuse of already having plans.

You had no plans.

Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!

You nearly groaned out loud at his enthusiasm, but held back. Your father’s light didn’t deserve to be dampened by your shadow.

C’mon, kiddo! I’ve not hosted the annual barbecue since you were still wearing your braces!

You bit your tongue. Fought against telling him that, back then, there were no pretty-eyed, heart-breaking agents for you to worry about.

The whole station’s gonna be there, you have to come!

He said it, like that would persuade you.

Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.

The more he spoke, the less you wanted to go.

Just last night Javi was asking how you’re doing!

You’d hung up.

Immediately.

Called back, 3 minutes later. Mumbled an apology and an excuse- I lost signal!- and ultimately agreed to going to the damn barbecue.

Now, you run from the phone call, from the impending doom it brings.

All this heartache and pain, it’s not good for the soul.

Of course, being dumped is a lot easier when the person isn’t your dad’s closest confidant.

It gets hard to breath. Each pound against concrete shakes the cassette player glued to your hip. There’s a sting of tears in your eyes.

Until you come to a screeching halt.

Double over.

Place your hands on your knees.

Dry heave.

You pay no mind to the figure sitting a few feet away on a bench.

Nor to the dog that’s chasing it’s ball back forth between it’s owner’s throws.

You let the sadness flood your soul, deflate you like some discarded party-balloon.

You’ll have to see him.

Spend time near him.

Watch him laugh, and smile, and share beers with your father.

It’s unfair, and you hate him for putting you through this.

For not quitting the force.

For being your dad’s friend.

For not wanting you the same you wanted him.

Want him.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand. Try to stand up straight, get lost in the knots you’d tied into your laces. Sloppy and uneven.

You’re usually more careful.

You catch, in your peripheral, the figure on the bench move. Take it as your sign to compose yourself, get over yourself.

You pick your pace back up.

Manage only a handful-or-two steps.

Your feet fly out in front of you.

Land ass-first on the gravel below.

Beneath the sounds of Olivia Newton-John demanding you get physical, you hear a muffled sorry! yelled out. Spot as the dog rushes to grab it’s ball, halfway down the path thanks to your kick.

You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.

You’re met with a hand in your face, palm open and waiting for you to accept the open offer. You take it, no hesitation.

Big mistake.

The hand tugs you.

You glance up.

And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.

“Easy, tiger,” he coughs up a laugh, like you don’t wind him as you slam into him, full-body force, nerves on fire and all systems shutting down. “You trying to break my ribs?”

It’s no less than you deserves, you think.

And instantly regret it, heart turning blue at the thought of him hurt at your hand.

You take a few steps back, create a safe distance where you can’t smell the remnants of his last cigarette or count the eyelashes that line his eyes.

He asks you how you’ve been, and tries his best to smile.

It comes off as awkward. A crooked line across his lips.

You try to remember the last time he smiled at you and meant it.

You come up empty handed.

Maybe it was back in April. A hospital hallway, one hand clasping yours, the other peeling through the leafs of some medical pamphlet.

Or, was it after, on the drive home, back to his apartment, hand still holding yours while the other spun the wheel?

There’s a vague memory that toils in the depth of your mind.

Sharing an elevator, your heels in his hand, his lips on your forehead.

Wedding attire, a post-party glow.

It’s toyed with you since you woke up in that hotel room, driven half-mad by an image you can’t quite form of him tucking you into bed.

Had he smiled, then?

Had he even been there?

Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-

His fingers grasp your chin, no warning, and tilt your face.

His eyes don’t greet your own. Instead, they’re focused on the centre of your face, inspecting you like a piece of evidence.

“Hmm,” he’s so close, you smell the mint of freshly bitten gum on his breath. Dart your eyes down, catch the glint of his badge poking out his pocket.

He’s still on duty, a tailored uniform contrasting the hair roused by stress. Maybe at his desk, in the office next to your father’s, hands running through his tresses to express frustrations, tensions.

Were they his own hands, or someone with longer, brightly painted nails? Your stomach turns at the thought, your loins warm at the memory of writhing in his desk chair, legs thrown over his shoulders whilst his own dug into the ground below, eager to please mouth and a happy to taste tongue working you to a orgasm muffled by your own hand.

He’d slapped your ass, kissed your cheek and sent you out his office door, wiping your own wetness off your cheek just in time to greet your father.

“You suit the ring,” his voice and a gentle breeze bring you back to the present. To the park. To the heavy feeling that hangs between you both. “I prefer it to that stud.”

“I- What?” Confussion.

You furrow your brow, wipe your sweaty palms over your thighs.

He just smiles, still crookedly, and brings his hand up to your nose.

Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.

It’s hard to breath, but you do it anyway.

Thank him, in a struggle to find your voice, with a whisper.

His eyes bore into your own, chase them as you look off to the side, watch the dog still chasing it’s ball and failing to catch it.

You wonder if it’s a cruel metaphor sent by the universe, a symbol of you and Javi.

And then you wonder if you’re the dog or the ball.

Or both.

“You never answered me,” his voice, honey, sweet on your ears. It melts away your other senses, turns you blind to anything other than him. “I want to hear how you’ve be-”

“Peña, if you don’t report your skinny ass to my office in 5 minutes and share a celebratory drink with me, I’m putting you on cleaning duties at our next poker night.”

A static-filled voice blares out his walkie-talkie.

Your father’s voice.

It’s enough to set things right, force your body to retreat from his.

He’s not your Javi anymore, desperate to hear about your day and kiss any aches away.

He’s Peña, your dad’s best friend, meant for nothing more than to be a passing figure in your life.

His eyes are heavy with emotion as he fishes out the device.

Maybe it’s sadness you see.

There’s definitely remorse.

Guilt, too.

“We... Your dad caught the guy that’s been breaking into college girls’ apartments.” He tells you, shares information that should help you sleep better at night. You’ve not done that since the last time he lay next to you. You watch him press down on the call button, hold the speaker up to his mouth. “Do that and I’ll shit in your shower, pendejo (asshole).”

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d commit an indecency within your parent’s bathroom.

But none of that matter, anymore.

You’re already walking away.

Wringing your hands and hoping the tension in your limbs falls out.

He calls out your name, loudly.

Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.

People who know fine well who your father is, who Javier is.

You turn in time to see him half-jog, half-pace his way over to you.

He reaches out for your hand.

And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.

“I’ll, um,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, grinds his teeth in an attempt to say something. “I’ll see you at the barbecue, right?”

He knows the answer.

You still give him it, “yes.”

Smile, uncomfortably brightly, before you turn and walk away once more.

You feel his eyes on you.

And pray he takes no notice of the sob that shakes your shoulders.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think I’m alright

You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.

A courtesy, a polite gesture. A signal that you’re still listening, despite tuning out her voice five minutes ago.

She’s a nice lady, someone who works alongside your father. Specialised in forensics, she balances the darkness of her job with the brightness of her wardrobe.

Today, she’s paired a lemon-yellow skirt with a vibrantly orange camisole. She looks like a walking cheese cube.

You’ve known her since you were a kid, even if you can’t remember. She claims you used to stand on her desk, make a big spectacle out of nearly matching your dad’s height.

You’d got to talking to her after she helped you wipe ketchup off your chin.

That was half an hour ago, and the discomfort of wanting to be anywhere but here is finally settling in.

It’s not her fault. You know.

She’s not the one who roped you into going to this barbecue.

Your dad is.

And right now he’s stood on the other side of his backyard, half-drunken beer bottle in one hand and Javier Peña’s shoulder clapped under the other.

Even from here, you can hear him bragging.

So then Peña’s on his ass.

Chases this guy, whilst he’s driving down the street!

Catches him at an intersection, physically rips him out the car.

All while the man in question shrugs, sheepish. Dismisses your father’s praising.

He’s exaggerating.

The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!

He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.

Sweat lines his forehead, shirt-sleeves hug his biceps, joy wrinkles his eyes.

He’s happy, at ease. Enjoying himself, in a way he was always meant to.

Something about him fits so perfectly in this picture: laughing with your father, complimenting your mother, playing fetch with your dog.

If you step inside the frame, it cracks.

Shatters.

And maybe he knows that.

Knew it all along.

Broke things off before you could try find a frame large enough to fit you all in.

And, though it hurts, you see why things had to end between you and feel relieved it happened before it was too late.

The feeling lasts all but four seconds.

“Kiddo!”

Your father’s voice is obnoxiously loud. Several of the party-goers turn their heads, follow his line of sight. Spot you, frozen in place, glass full of watered down lemonade and a belly full of dread.

It takes a moment, but you wave.

“Come over ‘ere!”

Not the response you were hoping for.

Still, you do as he asks. Smile at your mother, shuffle your feet, make your way across the yard. Do everything in your power to not look at Javi.

Even if the weight of his stare threatens to crumble you.

“You having a good time?” Your dad’s got this smile, big and dopy and oh so caring, that you can’t bring yourself to ruin with the truth.

“I’m having a great time,” you barely manage out before he’s squeezing you into his side.

The condensation on his bottle of beer seeps through the shoulder of your top, his arm secured safely around you.

He must be tipsy already, a buzz in his veins making him more affectionate than normal.

“I can’t believe it,” he laments, speaking to no one in particular.

In your peripheral, you fail to ignore tight jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.

It’s hardly buttoned, the top three undone and leaving a golden plain on display.

Perhaps you’re going crazy but he seems thinner, skin drawn a little tighter against his ribcage.

It’s not a sight you want to see.

It fills you with dread.

Pulling you out of your own head, you father continues to drone on.

“My little girl’s spreading her wings soon, going on her first adult holiday to-”

“London.”

Javi’s voice, interrupting your father, finishing his sentence.

All eyes snap to him.

Your own, wide and panicked. Scared. Trying so hard to dismiss how intensely he’s staring back you.

Your mother’s, amused and curious. Flicking back and forth between his face and her husband’s.

Your father, confused and perplexed, “I- Yeah...” He speaks slow and the arm on your shoulder slips down. “How’d you know?”

“I’ve been, you know?” Two hands dance in front of you, somewhere in the dark, intwining and unwinding. It’s a nervous habit, of Javi’s. You welcome the contact of soothing touches. “To London.”

That peaks your interest.

Enough to shift positions. Rip your hand out his own, roll onto your side and rest a hand under your propped up head. Your other, inevitably, finds its way upon his warm chest, rests over his no-longer-racing heartbeat.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ve been a few times, actually. I’ve got some friends out there.”

With Javi, friends could mean anything.

A fellow agent, a government official, a moonlight lover.

For all you know, this friend could be the Queen of England.

So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.

“Where do you recommend I visit then, Mr. Bond?”

“Mr... Bond?”

The room is dark, but you still notice the furrow in his brow.

You can practically hear it, in his voice.

“You know, like James Bond.” That’s the thing about jokes, explaining them makes you realise how dumb they are. “‘Cause you were an agent and you like London, and he’s an agent in Lon-”

He cuts you off in the way you like best: his mouth against yours.

The kiss is brief, and leads no place further than the simple act of wanting to silence you.

And, though it goes unaddressed, because it’s been too long since he’d last done it.

Even if he’d done so less than an hour ago, naked bodies intertwined on ruffled bedsheets.

“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard, corazón,” somehow, the words don’t bruise your ego.

Instead, they make you giggle and burrow your heated face into the crook of his neck.

His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.

“I’d need to write you a list of places to go, too many for me to pick one.”

“Maybe I need a tour guide,” a hand of his greets your back, strokes soothing motions back and forth. It’s lulling you to sleep, at last. “Y’know, show me all the places a real Londoner goes.”

“I could,” he pauses. Clears his throat. Pulls you a little tighter against him, till your limbs are tangled and it’s hard to tell where he stops and you start. “I could check my calendar. See how many holiday days I’ve got left. Could come with you, to London, if you want me there.”

It’s too late though.

You’re already snoring against his skin.

“How does he know?” Your mother shatters the silence, tone incredulous. “I mean, seriously, are you blind!?”

For a minute, it feels like she knows.

She knows why Javi knows.

You should be panicking.

Both of you should.

Should look away from one another, should wipe the guilt off your faces, should already be working on some excuse for when your mother exposes what once was between you.

But you aren’t. Neither of you are.

You’re just staring at each other, as if you’re working to commit each other’s face to memory.

“He knows because you won’t shut up about it!”

Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.

Your mom rolls her eyes.

Javi takes a sip of beer and looks off to the side, eyes breaking contact from your own at last.

“Ok but,” your father’s back to talking before you can fully work up the courage to leave. At least that’s the excuse you try give yourself, anything to distract from Javi. “I bet I’ve not told you what she’s decided to do on her travels!”

“You have,” your mother’s tone is pointed.

Javi laughs, sputters up a little beer back into the bottle. Tilts his head back, accepts his own backwash.

There’s a worn-out cigarette box squeezed tight inside the front pocket of his jeans.

You try ignore the fact he’d promised you he was working on quitting.

“Shh,” your father waves a hand in your mother’s face, dismisses her teasing with a playful wink.

Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.

Gives both you and Javi a display of what a relationship is.

Open, celebrated, acknowledged.

Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.

Javi cuts the tension with a chuckle and a gentle shove to your father’s arm.

As his hand retreats back to his side, his knuckles brush your skin.

“She’s gonna get herself a christmas-tree decoration every holiday,” your father reveals. You’re frozen at the fact he even remembers you mentioning it. “What was it you said again, kiddo? So in the future, when you’re decorating the tree with your kids, you’ll think of the places you’ve been and tell them all about it?”

Your heart drops.

Javi’s seems to do the same.

For a moment, you worry he’s stopped breathing.

Till his chest rises and falls, no thanks to your father’s stupid rambling about you, and the future, and kids.

“Uh, yeah,” the ground can’t swallow you sooner. You’re already planning your exit, from this conversation and, hopefully, this party as a whole. Your dad’ll understand. You just need to tell him something came up. Or came out. Tell him you’ve got food poison. Blame it on some dodgy take-out the night before. “Something like that.”

But I’m actually bloody Motherfucking batshit crazy

There are moments in one’s life where they must question their own sanity.

You’ve lived plenty of such moments.

