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denimbex1986 · 5 months

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'...“It’s fun playing bad, but actually he’s not,” the actor says, smiling as he reflects on his character, Crowley. “He’s a villain with a heart. The amount of really evil things he does are vanishingly small.”

...As it always has, “Good Omens” dissects the view of good and evil as absolutes, showing viewers that they are not as separate as we were led to believe growing up. Aziraphale and Crowley’s long-standing union is proof of this. The show also urges people to look at what defines our own humanity. For Tennant — who opted to wear a T-shirt emblazoned with the words “Leave trans kids alone you absolute freaks” during a photocall for Season 2 — these themes are more important now than ever before.

“In this society that we’re currently living in, where polarization seems ever more present, fierce and difficult to navigate. Negotiation feels like a dirty word at times,” he says, earnestly. “This is a show about negotiation. Two extremes finding common ground and making their world a better place through it. Making life easier, kinder and better. If that’s the sort of super objective of the show, then I can’t think of anything more timely, relevant or apt for the rather fractious times we’re living in.”

“Good Omens” is back by popular demand for another season. How does it feel?

It’s lovely. Whenever you send something out into the world, you never quite know how it will land. Especially with this, because it was this beloved book that existed, and that creates an extra tension that you might break some dreams. But it really exploded. I guess we were helped by the fact that we had Neil Gaiman with us, so you couldn’t really quibble too much with the decisions that were being made. The reception was, and continues to be, overwhelming.

Now that you’re no longer bound by the original material that people did, perhaps, feel a sense of ownership over, does the new content for Season 2 come with a sense of freedom for you? This is uncharted territory, of sorts.

That’s an interesting point. I didn’t know the book when I got the script. It was only after that I discovered the worlds of passion that this book had incited. Because I came to it that way, perhaps it was easier. I found liberation from that, to an extent. For me, it was always a character that existed in a script. At first, I didn’t have that extra baggage of expectation, but I acquired it in the run-up to Season 1 being released… the sense that suddenly we were carrying a ming vase across a minefield.

In Season 2, we still have Neil and we also have some of the ideas that he and Terry had discussed. During the filming of the first one, Neil would drop little hints about the notions they had for a prospective sequel, the title of which would have been “668: The Neighbour of the Beast,” which is a pretty solid gag to base a book around. Indeed there were elements like Gabriel and the Angels, who don’t feature in the book, that were going to feature in a sequel. They were brought forward into Season 1. So, even in the new episodes, we’re not entirely leaving behind the Terry Pratchett-ness of it all.

It’s great to see yourself and Michael Sheen reunited on screen as these characters. Fans will have also watched you pair up for Season 3 of “Staged.” You’re quite the dynamic duo. What do you think is the magic ingredient that makes the two of you such a good match?

It’s a slightly alchemical thing. We knew each other in passing before, but not well. We were in a film together [“Bright Young Things,” 1993] but we’d never shared a scene. It was a bit of a roll of the dice when we turned up at the read-through for “Good Omens.” I think a lot comes from the writing, as we were both given some pretty juicy material to work with. Those characters are beloved for a reason because there’s something magical about them and the way they complete each other. Also, I think we’re quite similar actors in the way we like to work and how we bounce off each other.

Does the shorthand and trust the two of you have built up now enable you to take more risks on-screen?

Yes, probably. I suppose the more you know someone, the more you trust someone. You don’t have to worry about how an idea might be received and you can help each other out with a more honest opinion than might be the case if you were, you know, dancing around each other’s nervous egos. Enjoying being in someone’s orbit and company is a positive experience. It makes going to work feel pleasant, productive, and creative. The more creative you can be, the better the work is. I don’t think it’s necessarily a given that an off-screen relationship will feed into an on-screen one in a positive or negative way. You can play some very intimate moments with someone you barely know. Acting is a peculiar little contract, in that respect. But it’s disproportionately pleasurable going to work when it’s with a mate.

Fans have long discussed the nature of Crowley and Aziraphale’s relationship. In Season 2, we see several of the characters debate whether the two are an item, prompting them to look at their union and decipher what it is. How would you describe their relationship?

They are utterly co-dependent. There’s no one else having the experience that they are having and they’ve only got each other to empathize with. It’s a very specific set of circumstances they’ve been dealt. In this season, we see them way back at the creation of everything. They’ve known each other a long time and they’ve had to rely on each other more and more. They can’t really exist one without the other and are bound together through eternity. Crowley and Aziraphale definitely come at the relationship with different perspectives, in terms of what they’re willing to admit to the relationship being. I don’t think we can entirely interpret it in human terms, I think that’s fair to say.

Yet fans are trying to do just that. Do you view it as beyond romantic or any other labels, in the sense that it’s an eternal force?

It’s lovely [that fans discuss it] but you think, be careful what you wish for. If you’re willing for a relationship to go in a certain way or for characters to end up in some sort of utopian future, then the story is over. Remember what happened to “Moonlighting,” that’s all I’m saying! [Laughs]

Your father-in-law, Peter Davison, and your son, Ty Tennant, play biblical father-and-son duo Job and Ennon in Episode 2. In a Tumblr Q&A, Neil Gaiman said that he didn’t know who Ty’s family was when he cast him. When did you become aware that Ty had auditioned?

I don’t know how that happened. I do a bunch of self-tapes with Ty, but I don’t think I did this one with him because I was out of town filming “Good Omens.” He certainly wasn’t cast before we started shooting. There were two moments during filming where Neil bowled up to me and said, “Guess, who we’ve cast?” Ty definitely auditioned and, as I understand it, they would tell me, he was the best. I certainly imagine he could only possibly have been the best person for the job. He is really good in it, so I don’t doubt that’s true. And then my father-in-law showed up, as well, which was another delicious treat. In the same episode and the same family! It was pretty weird. I have worked with both of them on other projects, but never altogether.

There’s a “Doctor Who” cameo, of sorts, in Episode 5, when Aziraphale uses a rare annual about the series as a bartering tool. In reality, you’ll be reprising your Time Lord role on screen later this year in three special episodes to mark the 60th anniversary. Did you always feel you’d return to “Doctor Who” at some point?

There’s a precedent for people who have been in the series to return for a multi-doctor show, which is lovely. I did it myself for the 50th anniversary in 2013, and I had a wonderful time with Matt [Smith]. Then, to have John Hurt with us, as well, was a little treat. But I certainly would never have imagined that I’d be back in “Doctor Who” full-time, as it were, and sort of back doing the same job I did all those years ago. It was like being given this delightful, surprise present. Russell T Davies was back as showrunner, Catherine Tate [former on-screen companion] was back, and it was sort of like the last decade and a half hadn’t happened.

Going forward, Ncuti Gatwa will be taking over as the new Doctor. Have you given him any advice while passing the baton?

Oh God, what a force of nature. I’ve caught a little bit of him at work and it’s pretty exciting. I mean, what advice would you give someone? You can see Ncuti has so much talent and energy. He’s so inspired and charismatic. The thing about something like this is: it’s the peripherals, it’s not the job. It’s the other stuff that comes with it, that I didn’t see coming. It’s a show that has so much focus and enthusiasm on it. It’s not like Ncuti hasn’t been in a massive Netflix series [“Sex Education,”] but “Doctor Who” is on a slightly different level. It’s cross-generational, international, and has so much history, that it feels like it belongs to everyone.

To be at the center of the show is wonderful and humbling, but also a bit overwhelming and terrifying. It doesn’t come without some difficulties, such as the immediate loss of anonymity. It takes a bit of getting used to if that’s not been your life up to that point. I was very lucky that when I joined, Billie Piper [who portrayed on-screen companion, Rose] was still there. She’d lived in a glare of publicity since she was 14, so she was a great guide for how to live life under that kind of scrutiny. I owe a degree of sanity to Billie.

Your characters are revered by a few different fandoms. Sci-fi fandoms are especially passionate and loyal. What is it like being on the end of that? I imagine it’s a lot to hold.

Yes, certainly. Having been a fan of “Doctor Who” since I was a tiny kid, you’re aware of how much it means because you’re aware of how much it meant to you. My now father-in-law [who portrayed Doctor Who in the 80s] is someone I used to draw in comic strips when I was a kid. That’s quite peculiar! It’s a difficult balance because on one end, you have to protect your own space, and there aren’t really any lessons in that. That does take a bit of trial and error, to an extent, and it’s something that you’re sometimes having to do quite publicly. But, it is an honor and a privilege, without a doubt. As you’ve said, it means so much to people and you want to be worthy of that. You have to acknowledge that and be careful with it. Some days that’s tough, if you’re not in the mood.

I know you’re returning to the stage later this year to portray Macbeth. You’ve previously voiced the role for BBC Sounds, but how are you feeling about taking on the character in the theater?

I’m really excited about it. It’s been a while since I’ve done Shakespeare. It’s very thrilling but equally — and this analogy probably doesn’t stretch — it’s like when someone prepares for an Olympic event. It does feel like a bit of a mountain and, yeah, you’re daring to set yourself up against some fairly worthy competition from down the years. That’s both the challenge and the horror of doing these types of things. We’ve got a great director, Max Webster, who recently did “Life of Pi.” He’s full of big ideas. It’s going to be exciting, thrilling, and a little bit scary. I’m just going to take a deep breath.

Before we part ways, let’s discuss the future of “Good Omens.” Gaiman has said that he already has ideas for Season 3, should it happen. If you were to do another season, is there anyone in particular you’d love to work with next time around or anything specific you’d like to see happen for Crowley?

Oh, Neil Gaiman knows exactly where he wants to take it. If you’re working with people like Gaiman, I wouldn’t try to tamper with that creative void. Were he to ask my opinion, that would be a different thing, but I can’t imagine he would. He’s known these characters longer than me and what’s interesting is what he does with them. That’s the bit that I’m desperate to know. I do know where Crowley might end up next, but it would be very wrong if I told you.

[At this point, Tennant picks up a pencil and starts writing on a hotel pad of paper.]

I thought you were going to write it down for me then. Perhaps like a clandestine meeting on a bench in St James’ Park, but instead you’d write the information down and slide it across the table…

I should have done! I was drawing a line, which obviously, psychologically, I was thinking, “Say no more. You’re too tempted to reveal a secret!” It was my subconscious going “Shut the fuck up!”

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spiderispunk · 1 year

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return the favor

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: Fem!Reader. Mentions of Pregnancy. Reader and Bradley Have A Son. Dilf!Bradley. Oral Sex (m! receiving). Dirty Talk. Domesticity.

Summary: He’d traded flight suits and fatigues for sweatpants and a t-shirt. And despite the fact that both items of clothing tended to get covered in spit-up by the end of the day, he still managed to make them look sexy. You wanted him every time you saw him, and judging from the little smirk Bradley wore whenever he caught you staring for a beat too long, he knew it too.

A/N: Honestly, I blame @withahappyrefrain, @ouralcohol, and Bud Light for this.

Little Nicholas “Nicky” Bradshaw came into the world kicking and screaming. Though he chose to make his grand entrance at around 3:30 AM on a quiet Thursday night, he was hell-bent on letting the whole world know about it. And so, with a whirlwind of forms, bills, and the shrill cries of the darling baby boy, you and Bradley were thrust into the throes of parenthood.