But none quite like right now, half-crouched in the middle of a grocery store aisle, peeping into the next one through a gap between two cereal boxes on the shelf.

And all because you heard his voice.

“This is what you’re craving?” Through the crack, you see him wave about something in his hand. It’s hard to see what exactly he’s holding, though.

He’s facing a woman.

She’s pretty.

With dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that not even the shelves and produce between you both can block the shine of.

And a well-rounded belly.

“No, Javi, this,” she doesn’t say his name the same way you do- did. There’s a jovial tone, but there’s no awe, no seduction. Maybe that’s just what your bias hears. “Is what the baby is craving.”

You’ve never seen her before.

Not on the mantel of photos that line Javier’s television. Not at any of the station thrown parties. Not in his wallet, tucked behind the picture of his mom.

She’s a total stranger, to you.

But that doesn’t mean she’s a stranger to him.

A very pregnant, non-stranger.

“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”

His hand rests on her bump.

She welcomes it, placing her own against it to hold him in place.

The image of the American dream, a beautiful woman and a handsome man. The promise of a child, soon, half her and half him.

The blood drains from your face. There’s a lump in your throat and a sting in your eyes.

You won’t let it fester.

Take deep breaths, pretend there’s no shake in your exhales.

It’s not enough to stop the vicious thoughts that sink their jagged ends into the soft tissues of your brain.

Was she the reason things between you and him ended?

Had he got her pregnant, decided to stand by her, and found love along the way?

Was he with her, all along, while he was with...

Surely, he couldn’t have.

But, then, why couldn’t he have?

You were never exclusive.

You were never anything.

“Did-” Somewhere, between the aisles, Javi speaks in amazement. The smile is practically dripping off his words. “Did it just kick?”

Your heart’s palpitating.

Your hands are sweating so badly, they threaten to drop the box of Cap'n Crunch in their grasp.

Jealousy turns to misplaced anger, irrational in every form but impossible to conform.

Because, how could he do this to you?

Make a mockery of you, turn you into the other woman?

Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?

Settle down with this woman and her baby, yet run from you at the first scare of a-

“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”

At first, you think it’s spoken to you.

But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.

A third person enters your view through the window in the shelf.

He’s handsome, in the typical sense.

Blonde haired, a nice smile.

There’s a little girl in his arms, resting on his hip, half asleep and clinging to a worn-out giraffe doll.

“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.

“Don’t get him started,” the woman seems to beg, rolling her eyes.

The man nods, pride on his face, “I’m telling ya, Peña, it’s gonna be a boy. It needs to be a boy, ‘else I’m gonna be overrun by little girls.”

The woman must give him a pointed look, or a gentle nudge, for not two seconds later he’s following his words up with a tickle to the sleepy girl’s side and “little girls who I love very much.” Pause. He leans closer to Javier, hand covering one side of his mouth as if to block the woman and the child from hearing him. “I still want a son, though.”

“Olivia,” the pregnant woman strokes a hand over the little girl's head, coxing her to keep her eyes open. It’s hard to tell if there’s a drool mark on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show uncle Javi your favourite toy?”

The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.

The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.

Here you are, going stir-crazy over a man who never wanted much of you in the first place, raising your heart-rate at the thought of him moving on from something that never even existed.

And there he is, fine as can be- in every sense of the word-, sharing laughs and exchanging smiles with old friends in the grocery store.

Friends his own age.

Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.

Through the gap, you watch him lean down to the little girl’s eye-level. A twinkle in his eye, he happily tugs at the stuffed giraffe’s tail.

“Glad you liked it, Olive,” curse him, and his soft voice, and his gentle touch and his everything, for still forcing you to swoon over him, knees weak and ovaries treacherously screaming. “I had to go all the way to Africa to find him.”

The little girl perks right up at that.

Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.

“Really?!” She’s amazed, and how could she not be? Javier Peña is beaming at her, ear to ear.

“Mhmm,” he nods, feeds into his own lie, ignoring the disapproving looks from the other man. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go back next year and get you a zebra.”

“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”

Javi, undeterred from keeping the little girl’s smile, rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at her father, huffing under his breath “Your dad’s a right grump, Olive.”

You begin to wonder how long Javi’s known this couple, how he knows this couple.

“Just wait till you’ve got your own kid and I’m feeding it lies.” The man punctuates his empty threat with a dull punch to Javi’s forearm. Javi barely flinches, unfazed. “Speaking of, when are you making me uncle Steve?”

In sync and apart, you and him both physically freeze.

Your breathing stops.

Javier stands up straight. Rolls his shoulders, scratches at the back of his neck, clears his throat and, “not any time soon.”

“Really? What about that girl you’ve been seeing, the-”

“That- We- It didn’t work out, we wanted,” you begin to see cracks in his facade. Fake laugh, solemn eyes. “Different things... I want, wanted to settle down but, yeah, no it was for her best that we-”

“Sorry, can I just,” your heart jumps in your chest, flying back so quickly from your peep-hole that you nearly knock over the person behind you. “Grab one of those?”

You nod, gain composure, watch the stranger pick up a box of cereal off the shelf.

They walk away and you’re left alone, again.

Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-

He’s no longer standing on the other side.

You turn on your heel, ignoring your half-filled cart and book it out of the store before you fall apart.

Try as you might, you can’t shake off the weight of his stare as you pass by the check-out.

I kept it in, but it wrecked my organs So pour the gin and call Graham Norton

You wake up early.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re seizing the day.

Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.

The early bird gets the worm, and all that proverbial bullshit.

The truth lies in that you can not sleep.

Jetlag. Your body clock is at odds with the timezone.

Which lands you here: strolling upon the cobbled streets of Notting Hill.

A quarter past six.

Its barely light out, the sun still fighting to rise over the horizon and the streetlights still shadow your every step.

Colourful houses, cosy shops, a melodic thud each time your feet meet the ground.

It’s picturesque, straight out of a romantic comedy.

Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt more gloom.

In the silent bustle of a city awakening to a new day, you’re startled.

Trip over a cobble, nearly meet the floor, and just about save yourself from rolling your ankle.

Your ringtone is the culprit.

Loud, imposing. It scares a flock of birds off a wire and gains you a stare from a man stepping out his home.

Scrambling to get the clunky cellphone out your bag, you spare the screen a fleeting glance.

You question if it’s one of your friends, awakened back in your shared hotel room to find you’re not there, and press the green button.

“Corazón.”

It’s funny how one word can drain the blood from your face.

You swallow the lump in your throat, made of equal parts anger and sadness.

Anger that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier Peña’s voice in nearly two months.

Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.

“I- Shit, I can’t tell if I’ve even dialled the right number...” He’s muttering in your ear, confused and at odds with himself, mouth a fountain his thoughts pour out of. “... Probably changed it or- Can she even receive calls all the way in-”

“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.

It’s enough to shut him up.

Silence rings down the line, a static buzz that reminds you of the distance between you.

“You’re in London,” he states.

“I am,” you affirm.

He hums, sips something.

Ice clinks against glass, and you feel a little sick.

“How have-” His voice sounds strange. Muffled. Different. Maybe it’s the poor connection. “Was your flight okay?”

“Yeah,” you spare him the details.

The truth.

The boredom, the turbulence. The fact you’re dreading the flight home.

“I’m glad,” he sighs the words out, worry going with them. “Know you’re not the biggest fan of planes, kept thinking of you alone and afraid on it.”

“I wasn’t alone,” it’s defensive, and ironic.

You sure felt alone.

“That’s right, corazón, you weren’t,” something slips, rolls, smashes. Glass shatters and is met with cursing anger, an oh, shit! followed up by hollow laughter. “You’re never alone.”

“Are you...” The street’s a little brighter, a few cars have begun to back out of driveways and you’re still there, frozen in the middle of the street, phone pressed to your ear. “Drunk?”

“No, I’m javi.” If his laughter is anything to go by, he thinks himself the comic of the century. “Had a few drinks with your dad, sweetheart, that’s all.”

For a moment, it feels like you shouldn’t be here, in London.

You should be home, in Laredo, dragging a drunken Javi to bed.

Stripping him of his clothes, kissing his rosied cheeks, urging him to go to sleep. Leaving him a pair of painkillers and a glass of water for his breakfast before curling yourself into his soft arms.

You blink, and feel the familiar weight of a tear on your lashes.

“Why’d you call me, Javi?” It’s a desperate plea.

For answers, for clarity, for closure

“I wanted to hear your voice,” that’s too vague of an answer, too unfair of an answer. Your heart swells nonetheless. “Wanted to go to London, with you. I should be there.”

“It’s your fault,” that’s as cruel as you can bring yourself to be towards him.

Even then, it kills you to do so.

“’S half my fault. Joder (fuck),” you can picture him, leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You wonder how much he’s drank, and if he spoke to any women. Maybe he took one home, fucked her nice and good before dialling your number. “Wanted to give you my answer, too.”

Someone bumps your shoulder on the street, walking past you.

You pay them no mind, vision blurred to the world around you.

“What answer?”

“Where you should visit, Mrs. Bond,” he says it, like it doesn’t send you into cardiac arrest.

You miss the nights like that one, tangled in your bed, smelling him on your sheets and feeling him against your skin.

He’d woken up first the next day, coaxed you out of bed with the promise of homemade pancakes and his head between your legs.

“There’s this little bar in Inslington, called the Distillery Club. The owner, he makes his own gin. You like gin, don’t you, corazón?” You nod, and it’s almost like he feels it. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Or the inside, either. But it’s some of the best gin I’ve ever had, in the greatest company.”

You try to picture him, sat amongst friends you’ve never met. Friends who don’t know your dad.

You try to picture yourself, next to him, scooting your bar stool closer to his.

The image doesn’t quite form.

“Want you to go there, get yourself a drink. Tell him Javier Peña sent you, and that you’ve not to pay.”

It’s like he’s given you a piece of his soul. A piece of his history, someplace he’s sought out refuge in his lowest moments.

Refuge he’s willing to share with you.

That tear finally gives way, dropping off your lash and rolling down your cheek.

You wipe it off with the sleeve of your sweater, before anyone can see.

“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”

Your reply is instant, “I promise.”

“Ok, I’ll let you go,” it’s solemn, regretful, devoid of truth. You almost beg him not to, but that didn’t work last time. “Enjoy yourself, okay? Come home, safe.”

“Javi, I-” the line cuts off, disconnecting before you even finish. “Miss you.”

I’m gonna throw you down the river Your mum can watch it over dinner

“How you feeling, kiddo?”

You startle awake at your father’s voice, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

Before you can give him an answer, you erupt into a fit of coughs.

“Not good,” he grimaces and slowly steps into your room. “Got it.”

Stepping off the plane, you’d managed only one night back in your own bed before the fever had taken over.

All it took was hearing your nasally voice over the phone for your mother to demand you come stay with them.

Just till you’re back on your feet, she’d said, like she ever needed an excuse to have you over.

She’s not quite adjusted to being an empty-nester.

Neither of them have, really.

“Actually,” your tone is matter-of-factly. “I almost smelt something earlier.”

“That’s great, kid!” And he means it, you know he does. Even if his shoulders slump at any sign of you feeling better and returning to your apartment. “Now we just gotta figure out if it’s your sinuses unclogging or your stench just growing more rancid.”

Try as you might to aim the pillow right at his head, he still manages to catch it inches from his face.

“Hey, I’m just saying! You’ve got the flu, you ain’t dying! Could be a little courteous to those who’ve gotta be around you and take a shower.”

“You’re literally in my room!”

“Which is literally in my house!”

Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.

Likely, she’s telling you both to shut up and to quit behaving like children.

Making eye contact, you both can’t help the roll of laughter that comes out.

He steps a little closer, and that’s when you spot it.

Tupperware, clasped in his hand.

The contents are hard to decipher.

Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.

“Your mom said ya wouldn’t be up for eating much but, if you’re hungry,” he pauses, at the foot of your bed. Tugs a little on the homemade-blanket you’ve had since you were in grade school. You wonder if he remembers making it with you. “One of the guys down at the station made you some stew.”

Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.

The prospect of a hot, boiling bowl of brothy stew suddenly peaks your interest.

In fact, you can’t think of anything better.

“It’s a family recipe, he said it would cure ya right up.”

He’s popping the lid open, presenting the delicacy before your eyes. 

Immediately, you spot chicken.

Some corn cob, a couple lumps of potato, flakes of chilli.

You wish you could smell it, ingest it through your nasal canal and get a taste of it before you even put it in your mouth.

Your father continues, practically talking to himself.

“What’d he say it was called again, ga-sue-lay day ah-vay?”

“Cazuela de ave.”

A change into warmer, drier clothes.

Your hair still sits wet upon your head, but it no longer drips puddles onto his floor.

Thirty minutes it took him to drive from where he’d spotted you, walking soaked upon the sidewalk.

It would’ve only taken him seventeen minutes if he’d dropped you at your apartment.

And that fact is partly what warms your insides.

You watch him, tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone, strutting around his kitchen.

Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.

Yet the word somehow doesn’t seem like it’s enough to summarise him, when he’s making his way round to you, two ceramic bowls in his hands and a look of pride in his eyes.

He put his own bowl down first. Sloppy, uncaring, spilling a little of it’s contents over it’s edge.

And then yours. More careful, slowly, both hands guiding it down.

The scent alone is enough to have you salivating. 

Warmth and care, all encased in a bowl of brothy goodness.

“It smells delicious,” you inhale deeply, for dramatic effect.

And to get more of that meaty, comfort-food goodness.

Javi sits on the opposite side of the dining table, and you try hard to stop your mind from wandering off to visions of you both sat like this, out in public, in a restaurant.

A real date.

Only, this isn’t even a fake date.

You guys don’t do that.

“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”

Frozen in place, you wonder if the shock spills over your face.

He’s never mentioned his mother.

Or much about his family, really.

There’s the occasional comment about projects he takes on at his dad’s ranch, and tid-bits of information you hear across a dinner table that's set by your mother and seated by your father.

But you’re no fool blind enough to not realise the obvious.

A worn-out polaroid in his wallet, his mother smiles brightly in permanent ink each time he opens it. It contrasts her impermanence in the real world, dead and gone long before you became so much as a ripple in the lake of Javier’s existence.

Across the table, he’s relaxed. At ease.

Open.

His eyes, his mind, his heart.

And so you try venturing inwards, test his waters with a dip of your toe.

“Was she a good cook?”

Lukewarm, they appear, when he favours you with a tiny smile, his eyes staring somewhere off in the distance.

“No,” and he laughs at his own admission.

Not just a scoffed out chuckle, or a gesture meant to feign joy.

A full, hearty laugh, that shakes his shoulders and splits his cheeks.

It’s disturbingly beautiful.

You wonder if there’s a life where it could be like this, always.

Javier laughing at his own jokes, you smiling at his visceral joy, plates of homemade food filling the space between you.

“No, she, uh,” he restarts, relaxing a little bit. He wipes under one of his eyes with the back of his palm, a rogue tear breaching his waterline. “She was awful. She burnt every slice of toast she made, and even served an unbaked cake at one of my birthday parties. This dish is actually one of the few she knew how to nail.”

You can picture it, a young Javi, party hat on his head and a cheesy grin topped by rosy cheeks, eating away at gooey batter mix sprinkled in icing. 

It’s hard to imagine him complaining, or getting angry at her.

In spite of his reputation, and the career he’s undertaken, Javier Peña is a gentle soul, who nurtures and protects anyone he can.

A modern-day hero, a knight who’s exchanged his shinny armour for form fitting jeans and unbuttened shirts.

“Tell me more about her,” the words are out before you can reel them back in.

Because you like this feeling, and you like this Javi, reminiscing on his late-mother.

“She not only was awful at cooking, but she had the worst coordination too.” It’s like he’s been waiting to tell you this, with how easy he slips into doing so. “She was forever falling and tripping over herself. And her driving, god! Pops used to dig out his rosary each time she’d be out on the field, driving the tractor.”

There’s something intimate about him recalling details so many would see as flaws, whilst he sports the most earnest, heart-wrenching smile.

Like nothing about her was wrong, all of her perfect and angelic.

“She was brave, too. I’d like to think I’m just like her in that respect. She didn’t let anything stop her from doing things she set her heart on, and she never let her inabilities hinder her,” he’s getting a little emotional now, you can hear it in his voice, see it in the lump he swallows back. You stretch a hand across the table and watch as he leans on you for support, fingers interlocking with your own. “There was this one time when I was a kid, I was swimming in a river and got stuck in a current. She dived right in to save me... She didn’t even know how to swim!”

You don’t know what to say.

You opt for saying nothing, silence speaking more than a thousand words.

Give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feel him squeeze back harder.

Your stomach rumbles, but it doesn’t ruin the moment in the way you feared it would.

“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”

Both of you settle back in your seats.

You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-

“Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”

Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.

When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.

And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.

Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.

Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.

You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.

“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”

Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.

“She would have liked you.”

You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.

They’re as open as before.

“Really?”

“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”

“Kiddo?”

You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.

“Hmm?” 

“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.

“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”

“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”

Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

[kyleoreillylover]

SamiJey x Fem!Black!Reader Headcannons

Summary: What's it like being in a relationship with Main Event Jey Uso and Sami Zayn?

tagged: @southerngirl41 @venusesworld @jeysbae @reci1996 @tbonesteakwithasideofmashngrav @hope4more @selena-tyler-564 @saintaquarius @whatdoeseverybodywant @raya-hunter01 @afterdarkprincess

word count: 3,563

warnings: nsfw!!

a/n: samiijey brainrot and this is the only way I can cope with it. Hope ya'll enjoy this!

gif credits: samijey on tumblr.

Jey is the most protective out of the three of you. He is a hothead and would die for the people he loves—and you and Sami being his partners means double the protection, double the fierceness. But sometimes, that protectiveness can border on possessiveness, especially when it comes to matters of the heart.

If someone looks at you wrong, or if someone so much as breathes a hint of disrespect towards Sami, Jey's fists are ready to fly. It's both endearing and exhausting, his unwavering loyalty sometimes feeling like a heavy weight to bear. But you wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

Sami is the calming presence in your relationship, the one who brings a sense of peace and stability amidst the chaos. With his gentle demeanor and soothing words, he has a way of diffusing tense situations and calming the storm within both you and Jey. Sami's strength lies not in his fists, but in his unwavering support and understanding. He's the one who listens intently to your concerns, who offers comfort in times of need, and who never fails to see the good in people, even when it's hard. And you and Jey love that about him.

You are in the middle. If Jey is the fierce protector and Sami is the calming presence, then you are the glue that holds them together. You're the one who keeps the balance, the mediator in their occasional clashes, and the voice of reason when emotions run high. Both men would do anything for you, and you feel the weight of their love and loyalty every day.

Jey and Sami go feral when you wear their merch in the ring. It doesn't even have to be anything revealing, just a simple hoodie with one of their names etched onto it, but the sight of you proudly wearing their merch ignites a fierce sense of pride and possessiveness within them, and trust that they will kiss and be all over you whenever you do, and that you should hope the locker room is empty when you walk in wearing their gear, because they're liable to forget they're in public.

Jey's grills are something you and Sami are obsessed with. Point blank period. Sami will shyly ask him to keep them on during sex or whenever you kiss, but you are more confident about asking him. Most of your conversations about them go like this.

"You better keep those grills on for tonight."

Jey looked at you with a smirk. "Why?"

You smirked back at him. "Because they make you look so damn sexy, that's why."

Jey chuckles, his smirk widening. "Oh, you like that, huh? I can definitely keep them on for you, baby."

Sami blushed furiously at Jey's cocky tone. "Um, yeah, I mean, if you're comfortable with it, I wouldn't mind… I mean, if it's not too much trouble…"

"Don't be shy, baby." Jey smirked at Sami, and you can feel the heat rising in the room as both Jey and Sami's gazes lock onto you, their desire palpable in the air.

"I'm more than comfortable, sweetheart," Jey purrs, his voice low and husky as he steps closer, the glint of his grills catching the light. "Anything to please my two favorite people."

Sami nods, still blushing but unable to hide the spark of excitement in his eyes. "Yeah, I mean… if you want to, Jey. It's… it's really hot."

With a mischievous grin, Jey leans in, his lips hovering dangerously close to Sami's. "What else do you find hot, baby?"

And in that moment, you know tonight is going to be one for the books.

Jey loves to take on the traditional men role in taking care of his partners. Whether it's fixing things around the house, cooking hearty meals, or simply being there to provide a strong shoulder to lean on, Jey embraces his role as the provider with pride. He finds fulfillment in being able to support you and Sami in any way he can, always putting your needs and happiness above his own.

Sami, on the other hand, thrives in the role of the nurturer. He's the one who remembers birthdays and anniversaries, who surprises you with little acts of kindness and affection when you least expect it. Sami's love language is all about showing how much he cares through his actions, whether it's cooking your favorite meal, leaving sweet notes for you to find, or simply holding you and Jey close and whispering words of love and encouragement.

You are the one that ties it all together, balancing the dynamic between Jey's protectiveness and Sami's nurturing nature. While they each have their strengths, you bring your own unique qualities to the relationship. You're the one who plans the adventures, the spontaneous road trips, and the cozy nights in. You're the listener, the problem solver, and the voice of reason when emotions run high. You know just how to calm Jey's fiery temper and reassure Sami's anxious thoughts. You're the one that makes them feel like they don't even have to think when they are with you, because you understand them on a level that no one else does. You take care of the emotional needs of both Jey and Sami, offering them comfort and understanding in times of vulnerability. You're the rock they can always rely on, the constant presence in their lives that brings them stability and reassurance.

Jey is usually on top when you, him and Sami are intimate together. His dominant nature and strength make him naturally gravitate towards that position, and it's not like you or Sami are complaining. If he wants to drive you both crazy, he knows exactly how to do it, his confident demeanor and skilled hands leaving you both craving for more.

But there are times when he's willing to let go of control, to let himself be vulnerable with you and Sami, trusting you both to lead the way and guide him through moments of intimacy with tenderness and care.

Sami, on the other hand, is more fluid in his approach to intimacy. He's not afraid to explore different positions and techniques, always eager to learn and discover new ways to pleasure you and Jey. His sensitivity and empathy make him attuned to your needs and desires, and he takes great pleasure in seeing you both lost in ecstasy under his touch. He loves that you and Jey trust him with your pleasure, trust him to bring you both to new heights of ecstasy and intimacy.

You go on top only when you were in a bratty mood and wanted to tease Jey and Sami a bit. It’s rare, but when it does happen, Jey and Sami find it incredibly arousing and exhilarating. Seeing you take charge and assert your dominance ignites a primal desire within them, and they eagerly surrender to your every whim and command. If you told them to get on their knees and beg, they would do it without hesitation, eager to please you and fulfill your every desire.

"Did I say that you could take your clothes off?" you tease, a playful smirk dancing on your lips as you stand at the foot of the bed, arms crossed over your chest.

Jey and Sami exchange a glance, their eyes dark with desire as they sat on the bed, fully clothed and ready to obey your every command. They're like two eager puppies waiting for their next instruction, and you revel in the power you hold over them in this moment.

"No, you didn't," Jey replies, his voice low and husky, a hint of anticipation laced in his words.

Sami nods eagerly, his cheeks flushed with excitement. "We're sorry, baby. We'll do whatever you say."

You let out a soft chuckle, enjoying the way they hang onto your every word. "Good boys," you purr, stepping closer to them until you're within arm's reach. "Now, strip."

They waste no time in obeying your command, their movements eager and synchronized as they shed their clothes, revealing toned bodies and hungry gazes that send a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

As they stand before you, completely exposed and vulnerable, you feel a surge of power coursing through your veins. It's intoxicating, the way they submit to you so willingly, their desire laid bare for you to see.

With a wicked grin, you circle around them, trailing your fingertips lightly over their skin, reveling in the way they shiver at your touch. They're putty in your hands, ready to be molded and shaped according to your every whim.

"Get on the bed," you command, your voice dripping with authority as you watch them eagerly comply, sinking onto the mattress with a mixture of anticipation and excitement. They lie there, waiting for your next move, their eyes locked onto yours with a hunger that mirrors your own.

You climb onto the bed, straddling Jey's hips while Sami watches with rapt attention, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he waits for his turn. You lean down, capturing Jey's lips in a heated kiss, your hands roaming over his chest as you feel the heat building between you.

Sami shifts beneath you, his arousal evident as he watches the two of you with a mixture of desire and longing. You break the kiss with Jey, turning your attention to Sami as you reach out to stroke his cheek, your touch gentle yet possessive.

"You're next, baby," you whisper, your voice husky with desire as you lean in to claim his lips in a passionate kiss. Sami responds eagerly, his hands tangling in your hair as he pulls you closer, deepening the kiss with a hunger that leaves you gasping for air.

You pulled away when you feel Jey's hands on your hips, his touch grounding you as he pulls you back towards him, his own desire evident as he presses his lips against your neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses in his wake.

"You," You turned to Jey, and he automatically lifts his head, his gaze locking onto yours with a mixture of passion and longing. "Yes, baby?" he murmurs, his voice low and husky with desire.

"You're going to watch and kiss me," you continue, your tone firm but playful as you shift your position, straddling Sami's hips instead. "And you're going to enjoy every moment of it."

Jey's eyes widen with anticipation, a spark of excitement igniting in their depths as he watches you with eager anticipation. He knows exactly what you have in mind, and the thought alone sends a shiver of anticipation down his spine.

Sami looks up at you with a mixture of surprise and arousal, his hands trembling as they come to rest on your hips. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper as he searches your face for any sign of hesitation.

You meet his gaze with a playful smirk, your eyes alight with mischief as you lean in to press a teasing kiss to his lips. "I'm sure," you purr, your voice dripping with confidence as you reach down to guide him inside you."Now, get ready for the ride of your life."

The cheat code to making any one of you succumb to your whims was either biting or teasing. Jey couldn't resist a playful nibble on his earlobe, his neck, or his lower lip. It sent shivers down his spine and awakened a primal need to possess and protect you, to show you just how much you belonged to him.

Sami, on the other hand, melted under the gentle touch of your fingers tracing patterns along his skin, teasing him with feather-light caresses and whispered promises of pleasure. His breath hitched, his heart raced, and he surrendered himself completely to the intoxicating sensation of your touch.

You couldn’t resist when Jey would kiss at your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your skin, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. His hands would roam your body, exploring every curve and dip with a possessive hunger that sent shivers down your spine. You would arch into his touch, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he marked you as his own, leaving love bites and bruises in his wake.

And when Sami whispered sweet nothings in your ear, his voice a soothing melody that wrapped around you like a warm embrace, you couldn't help but melt into him. His hands would caress you with a gentleness that belied the fire burning beneath the surface, his lips trailing soft kisses along your skin as he worshipped you with every touch. His touch was like fire and ice, alternating between scorching passion and soothing tenderness, leaving you breathless and yearning for more.

Jey loved teasing Sami the most. He would playfully taunt him, knowing exactly how to push his buttons in the best way possible. Whether it was poking fun at his blushing cheeks when he would kiss you in public, or teasing him about his affectionate nature, Jey delighted in seeing Sami's reactions, his laughter ringing out like music to his ears. But it was all in good fun, and Jey made sure to shower Sami with love and affection afterwards, his teasing always followed by tender kisses and whispered words of adoration.

When Sami speaks French or Arabic, you and Jey are fucking gone. It's almost comical the way you both practically turn into puddles of goo whenever Sami switches to his native languages. When he makes love to you both, if he speaks French or Arabic, his words take on a whole new level of intensity and passion, igniting a fire within you both that burns hotter than anything you've ever known.

There's something about the way Sami's voice rolls off his tongue in those languages, the way every word drips with emotion and desire, that leaves you both weak-kneed and breathless. It's like he's weaving a spell with his words, drawing you both closer with every syllable until you're lost in a haze of pleasure and ecstasy. It doesn't matter if you understand French or Arabic or not; the sheer power and emotion behind Sami's words transcend language barriers, leaving you and Jey utterly captivated and completely at his mercy.