You both handled it well, or as well as you could for first timers. Working as a team to tackle midnight bottles, blowouts, spit-up and the frequent sleepless nights. You’d settled into an easy rhythm over the past seven weeks. Bottles every 2-3 hours. Naps in-between. Diaper changes. A little tummy-time when Nicky would tolerate it.

Day in. Day out.

You were worried the Navy-issued twelve weeks of parental leave would make Bradley squirrely– the repetition would become tedious–but here you were more than half-way through, and you hadn’t heard him complain about a thing.

If anything, Bradley took to the role of fatherhood eagerly. Sure, he might have missed being on base, the camaraderie, the planes, but he has other things to think about now. And he wouldn’t trade all the excitement for the joy of spending time with you and his son.

Everyday was another milestone, and so far Bradley had been there to witness them all.

“Nicky blinked at me today.”

“He almost turned his head.”

“I think I heard him try to say da-da.”

“He drank his whole bottle!”

“Do you think he’s old enough to wear shoes yet?”

Deeper down inside there was the growing fear of his impending absence . It wasn’t a question of if, but when . A mission would come, the phone would ring, and the goodbyes would begin. Pictures and grainy videos would stand in for the real thing.

But he was here now, and he was determined to soak up as much as he could.

Fatherhood suited Bradley.

He’d traded flight suits and fatigues for sweatpants and a t-shirt. And despite the fact that both items of clothing tended to get covered in spit-up by the end of the day, he still managed to make them look sexy.

It would be infuriating if it didn’t turn you on so damn much. Of course, it didn’t help that he’d opted to let the stubble on his chin get scruffy now that he didn’t have to comply with on-base grooming standards.

For you, hopped up on hormones and the longing that comes with forced post-birth abstinence, it was a truly lethal combination. More than once, you’d gotten lost in your daydreams about what the coarse hair would feel like as his lips caressed your skin. Trailing down your neck, over your sensitive nipples, scratching between your thighs.

You wanted him every time you saw him, and judging from the little smirk Bradley wore whenever he caught you staring for a beat too long, he knew it too.

You try to push the horny thoughts to the furthest recesses of your mind, as you enjoy the quiet afternoon. It’s a rare occasion. Nicky’s nap is going longer than usual–probably because he kept you and Bradley up the entire night before–so you’re trying to relish the stillness.

You doze on the couch, head pillowed in Bradley’s lap while he scrolls through the endless black hole of his phone. His thumb circles mindless patterns into your upper arm and shoulder. He hums quietly under his breath.

The TV is on, David Attenborough going on and on about the ocean and all its wonderful creatures. Sleep tugs heavy on your eyelids, aided by the soothing drone of his voice, and the patch of warm sunlight that falls over you.

You’re thinking you might finally be able to catch up on lost sleep, when a wail crackles through the baby monitor. Harsh and breathy, it shatters the silence, snapping you to attention. A hunger cry.

You sit up, rubbing a hand over your face. “He’s due for a bottle.” You stretch your arms to the sky, groaning as the muscles in your back and shoulders stretch and loosen. “I’ll go warm one up.”

“Hey.” Bradley’s hand curls around your waist. “I got it.”

“You fed him last time,” you protest, turning to face him. “Stayed up with him for half the night, and changed his diaper three times in a row. S’not fair for you to do everything.”

He cups your face, rubbing his thumb over your lower lip. “I got it. He’s my kid. ‘Sides you were falling asleep.”

“Bradley–”

He cuts you off with a quick kiss. “Baby. Don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll take care of Nicky.”

“I’ll pay you back,” you promise, eyes not-so-subtly scanning over his body.

Bradley chuckles. “No payment necessary.” He kisses your forehead and then your lips once more. “Get some rest, yeah?”

You nod, and stretch back out onto the couch. Bradley pulls the crocheted throw blanket over you and, with one last smile, heads upstairs.

The door to the nursery squeals, and then you hear his voice through the baby monitor.

“Hey, Nicky,” Bradley whispers. “Look at you. Sleep okay, bubba? Yeah? You ready for lunch?”

The one-sided conversation continues as Bradley changes Nicky’s diaper. He asks about Nicky’s dream, tells him some of the facts he picked up from Our Planet, and shares his latest sports predictions.

“Your Auntie Natasha thinks the Padres have a shot this year. I told her she was crazy at first, but I might be eating my words soon.” A pause. “That means I’ll have to admit I was wrong. It’s an idiom. Your mama’s the English teacher though, she can teach you all about that later.”

You smile dopily at his words. The easygoing way he interacts with your baby. He’d been so worried at first. Scared to fail, scared Nicky wouldn’t like him. But there was no denying the simple fact that Bradley was meant to be a father. He proved that more and more everyday.

The steps creak as Bradley begins his descent. “Gotta be quiet, okay? Your mama’s sleepin’. Yeah, you tired her out last night.”

You hear him moving around in the kitchen and then the soft gurgling of the bottle warmer. Nicky whines impatiently, and Bradley distracts him with more stories. The effect of his words are two-fold, soothing both your baby and you. You blink sleepily, snuggled up on the couch all comfortable and warm. A few minutes later, aided by the hush of Bradley’s voice, you fall into sweet unconsciousness.

When you wake later, the room is wrapped in shadows. The once bright sunlight has started to dim. You swallow thickly, tasting stale breath. Your body aches from sleeping in the cramped space, limbs still heavy with sleep.

You reach for your phone sitting face down on the coffee table. The screen is bright in the dark room. You squint to make out the round numbers. 5:52 . Fuck. You’d been asleep for hours .

“Babe!” You call out. “Why’d you let me sleep this long?” No answer. “ Bradley .”

Still nothing. The house was uncharacteristically quiet. The baby monitor wasn’t picking anything up either. Your heart twinges painfully in your chest, stomach turning with the thick ice of dread.

You tap your phone screen again, looking for a message or a missed call. Any kind of clue as to where Bradley had disappeared off to. There’s a text waiting for you, must’ve missed it in your initial alarm. You scan it quickly and breathe out a sigh of relief.

Almost out of diapers. Went to the store with Nicky. Don’t freak out. Love you honey.

Panic now abated, you drop the phone back onto your chest. You should probably get up and do something, anything . There was no shortage of chores to do around the house. Laundry to fold. Dishes to wash. You were due for a pumping session too. But try as you might, and admittedly you don’t try very hard, you can’t bring yourself to disturb the peace. So you stay on the couch, drifting in and out of sleep.

You must have fallen asleep again, because sometime later you’re startled awake by the click of the front door.

“Bradley?” you mumble, rubbing the heel of your hands into your eyes.

“Hey, honey.” He kicks the door shut behind him. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah.” You stretch. “Freaked me out a little when I woke up and you guys were gone.”

Bradley kisses your forehead and flicks a lamp on. “Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to, but I didn’t wanna wake you up.”

You draw in a sharp breath when you see him. He’s looking sinful in a pair of jeans and a dark blue Henley. A backwards baseball cap rests atop his unruly hair. Your eyes flit over his body, head to toe. He prattles on about his errand, completely unaware of the fact that you’re currently undressing him with your eyes.

Somehow, at this moment, he’s the hottest he’s ever been.

“Got more diapers. They’re in the car. I wanted to bring Nicky in first and get him settled. He fell asleep on the drive back. He got a compliment from the lady at the register. Honestly I think all this attention is starting to go to his head. Can’t help that he’s so cute though, he got it from you. I also got more onesies, cuz I saw them in Target and couldn’t help it. Oh and those peanut butter cups that you like from Trader Joes, and…” He trails off, catching you staring. “What?”

“Babe,” you mumble, still in your lust-fueled trance.

“Yeah?” Bradley’s eyebrows knit together.

“C’mere.”

He sets Nicky’s carseat down gently. “You’re looking at me weird. Did I do something wrong?” He asks, moving over to you slowly.

You shake your head. “You let me take a nap, and you went to get diapers without me asking you to.”

“Uh huh. So?” He looks down at you, lips pursed. “I still don’t understand why you’re looking at me like that.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you grab the waistband of his jeans and pull him towards you.

“Whoa, baby.” Bradley stumbles forward. His hand covers your fumbling ones. “What are you doing?”

Your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip. “What does it look like I’m doing?” You undo his belt and pop the button of his jeans.

“I mean it looks like you’re about to–” his gaze flits to where Nicky rests still fast asleep in his carseat. “Suck my dick,” his voice comes out in a hoarse whisper. “Wait, right here? Shouldn’t we move–”

There was definitely logic in his words, but it didn’t really register at the moment. The only thing on your mind was him . Emerald tinted lenses colored your world. Greed plain and simple. For the taste of him. For the weight of him on your tongue. For the sound of his throaty groans to fill the air.

“Bradley,” you whisper, lips following the trail of dark hair down his stomach to where it disappears into his elastic waistband.

Your husband swallows thickly. “Yeah, honey?”

You free his cock from his boxers. “Stop talking.”

“But, sweetheart– oh fuck .” Bradley runs a hand over his face.

“Let me return the favor.” You shush him.

“You don’t have to do–” Bradley chokes as you swipe your tongue over his hip bone. “ Shit . Okay, yeah.”

You spit into your palm and stroke him slowly. He’s halfway there, but getting harder with each languid flick of your wrist. You sink your teeth into his thigh and he groans throatily. The noise settles deep into your stomach, pulsing against your clit.

You missed this. The heady paradox of being on your knees, yet having Bradley completely at your mercy. Making him feel good. Pulling him apart piece by piece.

You mouth at the base of his cock, tongue laving at the underside of it. Bradley rests a hand at the nape of your neck. There’s no force behind the gesture, it’s more like he’s anchoring himself than pushing you further onto him.

“Fuck, baby.” His eyes are squeezed shut, jaw slack, and lips slightly parted. “ Christ. ” He rocks his hips forward into your hand.

A wordless plea. You know what he’s asking for. Your mouth slides up his shaft slowly, and you swirl your tongue around the head, still pushing, still teasing. It’s only when Bradley moans brokenly that you decide to have mercy on him.

Your lips part, and you swallow him down slowly. His head tilts forward and he lets out a breathless whisper of your name that has you squeezing your thighs together as your clit throbs.

Bradley’s a perfect picture of debauchery above you. Shoulders drooped and leaning over you slightly. His face is flushed, eyebrows screwed together. The veins on his neck and arm bulge prominently. His grip on your neck tightens, and he gently guides you forward.

You take as much as you can handle, stroking what you can’t fit into your mouth. Your jaw aches from the lack of practice. But it’s worth every bit of discomfort to hear the moans and praises he levels your way.

“Your mouth feels so goddamn good, honey,” he whispers, when his cock hits the back of your throat. “Just like that, baby. Such a good girl. You’re doing so good. Keeping going, sweetheart.”

Your hand drifts downward of its own accord, and dips into the waistband of your leggings. You rub insistent circles into your clit to relieve the ache. It’s been so long, you think you could come from this alone.

“Look at you getting off,” he says, hazel eyes blazing into your own. “Wish you could see how pretty you look with my dick in your mouth, baby,” he mumbles, lazily thrusting forward.