On the rare occasion that Jey speaks Samoan when he's kissing you and Sami, both of you are equally enthralled, your hearts pounding with a mixture of excitement and desire as Jey's deep, rumbling voice washes over you like a tidal wave. There's something primal and intoxicating about hearing Jey speak in his native tongue, the words flowing effortlessly from his lips as he whispers sweet nothings and declarations of love in Samoan.

If someone flirts with your men, you become a jealous girlfriend, and it's comical the way your usual kind and composed demeanor completely evaporates in the face of jealousy. It's like a switch flips inside you, and suddenly, you're fiercely protective of Jey and Sami, unwilling to let anyone encroach on what's yours. Your jaw clenches, your fists tighten, and a fire ignites in your eyes as you glare daggers at anyone who dares to flirt with your men.

Jey and Sami find it both amusing and endearing, the way you puff up like an angry cat ready to defend its territory. They also get very turned on, and you can expect that you won't be able to walk the next day without feeling the repercussions of their arousal.

You have a tendency to take on too much that it leaves you feeling overwhelmed at times. You're the type who wants to make sure everything is perfect for Jey and Sami, often putting their needs above your own. Whether it's planning elaborate date nights, coordinating their schedules, or just being there for them whenever they need you, you always go above and beyond to ensure their happiness and well-being.

But in doing so, you sometimes neglect your own needs and forget to take care of yourself. You push yourself to the limit, trying to juggle too many responsibilities at once and refusing to ask for help when you need it. You're so used to being the one who holds everything together that you forget it's okay to lean on Jey and Sami for support sometimes, to let them take care of you the way you take care of them. It's something they've noticed and talked to you about, gently reminding you that they're here for you too, that you don't have to bear the weight of the world on your shoulders alone. They want to be there for you, to support you and lift you up when you're feeling down. They want you to know that they love you just as much as you love them, and that they'll always be there for you, no matter what. They'll do small things like bringing you breakfast in bed, running you a hot bath after a long day, or simply holding you close and whispering words of love and encouragement in your ear. They want you to know that you're not alone, that you have them by your side every step of the way.

At your best, you are a thoughtful partner that does everything before anyone can even think of it. You anticipate their needs, their desires, and their wishes, and you go above and beyond to fulfill them. At your worst, you can be stubborn and overly self-sacrificing, refusing to let anyone else bear the burden of your problems or share in your struggles. When you're in struggle mode, you shut off your brain and let Sami and Jey take the lead and make all the decisions.

You feel airy and disconnected, as if you're floating through life without any direction or purpose as Jey and Sami take care of you, make sure you're fed and rested, and gently guide you back to yourself. It's like a puppy that's lost its way, and your partners are the ones patiently leading you back home.

You constantly have to cake your neck with makeup because Sami and Jey always leave marks on it when they get too carried away. You always complain about having to cover up the love bites, but deep down, you secretly love them. They're like little reminders of the passionate moments you share with Jey and Sami, tangible evidence of the love and desire that burns between you. They may leave marks that you have to hide from the rest of the world, but they also leave marks on your heart that no amount of makeup could ever conceal.

Jey is very physically affectionate. His love language is physical touch, and he expresses his affection through hugs, kisses, and cuddles. He's the type of partner who isn't afraid to show his love openly, whether it's holding your hand in public or wrapping you up in a tight embrace when you're feeling down. His touch is warm and comforting, grounding you in the present moment and reminding you of his unwavering devotion. Jey's hugs are like a safety net, a place where you can always find solace and reassurance no matter what life throws your way. And when he kisses you, it's like fireworks exploding in the sky, igniting a spark of passion and desire that burns brighter with each passing moment.

Sami, on the other hand, expresses his affection through acts of service and quality time. He's the type of partner who shows his love through his actions, whether it's cooking your favorite meal, running errands for you when you're busy, or simply spending quality time together doing things you both enjoy. Sami's presence is like a warm blanket on a cold winter's night, enveloping you in a sense of comfort and security that makes you feel loved and cherished. And when he looks at you with those soulful eyes, you can't help but melt under his gaze, knowing that you're the center of his world.

As for you, your love language is a combination of words of affirmation and physical touch. You thrive on verbal expressions of love and appreciation, craving the reassurance that comes from hearing those three little words: "I love you." But you also find solace in physical affection, whether it's a gentle caress or a passionate kiss. You also love gift-giving, and watching your boys' eyes light up when you buy them their favorite limited edition sneakers or surprise them with tickets to their favorite band's concert brings you immense joy.

When it's those long days on the road where all you want to do is curl up into the familiar warmth of your partners' arms, you find solace in the small moments shared between the three of you. Whether it's cuddling together in bed after a long day of traveling, sharing inside jokes and laughter over dinner, driving to the next city with their hands, resting on your thigh, the windows fogged up by some adulterous activities, or simply holding hands as you walk through the bustling streets of a new city, you wouldn't trade your boys for anything for the world. And that was a fact.

And if anyone else had anything else to say about that, they should be prepared for Jey to knock some sense into them. Cause he don't play about the people he loves.

#wwe x reader #wwe fanfiction #wwe fic #wwe imagine #wwe x black reader #jey uso x reader #jey uso smut #jey uso imagines #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso imagine #sami zayn fanfiction #sami zayn smut #sami zayn x reader #sami zayn x fem reader #sami zayn imagine #sami zayn x jey uso #samijey #jeysami #jey uso x sami zayn #wwe smut imagine #fanfic #wwe #nxt #sami zayn #jey uso #wwe smut #wwe x fem reader #wwe imagines #wwe x fem black reader #wwe x you

[multi-fandomlovers-world]

Their S/O Pampers Them After A Long Day

TW: Fluff, SFW

Not my gifs--------All supported by Tumblr

Reblogs And Comments Are Highly Appreciated!!! :)

Simon "Ghost"Riley:

You knew Simon had a long day on a mission which was only supposed to be one to two days. By the time he had gotten home, he was a bit sore and exhausted from working. You found him laying on his back, trying to get comfortable with a back heater on his back. You decided to help him. "Here, take off your shirt and sit up", you said. He didn't make a fuss about it, he just did it without hesitation. You got behind him and rubbed lotion on your hands as you started rubbing his back and shoulders, trying to help him back be less tense. He groaned, closed his eyes against your neck. He loved the feel of your touch. "Thank you for helping me relax. Really, love. It means a lot to me", Simon said, looking up at you. "Of course. It's what I'm good at doing", you said, with a small smile. Simon had you stop what you were doing, turned towards you, cupped your face with his hands and kissed you passionately. Your hands touch his chest. He pulled away from your lips, and caressed your cheek with his thumb. "I'm so happy to know I have you in my life", Simon said, looking deep into your eyes. You giggled and said,"Me too, Si".

John "Soap" Mactavish:

You knew Johnny would be exhausted from being gone on a mission. After coming home, you found him sitting on the side of the bed, trying to relax his muscles. He was quieter than normal and you knew something was off. You walked in and climbed behind him. "Hey love, I have a better idea. Take off your shirt and lay on your back", you said, kissing his shoulder. He smirked and said,"Gettin' cheeky, aren't we?". You laughed and started rubbing his back with lotion. He groaned and relaxed into your touch. "I want you to know whatever happened out there, it wasn't your fault", you said, looking at him with a sincere look. "We lost a couple good men out there. Just wish I could've done more or done something about it", Soap said. "Look, I'm sure there was plenty of other ways to save them but you did the best that you could. It's not your fault and you tried your best", you said, caressing his cheek. He smiled lightly and sat up, looking at you with loving, soft eyes. "Yeah, you're right. I love you lass", Soap said. "I love you too, Johnny", you said, before he kissed you softly on the lips.

John "Captain" Price:

You knew John would be working from home, looking over documents or going through information with Laswell. He'd tell you that he'd be done soon, (let's face it, it would probably be up to 2 to 3 hours), before getting time to relax. You decide to take matters into your own hands and try to pull him away from work. You came up behind him in his office, where he said and kissed the side of his cheek and neck. He chuckled lightly and smiled. "Baby, you really should pull away from all this and relax. It's not good to overwork yourself like this", you said, continuing to wrap your arms around his shoulders and neck. "Darling, I just got a few more things to go through,ok? Give me an hour and then I'll come be with you",John said. You knew it would be longer than that. You pulled away from him, taking away the papers and computer. He furrowed his eyebrows together and realized what you were doing. "Come on, take your shirt and follow me to the bedroom. Lay down on your stomach". You said, looking into his eyes. "Yes ma'am", John said, with a smile. He did as you told him and you started messaging his back and shoulders with lotion. He groaned and you could feel how tense he was. "See? Isn't that better than working?", You said, smirking. "Mmm much better. Thank you, darling", John said. You bent down and kissed him on the cheek.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick:

Kyle was working on his hand to hand combat skills most of the day with Price. By the time he'd gotten home and was sitting on the side of the bed, you could tell how tense he was. He'd already showered and gotten into new clothes but he kept trying to rub his neck and shoulders, seeming to try and get rid of a knot that he had. You came up behind him, lifting up his shirt and tossing it to the side. "Lay down and relax. I'll take care of you", You said. He nodded and let you start rubbing his neck and shoulders, trying to get the knot out. He groaned and rested his head against his head against your shoulder. "Mmm thank you, babygirl. I really needed this, probably more than I thought I did", Kyle said, as he chuckled softly. "Of course, babe. You looked tense anyway so I figured I'd help out as much as I can", you said as you rubbed lotion into his neck and shoulders. He turned towards you and kissed you gently against your lips. You smiled into the kiss, holding the side of his face. "I'm so lucky to have you", Kyle said, whispering it into your ear, making you giggle softly. "I'm lucky to have you too, babe", you said.

Alejandro "Colonel" Vargas:

Alejandro has been working most of the day with new recruits. He didn't give himself time to stop and relax. By the time he'd gotten home, he was laying on the couch, trying to relax his muscles. You saw him laying there but he kept trying to rub a knot out of neck and back. "Love, sit up and take off your shirt. I'll take care of you", you said, sitting behind him and grabbing the lotion next to you. He smiled and took off his shirt. You started rubbing his neck softly, trying to get the knot out of his neck. He groaned in response. "Mmm, Gracias mi vida. Siempre me cuidas tan bien cuando más lo necesito (you always take such good care of me when i need it the most)", Alejandro said, turning towards you. "You're welcome, my love. You need it, especially when you don't give yourself a break", you said, meeting his dark brown eyes. He smiles lightly before cupping your chin with his hand and kisses you softly. You hold the sides of his cheeks. Once you pulled away from the kiss, he smiles as well as you do. "Next time, please try and be better about giving yourself a break. It's unhealthy to overwork and not try to catch your breath",you said, worried about him. "No te preocupes, mi vida. trataré de ser mejor (Don't worry, my life. I will try to be better".

Rodolfo "Second-In-Command" Parra:

Rudy was helping taking over supplies and guns over to the warehouse most of the day. He was pretty sore by the time he had gotten home because of lifting things left and right. He came home, showered and sat down in just his black sweatpants. You came into the room and held him from behind. He smiled softly and kissed your hand. "Just relax and let me take care of you", you said, as you began to grab the lotion and start rubbing it into his back, arms and shoulders. He smiled softly and rested his eyes, leaning more into your touch. He groaned a couple times as you rubbed his shoulders. "Mi amor, gracias. Yo necesitaba eso (My love, thank you. I needed that)", Rudy said, as he began to rest his head on your lap. You smiled and ran your hands through his hair, making him smile and hum. "You're welcome, my love. I figured I could help you relax since you had a long, hard day", you said. He slightly sits up and kisses you softly on the lips. He pulls you down and has you rest on his chest. "I love you, mi amor", Rudy said. "I love you too, Rudy", you said with a smile.

Konig:

Konig was helping his team lift heavier equipment and training most of the day. He was sore and exhausted by the time he'd gotten home to you. He freshened up and began to stretch to try and relieve his muscles from being so archy. You came into the room and noticed he was in pain. "Hi, baby. Let me take care of you. You've had a long day. Lay down on your stomach and I'll try to help relieve some of the pain", you said, with a smile and began to grab the lotion next to you. He didn't question it, but did as you told him to. He relaxed into your touch as you began to rub lotion onto his back, arms and shoulders, trying to help rub out knots and pain. He kept groaning, loving the feeling of your hands on his body. "Liebling, danke. Sie haben keine Ahnung, wie viel dies benötigt wird (Darling, thank you. You have no idea how much this is needed)", Konig said, as he turned his head slightly to look at you. "No need to thank me, love. You needed this and I wanted to help. Besides you'd do the same if it was me", you said, with a smile. He chuckled lightly and nodded, agreeing with you. He sat up and kissed you softly on your lips before pulling you down on the bed with him and resting with him the rest of the day.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously :-)

Taglist: @dressycobra7 @deadbranch @lolis-pikt

#cod mw2 #mwii #mw2 headcannons #cod mw2 x reader #mw2 imagine #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #alejandro vargas #rodolfo parra #mw2 konig #call of duty modern warfare #mw2 x reader

[factual-fantasy]

24 asksss :}}} ⭐⭐⭐

@ardent-38

You are my favorite person

@wolfie-777

Cassie does not exist in my AU. But hypothetically-

If Roxanne found this lost child she would report it to Vanessa and have her help Cassie. As is the protocol for children that are found on the premises after hours.

If Roxy found her while she had the "bug" in her system? She would have attacked and maybe even killed Cassie :x

Had to google what that was, <XD It looks beautiful! And I image that he has seen it before yeah :)

As for their favorite songs, I'm not sure :0

That's.. actually a really good idea.

For a long time I never went back to the comic because the writing I did was awful. Everyone was acting out of character, it was SUPER dramatic. I wrote Peso's character all wrong. Uhg, awful awful awful.

And then I was kept away from going back because people would not stop asking me to finish it. "Why did you abandon this comic?" "Are you gonna finish it?" "Why did you stop drawing it" "Go back and finish the crab comic" Like, it was so frustrating.

...Buuuuutt,, rewriting it? Hmmm... I'm way too wrapped up with projects to start this anytime soon. But I wont lie this ask really got me thinking about it-

Also thank you so much! I'm glad you like my art!! :DDD

@smilegirl64 (Post in question)

Thank you! I'm so glad you noticed! That was my favorite detail to add XDDDD

@elegysonnet

I dug into the series a bit and took a look around the fanbase. And I decided that it just wasn't really my thing.