Bradley cups your jaw, thumb rubbing over your cheek where he can feel his cock moving. He rolls his hips forward again, biting his bottom lip as he watches your lips stretch to accommodate him.

“Pretty girl,” he coos, brushing your hair out of your face so he can see you better. “Taking me so well. Gonna make me come.”

You moan, and Bradley chuckles.

“That what you want? Want me to come down your throat?”

You blink up at him, pleading with watery eyes. You wanted it more than anything.

“Yeah? Gonna swallow every drop, like a good girl?” The thought sends a shudder down his spine. “My good girl. Won’t last long with you looking at me like that.”

That’s the plan .

You move the hand on his thigh around to gently squeeze his balls, and Bradley thrusts forward sharply.

“ Shit –sorry, baby.” His thumb brushes at the newly shed tears that track down your face. “You okay?” The fire in his eyes dies slightly as he searches your gaze for any sign of pain or reluctance to continue.

Instead the only thing he finds there is hunger and greed.

This time when you squeeze, you’re ready for his reaction. You take his next roll of his hips easily. And the next, and the next. Letting Bradley gently fuck your face. He was close, you could tell by the slur of his words, the inconsistent buck of his hips.

“Goddammit,” Bradley says through gritted teeth. His fingers snag into your hair, tugging at the nape. “Gonna fucking kill me, honey.” His chest heaves with shallow breaths. “‘M gonna come, sweetheart. You ready for me?”

Please, oh please . Your thoughts chant, words blurring into a slurry. You hope your eyes convey the desperation you feel.

Bradley’s eyes roll into the back of his head. He bites his pointer finger, trying to muffle the shameless groan he lets out as he unravels.

You take all he gives, and he gives you so much. His cum coats your throat, and you swallow as much as you can, but you have to pull away for air. The last dribbles of his cum paint your lower lip and drip down your chin. You tilt your head back and stick your tongue out to show off your empty mouth.

Bradley stares at you, eyes crossed and unfocused. He pushes his hat off and runs a hand over his face and through his hair. “Holy shit,” he mutters. “Fuck, baby.”

He swipes at your lip, smearing the cum and spit into your skin. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” You smirk.

“All innocent and shit.” Bradley pushes his ring finger into your mouth. “I’ll fuck you right here.”

You clean the digit off with your tongue and pull away with a pop . “You promise?” You arc an eyebrow up.

“Fuck.” He leans down and gives you a kiss that leaves your toes curling. “Give me five minutes to put Nicky in bed, and I’ll be right back.” He whispers.

You lean back and peel your shirt from your body. “ Tick tock .”

Bradley bites his bottom lip, eyes sliding hungrily over your body. “Don’t go anywhere.” He points a stern finger at you.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you chuckle. “Hurry up so you can fuck me.”

He grabs the carseat, and still manages to be gentle despite his obvious excitement. “Five minutes, baby, I promise.”

Bradley’s never one to break a promise.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #tgm #miles teller #lets try this again #rion writes

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five-rivers · 2 months

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Cracked Clay Cup Chapter 2

For @greatbigolhampuckjustforme

“How is this organized, anyway?” asked Daniel. “It isn't alphabetical.”

Clockwork shuddered. “The debate about which alphabet to use would be interminable. No. The list is arranged from eldest to youngest, with groups being averaged.”

“So, the oldest person is on top and the youngest person is on the bottom.”

“That is correct.”

Daniel hummed and wiped up the last of his syrup up off his plate with the last piece of his pancake. “This Jasmine person is the youngest person who wants me. Ick, that sounded wrong somehow.”

“She is the youngest person,” said Clockwork. He was doing something strange with the plates in the sink.

“Is she, like, really into plants or flowers or something?”

“Are you really into Daniels?”

“I mean. I don’t know. My memory’s been erased and all. For all I know, my name isn’t even Daniel. It could be William. Or David.” Still, he got the point. He shook his head. “Ghosts just picking random names. What is the world coming to?”

“You could always choose to go by another name,” said Clockwork, mildly. “You are not trapped in it.”

“I know,” said Daniel. “I’ll keep it for now, though. Is, um, is the…”

“Her section of the file is colored teal.”

“Thanks,” said Daniel. He flipped through. “These aren’t in the same order, you know.”

“I know,” said Clockwork. He sounded very put upon.

“You’re not the one who does the organizing, huh?”

“If only I were.”

Daniel looked over the teal pages. There wasn’t a lot of information on them. The name, Jasmine, her height, hair color, eye color, a few lines about interests.

“Not a lot here.”

“You are meant to form your own opinions,” said Clockwork.

“Enjoys pushing forward the boundaries of knowledge?” he read from the page. “Interested in modern psychology and brain surgery?” He looked up at Clockwork. “This sounds like mad scientist material.”

“You can always skip her, if you feel uncomfortable.”

“No, if I’m going to do this, I’m going to be fair. So, uh, let’s go. Let’s do this.”

“In your pajamas?”

“Well, it’s not like I have anything else, do I?”

“In fact, you do. There is a closet in your room upstairs.”

“With clothes that are mine?”

“With clothes in a variety of styles in your size. They are all new, acquired for this process, although you can keep them afterward.”

“So, no way to figure out my style except for experimentation. Cool. Great. Another mystery to solve.”

“Think of it as an interesting puzzle. An amusing way to pass the time, whilst you are experiencing the various persons who wish to gain custody of you.”

“Uh huh,” said Daniel, pushing his chair out. “I’m going to go get changed. Do I need to pack a bag, too, or what?”

“What, in this case. Any clothing and toiletries you need will be sent to you.”

Daniel nodded and climbed back up the stairs to ‘his’ room. There was a closet there that he hadn’t noticed before, across from the bathroom. He opened the door and started to shift through the different outfits.

That one was too complicated… ugh, weird texture… too much body exposure… ooh, gothic… but also complicated… nice skirt… robe… kilt? He prodded at the maybe-kilt a little. He wasn’t sure that it was a kilt. Well, whatever. Jeans. T-shirt. Hm. Tempting, if only for its simplicity. But maybe he wanted something that vibed with his tail a bit better. Ooh, Egyptian.

Eventually, he hit on a combination of loose pants, long shirt, and fringed wrap. Yeah. That would look good. Comfortable. He took off his pajamas and fluffed his tail. That did feel good. He put on the pants, then the shirt, and then discovered he did not have great skills with wraps. So. He probably didn’t wear them on a daily basis. Still, with the help of the bathroom mirror, he managed to get it into a more or less presentable arrangement. He thought he looked good, anyway, and that was all that mattered. After all, if they already were getting into fights over custody of him, he didn’t exactly have to dress to impress.

He went back down the stairs, to where Clockwork was waiting, staff in hand. “Okay, I’m ready. How do I look?”

“Dressed,” said Clockwork.

“Helpful,” said Daniel.

“I am to please.”

“So… How do we get there?”

“Through this,” said Clockwork. He held up the staff, and a portal spun off the clock at its top. Then, he held out a small pocketwatch. “When you want to return, merely click the button on top.”

“Okay,” said Daniel, taking it and looping it's chain around his neck. “And… I just go through? No other tricks?”

“No other tricks. It is the journey of a single step.”

“Right,” said Daniel. He took a deep breath and stepped forward.

The transition between places really was smooth. One minute, he was in Clockwork's purple kitchen, the next, he was in what looked like a completely normal entryway.

There was a girl there. She looked human, and was about half a foot taller than he was. Her hair was red and her cardigan was the same teal as her paper in the file. Her eyes, too, were blue. She… really didn’t look like a ghost at all. She didn’t particularly look like him, either, except for her skin color. Unless maybe some of her facial features were similar? Nose shape, perhaps? He didn’t really remember what he looked like well enough to say.

But, definitely, what stood out the most about her was the fact that she was a girl. A teenager. Not a woman, not really. She couldn’t be more than a few years older than he was.

“Danny,” she said, jumping out of the chair and starting to smile at him. “Hi, I’m–” She stopped.

The girl stared. Daniel stared back.

“Danny, what are you wearing?” she asked.

“Clothing,” he said. He didn’t think this kind of outfit had any particular name. At least, if it did, he didn’t know it.

“Oh.”

“And… you’re…”

“Oh! I’m Jazz! You… really don’t remember me?”

Daniel shook his head, slowly.

“Well… They did tell me that would happen…”

“I knew you before?”

“Yes! Yes. I… was your mother. Am your mother!”

“Uh,” said Daniel. “You’re, like, seventeen. Eighteen, maximum.”

“Time travel was involved.”

“Time travel.”

“Time travel. You know how things are in the ghost zone. You get a natural portal, and then, boom! You’re fifteen years in the past, or the future!” She laughed, nervously. “But I’m here, now! This version of me. Who is definitely your mother.”

Daniel realized, then, that just because the memory wipe meant that he couldn’t know what his prior connections were, that didn’t mean that other people couldn’t try to capitalize on them. Or lie about them. Or lie about them badly.

“Time travel,” said Daniel, again.

“I mean, you’re staying with Clockwork, right?”

“Uh, yeah, so?”

“So, he’s sort of a major player in the time travel scene, right?”

“He is?” It’d explain the clock theme, at least.

“He is.”

“Oh. Cool.” He still didn’t believe her time travel story, though. “So, like. If you were time traveling, who raised me?”

“Your, uh, grandparents. But they can’t really, uh, do it, anymore. For reasons. And I’m back! In the proper time! So I want to take care of you now. And this will start our bonding bonanza! We can start with a tour of the house!”

What. She did not just say that.

“Are they the ones who’re disputing your custody? Because it is a dispute, right? That’s what this thing is all about.”

“I mean, um, there are seven groups, right? Counting me? So, no, it’s not because of them.”

“Right,” said Daniel. That didn’t rule them out, though. Maybe they were the ones at the top of the list.

“So, obviously, this is the entryway… At least, you know, when there’s a door.”

Daniel looked behind him. There was, indeed, no door. “What?”

“Something about the rules to these things. We’re not supposed to leave for the duration.”

“What about food?”

“It’s brought in, the same way you were. So, over here is the kitchen.”

The kitchen was a long, galley affair, with tile countertops and cute floral backsplashes. It was much more normal than Clockwork’s, at least in terms of colors. There was a fridge, a microwave, a toaster, and a dishwasher.

“Do you know who the other six groups are?”

“I mean… I have a guess about some of them, but I don’t really know. I’d thought Clockwork would be one of them for sure, but…”

“What, really?” That, at least, didn’t seem like a lie. “But he’s the neutral party?”

“Yes,” said Jazz. “But I thought that the two of you were close. But maybe it was more along the lines of being, I don’t know, work friends.”

“Huh,” said Daniel. “I… Okay.”

“Yes. Okay. So, the fridge is completely safe, no biological or ectobiological samples stored in it. Just food. Normal, edible food. We’ll do the dishes together, of course. Cups are in here, dishes, pots and pans–”

“Your profile said you were interested in brain surgery,” said Daniel.

“Oh, yes, that’s one of the things I’m thinking about studying in college! Once I get into college. Which will be soon.”

“So, you don’t have, like, a mad science lab in here where you do brain surgery or something like that?”

The girl stared at him. “Are… you sure you don’t remember anything?”

This was not a promising question. “Yeah, why?”