Although I did love the character designs and I think they'd be really fun to draw, I didn't think I'd get along with the fandom. I can see myself huddled in my own little corner with all my headcannons and stuff, and I wouldn't really want to interact with anyone else. :/

Also my favorite character is probably Julie or Howdy XDD

I use an XPPen Artist 13.3 Pro. Its a tablet with a screen! :))

As for my drawing program I use FireAlpaca. Its free and really good for beginners and pros! Highly recommend if you're just getting into digital art. Also thank you!! :D

@baokim80

@burningmusicfunnygiant

I disagree actually. The "bug" aside, they are in no way programed to hurt anyone. They are programmed to have full obedience to staff and Managers.

They could try to stop them, and they could physically stand in their way. But you wouldn't see Freddy straight up punching an employee to keep him away from Bonnie.

Now with the bug in their systems? mmm.. Okay yeah they would. BUT ONLY WHEN THEY'RE NOT IN THEIR RIGHT MINDS-

@cudlycorncornsworthcoberson

XDD Offended Bibi noises can be heard in the background

@curiousskelekitty

<XD I'll do my best!

I feel that my responsibility as an artist on this platform is to tag my art appropriately. Tag it for blood, gore, injuries, things like that. So that people who are disturbed by those subjects don't have to stumble upon it and have their day ruined. :(

What is NOT my responsibly is to prevent little kids from seeing my bloody Octonauts artwork. That's the parents job. XD THEY should be keeping an eye on their kids and making sure they're not browsing sites like Tumblr XDD

Tangle and Lolbit are not a part of my AU actually.

But Mangle? Just because she hasn't made an appearance of any kind yet, doesn't mean she wont in the future.. 👀

Thank you! :DD

Thank you! I'll try to not rush through my projects so much <XD

Thank you for respecting that! :D

Also uhg. I hate pinterest. I would rather people just never found out about me then find me through a pinterest post with my stolen artwork.

@whereismycupofcoffee

YEESSS!!! I always love it when people decide to give Octonauts a try :))) Its a really neat show!

THANK YOU SO MUCH!! :DDDD

XD My first thought was Peso or Shellington for some reason. They're just too polite to make a fuss XDDD

@kymbird

Wanna know a good place to start if you genuinely struggle with that? Make 1 character that is based off of you. And then make a second character that is based off of someone in your life that you have 0 romantic interest in what so ever. Like your Mom, or your Dad, siblings, Uncle, dog literally anyone. It should be impossible to twist those 2 characters together because they are modeled after you and ur mom. You should look at them and say "thats me and my mom" or "thats me and my brother" Those 2 should then be characters that are 100% protected from becoming a ship. :0

This actually reminded me of my transformer ocs. I modeled the characters after the drivers/owners. And people wanted to ship them together and I was like "for 1 they are my OCs so thats kind'a odd but 2 those two characters are based off of siblings. They absolutely should not- in ANY universe, be paired together"

Personally not a huge fan of the bright blue color he has. Seeing his Bonnie Bowl artwork everywhere I expected him to be his usual purple..

As for my Bonnie I think he'd get along pretty well with his Glamrock counterpart! But when it comes to the Bowling ally they'd be rivals. >:)

Also thank you! :DD

@trains-of-thought

aaaa thank you so much!! :DD I'm so glad to hear that you've liked my Mario artwork!! And that you read the info aaaa!! I spent a lot of time writing all that so I'm glad to hear that you read it! As for your questions,

1: Yes! My Peach, Daisy, Wario and Waluigi are all the same species, which is not human. They are this incredibly tall elf like species that closely resembles humans and has many biological similarities.. but ultimately they are very different species.

2: Its hard to say.. I've been known to change my mind a lot so maybe? Honestly I hope that someday these feelings towards fanart will vanish and I will be able to engage with my fans more. But for now,, noooo fanworks :(

OH MY GOSH I LOVE THAT FNAF VIDEO XDD Very well animated and funny! Here's the link in case anyone is interested!

I drew it myself! :)

#my response #fnaf security breach #fnaf security breach dlc #fnaf security breach dlc spoilers #octonauts #super mario bros

[musings-of-a-rose]

I'm having a Sparks and Benny thought here. Based on this pic. Both of them arrive at home from a Xmas party at Will's. Things got hot really quick.

Note this was supposed to be in your ask box. I messaged ya this thought. My bad! Holiday brain!

The Party

Pairing: Benny Miller x “Sparks” f!reader

Word Count: 1300+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I miss the HELL out of these 2 so please continue to send in anything! Also I’m changing this up to a New Year’s Party because I couldn’t finish it in time for Christmas. And then I was even more late! Thank you for being so patient and waiting!! (This was not beta read)

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

→Tell Tumblr this should be shared with others by reblogging! That's what the algorithm loves (it's how it works here. I don't make the rules!)

**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Light Me Up Masterlist

Benny Miller Masterlist

“Did we really have to dress all fancy?” Benny whines, rolling his shoulders to shift the suit jacket a little. 

“It’s Will and Makayla’s first New Year’s living together and they wanted to be fancy,” I explain as I knock on the door to Will and Makayla’s place.

“I guess.”

“Plus, it’s my first as Mrs. Miller and I wanted to look pretty.”

Benny’s eyes soften as he looks me, the edges of his gaze darkening. “You’re always gorgeous, Mrs. Miller.” He grips my hips and pulls me to him, releasing one hand to tip my chin up, kissing me softly, the heat slowly warming.

“Get your own porch, asshole.” Will had opened the door and was standing there smirking. 

“You’re right. I’ll just take my wife home then,” Benny pulls me in the direction of his jeep. 

“Nice try. Makayla would kill me if you guys didn’t show up. Come on in.” He opens the door wide and motions for us to enter, fist bumping Benny as he walks past. 

Makayla had gone all out, everything sparkling in silver, gold, and black, like a modern day Gatsby party. People had already arrived and Benny steers me towards Frankie and Monica, Santi off in the corner making out with a girl, whom I shockingly recognize. 

“Is Santi with the same girl he brought to the bar a month ago?” I whisper to Frankie and Monica. 

She nods. “Yeah! I think this one is sticking around, surprisingly enough.”

We chat with them for a bit, Makayla flitting over for a few minutes before being whisked away on a champagne emergency. The music is going, some people getting up to dance. Will recruits Benny to help him with something in the kitchen, so I pull Monica onto the dance floor, whispering to her that we’re going to be menaces to our respective husbands. 

We start dancing to the upbeat song, hands on each others hips as we sway and move to the song, her spinning me around so my back is flush with her front. And that’s when I see him, Benny, emerging from the kitchen and freezing, his eyes on me as I dance. Judging by the light chuckle in my ear from Monica, I’m guessing she caught Frankie’s eye too.

“Wanna torture them some more, Sparks?” She says close to my ear.

“Hell yeah.”

I follow her lead, moving my body as she guides me, our hips moving in tandem as she pulls me closer to her. For good measure, I lift my arm, wrapping it around the back of her head, trying not to giggle when she squeezes just a little too much on my inner hips. And then the song ends, Monica and I laughing as she hugs me.

“That was way too much fun, Sparks.”

“Yeah it was. Did you see their-”

Suddenly, Monica was ripped from my grasp, Frankie’s hand firmly clamped around her upper arm, a smirk and a wink tossed my way from her as he steers her away through the group of people. 

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Benny had snuck up behind me, his hands now on my hips, his nose nuzzling in my hair as he speaks low in my ear. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was dancing, good sir.”

He chuckles and it makes goosebumps pop up down my arm. “Yeah. Dancing. Sure.” He  makes to pull me away, to find some secluded spot but then Will clanks a spoon on a glass and everyone turns, Benny groaning a little too loud so I elbow him softly in the ribs. 

Will puts his arm around Makayla next to him before speaking. “I just want to thank everyone for coming. We’re so excited to share our first New Year’s Eve with everyone we love and we’ve been working hard- ok. Makayla has been working hard. I just do what she says,” laughing flits around the group as Makayla playfully slaps his chest, leaving her hand on his toned pec. “But seriously. Thank you guys. Here’s to another great year!”

—----

The toast was had, the ball was dropped, the midnight kiss was a little too risque between you and Benny, Will not so covertly throwing an empty Solo cup at Benny’s head. 

“Ugh I’ve been dying to take these shoes off all night!” I groan, kicking my heels off and plopping down in one of our comfy chairs. 

“You looked hot though.”

“That’s the price of fashion. Pain.”

He chuckles as he removes his jacket, revealing that he wore a simple, plain black shirt underneath it, the fabric stretching and pulling as he tosses the jacket on the back of the couch and sits with a sigh. I look over at him, feeling warm watching his movements.

“Did..did you really wear a black t-shirt under your dress jacket?”

Benny looks down at his shirt, his eyebrows pulled together. “Should I not have?”

“No, no. I think it works.”

He brushes his chest and I almost come unglued. “Good.”

“Wanna see what’s under mine?”

His big blue eyes snap to mine. “Fuck yeah I do.”

I get up, standing in front of him as I pull my dress over my head, hearing his sharp intake of breath as I reveal his favorite lingerie set on me, complete with black garter belts.

“You…you had this on the whole time?”

I nod, moving to straddle him. He grips my hips, sliding his hands up to my ribs as he kisses my chest, his mustache tickling my skin causing me to chuckle. But then he grips me tight, standing abruptly and sets me in the chair, draping each of my legs over the arms of the chair. He kneels, his eyes dark and all-consuming as he stares between my legs. 

“Can you buy new underwear?”

“I think so.”

I barely get my reply out before he grips my panties, ripping the part that covers me, tucking the ripped ends up. His large hands squeeze my inner thighs and before I can say anything, his mouth is on me, warm and lapping, my legs trying to squeeze around him. He holds me open, his fingers digging deeper into my skin as I moan his name, electric sparks rolling over me as his tongue changes patterns. One of my hands grips the chair and the other moves to his hair, tugging hard and whining when his growl vibrates me. 

“Oh fuck! Ben, I -” The sounds he pulls from me are loud and grateful, Benny leaving his mouth on me to work me down. But I don’t have time to relax as he stands, pulling me up only to spin me, pushing my upper back down, the sound of a zipper loud in the quiet apartment. He drags himself through the wetness between my thighs before pushing and I slap the chair, trying to find something, anything to grip.

“Can’t believe you were wearing this the whole night and didn’t tell me,” Benny pants behind me, setting a rougher pace just hear the panted whines tumble from my lips. 

My hands scramble, still trying to find purchase as he presses harder, faster, but then he folds himself over me, engulfing me from behind, his large hands sliding down my arms, his fingers lacing with mine, holding my hands as he continues to push in further. I turn my head to the side, feeling myself hurtle towards the edge again as he brushes against that spot at the back of me. 

“Oh fuck, Benny! Please..please!” I come, tightening around him, his breaths panting out across my neck as he buries his face, turning his head slightly to bite my shoulder as he comes, his hips pushing in a few more times as he releases. His bite turns to kisses, nuzzling into my hair before he whispers.

“I love you, Sparks.”

I manage to finally catch my breath. “Don’t you mean Mrs. Miller?”

“Fuck!” He pulls out but stands, picking me up to throw me over his shoulder with a squeal as he stomps down the hallway, spending the next few hours showing me exactly what being called Mrs. Miller does to him.

—----

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers @icanbeyourjedi @wretchedmo @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed  @ladykatakuri @marrianena  @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol  @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics @sullyosully @kmc1989 @veryprairieberry @mysterious-moonstruck-musings  

#benny miller #ben miller #benny miller x reader #benny miller x you #benny miller x f!reader #triple frontier #garrett hedlund #benjamin miller #benjamin benny miller #garrett hedlund x reader #garrett hedlund x you #garrett hedlund characters #garrett hedlund character fanfic #garrett hedlund character ff #garrett hedlund character fanfiction

[the-offside-rule]

Pedri Gonzalez - Until I Found You (FCBarcelona) ft. Ferran Torres

Requested: tumblr

Prompt: Y/n is friends with Sira, the girlfriend of Ferran. The couple have an idea to introduce their two single friends in an attempt to get them to date.

Warnings: fluff

"I just think you should give this date a try, that's all." Sira said, walking alongside her friend to the car. "I am never going on a double date." Y/n replied, hopping into the passenger side of the car. "Oh come on! Why?" Sira asked, yet again. "Because it's not my thing." Her friend replied. "So what is your thing? Being lonely?"

"Being single, does not mean I am lonely." Y/n snapped. "Just give it a chance. You may actually enjoy yourself, and who we pick." Sira smiled. "We? Who's we?" She asked. "Me and Ferran. He has a few single friends but don't worry, we'll find the one for you." Sira assured her. "Playing cupid, huh?" Sira nodded. "Exactly. Now, we have twenty minutes to get there."

"Wait, twenty minutes to get where?" Y/n asked. "To the date? Ferran text that they're waiting." Y/n's heartbeat quickened. "No! You could have given me warning!"

"So, who is she again?" Pedri asked, playing with the ends of his hoodie strings. "Her name is Y/n. She is Sira's friend. That's all you need to know before you meet her." Ferran replied. "Yes, but I would rather hear a bit more about her." Pedri said. "You can ask her on the date." Ferran chuckled. "No, because we're both going to be in your conversation. A couple date, is such a bad idea for a first date."

"Get out of the car." Sira demanded for the sixth time in the minute. "No! You tricked me!" Y/n exclaimed. "Would you have come if I said you had a date?" Y/n was silent. "My point exactly! Now get out of my car!"

"Hola, bebé." Ferran smiled as he pecked Sira's lips. Y/n looked visibly uncomfortable. "Where is he?" Sira asked. "Oh, Pedri." Pedri? The footballer? "Pedri, Y/n. Y/n, Pedri." Ferran said. Y/n's eyes fell onto the all too familiar stranger. "Mucho gusto. Pedri." The man smiled. Her legs turned to jelly looking at him. "Oh, she doesn't speak much Spanish, P. I-"

"Hablo español, Sira. Simplemente nunca me hablas en español. Te gusta asegurarte de que tu inglés sea siempre bueno." Y/n said, shaking hands with Pedri. "Sira arched a brow in amusement. "Well, if its all the same, I would like to speak a mix of both. Just for everyone to understand everything." Ferran smiled. "Necesitas mejorar tu inglés, verdad Pedrito?" Pedri chuckled. "Es una profesora de inglés." Pedri turned back to look at Y/n. "Really?" He asked. "No, I'm a student. My mother is an English professor in the university though." Pedri nodded. "That makes better sense." Ferran snickered at his miss-matched English. "It's better English than how yours was." Y/n said. "My English was good-"

"It's usually not right." Y/n muttered, loud enough for Pedri to hear. "Are we going to go in or stand out here all evening?" Sira asked before the four agreed to head inside.

"Please, have a seat." Pedri said, pulling the chair out for his 'date'. Y/n smiled at the gesture and took the seat gladly, placing her jacket on the back of her chair whilst Pedri took a seat before her. Ferran stared, not knowing what to say or how to even react to how his friend was acting; like a gentleman. Sira kicked her boyfriend under the table, indicating him to stop staring and have a look at the menu instead.

Throughout the dinner, Pedri and Y/n....well they became a but more distanced from Sira and Ferran. Sure, the conversations would start off with all four involved, but it would quickly change to just Y/n and Pedri speaking and laughing together, leaving Sira and Ferran to talk amongst themselves. They clicked. Both hated to admit it to their respective friends but they clicked. From the moment they sat down, right down to splitting the bill, they barely stopped talking. Pedri stood up and excused himself to go to the bathroom. Y/n sat smiling go herself before a quiet giggle snapped her from her thoughts and she turned to see Sira grinning at her. "What?"

"Nothing, I just think I told you you'd enjoy this." Sira chuckled. "Yeah, whatever. I'm just getting along with a man, that doesn't mean we like eachother." Y/n replied. "I don't know. He was a boy when he came in and he went into that bathroom a man." Ferran joked. "Oh the both of you just be quiet, please. I don't want to go all out on the first date." Y/n mumbled the last part. "I'm sure he'll ask you for a second date. Don't worry." Sira reassured her before they all quietened down for Pedri to return. "So, what are the plans now?" He asked. "Well, Sira and I are going to take her far home. We thought maybe it would be a good idea for you to take Y/n home?" Ferran suggested. "I was going to suggest that we do that actually. It just makes sense." Pedri smiled. Y/n felt her heart thumping inside her chest, simply from looking at his smile. "That's it settled then. I say we can all go our separate ways now."

Y/n smiled as she got into Pedri's car and looked around. The car mlled fresh, as if it had just been cleaned or as if it were brand new. She looked over to the driver door as the spaniard climbed in and put the key in the ignition. "Seatbelt." He said before Y/n reached for it and pulled it across herself. "So, do you need my address?" Y/n asked putting her seatbelt on. "No, not yet. I actually have a last minute plan I came up with in the bathroom." He said, making her confused. "How do you feel about theme parks and arcades?"

#football #fcbarcelona #football blurbs #football imagines #laliga #pedri gonzalez #pedri x reader #pedri x y/n #pedri x you #pedri gonzalez oneshot #pedri gonzalez imagine #pedri imagine #pedri

[starsofmilos]

Make Up? (Adrian Chase x reader)

Request: Ohh Tumblr must have eaten the ask! I wanted to request something where Adrian and the reader get into a really big fight, and then have intense makeup sex with dom Adrian overstimulating the reader. And then there’s very soft and sweet aftercare and he holds them.

Eeeee I'm alive again and postin! I was so excited when I saw this request and hope I do it justice!

Masterlist

Warnings: dom Adrian, angst, fluff, argument, yelling, p in v, oral (male receiving and fem receiving) choking, spanking, degradion, cursing, face fucking, spitting

Adrian was mad.

Now usually he wasn't an angry person. He was calm and rational. He took pride in knowing that he wasn't an angry person.

Today had just been rough. He just wanted to go home and cuddle with you.

You had also had a bad day. Things just went terrible today and all you wanted was to go home and cuddle with your boyfriend.

Neither of you are sure how you ended up here.

"Adrian I said it was an accident!!"

"Sure it was!! You totally didn’t plan to ruin the day!"

"Oh okay yes cause that was my end goal for today!! I woke up and said let's piss off Adrian!"

"Yes! You live to piss me off!"

"Do you even hear yourself!!? I'm sorry I fucking forgot to defrost the meat like you asked me too!! I'll buy us pizza!"

"I don't want pizza!!" He roared out groaning. You grew angrier.

"You're acting like a fucking dick!"

"It was the only thing I asked of you today!"

"I said I was sorry and you know I had my own things to do today too right! Not everything of mine revolves around you!"

"All I wanted was a nice night with you and here you are ruining it!"

"Me ruining it! You are! You're the one who's yelling!"

"Cause you wouldn't leave it alone! You wouldn't fucking leave it alone! You kept pushing and pushing and pushing! I said leave it fucking alone but you had to know why I was upset and first of all I’m not even upset-"

"CAUSE I WAS WORRIED ABOUT YOU!" You screeched out.

"Why?! There’s nothing wrong!"

"Uh I'm you're girlfriend!" Adrian scoffed at your words shaking his head. You grew teary eyed now.

"Oh fuck wait don’t cry! Shit! This was stupid! Just leave it alone!! Fuck I’ll figure this shit out later." Adrian stormed off leaving you standing there.

He stopped in his track feeling something hit his back. It was the bag of frozen meat.

"You're an asshole and I hate you." You sniffled crying. Adrian clenched his fists.

He knew what he was doing was wrong. He hated arguing with you.

"No you don't." He approached you standing in front of you.

"Yes I do. I didn't ruin anything! All I did was show my worry for you dick." You jabbed your finger in his chest. "I even fucking apologized but I take it back!"

"You take it back?"

"Yes I take it back! You're a shitty boyfriend! You're a dick!" Adrian laughed shaking his head.

"You better stop." He warned you leaning in.

"Why? You won't do fucking shit. You're a coward who won't fucking talk about his feelings and instead chooses to yell at his wonderful girlfriend!"

"You're not so wonderful right now." He snapped out pushing you against the wall.

"Cause you made me this way asshole! I hate you."

"You didn't seem to hate me last night when I fucked you in the shower."

"Yeah well yesterday you weren't an asshole. It wasn't even that good. I'm better off finding someone else."

"Someone else? You think someone else could fuck you better than me?" He taunted you.

"With the way you're acting..yes." Adrian laughed pinning your hands against the wall.

"I'm gonna give you five seconds to take that back."

"Fuck you."

"1"

"You're a dick! I hate you! You yelled at me then mocked me!"

"2"

"I don't want your stupid cock! Maybe I should find a better guy." You struggled against his hands. You knew what you were doing now You wanted to egg him on. Take out both your angers another way.

"3"

"Think of it me with someone else fucking them. They wouldn't be mean like you are!"

"Oh honey you like it when I'm mean. I'll fucking prove it to you." He grabbed your hair not bothering to finish counting. You yelped as Adrian pushed you down on the bed. He leaned down kissing you.

You squirmed under him. He gripped your chin forcing your mouth open. "God you're such a little fucking brat. You don't know how to shut up."

You glared at him. "Are you gonna fuck me or keep fucking insulting me?"

"Both." Adrian sat up flipping you around. He yanked down your pants and underwear roughly. You squirmed under him gasping out as he raised his hand landing it roughly against your ass.

He grabbed your hair roughly throwing you over his lap. "What's our safe word?" He snapped out. You stood silent hitting his leg.

"Safe word!" He yelled out.

"It's teal!" You yelled back. Adrian gripped your hair tighter.

"Good do you need to use it?" He asked.

"No." You gritted your teeth.

"No what?"

"Fuck you."

"I'm being serious Y/N." Even while angry, your comfort and safety was the important thing to him. He'd rather die than hurt you.

"No sir. I don't need the fucking safe word." You gasped as he slapped your ass harshly.

"Don't fucking curse at me fucking brat." He spanked you again. "Now count."

"No!"

"Count or I swear I will spank you so fucking hard then leave you here."

You knew it was a meaningless threat. Adrian would never hurt you then not comfort you. He loved you too much and you knew you were being a brat.

"One." You mumbled out wincing from his slap. Adrian smiled now doing it again.

"Two!" You yelped as he slapped your ass.

"Not so fucking tough now huh?" He slapped your ass again harder.

"Three!" You grew teary eyed. These were hard slaps. Adrian grinned seeing your red ass. He rubbed his hand over it feeling slightly bad. It didn't stop him though.

He spanked you a total of seven more times. You had tears down your cheeks by the end of it. Adrian rubbed your sore ass as he grabbed your thigh spreading your legs open.

He smirked. You were practically dripping. "See you're fucking crying but look how wet you fucking are you stupid whore. Look at this little cunt. It's ruining my fucking pants." He sat you up pulling you into a sloppy kiss.

You moaned kissing him back. His tongue pushed against yours. Adrian pulled away laughing as you cried out. He had pushed two fingers in you with no warning.

"Ride my fingers baby." He whispered in your ear. "Get yourself off."

"No no I want you to do it-" You weakly protested. He gripped your chin.

"No only good girls get the good treatment."

"I was good though! You're the one being mean!" You cried out. He pushed you to your knees lifting your head up.

"I'll fucking show you mean. Mouth open now!" He yelled out grabbing your hair. You pouted opening your mouth. He undid his pants quickly.

"Say you want my cock and I'll think about letting you cum tonight." You whined at his words. Adrian gripped your hair tilting your head up.

"Say it Y/N."

"I want your cock." Adrian grinned caressing your head.

"Yeah you do. You want my cock huh sweet girl? My little slut."

"Yes I want your cock." Adrian tapped his cock against your cheek.

"Good now open." You opened your mouth giving him a small pretty look. Adrian caressed your cheek before shoving his cock down your throat. You gagged a bit from the force before relaxing.

Adrian groaned out holding your head against him. "Suck." He gripped your hair tighter. You whined beginning to hollow your cheeks.

"Oh fuck.." He moaned out. His hips thrusted up. You gagged as he choked you. He gripped your hair.

"I'm gonna fuck your throat is that okay? Tap once on my thigh for yes and twice on my thigh for no sweetheart." You tapped on his thigh.

"Good girl tap on it again if it becomes too much." He rutted his hips cursing as his cock made it's way down your throat. He moaned out gripping your hair as you sucked.

You moaned as he began a small pace. "Oh fuck oh fuck..is this what it takes to shut you up? Need to gag you on my fucking cock."

Adrian threw his head back moaning as he sped up now. You whined gagging as he kept going. "Oh fuck fuck fuck...such a good throat. You're doing so good."

He became brutal as he face fucked you. "I needed this so badly. Oh you fucking whore. My fucking whore. No one else gets to do this to you but me. Do you understand? You don't suck anyone else's cock but mine you stupid slut."

Adrian pulled out jacking off now. "Open your mouth now."

You listened as he cursed cumming on your face. You shut your eyes as it landed on your mouth and cheeks. Adrian panted looking at you for a moment. He picked you up throwing you down on the bed.

"Fuck fuck you did such a good job. Lay back and let me fucking take care of you. Such a good job my little whore." He spanked you again flipping you onto your back.

He shoved his face licking a fat stripe up from your hole to your clit. "Adrian!" You cried his name out. He grabbed your thighs folding you in half. His tongue pushed in your cunt.

He moaned eating you out as if he was starved. You grabbed his hair shoving his face against you. He glared up at you pulling away to spit on your cunt.

"This is mine. Do you understand that? Mine. Only I know how to fucking treat this sweet pussy. Am I clear?"

"Yes yes! Please please more!" You sobbed out as he leaned over you gripping your chin.

"No. Am I fucking clear? This pussy is mine. Mine." He shoved two of his fingers inside you beginning to fuck you. "Take back what you said."

"Adrian-"

"Take it fucking back. You don't want anyone but me. Say it!" You sobbed crying as he continued. He pushed another finger inside of you.

The pleasure was overwhelming.

"No No No! I don't want anyone but you! No one but you could make me feel this good! Adrian please! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

He smiled kissing you deeply. He pulled his hand away slapping his cock against your clit. You moaned out panting.

"Good girl..good job sweetheart. You're so good honey." He pushed inside. "Oh god so fucking tight. You're so fucking tight."

He grabbed your legs holding them up as he began to fuck you into the mattress.

You panted whining as he moved roughly. He fucked you with one thing in mind.

"Cum on my cock." You moaned panting. "You could do it honey."

"No no I've been bad. I don't deserve it-"

"You shut up you sweet beautiful thing. You shut your beautiful mouth. You're my sweet girl. I've been a dick. Now it's okay make a big mess on my cock for me sweetheart."

You moaned out at his words as he placed his hand around your throat. He held your throat gently as he pounded into you.

"God you feel so good. Just wanna make you cum on my cock."

"Adrian! Oh god! Yes yes yes!" He smiled fucking into you.

"That's right sweetie. Only cock can make you scream like this. You're mine. Mine to love. Mine to fuck like this." You gasped out as he threw your legs over his shoulder.

He spat on your clit using his hand to rub it. "Adrian!!" You cried out his name.

"You feel so good Y/N! Oh fuck you feel so good! Come on baby!" He grunted rubbing your clit harder. You withered on the bed crying as he fucked into you.

"Make a mess on my cock honey. Come on." He growled out dropping your legs to grip your chin. He forced your mouth open.

He kissed you deeply pushing his tongue in your mouth. He sloppily kissed you as he fucked you deeply.

You both moaned panting as Adrian pulled away. "You're mine. Mine. Mine."

"I'm yours." You sobbed out. Adrian pulled out flipping you over. He pressed his chest into your back as he pushed back in. You cried out as he fucked you harder.

"Never fucking forget that. Never fucking forget that this pussy and this body and you are mine." He moaned out. "I'm gonna cum inside this sweet pussy. My pussy."

"Adrian! Adrian!" He pulled your tits as he hugged you tight. "I'm gonna cum!!"