“Because you’re assuming that I have a mad science lab in here. I’m a high school senior.”

“Which means it’s weird that you’re here with a house at all.”

She made a face. “It’s… I had some help getting it. The house, I mean. But there’s no mad science lab. There will never be a mad science lab. Unless you want a mad science lab. I could probably make some calls.”

“I don’t want a mad science lab. Why would I want a mad science lab?”

“I don’t know, to tinker in? You used to do some, um, tinkering. Mechanical engineering stuff.”

“That’s more of a garage thing, though, isn’t it?”

“I… don’t know. You only ever did it in the lab.”

“So, we used to have a mad science lab.”

“That’s– I mean– No.”

Definitely a lie. They totally had a lab. Or, at least, Jazz used to have a lab. What was going on that they had a lab? Something sinister, doubtlessly.

“Did you dissect brains in this lab?”

“No! Like I said, I’m only a student. A student that is interested in a lot of things, but right now, my thesis is about Ghost Envy.”

“You’re a high school student with a thesis?”

“I’m a high achiever. Have to make up for all that time lost time traveling. You’d think you’d gain time! But. Yeah.” She smiled tightly and nodded. “Living room next! We have a, er, one of those consoles. For video games. I got it from a friend.”

Daniel let Jazz drag him around the house. It was kind of nice, except for how nervous she got whenever he probed about his past or her supposed time travel. He didn’t really feel threatened by her, per se, but the lying… it definitely gave him a bit of, how should he put this, anxiety.

“And here’s your bedroom, Danny!”

The bedroom was actually really cool. Unlike the rest of the rooms, it had a very clear, very obvious theme beyond just house people can live in. The theme was space. The walls and ceiling were painted with constellations. There were model rockets on shelves. The desk had an astrolabe and a small model solar system on it, alongside astronomy books. There were also some novels, composition notebooks and sketchbooks, alongside a variety of markers, but those were tiny points about the overwhelming amount of space. Even the decorative throw cushions on the bed had galaxy patterns on them!

Danny… he really liked it. He guessed he had to admit that, at least, Jazz had known him before, and had known him reasonably well. Even if she wasn’t his mother.

She’d also turned around to play with a deadbolt on the door.

“It locks from the inside, because, well, I figured you’d be a bit nervous, staying with someone you know nothing about, and a lock might make you feel safer.”

She wasn’t wrong about that. “Hey, speaking of safety, you’re still, like, alive? Human?”

“Yes?” said Jazz.

“Isn’t it a bit weird, trying to get custody of a ghost?”

“Oh, um, I suppose it’s a bit unusual, but you’re my b– My son. Definitely my son. So, it’s worth it. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re a ghost or a human or– Wait, Clockwork told you, right?”

“Told me… what?”

“That you’re not, you know, a normal ghost.”

“I… he might have said something about that. About being an unusual kind of ghost.”

“So he didn’t tell you that you’re only half ghost?”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It’s a thing. You can change back and forth between a human - more human - form, and a ghost form. Like this.” She gestured at him.

Danny stared at her. “That’s not a thing.”

“It is! Oh, jeez, I can’t believe Clockwork left it to me to explain.” She crossed her arms and turned away. “I don’t know how to explain this.”

“Wait, does that mean my dad is a ghost in this story? Are you saying that you, as a human, and a ghost–”

“No. You died. That sounds terrible. I mean, you, um. You sort of died.”

“How did I die that I managed to die only halfway?”

Jazz opened and closed her mouth several times. “I didn’t witness it–”

“But you know.”

“It was– Do you really want to know? I mean, regardless, I’m still your– your mom. And I want to be. And that kind of thing is really traumatic.”

“What was it?”

She looked like she didn’t want to answer. Danny poured all his effort into a forceful, expectant stare.

“It… was a lab accident.”

Silence.

“Like, um. A ghost lab.”

More silence.

“Okay,” said Danny. He bit his lower lip. “Right.”

“I’ll just leave now,” said Jazz. “Make yourself at home. Because it is!” She stepped out.

“Yep,” said Danny. He closed the door and slid home the deadbolt. Then he put his hand around the pocketwatch, lightly touching the button on top. “Okay. I’ll be okay. I can always leave if she tries to examine my brain, and… I should give her a fair chance. Right.”

#danny phantom #phic phight

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lovecanyon · 2 years

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dad!harry’s coachella interview blurb!!!!

DAD!HARRY’S COACHELLA INTERVIEW

“Harry, I recently found out you have two children. So to begin with I brought you a record of lullabies that were recorded by Stevie Nicks!”

Harry smiles as he gets handed the record. He couldn’t wait to show Y/N this.

“Thank you so much.” Harry beams. “My fiancé is going to love this record so much.” He waves the vinyl that had Stevie Nicks’ name plastered on the cover. He felt jittery about telling his future wife about it.

The interviewer laughs as he watches Harry look down at the record.

“You really love her huh.”

“I really do!” Harry says, biting his lip trying to suppress a smile but he fails once his lips curl into a grin. He really did love her a lot.

“Since you love your fiancé so much I have here this shirt that says I love Y/N.” The interviewer unfolds a white shirt revealing Y/N’s name printed onto the fabric. What really made the t-shirt was a photo of Y/N and Harry fitted to be a heart.

Harry lets out a breathy laugh as he stares at the shirt. He completely loved it.

“Can I wear it now?” Harry questions grabbing onto the fabric. He really wanted to tear off the shirt he was wearing and put on the I love Y/N shirt.

“You know what, I would love that!”

Almost instantly Harry peels off the yellow shirt he was wearing and replaces it with his new one—his new favorite.

Quickly fixing his green necklace, Harry swipes down the wrinkled fabric.

“I’m never talking this off.” The musician smiles. He truly was never going to take the shirt off.

“I can tell. Your face lit up so much once you saw it.”

“I just want to ask you about the bracelet you're wearing. Who made it?” The interviewer points down at the colorful beaded bracelet on Harry’s wrist.

A smile forms on Harry’s lips as he glances at the brightly colored beads. The story of how he got the bracelet was one of his favorite moments ever.

A squeaky voice calling Harry makes him turn around to find his son. He was wearing one of his shirts which was so baggy on him that it almost touched the ground.

Standing up from his crouched position, Harry catches the tiny body that slams into him.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

Beau jumps up and down in Harry’s hold which makes him laugh. He wanted to know why his bunny was so excited.

“What’s up B?” Harry beams, making the three year old shove something into his grip. Looking down at his hand he finds a beaded bracelet. “Is this for me!?” The father playfully gasps.

“Yes I made it with mama!” Beau smiles, feeling proud of the bracelet he made for his father.

Analyzing the colorful beads, Harry finds his name misspelled with only one R, so it’s spelled ‘Hary’. His name not being spelled correctly made it even more special to him.

“I love it. I’m never taking it off.”

Harry grins thinking about one of his favorite memories. He had the best children ever.

“My son actually made it for me.” He answers the interviewer which makes him widen his eyes enthusiastically.

“Your son?! That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“My name not being spelled right makes it more special to me.” Harry breathes out a laugh. He always wore the bracelet that misspelled his name, to shows, events, red carpets and even on movie sets. Wherever he was, the beads were on his wrist giving him good luck.

It never left him.

“I heard your little Inez is a David Bowie fan.”

Still wearing the I love Y/N shirt, Harry giggles as he nods his head. Inez was the number one Bowie fan. She loved every album of his since Harry had played them over and over.

“She is, all she listens to is Bowie!” The singer grins. “Since she was in her mum’s belly.”

“Since she’s the biggest David Bowie fan, I would like to give her this vintage Ziggy Stardust onesie.” Nardwuar hands Harry the kids size shirt.

Harry lets out a chuckle as he unfolds the small onesie to reveal David Bowie’s character Ziggy, Inez’s favorite. He knew once his daughter saw this a gummy smile would grow on her face.

“Inez is going to love this. I can see her face already.” Harry predicts little Nez’s reaction.

“I also have this David Bowie plushie for her!”

Harry loved it.

“This is so cute. I just know she’s going to be obsessed with this. Thank you so much.” Harry smiles at the interviewer feeling thankful.

“It’s not a problem, I know how much you love your family so I brought gifts for all of them.”

Being a headliner for Coachella was something Harry had never expected. He didn’t even expect all the fame after the band broke up, yet here he was getting interviewed about his solo career and even better his new family life.

It was an amazing feeling.

“So you’re going to perform at Coachella again this weekend?”

“Yes, weekend two.” Harry nods. He performed at the festival for the first time last week and it couldn’t have gone any better.

After the performance he drove his family back to their rented Palm Springs house, cooked his favorite pasta for them and had a dance party with his two troublemakers.

Even though it was 11 PM both of the Styles children were up on their feet instead of in their beds sleeping, Inez who barely started walking was attempting to jump up and down like her father and brother but just ended up flat on her bum.

Almost instantly, Harry swoops up Inez in his arms and continues to dance with Beau. Ironically the music that they were dancing to was Harry’s new album that hadn’t been released yet.

Harry’s House was Y/N’s favorite album so far. She loved watching her lovies dance around to the songs that were written about her.

And that’s exactly what she was planning to do.

Holding one of her disposable film cameras, Y/N snaps a few shots of Harry jumping around with their kids.

It's 'cause I love you, babe

In every kind of way

Just a little taste

Know I love you, babe

Music for a Sushi Restaurant was one of Y/N’s favorites. She vividly remembers the day he wrote it, it was one of the best days they ever had together.

“Mama come and join us!”

Beau’s voice made her put down the camera and rush over to her dancing family. Catching Harry looking at her made a smile grow on her face. She loved him so much.

“How was it?”

“It was one of the most exciting weekends I’ve ever had.” Harry beams.

tag list: @harrysmatcha @harryspinkpillow @helen-with-an-a @florencepughily @peterparkerbae @toji-dabi-wife @fallonx @drphilssoulmate @cherriesrae @alienorknight @valluvsu @ivegotparticulartaste @ayeshathestyles @hazgoldenstyles @eiffelmezarry @tsukishimawhore @renatavieira @michellekstyles @eleanordaisy @shawnsblue @academiaghosts @japanchrry @agustdpeach @hannahnikohl @whoscamila @ch3rryrry @msolbesg @seguin-styles1996 @futuristicpalacegardenpsychic @youusunshineyoutemptress @kaitieskidmore1 @cherryfragrancx @ssuziess @milkiane @golden-hoax @flwrmuse @sunshinemendes8 @your--sweetest--downfall @melllinaa @iluvjj @tenaciousperfectionunknown @cashtons-wife @stellarossii @scenesofobx @manifestrry @lomlolivia

#harry styles x reader #dad!harry #harry styles #harry styles au #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles writing #husband!harry #harry styles one shot #harry styles fan fic #dilf!harry #harry styles blurb

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demolition-lesbians · 1 year

Text

Rolling Stone #1119 December 9, 2010 - The Playlist Issue

(click for better quality) Here's the playlist if you want to take a listen! Transcript:

Gerard Way: Glam Rock

My Chemical Romance's frontman grew up a metalhead, but when he heard Iron Maiden's lead singer, Bruce Dickinson, cover Mott the Hoople's "All the Young Dudes," he discovered a whole other world, "I knew I had to find out more," Way says, "To some people, glam is just about makeup. To me, it's a very magical thing almost like witchcraft."