"Make a mess. Wanna feel you squeeze my cock!" You cried out cumming. Tears went down your cheeks as

Adrian humped into you a couple more times before groaning out as he pushed in cumming deeply inside of you.

You both panted. He kissed your neck a couple of times as he slowly laid you down. You cried silently as he pulled out. He flipped you over on your back kissing your face.

You sniffled as he kissed your lips sweetly now. "You okay?" He asked worriedly.

"Yes.." You whispered out. He smiled getting up.

You whined reaching out for him. He came back kissing your lips real quick.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right back." Adrian gave you a smile racing off. He came back with a rag and some water.

He wiped you down gently as you still cried. Adrian wiped your tears away kissing your face.

"Can you drink some water for me honey?" You nodded sitting up.

He helped you to the restroom waiting for you.

Once you came out he helped you into one of his shirts sliding your panties on for you.

"I'm sorry I didn't defrost the meat like you asked me too.." You mumbled out once he tucked you back into bed.

"That doesn't matter. It never did. I'm sorry. You were right I was being an irrational dick. You were busy today too." He kissed your lips cuddling you into his chest. He rubbed your back.

"But it was the only thing you asked of me and then you said I kept bothering you and and-" You cried now. Adrian shushed you kissing his lips.

"No no Y/N. No..It was me. I had a bad day and I took it out on you. I should've never done that to you. You were being the best girlfriend trying to make sure I was okay. I'm sorry okay. I'm so sorry."

He kissed your tears and cheeks. "I'm sorry. I just had a really bad day. It was terrible. I shouldn't have left yelled at you. You were right. I was a terrible boyfriend. I love you so much."

"I love you too..I'm sorry I said those mean things. I also had a bad day."

"We both had bad days. It's okay. I'm sorry for yelling at you for something so small. I shouldn't have." He leaned in kissing you. "You tried to make it better. I had those mean things coming. I'm so sorry.."

"I forgive you." You mumbled out sniffling.

"You shouldn't, but thank you. I will never yell at you the way I did. Never again.." He kissed your head again moving to kiss your lips. He hugged you tightly.

"So you said pizza earlier?"

"It was just a suggestion."

"And it was a good one sweetheart. I love you Y/N. I mean it. I'm so so sorry I yelled at you. You're not a bother and I hate making you cry the way I did." He kissed your lips.

"I love you Adrian. I don't hate you like I said I did. I didn't mean it."

"I know you didn't. You were mad and you had every right to be." He kissed your lips gently. "I'm gonna order us food and I'm gonna pamper you the whole night like you deserve."

"But I was mean-"

"So was I. I shouldn't have yelled at you and after the rough treatment I put you through you need a good night."

"I liked it though."

Adrian smirked laughing a bit now. "I'm glad you did." He kissed your lips now. "God I love you so much."

"I love you too.." You smiled as he sat you on his lap massaging your back. He cuddled you close grabbing his phone.

"Now lemme get you a pizza."

You smiled happily as he kissed your face everywhere. "My sweet beautiful girlfriend."

#adrian chase #fanfiction #adrian chase x reader #vigilante fanfiction #vigilante x reader #adrian chase x you #fanfic #vigilante peacemaker #peacemaker #adrian chase peacemaker

[drconstellation]

Taking Things At Face Value

This post is dedicated to all those Ninas out there, who are "just enjoying the show."

I have been pondering an problem that had come up for a second time in another meta I'm writing (I left it out of an earlier one for clarity) regarding acknowledgement of identity and faces in S2, but when you keep running into the same road-block, you have to tackle it head on. Then I ran into the exact same problem a third time here, and the beginnings of this meta has sat in my drafts file staring at me for several weeks while I've been doing other things. But finally, finally, the answer has come to me, while being kept awake by a passing thunderstorm at 1.30am.

MRS SANDWICH: You're a good lad. CROWLEY: I'm not actually, either. But thank you.

Let's start with this exchange between Crowley and Mrs Sandwich, after Crowley has led all the Whickber St shopkeepers out of the ball to apparent safety. She calls him a "good lad," and he denies it, but thanks her anyway, and gives her a charming smile. We all know Crowley hates being called 'nice' and the last time he did something 'good' he got dragged down to Hell for punishment, so it seems like an odd thing to happen.

But the thing is, while Mrs Sandwich is complimenting his actions, he is responding about his appearance - that is neither 'good' (i.e. he is a demon) or a male human (i.e. he is an supernatural non-gendered entity.)

At this point you might be going "yeah, yeah, we know, we get that! Move along op..." but this matters, as you soon will see. We should also note that neither Crowley or Aziraphale judge Mrs Sandwich for being a brothel madame (how Aziraphale does not know this when her shop is just over the road from his I will never fathom, but there you go) and Crowley is actually quite charming all-round to his parallel character (prostitution and demons going hand-in-hand - er, not literally. But they went out the door as the vanguard arm-in-arm, though.)

The Metatron turning up at the bookshop in person is the next scene on the cards. Firstly, archangel Michael doesn't recognize him, but Saraqael obviously does.

Now, I know I'm guilty of saying that Michael may have had their memory adjusted at some time, but I'm going to suggest something else at this point. Saraqael knows who this is, because they have just had a fresh reminder from watching the recordings of Gabriel with Crowley and Muriel. And Saraqael is a pretty smart angel, so lets give them some leeway on this one. But for Michael, well, they are in the same situation as Aziraphale. They have only seen the Metatron as giant floating head without a body, so don't associate him with this appearance before them, and also because he has a beard.

Just before you jump on me and say "But he had one in the recordings!" yes, yes, I know. Two things, though, I want to bring to your attention: angels are not supposed to have facial hair,* and he doesn't have any in S1 (I checked!) and he also makes the comment "This calls for much less attention, though." Yeah, well a giant head floating through the streets of Soho would be quite a sight, wouldn't it, even though they had already been treated to the view of Gabriel's royal rear-end. Aziraphale had only met him once before, as a giant floating head in S1E4 who had had to introduce himself, so we could surmise this is Michael's problem as well, even though they were at Gabriel's trial. This is backed up by a tumblr ask/answer from NG as well, where he said "I think because they normally see him as a giant floating head, and not as a little man in a raincoat."

MICHAEL: Um, and who are you? METATRON: For Heaven's sake. And I mean that most literally. You don't know me? Well, uh, what about you? Demon? Do you know me?

Demon. That is what the Metatron chooses to call Crowley in that company, and we know in hindsight that he knows Crowley's name - as does Uriel, and Gabriel. Even Muriel learns it. But they don't use it, at least not in S2.

Even more notable is that the archangels don't deign to him give the respect of using his chosen name at all. He's not not even their enemy at this point - he's beneath their notice altogether, even though they are in the same room. Only Aziraphale seems to acknowledge his existence, instinctively trying to reach out to him as he passes by.

To Nina, people are coffee preferences.

To Mrs Sandwich, they are desires that need servicing.

So then question I had, and that stopped me, was why did both Crowley and Gabriel question Beelzebub about their new face?

It stood out to me because you don't normally make an obvious comment about the change of actor for a character, and to do it twice - !! You can't ignore that. No meta writer should ignore that. There is a trope term for this, actually, called "lampshading," which means to intentionally call attention to an incongruent situation within a story before moving on, but in a show where nothing is an accident, this seems a bit trite to me. Eventually I realized that this was the whole crux of the problem to me - that while we all too readily take things at face value, its not the faces that really influence us, its our internal values.

In the case of Beelzebub, Crowley recognizes the demon, their power, and their identity via the flies without any doubt; he merely comments on the change of exterior appearance. In terms of value, he knows straight away he's dealing with someone dangerous, no matter what they look like. Gabriel, on the other hand, is judging the book by its cover, and because he doesn't recognize the new cover, he needs proof of which demon he's dealing with, or maybe if they are even a demon at all.

"Bravo," says Nina, "Just enjoying the show." She's already seen a few that week, not to mention just in the general flow of life as a shop owner involved with customer service. If you've had any sort of life in a customer service role I'm sure you've got a few stories you could tell of things you've seen or experienced as well! I know I can.

The conversation between Nina and Crowley after Aziraphale walks away is amusing for all the assumptions Nina makes about them based on what she's observed that week, but also because Crowley tells the truth every in every reply to Nina, and yet she still has no idea what he's really saying. But her judgements, based on her experience and values, still manage to drop the proverbial ton of bricks on his head so badly he slinks off to sooth himself with some alcohol while he thinks about it instead of catching up with Aziraphale to continue being the angel's nameless shadow.

This problem with judging people on previous experience and not on who they actually are is everywhere in S2.

It's Ennon treating Aziraphale, an angel he's never met before, as a slut.

It's Elspeth judging Aziraphale on his accent.

It's Mrs H. giving a powerful demon a blistering tongue-lashing because she thinks he's a just simple human black marketeer.

It's Crowley refusing to call Gabriel "Jim" because he believes Gabriel is faking it.

...and so on. These are just a few examples. I'm sure you can spot a few more.

Which brings us back around to the meeting of the supernatural Councils in the bookshop in S2E6 and Crowley's "invisibility" to the other angels and demons gathered there. A demon to the archangels, an arch-traitor to the demons, why would they want to acknowledge him? Once he restores Gabriel, he becomes rank-less and faceless to them because they don't need him any more - its basically an act of celestial racism.

Nina and Maggie don't really know any better, they still think Mr Crowley and Mr Fell are just, well, "partners." OK, so maybe they've been doing some weird shit the last few days manipulating things in the neighbourhood but they're still obviously a couple a group of the two of them in their human eyes - and neither do they seem to care that they seem to be mlm, either. No judgement there.

A number of times I've seen ops say they've been watching GO with family members who are seeing it for the first time, and the family member thinks they are just "close friends." Why? Because they haven't seen S2 and the kiss? Because they haven't verbally said "I love you" to each other? Do they really need to say that to prove their feelings for each other? Is that just your values creeping to the fore?

And where did you get your values from?

Sometimes you need to stop and question why you think what you think. I'm not just talking about religious indoctrination. Some expectations put on us by by society at large can be insidious. Expectations around how gender should act, the life purpose of a gender, your worth to society if you don't meet certain unspoken standards, age-related behaviour, social norms around alcohol consumption, the way they dress, what someone eats, the way they eat it, that you must be seen to be productive, or busy...take your pick for whatever is prevalent around you at the moment and for your culture. Just start by noticing, and being aware.

Yes, it is pointless, because demons and angels all come from the same angelic stock. There was a bit of a disagreement at one point and they split into two groups, and judgemental labels got applied to them. They are both still bureaucratic horrors. Which ever side wins the final battle, humans still lose.

Mortal humans all look the same inside, too, if you take their face and skin away and take the societal labels off them. We forget that about ourselves all the time.

There doesn't have to be any wibbly-wobbly timeline stuff going on to explain things. What ever happened to the concept of Occam's Razor? The simplest answer is usually the correct one. And that was what I realized in the middle of the night - the cliche I had used to title this was the answer. It's about being aware of those ingrained, instinctive, judgmental values that you don't realize you've learnt, and looking past the faces that you meet.

*oh lawdy, I'm giving strength to all of you who want to believe he is a demon then, aren't I? But do demons have facial hair either?

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens meta #crowley #mrs sandwich #nina and maggie #job minisode #1941 minisode #the resurrectionists #aziraphale #beelzebub #gabriel #taking things at face value #lampshading #value judgements #wibbly wobbly timey wimey #occams razor

[jayden-killer]

DREAMS ARE MY REALITY. (pt.2)

part 1

What would happen if your favourite fictional character appeared in your bed...?

A/N: hellooo! Part 2 is finally here! 🙌 exams finished!! So now, full focus on my tumblr blog, heheh. This time chapter is longer. As always, just the reminder that I'm not a native English speaker, so you might find some errors. If you do, point them out to me! Enjoy the reading.~

Warnings: mention of the traumatic life of Miguel (both comics and movie), kinda derealisation if you hint it?, angst haha :)

Taglist (write me down in the comments if you want to be added!): @strxngegirl @d1lf-loverrr @laysmt @musicalhistorical @souichi-sbitch

☆

«You!»

I pressed the pillow against him, ready for any movement from the muscular man in front of me. His unkempt hair and a remnant of drool at the corner of his mouth confirmed my previous suspicions: he had fallen asleep in my bed. But how could he be divine even in that way? My eyes fell on his clothing: the holographic Spider-man suit was still on the young man. And he noticed my gaze fell there, then brought his attention back to me.

«Why are you pointing a pillow at me? It's not even a weapon».

«Ha, ha» faked a laughter, «That's is...amusing. How did you end up in my house, Miguel O'Hara? Did you fly with your webs through the window? Do you come from the roof of the building?»

And how do you know that my name is Miguel?" The man slowly approached me, losing his self-doubt demeanor that he had until recently, and I threatened him again with the pillow, lifting it up more as a reminder. «Stop there» My finger pointed to a precise point in the room, «First: what are you doing here. Second: how can you be real?»

«Are you answering my question with another question? Seriously?» Miguel's hands found place on his hips, and his eyebrow rose. I felt I was being watched too much by his eyes, which menacingly scanned me from head to toe.

«I'm in charge here, whether you like it or not, I make the rules here. Now, answer»

A snort left Miguel's lips. He rolled over more than once, shaking his head as if he was trying to find the right words. Well, a clear and comprehensive explanation didn't seem bad.

«Alright. I don't know how it happened, apparently my Gizmo started showing signs of instability as I traveled through the multiverse. The destination was marked for Earth-42. At the last minute, this maldito reloje decided to take me up to Earth-199999» Silence fell between us. I pushed the pillow aside, sitting on the edge of my bed to better focus on Miguel's bizarre story. The man seemed to mutter something in Spanish, but it was hard to decipher what he had said. He continued to look at me without looking away. «I was catapulted into this universe. The portal threw me onto the hood of a truck and the driver, seeing me, almost threw the truck into the wall. Luckily I managed to fly out of there with my webs».

«May I know then why did you come to my house?»

«I'm not done yet.»His eyes narrowed. I gulped fearfully. The man took a deep breath and continued to tell his story. «As I was saying, I flew away immediately. I wandered the streets for a while, and I saw how different your universe is from mine. The means of transport, the buildings, the people. I was tired, my strength was out of me. Your building was the closest. And your window was open. Besides, I would never hurt you. I'm a Spider-Man after all.»

«Yes, but you still attacked a fifteen-year-old boy because he didn't listen to you.»

«What?»

«What?» I laughed embarrassed. «Okay, I get it big boy. So you had a good sleep in my house, good, but now you should reall-Hey! What are you doing?»

«How can I be a giant poster hanging on your bedroom wall?» His was more than a legitimate question. I would have felt uncomfortable (and also quite lost) if I suddenly saw a poster with my face on it. I wouldn't have liked it at all. Even though Miguel was handling it well. I noticed how his head didn't move an inch, but he instead showed a surprised look at finding himself in poster form.

«Well, it's a long story...» I began.

«I have all the time in the world».

At that moment I looked at Miguel, then at the poster again and heaved a long sigh.

«What I'm trying to say is...you shouldn't be real». I put much more emphasis on the last word. Oh, God. Things were taking a turn for the worse. How could he believe what I was about to tell him? He had always felt real, but to me, he has always been part of the fictional world. It was just a drawing, yet he was here. How was all this possible? He was way beyond the multiverse.

«Miguel, I know it may seem strange to you, but you're part of a movie, you're a comic book character. You're...».

I couldn't.

I didn't want to make him feel like someone out of this world. I already understood what he had been through before. The loss of his mother, his brother Gabriel, the abuse from his father, and even the loss of his daughter, Gabriella. To tell him that it was just pure fiction, an invention of some brilliant mind would have been... not right. But Miguel wasn't stupid and he immediately grasped what I wanted to tell him. His gloved hand curiously and delicately traced his figure on the piece of paper. He shook his head, almost as if I were telling an unfunny joke. I couldn't blame him. I would have reacted way worse than the man. It was at that moment that I noticed the man in question ran a hand through his brown hair and swallowed hard, his back to me the entire time. In the meantime, worried, I was playing with the edges of my nightgown, with the fear that he might tear me to pieces.

«I feel real». His voice boomed off the walls. And I looked up to notice strange movements. «I am true. Even if all this creates a lot of...confusion for me».

«Miguel, you deserved to know...» I broke into the conversation, trying to find valid explanations. «I had to...»

«No». He held up a hand to stop me. A moment of silence followed. «You did the right thing. Being Spider-man also leads to these consequences... doesn't it?». It didn't seem that the sentence was addressed to me, but more to him.

«Maybe you need to take a shower, yes?». I tried to change the subject, my tone going from concerned to persuasive. «I have some clothes left here by my brother in case of an emergency. Maybe they'll fit a little short on the shoulders, but they'll have to go».

Without saying anything, Miguel nodded, then asked me where the bathroom was, so he could freshen up.

«Take your time, so don't rush-»

Slam!

Shit. What did I do?

#miguel ohara #miguel o hara headcanons #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel spiderman #spiderman across the spider verse spoilers #spiderman across the verse #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o hara x you #marvel imagine #mcu #sfw #fan fiction #fanfic

[gingiesworld]

Hi!! I have a request for a fic in the future if you want to do it. Yn is an actor, same age that Mk and Ashley. He started acting at a very young age and the Olsen twins were like the only competition he had. When the directors casted the twins and yn, he didn't know It was gonna be like hell. They were mean to him and they tried everything to be more famous than him. Years later Yn was casted as( i don't know, Vision or another one) and he met his new costar, everything in his past came back, and he was mean to her for her sisters.

Sorry, too long I think but I have this idea I think you would do a great job if you want to do it.

Wow. This is my first ever request on Tumblr. Thank you so much nonnie for thinking of me. I hope I did a good job buddy

Why Do You Hate Me

Elizabeth Olsen x Male Reader

Warnings: Angst. Fluff.

18+ MINORS DNI

Y/N Y/L/N was known for his earlier roles when he was a child, especially the roles he played in the movies he starred alongside the Olsen twins. Y/N was a timid boy and just wanted to be successful, but the twins made everything a competition. Deliberately making him screw up his lines. Tripping him up whenever they had the chance, or just being plain old mean to him by saying he sucks. He won't survive in the industry.

Although, that only encouraged him to do better in his career. Landing some major roles, especially joining the MCU as Vision. Although, the moment he met one of his co-stars, everything that he thought he had forgotten had come back to him.

"Hi, I'm Elizabeth Olsen, but you can call me Lizzie." She held her hand out for him to shake.

"Hi, Elizabeth, I'm Y/N Y/L/N." He spoke coldly, shaking her hand as he looked into her eyes. Seeing how much she looked like her sisters. His blood boiling at the memories.

As the time went on, his coldness towards Lizzie started to infuriate the woman. Especially when they started to film Civil War, having more scenes together. It wasn't until during the airport scene, one of the wires that held Y/N up as he flew, snapped. Halting the shoot as he collided with the floor. Groaning in pain.

"Are you ok?" Lizzie asked him as he just glared at her, moving away from her touch.

"Don't touch me." He snarled at her.

"I'm just concerned Y/N." She told him.

"Well don't be." He snarled as he sat up as Joe came running to him.

"Are you ok Y/N." Lizzie noticed how he didn't fight when Joe rested his hand on Y/N's good shoulder, deciding to get up and leave.

"I think it's dislocated." He told him as Joe signalled for the medics.

"We'll get you sorted out buddy." He told him with a smile as he helped Y/N to his feet. "We're done for the day guys. Thank you."

Lizzie was starting to get sick of how Y/N was treating her. How he would exclude her from every one of his conversation. Scolding her everytime she forgot a line, so she had done a stupid thing, she decided to get drunk. Only then she had the courage to confront Y/N. She marched to his hotel room, banging on his door.

"Elizabeth." He spoke quizzically, his arm in a sling.

"I need to talk to you." She slurred as she poked his chest, pushing passed him inside.

"Listen, I am tired and I don't care for this conversation." He told her as he gestured to the door.

"Why do you hate me?" She asked him shakily. He watched as tears formed in her eyes.

"I don't." He told her, guiding her to his bed. "You need to sleep and we can talk about this another day." He lay her down, helping take off her shoes before he grabbed her a bottle of water. "Drink this and sleep." He told her, getting up to get the trash can before he went to the sofa. Laying down himself.

"I don't understand." Lizzie mumbled sleepily.

"Maybe when your sober we can have that conversation." He told her softly, closing his eyes as he felt a heavy guilt weighing on his shoulders. He had made her feel how her sisters made him feel when they were younger. That wasn't who he was, who he should be. He was always kind and gentle, caring and selfless, but he has been the complete opposite to someone who could be his best friend. He turned his head in her direction, hearing her snores as she slept. "I'm sorry." He whispered before he tried to sleep himself.

As the next morning came around, Lizzie stirred awake. Remembering the events of last night, groaning as she sat up. Shocked to see Y/N enter the room with a paper bag and some water.

"Here, take these and then eat." He told her before he retreated back to the sofa. As the two ate in silence, he decided to break it. "I don't hate you."

"What?" Lizzie questioned, she could see how he had been kicking himself.

"I'm not sure if you remember me from working on those project with your sisters when we were kids." He told her as she looked closer at him. "They made my life hell whenever we were on set. They would make me screw up my lines and tell me I was worthless. I wouldn't make it in the industry. All sorts of things like that. I honestly thought about quitting when they said that I was too fat for the job, but then I used their slurs and used them. I forced myself into the gym everyday, I cut out fast food and somedays I actually forgot to eat because of it." He sighed as he sat back, his gaze never faltering from Lizzie's. "I'm sorry that I took it out on you, but when you told me your name, it brought everything back."

"Y/N." Lizzie tried as he just shook his head no.

"I'm sorry Lizzie." He whispered. "I made you feel how they made me feel and I was wrong to do that."

"Hey." She got up and sat beside him. "We can start a fresh if you want. Be friends?" She asked him as he just smiled at her, nodding.

"I would like that." He whispered as she smiled widely.

"Good." She smirked. "Well, since you are now the reason none of us have work until you're healed, let's have some fun."

As the weeks turned into months, both of them became closer. Best friends even. But that wasn't entirely something that Y/N ever saw happening, especially since they lived so close to each other. They would spend time in each others houses, watching movies or cooking together.

Over time, Y/N had realised that he has developed feelings for her. Unsure of how to pursue things, unsure if she even feels the same way. So, it wasn't until the cast decided to have a small get together, and Robert's idea to do 7 minutes in heaven.

"You don't have to kiss in the closet, you could just tell each other your deepest secrets since some of us are in happy relationships." He stated, placing the bottle on the table, spinning it and it landed on Scarlett. As the game went on, it was Lizzie's turn, as she spun it, it landed in between Y/N and Evans.

"I've already been." Chris smirked as he nudged Y/N's shoulder. Y/N nodded shyly as he stood up, following behind Lizzie and Robert.

"Remember, seven minutes guys." He told them before he closed the door on them. The closet was only illuminated by a dull light as the two were practically stood toe to toe.

"So." Y/N started shyly.

"We can kiss or you can tell me your deepest secret." She smirked as he choked on air. "One that no on knows."

"I feel like either way, you will find out a secret." He snickered shyly.

"So which is it?" She asked as she stepped closer. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before cupping her cheek. Gazing into her eyes.

"This is going to change a lot Elizabeth." He whispered as he leaned closer. Lizzie's breath was quickening at feel of his breath on her face. The smell of alcohol and cigarettes on his breath.

"I don't care." She whispered before he closed the gap. Kissing her with urgency, she gripped onto his collar before her hands went to his neck. His to her hips as he pushed her against the opposite wall. Her leg wrapping around his waist as their tongues danced together. His hand moving up her thigh to her ass, squeezing it and causing her to grind against his crotch. The two moaning and panting as he moved his kisses to her neck, sucking and biting softly as she continued to grind.

"Time's up!" They heard Robert bang on the door. The two pulled apart with dialated pupils before fixing themselves. Making sure they don't look like they were about to have sex in their friend's closet.

Lizzie grabbed Y/N's hand as she left the closet. Pushing him to sit down before getting on his lap. Smirking as the two continued the evening with their friends. Anticipating what the future has in store for the two.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff x you #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen x you #elizabetholsen #lizzie olsen x you

[sebastianstanisahotmf]

clingy

Steve Rogers x reader

A/N I'm sorry for not posting for a few days, I will catch up but my son has been ill and I've been focusing on him. This is a part of my 100 followers celebration. Also, all mistakes are my own, so if you see any feel free to comment them and other comments, likes and reblogs are appreciated.

THIS IS NOT AN 18+ FIC BUT I STILL FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE WITH MINORS READING MY FICS SO PLEASE DNI IF YOU ARE A MINOR

Summary whenever you come home from a mission Steve feels the need to be touching you at all times

DO NOT REPOST ON ANY OTHER APPS/WEBSITES. THE ONLY PLACE THIS FIC IS ON IS TUMBLR.

Warnings fluff

Steve wasn’t really a clingy person but when you come back from a mission, you saw a different side to america’s golden boy. 

As soon as the quinjet landed, Steve was running over, waiting for you to walk out. He picked you up and walk ed into the compound with your legs wrapped around his waist and your bag over his shoulder. 

He didn’t put you down until you reached the living room on your shared floor: he put your bag on the table and sat on the couch with you on his lap. 

“I missed you so much baby,” Steve mumbled into the crook of your neck. 

“I missed you too stevie,” you replied, running your hands through his soft locks of hair. 

You stayed like that for a while until your stomach grumbled. This made Steve chuckle and pick you up again.

“What do you want to eat darlin’?” he asked.

“I’m thinking takeout from that Thai place we went to before I went on this mission.”

“That sounds like a good idea babe. I’ll call them and you can go and get some blankets to make the couch more comfy,” he said, kissing your forehead and putting you down.

You walked into your shared bedroom and grabbed every blanket in sight (there were many since you loved to hoard blankets) and arranged them on the couch. Then, you grabbed the pillows off your bed and arranged them so both you and Steve would be comfy. 

A few minutes later, Steve walked into the living room and laid down on the couch with his head on your lap.

“They said it should be here in 15-20 minutes,” Steve told you with a smile on his face since you had started to play with his hair.

“That means we can start a film. What do you want to watch baby?”

“What was the film you said you wanted to watch with me before you went on the mission?” 

“Are you talking about A Muppets Christmas Carol?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“We can watch that baby, I just gotta find it on Disney+ first.”

Not many people knew this but Steve loved musicals, he didn’t know why but theres something so magical about them that always captivated him. He doesn’t tell many people this fact about him though since he’s a bit embarrased about it (he was almost too embarrassed to tell you but a few kisses sorted that issue out.)

You pressed play on the remote and saw a smile creep onto Steve’s face. You loved to see him so happy. 

15 minutes into the film you were alerted by F.R.I.D.A.Y that someone was at the gates with a delivery for you.

“I’ll go and get it darlin’” Steve told you, smiling.

It wasn’t long before Steve was back. You grabbed you food and sat on the couch. Steve walked over to you but he didn’t sit on the couch, he sat between your legs- you had already put a few pillows and blankets there on the floor, knowing Steve would sit there. He rested his head against your left leg while he ate his food and watched the tv.

Once the both of you had finished eating, Steve wrapped his arm around your left leg and gave your thigh a kiss. This didn’t look like anything special, but to Steve it was a perfect level of intimacy for him and his slight clingyness.

This being accompanied by you constantly running your hands through his hair made him feel happy and content that you where home but also that you were ok with his need to be touching you at that moment.

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Also, if you want to see what I reblog, my other account is @sebastianstanisahotmf-reblogs

Taglist: @buckys-wintersoldier, @nicoline1998enilocin

#100 followers #celebration #thanks #i love you all #mcu #marvel #fluff #x reader #any race #any gender #gender neutral reader #gender neutral #steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader fluff #x fem!reader #female reader #gn #gn reader #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america fluff #captain america x reader fluff #reader insert #chris evans #chris evans fluff #chris evans x reader #chris evans x reader fluff #chris evans character