1: "Ziggy Stardust" David Bowie, 1972

This song defines glam. It was also the first thing in rock that really challenged people's notions of sexual orientation. Bowie actually sings about a man's ass! 2: "Children of the Revolution" T. Rex, 1972

You always knew Bowie would make it out alive and turn into another character; with Marc Bolan you didn't know that. He came across as very vulnerable. 3: "All the Young Dudes" Mott the Hoople, 1972

This is kind of a cheat because David Bowie wrote it for them, but I always preferred the Mott the Hoople version. By this point, Bowie was talking about the actual glam movement, which is why it's about kids stealing makeup and breaking into unlocked cars. Glam became about the kid in the room, the poster on the wall, putting on a women's short fur coat and eyeliner, with no shirt on, just listening to this music. 4: "Ballroom Blitz" Sweet, 1973

They completely break the fourth wall when the song opens up and they're calling each other by name. We emulated that on our song "Vampire Money." It literally starts out just like "Ballroom Blitz" does. 5: "Cum On Feel the Noize" Slade, 1973

Obviously, everybody knows this for the Quiet Riot version, but when you hear the original you realize just how bold it is. The soundscape they created is probably one of the best out of all the glam-rock bands. 6: "Love Is the Drug" Roxy Music, 1975

Roxy Music took the glam thing and then modified it. Bryan Ferry looks nothing like a glam artist, and that's what I love about him. He's wearing this great suit and he's got short hair and he's so romantic. Maybe some people wouldn't consider Roxy Music a glam band, but I do, for a lot of reasons. A major one is that they used to have Brian Eno behind the keyboard wearing feathers on his shoulders and eye shadow.

7: "Needles in the Camel's Eye" Brian Eno, 1974

Speaking of Eno, this is the first track on his first solo album. It's the glammiest track on the record. As soon as he finishes that song, he's almost over it, and he's moved on to something else. Besides Bowie, Eno is still the most important artist to me of the glam scene. When you heard his first album, you knew it was gonna be his last glam record. He just needed to do it once and he was done. 8: "Clones (We're All)" Alice Cooper, 1980

With "Clones," Alice Cooper was moving into the glam of the future, like this kind of Blade Runner replicant version of glam. Alice Cooper doesn't get enough credit for being a glam artist. A lot of people just say, "Oh, he's shock rock," but I think he's way more Rocky Horror than he is shock rock. 9: "48 Crash" Suzi Quatro, 1973

She's the most unsung glam rocker. She's also the prototype for the Runaways. "48 Crash" is one of her more aggressive songs. She looks amazing on the cover, wearing this black cat suit. Everything about the song is magic. 10: "Personality Crisis" New York Dolls, 1973

They were a lot more punk, but I will always consider the New York Dolls glam by the nature of how they looked and their attitude. They took glam to America and really challenged the sexuality of it. They also had Johnny Thunders, who's basically like the American Mick Ronson.

#can not describe the feeling of finding what issue this belonged to but man was it good #gerard way #glam rock #rolling stone magazine

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eretzyisrael · 3 months

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Opinion

By MICHAEL KAYE Published: FEBRUARY 28, 2024 03:04 THE WRITER speaks at a marketing conference in New York City wearing a #EndJewHatred T-shirt.(photo credit: COURTESY MICHAEL KAYE)

It’s been almost five months since October 7, a day that completely changed the lives of more than 15 million Jews around the world. But the aftermath of the attack is still present, months later. In many ways, it feels as though this nightmare just happened, while at other moments, it’s hard to remember what life was like before that day of terror.

I am not fluent in Hebrew. I do not wear a kippah. I have almost 30 tattoos. I am not your stereotypical Jew, but I have become a proud Jewish activist. But October 7 changed me, as it did many others. Who I was before is someone I can never be again. I cannot be complicit or silent. I donate to the Anti-Defamation League; I speak at conferences wearing an #EndJewHatred T-shirt; I never leave home without Jewish-themed jewelry; and I use my social media platforms to discuss the rising antisemitism on college campuses across the United States and around the world.

As someone who was educated at a Jewish school and learned about the Holocaust, I am no stranger to antisemitism or the dangerous impact it can have. My earliest memories include being taught by my parents to be proud but quiet about my Judaism, having swastikas carved on my school playground, being immediately evacuated on September 11, and always leaving my Star of David at home when traveling.

During my childhood and teenage years, I heard from and met many Holocaust survivors, including Elie Wiesel. I listened to their stories about how the world remained silent.

Today, it feels like the beginning of a second Holocaust. That is why I cannot remain silent.

A scary time to be Jewish

For this Jewish New Yorker, it’s a scary time to be Jewish. The American Jewish Committee’s State of Antisemitism in America report found that 93% of American Jews surveyed think antisemitism is a problem in the United States and 86% believe antisemitism in the country has increased over the past five years.

In November, I attended the March for Israel in Washington. Around me were Jewish people from Atlanta, Chicago, Houston, New Orleans, Philadelphia, Richmond, San Diego, and Queens. A man from Brooklyn put tefillin (phylacteries) on me; it was the first time I had worn tefillin in almost 20 years. I even got to meet Julia Haart and Miriam Haart from Netflix’s My Unorthodox Life, who grew up in a religious community not too far from me. While there, I realized this gathering had the most Jews I’ve been around since I was in Israel in 2006. It was the safest I had felt in years. But there were also allies, including Congressman Ritchie Torres and CNN contributor Van Jones. That day reminded me of why I am proud to be Jewish and why I cannot be silent about my Judaism any longer.

Since October 7, I have lost hundreds of followers on social media. I have received anti-Israel and anti-Jewish messages, even threats. But I am not alone. The AJC found that six in 10 people have come across antisemitic content online, and 78% of American Jews feel less safe as Jews in the United States since that horrific day.

To many of us, the current climate feels different. We’re feeling angry, confused, and isolated. In my lifetime, I have watched the nation unite after domestic and foreign terrorist attacks, social justice actions, and wars. Rarely, outside of politics, have I seen us this divided: the Jewish community against everyone else. Overnight, people who had never spoken about any Middle Eastern wars became experts on the conflict. Disinformation spread like wildfire across social media, and much of it felt aimed at damaging or discrediting Jews and Zionists. Almost immediately after October 7, it was not only taboo to express sympathy for the Israelis who were captured or murdered; it was discouraged and forbidden, often met with attacks, both physical and verbal.

BUT THROUGH these painful months, there have also been glimmers of light.

During this period of mourning, I have watched people of all backgrounds come together – to educate, to grieve, to hope, and to pray. A Christian connection on social media thanked me for sharing educational resources. Jewish friends from elementary school and high school reached out. A Muslim friend held my hand as I cried, and another has been checking on me periodically for months. These are the moments I have chosen to cling to.

Our future is not where one side loses and another wins. It’s where we all unite.

The writer is an award-winning communications strategist, data storyteller, purpose-driven marketer, and educator based in New York City. He often speaks about antisemitism, LGBTQ+ rights, and social justice issues.

#Israel #antisemitism #israel hamas war

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susanpike-author · 5 months

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Then my hand went around to his cock. You keep that up you're going to be in trouble he said. I’m hoping I said. He grabbed me putting me in front of him. Hand going between my legs. As he kissed me. Made me hotter and wetter for him. I turned around and bent over the sink for him. He entered me slowly at first then thrusting hard and deep. I moaned and climaxed. He came shortly after. I told him I’m going to take a shower. Once you’re dressed, we will go downstairs for breakfast he said. I put on a little sundress, and we headed out. David was wearing a T-shirt and jeans. He took my hand as we walked through the lobby to the restaurant. His band members and Josh were already sitting at a table. David headed over to them. They still had menus, so they hadn’t ordered yet. David sat down in the booth told one of them to move over. We looked over the menu. I ordered 2 eggs and a muffin hot tea. David ordered a mushroom, spinach and cheese omelette. Wheat toast, hot tea. He whispered I’m hungry after all that exercise. I smiled. The band members noticed David was in a great mood and smiling. He watched me as I put cream in my tea, then did the same.

That night the show was excellent. David’s performance was fantastic. He was full of energy, dancing all around the stage. Making jokes and the band was teasing him too! They said, David just hooked up with a cop. Have a feeling she is hooking him up with her handcuffs. So, the next night David decided to get them back. During break in between the performance, he had me handcuff his hands behind his back. He came out sideways, then told his band mates. See what you started. Turning around facing them with the handcuffs on. Then he faced the audience. Everyone broke out laughing. Ok! Where is the key. What you going to leave me this way. I said, the possibility is endless. He laughed. I came and undid the cuffs. He rubbed his wrists. Boy those hurt a bit. He reminded me after the show as he was signing autographs that he looked forward to later. Whispering its gift night. Now he’s keeping track. Josh asked David later. Was I right about Susan? Is she your match? David says yes, she’s wearing me out. Josh laughs. He got his gift that night. In the morning we took a shower together. I bent over a bit and backed up into him. Rubbing my bum on his cock. He grabbed my hips entering me. We both orgasmed around the same time. The next morning, I stole his towel from around his waist. Let him chase me down till he grabbed it and me. That night I put a note in his pocket. I’m a really big fan and I would like to lick something. See me after the show in your dressing room. He read the note quickly on stage. He smiled. Put it back in his pocket. When the show was over, he had some autograph for VIP guests to sign. Then he ordered everyone out. He locked the door. Now what was it you wanted to lick luv. This I said, putting my hand on his pants. I unzipped his pants pulling them down. Started licking and sucking on him. Placed my finger underneath his balls lightly rubbing that spot. He felt waves of pleasure shooting through him. He moaned and came. He got me back when we went in the room. Held me down so I couldn’t push away. I had a intense orgasm. He then entered me and I orgasmed again as well as him. David suggested we head for Branson on his two-week break. He already looked over the information I brought him in the box. He wanted to check things out. We rented a car for the two weeks. He told the band members he would meet up with them in two weeks. We packed up and drove to Branson. We called and made reservations at a small cabin in the area. We checked into the place. The desk clerk recognized David. Gave him their nicest cabin. It was nice, good size kitchen and living room, big bedroom with whirlpool tub and stand in shower. Enclosed back porch. Washer and dryer too! Good I said, we can do our laundry. We will have to buy some groceries too, he said. We can save money by making our own breakfast and some dinners. In the meantime, David told his wife to go ahead and file for divorce now, he doesn’t want to wait. So, she did. She would get the house they lived in. We took a nice drive around Branson and looked at the sites. He was impressed with the theaters. We decided to go to a few shows. After trying out the whirlpool tub the night before and fixing our own dinner.

We went to a comedy theater. It was crowded, everyone laughed at the skits they were doing. David was laughing a lot. Then they went on intermission for 30 minutes. The house lights went on. One of the comedians seen David recognize him. Started talking with the other entertainers on the stage. One of them came over to David asking him if he would join them on stage and sing a song or two. I’m sure the band knows a few of your songs. David agreed to go up on stage when they asked him. After a few more skits. We noticed we have a very special guest in our audience tonight. We would love to ask him up to the stage. Come on and let’s convince him to sing a song or two for us. When they said his name, some women screamed. I started laughing. He headed up to the stage. So, what brings you to our little town David? One of them asked. He said checking the area out and taking a break from touring. Well, if you headline in a theater, you will leave us with an all-male audience. All the women would be where you are. Everyone laughed. He sang two songs to applauses afterwards. Now you’re going to have to sign autographs after the show. He did. Asked him how he enjoyed the show. He said he never laughed so hard in a longtime.

It’s so nice to be alone with him. Just the two of us. He enjoys cooking and inventing new dishes. Does not get much of a chance to cook being on the road. I cook some but let him do most of it. I of course clean up, he helps. Did our laundry the first week. We have enjoyed the whirlpool tub and the bigger shower. Of course, we found interesting things to do in both. He keeps track of the third day also. I look forward to it as much as he does. Enjoy pleasing him. I’m happy he is highly sexually motivated. Enjoy that also. He says he never had a woman wear him out like I do. Are you complaining sweetheart I asked. Heck no, I love it. He says. I love the fact you start feeling and go after me sometimes. He is very affectionate too. Holds me and kisses me a lot. When we go to restaurants, he always sits beside me in the booth or close chair. He likes to play too! Never to old to play a bit he says. We went swimming at the pool where we were staying. He attracted a lot of attention wearing his bathing suit. Some people were taking pictures of him. I had to get a robe for him after he came out of the pool after we were playing a bit. I think a few cameras caught a few pictures before he put his robe on. He dragged me back to the cabin after I teased him. We didn’t even make it to the bedroom. The couch was nice. We went to some other shows. Luckily most of the entertainer’s didn’t notice him. A singing family did though. The older daughter was coming down the aisle, during intermission and seen David. Did a double take as she looked at him. It was like she wasn’t sure what she seen. She went running up to the stage and told her mother that he was in the audience. She looked at him. I think you have been recognized sweetheart. He laughed. Afterwards as they sang two songs and finished them. The mother said, David my daughter spotted you in our audience. Please can you sing a song or two with us. The audience started looking around. I encouraged him to go up. Knew he wanted to. He headed for the stage, the mother said oh! Here he comes. Everyone looked and applauded. The mother whose name was Hanger said, oh my he is handsome, still my beating heart. They ended up singing two of his songs together with him. Then she hugged him. Whispering in his ear about meeting up at the late-night restaurant after the show. All the entertainers go there after their shows. David agreed to go and meet up with them. The audience was applauding him, and he returned to his seat. He had to sign autographs afterwards. We headed for the restaurant they mentioned. We sat down at a big table. We sat together in the booth part. David was a bit hungry, so we shared a fruit plate, and ordered some ice cream. Hot tea too. Mother Hanger and her group came in and joined us. David asked her if she thinks there would be anybody interested in him appearing a season in Branson. She said, are you kidding. The theater owners would go to war with each other trying to get you to headline in their theater. You would be one of the biggest names in Branson if you came here. Make sure you get the best deal and a good percentage of the ticket sales. You could rent a nice house here for the season too! David listens to her advice as he already liked what he seen of Branson. I was happy for him. His fans could come and see him, and the tourists would also. He could stay in one place for a while. David was introduced to other entertainers as they came in. We ended up having about 30 people pull up tables and chairs. David kept his arm around my shoulder as everyone talked. Mother Hanger and a few others gave him their phone numbers. We didn’t return to the cabin till about 3 am. We were both tried and went to sleep. We slept till noon that day. Good thing we had nothing planned. He fixed a quick breakfast, I made the hot tea and cleaned up after. Then he wanted to take a bath. I knew what he wanted. Last night was the first night we hadn’t made love since we had been together. He was planning to make up for it. The whirlpool tub felt great. Continues next post 3

#sexy content #romance #writers on tumblr #fantasy #fiction #novelist #story writing

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pedrostylez · 7 months

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How The Crow Flies: pt. 1

Javier Peña x fem!reader x Frankie Morales crossover

Word count: 5.7k

Chapter Summary: Introduction into the HTCF world, Peña is a menace

Chapter Warnings and Disclaimers: 18+ only. I am not responsible for what you read on the internet. You have been warned! Locations and descriptions of places may be inaccurate in comparison to each story (Narcos and Triple Frontier). Timelines are obviously different between the two stories, so we are going to meet in the middle and say we are in the early 2000s. These are not necessarily canon characters in regard to how they act, how they treat people, and their current relationships. mean!Javier, violence, dubcon, SMUT!!!!!, anger, fighting, PTSD, mentions of rape, derogatory use of slut, whore, and the like

Please support by commenting, sending me respectful thoughts, and reblogging. I appreciate every single one of you!

Taglist: @thevoiceinyourheadx @suzdin @survivingandenduring @bariskaplans @inept-the-magnificent @casa-boiardi (please let me know if I missed anyone that was interested or if you would like to be added)

You used to be new to Colombia.

You had never really thought you would be invited to the Embassy as a guest DEA agent, struggling to pull your bag through the airport with your purse in your other hand, but you’d made it-and the heat was different from Miami heat.

But you had worked hard in Florida, stopping drugs from passing through the border, starting your career in the mail office, and working your way up.

You stood on the docks of Miami undercover so many times that you were considered the local siren, stopping drug mules in their tracks just to talk to you, only to find out that you were there to bust them.

Your coworkers, male and female alike were proud of you, happy for you. You had been blessed with people who surrounded you and were supportive.

When you got to Colombia it was like you were back at square one.

Your boss, the well-known Javier Peña, had a stick up his ass.

“Would you give these to Noonan?” Peña had swept by, plopping papers on your desk before trying to run further away.

You stopped him, holding out your hand and wrapping your fingers around his suit sleeve. “Sorry, sir. But what are they?”

“You don’t need to know that.” He scoffed, pulling his arm from your grasp. “You’re sitting in one of my agent’s chairs, and I need you to bring that to Noonan as soon as you’re done setting up her computer.”

You scoffed back, standing up and placing a hand on your hip. His eyes followed your hand, eyebrows raised in interest until you said your name. “I am the agent that sits at this desk, Peña.”

“My apologies.” He said quietly with no hint of actual remorse. “Still, please bring that to Noonan. Our new employee meeting starts in five minutes.”

You immediately regretted wearing the pencil skirt, thinking it would be a good first impression as if that was the reason that Javier Peña had mistaken you. From then on you wore cargo pants and a fitted t-shirt, like the rest of the team, arguing with your boss at every corner.

“I told you to stay here. And what did you do? You fucking went out there anyways.” Peña had this thing about slamming the door to make a point, even though everyone could clearly see into his office where you were standing, arms crossed, eyes rolling toward the ceiling.

“Jason said he needed help. I helped him.” Standing your ground came naturally, and Peña clearly hated it. He wanted you to bend over backward for him, just like Jason, and just like David.

“You don’t need to help him by getting yourself killed.” Peña gritted out, turning to you before sitting at his desk.

A quick mumble came out of your mouth, “Would rather do that than push your pencils around like some secretary.”

“Are you going to hold that against me for the rest of the time you’re here? Because if that’s the case then maybe you should go back to Miami.” He was back standing, pointing at you and what he assumed was the general direction of Florida. Sweat beaded at his hairline, eyes dark with annoyance.

“I’m not holding anything against you, boss.” You snark, twisting around to the door to look out into the bullpen, where everyone is pretending to not watch. “Are we all done here?”

Peña was quick to brush you off after staring, motioning at the door resting his hands on his hips, and pacing behind his desk.

But then after a successful mission, Peña brought you and the others out for drinks. A Friday celebration for “catching the bad guys” as Jason had always said, downing the free beer that his boss provided.

You were all for taking advantage of Peña’s money if he was going to pay for drinks. Quick to order tequila sodas, letting them slide down your throat like water and sway back and forth as you spoke with office staff and the other agents.

You avoided Peña like the plague. Any time you turned your head you saw his back towards you, speaking to any girl he could find that wasn’t part of the team he was paying for.

One too many tequila sodas had you stumbling to the bathroom, struggling with the button of your pants, and taking much longer than you had the last time you went. You were thinking that it is about time to take yourself home, walk down the sidewalk for some fresh air, and then hail a cab, but when you finally manage to get out of the bathroom of this bar, your coworkers are filing out.

“Where are y’all going?” You slur to Jason who is holding the door open for one of the archive girls. It’s like he doesn’t even hear you, stepping through the door wrapping his arm around her shoulder, and whispering in her ear.

You mumble out a few curse words, turning toward the bar counter where that same head that you had been staring at all night is now facing you. His eyes are watchful, glass to his pouted lips as he takes a sip of what looks to be whiskey. “You want water?”

“Another tequila would be nice.” You perk up, slouching into the seat next to him with hooded eyes. In the back of your mind, you’re aware that you will be having a hangover tomorrow but don’t care enough to stop it.

Peña motions at the bartender, nodding at you to indicate that you would like another drink. He takes a beat before saying, “So, you still mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you.” You hiccup, furrowing your brow as the bartender sets a glass in front of you. You take a sip, noticing that there is no fizz, and know immediately that you’ve been cut off. “Damn, he gave me a water.”

He chuckles, draining his glass and turning fully towards you. His eyes scan behind you and the surrounding area before settling on your face. “I shouldn’t have assumed you were Noonan’s secretary.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.” You sigh, taking another sip of the water. You’re suddenly extremely thirsty.

Peña waits for you to say more, but shakes his head when you begin tapping your fingers against the counter. “I’m trying to apologize.” He huffs out, resting his head on one hand, propped against the bar.

“You are?” You laugh, pushing the glass of water away. “I didn’t hear one.”

“I wasn’t thinking, that day I walked in and asked you to go to Noonan.” He sighs, explaining himself. Still not an apology. “I’ve been under a lot of pressure to get this right this time, and I was told I was having a female agent added to my team that had done great things in Miami but didn’t know anything beyond your name.”

You shrug, sliding off your seat. “Okay, boss. No big deal. It was months ago.” You give in, thinking it’s about time to walk home.

When you stumble away from Peña, he reaches for your arm to hold you up, hissing out between his teeth. “You need a ride home.”

“No, I’m fine.” His hand is warm at your elbow, seeping through his skin to yours so quickly that you break out in a shiver. You attempt to yank your arm away, but his grip is firm and guiding.

If he notices you trying to pull away from him or the shiver, he doesn’t say anything. “Wasn’t asking.”

You think you roll your eyes, but you’re not too sure based on how the room is moving around you. “Haven’t you drunk too?” Your hand twists out to grip his shoulder, too dizzy to be pulling away now.

“Not as much as you.” He mumbles with a short chuckle, guiding you to the door after slipping the bartender some bills. You aren’t sure how much he’s paid, but you think it’s a lot based on how happy the guy looks.

The typically humid air is crisp against your skin as you step out, and you can’t help but curl your fingers into the sleeve of his shirt. The noises around you feel muffled, and when you turn to Peña he’s already looking at you expectantly. “What?”

He huffs out his nose, trying to keep his composure. “Where do you live? In the same block as the other agents or somewhere else?”

You shake your head, confused by his question but tell him your address anyways. “I can make it home–”

“No.” He cuts you off, lightly pressing into the small of your back to lead you toward his Jeep. “You’ve had more to drink than others, and I need you to be ready by Monday.”

“Oh, I’m definitely calling in sick Monday.” You hiccup, grabbing onto the handle of his car as you hop into the passenger seat.

Peña walks around to the driver's side, sliding in and watching you as you buckle in clumsily. “Don’t get sick in my car.”

“No promises.” You mumble, laying your head back against the headrest and shutting your eyes as he pulls away from the curb. The drive feels familiar, turning at the right moments, and the hum of his car seems to have you slipping into sleep.

You didn’t realize you had fallen asleep until Peña’s warm hand was on your elbow again, shaking it gently. “Hey, you awake?”

You startle, sitting up straight and looking out the windshield before flashing your eyes over to him, glancing down at his fingers drifting over your elbow in soothing circles. You clear your throat, reaching for his door handle. “Yeah, sorry.”

“S’alright.” He reaches for his own door, gets out, and walks around the front of the car to where you are stumbling toward your door. “Where’s your key?” You mumble incoherently, reaching into your pocket and dangling the key in front of him for a moment before he snatches it out of your hand and into the lock. “Let me make sure you don’t get sick all over yourself.”

“I’m not even that drunk.” You scoff, brushing past him to the bathroom. You are mostly just dizzy, a nasty side effect of tequila that you’ve never been able to curb. “Since you invited yourself in, there’s soda in the fridge.” You clip from your mirror, reaching for a washing rag and turning on the water.

“What, no beer?” He calls, chuckling quietly before you hear the sound of the fridge opening, his footsteps going quiet when he gets back to your living room and sits on the couch.

When you’ve finished scrubbing your face, you step back into the living room and see Peña with his soda half tilted up, glancing at you and down to your coffee table where a glass of water is waiting. “Thanks, boss.” You mumble, sitting on the other side of the couch and taking a sip.

He nods, eyeing you quietly before setting the half-empty bottle in front of him. “Javi is fine.”

You quirk your eyebrow at him, humming to yourself before taking another sip. “Are we getting personal now?”

Peña squints at you, pursing his lips to hide a smile that seems to be growing on his lips. “Only if you tell me something personal.”

You scoff, setting down your glass and leaning back. The air conditioner in your apartment is only in the bedroom, leaking out into the rest of the living space slowly and heavily along the ground. Your toes are cold, realizing suddenly that you have taken off your shoes and it seems like Peña did as well, his toes wiggling under his socks. “Something personal? What do you want to know?”

He shrugs. “Anything. I don’t know much about you at all besides that you worked your way up in a field that isn’t kind to women, and moved here from Miami on recommendation from Noonan to help catch the Cali cartel.”

You tilt your head over to him to watch him, his arm flexing as he reaches for his soda again. You feel this sudden urge to lean forward and touch his arm– “I hate the heat.” You blurt, stopping yourself from reaching for him as he looks at you inquisitively. “I-I grew up in Utica, New York. Love the snow.”

He smiles, nodding his head. “Why did you go to Miami, if you hate the heat?”

You shrug. “Wanted to be different.” You laugh to yourself, leaning forward again for your glass. “Couldn’t stand staying in the same town, or just moving to the next city over like all my friends did.”

As you’re talking your hand knocks the glass off the coffee table, water spilling over your feet and onto the carpet. You jump, leaning toward Peña to lift your feet off the floor before they get wet, but you aren’t quick enough. “S’alright. Let me get a towel.” He says quietly, grabbing the glass from the floor and his soda before heading to the kitchen.

When he returns with a kitchen towel that you think was hanging on the oven’s handle, you don’t expect him to sit so close and wrap his hand around your calf and lift it onto his lap. He wipes at your feet gently, hand still holding you steady as he glances up at you. “Texas.” He clears his throat, looking unsure before he continues. “I grew up in Texas. The heat was different than here, but…I’ve never seen snow.”

You smirk, watching as he slows his movements and rubs his thumb along your calf. “You’d probably hate it like everyone does.”

You both stare at each other, not sure if you should pull your leg away, ask him to leave and thank him for the ride, or see where this goes.

You start to pull away, realizing that this is your boss for fucks sake when he tightens his grip. “I’ve always wanted to see snow on Christmas. With the lights and real snowmen…” He pauses, leaning forward and flicking his gaze to your mouth. “I don’t think I would hate it.”

You gasp when his hand slides up your leg to behind your knee, pulling you closer and over his lap more. “Peña–”

“Javi.” He breathes, taking a deep breath that expands his chest and has the buttons straining under the pressure. “I-it’s Javi.”

Your head is swimming with the feeling of his hand on you, over and over, looking from his parted mouth to his eyes. His pupils dilate, his hand tightening around you in anticipation as you start to lean forward.

Your eyelashes flutter, closing for a moment before opening them again and finding your nose brushing against his, his eyes cast down to watch you ponder the next best move. “Javi,” You whisper hoarsely, swearing you can taste the mix of whiskey and soda in his mouth from how he lets his bottom lip run against yours. “You’re my boss.”

He nods quickly, the bridge of his nose running against yours as he takes a deep breath. “I know.”

It’s only another split second before you make the decision, tilting your chin towards him and sealing your mouth to his.

He groans, wrapping his hand around the back of your head and into your hair to hold you to him. He swirls his tongue with yours, eager and ready to have you against him and not moving away to take a breath.

He pulls you closer, bracketing his own hips with your thighs, digging his fingers into your hips to hold you against him. When you begin rolling your center against his, your jeans in the way of each other, he holds you firm. “Don’t do that.” He swallows, shaking his head and looking up at you. “Unless you want me to fuck you right now.”

On wobbly legs you stand, pushing away from him enough that you can reach for the button of your pants, sliding the material down your thighs. You break out in a shiver, forgetting how heavy the air feels right now.

Javi reaches out with one hand, running his fingers down the side of your thigh before leaning forward to wrap his hand fully around you. His other hand is expertly undoing his own jeans, eyes on you, and a smirk rising on his face. “Needy, aren’t you?”

Biting your lip has little effect on your ability to keep your noises at bay, a groan coming out of your mouth as his fingers grip into the plush skin on your ass. “You’re just as bad.”

“Oh really?” He laughs, pulling you to your previous position hovering over him. “Work for it then.”

Your thoughts stutter, furrowing your brow as you shakily bring a hand down to the opening of his pants. Gently wrapping your fingers around him, jeans halfway down his thighs already and not a pair of boxers in sight, you swear your mouth begins to water. You glance back up to his face, his knowing wink giving you pause. “What do you want me to do?”

He tilts his head, a small smile rising before he licks his lower lip. “Don’t just stare at it, ride it.”

You gasp at how quickly he reaches forward and slides your panties to the side. His finger glides at your center, opening you up to feel how slick you’ve gotten for him. He groans, satisfied with what he finds as he holds the fabric with his thumb, his other hand roughly guiding you by the hip to sit lower.

The head of his cock presses into you in one instant, and in the next, you’re fully seated on top of him. Thighs tight, a sheen of sweat covering your forehead, you whine at the feeling of him inside you. He shushes you, bringing one bruising hand up from your hip to your face, moving your hair out of your eyes. “I know, Hermosa. Too big for you, huh?” You nod, feeling faint as you shut your eyes for a moment. He taps roughly with two fingers on your cheek. “Easy now, don’t lose focus.”

Your eyes snap open as he shifts his hips up, his hair at the base of his shaft rubbing against your clit. He begins thrusting, holding you steady by where his hand is placed on your cheek, digging into the hair at the nape of your neck. Your mouth opens, slack-jawed at the feeling of him thrusting up into you.

“That’s it.” He growls, pulling your head back tighter. “Just like that.” He pistons up, leaning further back on your couch and pulling you away from him so he can better get a view of you. You’re taking it, turned on, and pretty sure you’re ruining his jeans in the process.

He doesn’t last long, and neither do you. His words, forced through his teeth and puffing breaths spur you on to the finish line, his own orgasm leaving a mess on your underwear and stomach. He pulls out quickly, hurriedly rubbing at himself with your slick covering him before closing his eyes and moaning as ropes of his spend stick to you.

Standing on shaking legs, you walk toward your bathroom, grabbing a towel and wiping yourself off before looking in the mirror briefly. You look like you’ve been fucked-hair a nest on your head, your underwear wet. When you step back out toward the living room, ready to offer him a towel or the shower, you stop dead in your tracks when you don’t see him immediately.

Confused, you step into the kitchen, looking around briefly before stepping back into your living room. The soda is half gone on your coffee table, and the kitchen towel that he brought is tossed haphazardly on the couch. You look toward your front door and notice his boots are gone just as the lights from a car shine through your window. Peña had just fucked you and ditched.

It hadn’t really been a surprise to you that Peña wanted to pretend like nothing had happened. Just a quick fuck, and nothing serious-you could handle that. Peña must have thought you would be beating down his door because he avoided you for two full weeks before reappearing in the office at the same time you were there.

You had continued on; business as usual.

It surprised Peña so much that when you had gone into his office to give him reports to review and then left soon after, he was at your apartment that night asking what your issue was.

“It was a one-time thing.” Peña was circling your island, rubbing at his jaw and eyeing you every once in a while.

“I figured.” You roll your eyes, leaning against the doorway. “Do you have something you need me to do, related to our job? Because if not, can you just leave?”

“Was I more hammered than I thought?” He questioned, looking at you incredulously. “I swear you came.”

“I did.” You confirm.

“Then, how are you…are you not? I don’t-” he growled frustrated, running his hands through his hair.

“I’m not obsessed with you. Is that what you’re asking?” You laugh, shaking your head. “We were drunk, we fucked. You’re my boss, I’m your employee. Let’s just move on. Now will you leave?”

“I don’t want you to be obsessed with me.” He says quietly, face going red with embarrassment.

“Great, I’m not.” You shrug, tapping your fingers against your pant leg.

He stares at you, grinding his teeth before he steps toward where you appear relaxed. He’s silent as he reaches out, running the back of his finger against your exposed arm. You shiver, rolling your eyes at how he smiles.

You tilt your head at him, asking with your eyes what are you doing? As he shrugs, he kneels in front of you, hands coming up to hover over your pants. “Let me feel you, hermosa.”

You and Peña continued like this, back and forth for weeks. He would eye you a certain way after berating you in his office as code to meet in the archives.

You would say something snarky with Jason and David looking on, and he would show up at your apartment later that night.

Or sometimes, you both would stay late, working until you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore to then look up and see Peña still sitting at his desk in a similar state as you were. He would sigh heavily, call you into his office, and tell you to go home like everyone else had.

You never did.

This seemed to be the most stable thing in your life, even though you and Peña were not an item, and adamantly told each other so when he was deep inside you or when your throat was constricting around him.

You thought everything was routine at this point-yeah, you fucked your boss, and you still argued with him, but the job wasn’t bad. You were making headway into things that Peña and your team worked on extensively to get to the bottom of the cartel. And when you were having another meeting with Peña, Jason, and David, you were shocked to find out that Peña had a new job for you.

“I need you to go into the jungle.” He said, looking directly at you with a pinched mouth.

You stared at him, trying to assess what that exactly meant as Jason and David stared between the two of you. “And do what, exactly?” You question, flicking your eyes over him.

“I need intel on Gabriel Loreas. He is an upcoming drug dealer that is supposed to be the local cops' responsibility.” He says quickly, flipping through the file on his desk before leaning back and crossing his feet.

“So why have her go out there?” Jason questions quietly, concern covering his face.

Peña’s eyes flash in anger, raking over Jason. “Because I don’t trust the locals to not screw me over in the end. And…we have a mole.” David and Jason begin bickering, Peña cutting them off. “I need someone that can infiltrate his home without causing suspicion.”

“And why can’t that be one of us? No offense,” David turns apologetically to you. “But it’s extremely dangerous to be doing that alone.”

Peña rolls his neck, trying to hold his temper. “His security guards are looking for…working girls.”

It’s silent in the office as Jason and David look toward you, bug-eyed and scared. You take a deep breath, chuckling quietly. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Peña freezes, eyes widening briefly before leaning forward. “Now, listen–”

“You want me to whore myself out? For your little side mission? Like I’m some piece of meat?” Your voice is increasing in volume, Jason wincing at the sound of you wobbling through the last few words. He knew how you felt being used as bait while in Miami, and now it seemed to be happening all over again.

“Everyone out.” Peña glared at Jason and David, waiting for them to file out of his office, and shut the door tightly behind them.

When his eyes find you, he stays frozen while you remain stoic. He takes a deep breath, cursing under his breath briefly. “I need you to help me out, here.”

You attempt to not scoff. “Why the fuck should I be doing anything you say?”

“You don’t have to actually do anything.” He’s earnest, stepping closer to you while one hand rests on his hip.

You can’t help the emotion lacing your voice. “You’re kidding.” Shaking your head, you open your arms wide. “How do you expect me to get anywhere without actually offering up anything?”

He growls in irritation, taking another step toward you. “I just need you to stakeout-talk to the men that come back into town, and get a feel for it. When things get heavier we will send Jason and David out.”

You stare at Peña for another minute, waiting to see if he flinches. If you can see the shift, the change of mind. When you don’t, you sigh. “I’m taking the rest of the day off.”

It’s like a blow to the chest as he steps back. “What?”

“You heard me.” You snarl, opening the door so Jason and David can hear your announcement as well.

As you step out, not waiting to see if Peña has anything else to say, Jason follows you to the elevator. “I’ll talk to him, don’t–”

“It’s fine, Jason.” You sigh, shaking your head. “I just need to get in the right mindset. Don’t worry about it; I don’t want you telling Peña anything.”

He shuffles, holding the elevator open. “Are you sure? He’s such a hard ass to you, maybe if I tell him what you told me he would change up his plans…”

You give him a forced smile, grabbing his wrist and pulling it out of the way. “It’s fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As the elevator door slides closed with a small wave from Jason, you see Peña’s eyes watching, assessing the interaction. As the door shuts, you take a deep breath and exhale, trying to recenter yourself before stepping into the parking garage.

You had an inkling of who it would be when you heard a knock on your door a few hours later. You sit on your couch, silent as you wait, and hope that Peña will just walk away. He will understand that you need space.

You had already cried the minute you stepped over the threshold, feeling that pit in your stomach that you always got when you stepped out onto the docks in Miami. How hands and lips felt against your heated skin where you didn’t want them–

“Hermosa,” Peña calls through your door, jiggling the handle to test if it is locked. “I know you’re there. Let me in.”

You sigh again, waiting for another knock before slinking over to the door and quietly unlocking the deadbolt. He hears it, pushing open the door quickly after and coming face to face with you.

He huffs, kicking the door shut and shrugging out of his suit jacket. “Were you not going to let me in?”

“No.” You say quietly, sitting on your couch and back down to the book you have bookmarked with a receipt from the corner store.

He’s silent, standing above you while you refuse to make eye contact. He’s waiting for you to break, but you’re too tired to. When he finally caves, you try to control your lips from ticking up in the corners. “I really need this, hermosa.”

You pick at your fingernails, patiently waiting.

He sighs again. “There’s a lot of money on the line. Like, millions, if what I’ve been told is correct. The local guys, they’re getting paid on the side by this guy and I need someone in there.”

He’s pacing now, back and forth in front of your coffee table.

You break your silence, leaning back and crossing your arms. “What’s in it for me?”

Peña pauses, turning to you. He looks flustered, hands having run through his hair by how it sticks out away from the side of his head. “Cash. Cold, hard cash.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “So, I will really be a whore then, won’t I?”

He frowns, shaking his head. “No, I don’t want you doing that.” He stretches his neck, clicking his tongue in disgust. “You just, pretend. Don’t do anything crazy–”

You feel anger bubble up inside, over your tongue, and spitting out at him. “You don’t fucking get it, do you?”

He freezes, shocked in front of you.

“I don’t get to just say no. I have to be stronger to say no. I have to be strapped to say no. I have to be cute enough to say no. I can’t just not do something once I’ve pretended to offer those things, Javi. These aren’t college boys trying to not catch a rape charge.”

He waits, biting the inside of his mouth as he grows more frustrated. He must know you’re right, must understand what he’s asking you to do. “I won’t let them.” He says quietly, flicking his gaze up to yours. “You have my word, hermosa.”

“I can’t trust that.” You feel worn and tired of the argument. You’ve resigned to the fact that you will have to do this if you plan on keeping your job, and you do plan on it. “I’ll do what you ask of me. It’s my job.”

“I won’t let them touch you.” He growls, reaching forward and squeezing your arms so tightly you squeak. “You’re not going to get hurt in this. I won’t allow it.”

It’s pitiful, really, how you want to laugh in his face. He doesn’t understand, because he’s a man. No matter his reputation with working girls, he doesn’t know. You attempt to pull away from him, but his fingers dig harder into your skin. “Go home, Peña.”

He clicks his tongue at you, tilting his head as if to threaten you. “What happened to Javi, bonita?”

You go to protest, trying and failing again to pull away as he pushes you toward your couch. You clumsily sit back, frowning at him. “I’ll do the job. It’s fine–”

“Lay back.” He barks, kneeling in front of you, his fingers working quickly at the button of your pants.

You shake your head, resting your hand over his in a silent question.

He ignores you, pulling the waistline over your hips and down your thighs, underwear soon following as cool air wicks over your skin. You shiver, the contact of his warm fingers, calloused over and rough, over your skin has your legs relaxing wide.

He lifts one leg easily over his shoulder, smirking when his eyes land on your center. Without further warning, his tongue swipes up your folds, spreading you wide with a groan. “I can’t stop wanting this.”

You throw your head back, unsure if what he said was meant for himself or for you. Words are stuck in your throat, fingers wrapped tightly in his hair, and pulling as his tongue swirls over your clit and down to your center. You want to tell him to keep going, to make you come, but you’re afraid that if you voice your want he will retreat from you.

One hand squeezes into the skin of your thigh resting on his shoulder, his other working the buttons of his shirt open before coming to your entrance with a sigh. He lets his tongue rest there for a moment, pressing in with the tip and letting you contract around him.

Javi pulls away, muttering under his breath as he slides one finger into you, a quick “Fuck, so wet for me.” before wrapping his lips around your clit again.

You swear he would be laughing at you for how quickly you crumbled to his touch if he wasn’t busy with his mouth around you. “Please, I–”

Another smirk appears as he pulls away, curling his fingers inside you to search for that spot he has found again and again. “I won’t let you come,” He breathes, pressing a kiss to your shaking thigh. “Unless you agree to the job.”

You huff, breaths labored and your stomach tightens. “I already agreed.”

“Nuh-uh, mean it hermosa.” He nips your skin, chuckling as your hips jump in an attempt to get away, only pressing his fingers deeper. “Be my little slut, and I’ll share the cash with you.”

You close your eyes to try to focus, his fingers pressing, pressing, pressing against that spot inside of you that he has an obsession with, holding your breath. It’s overwhelming, the pressure in your core building and overheating.

Sweat pools in the dip of your collarbone, the shirt you still have on soaking it up as you pull on his hair again. “Yes, yes–fuck. I’ll do it.”

Javi hums, leaning forward again to press his lips to your center, his tongue and fingers working in tandem as a wave of ecstasy crashes over your skin.

You’re floating, feeling him slow between your legs and breathe against your skin. He says something you can’t really hear, gently setting your leg down on the floor before adjusting himself. A pointed look is thrown your way, your furrowed brow indicating that you didn’t hear him.

He shakes his head, wiping at his mustache for a moment. “Stakeout starts next week.”

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #frankie morales #frankie morales smut #javier pena fic #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfic #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña #javier pena smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #fic:how the crow flies #tw: dubcon #tw: mentions of rape

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ahockeywrites · 23 days

Text

the assistance part one

pairing: trent frederic x aurelia mcavoy word count: 1k warnings: probably swearing knowing me, authors note: decided to split this into two parts so I can get one out to you guys today masterlist

David Pastrnak’s car had a problem. And he had no fucking clue how to solve it. He thought that he was skilled with his hands. On the, 100%. When it came to cars, 0%. If negative percentages existed, that would be how good he was at fixing cars. YouTube couldn’t help him this time.

The team were over at his place for a barbecue as he had the best grill and hosting facilities. David knew that he should have called a mechanic but he also knew that Charlie’s cousin was a mechanic and that it might be easier to get them to fix it.

The Czech player walked over to Charlie with a beer for each of them before sitting down in the chair next to him. David ran a hand through his hair and he didn’t know why he felt so awkward asking a friend for a favour, but he did. It wasn’t the thing he usually did.

“You know your mechanic cousin,” David started, getting over the awkwardness and just saying what he needed to.

“Yes, I do know Peanut,” Charlie replied, he had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Everyone knew that he had a cousin who was a mechanic but it was only Trent who had actually met her. He didn’t even know if the rest of the team knew that the mechanic was a woman.

“Any chance he could come and take a look at my car? I’ll pay him for the trouble, I’m just driving around and something sounds wrong,” David explained, hands gesticulating.

“Yeah, I’ll drop Peanut a message and hopefully they’ll swing by today,” Charlie pulled his phone out and composed a text to his cousin. Charlie knew that Aurelia was at a race day but she was usually done by 3PM and, he checked his watch, it was half past two. She should be done soon.

His phone vibrated almost immediately after putting it down.

Peanut 🥜: will swing by, race has just finished. ya gal won again ✌️

Charlie: was never in doubt! see you in an hour or so

Peanut 🥜: 👍✌️

Trent wandered around Pasta’s garden after chatting to a few of the guys and their partners. He had a beer in his hand but something was off. He didn’t feel right but that could have been related to the punches he received in his abdomen the afternoon before. Saturday matinee games had gotten a lot more feisty than he remembered.

The can of beer in his hand was finished so he crushed it before walking inside to find the recycling bin. Trent knew where the glasses were so he quickly grabbed one and filled it up with some water. He wasn’t drunk by any means but he was dehydrated.

Three quick knocks on the front door took him out of the trance he was in. His hands didn’t move quickly enough as he spilt a large portion of his water onto his shirt. A few expletives left his mouth as he put the glass down and pulled his T-shirt off.

Charlie had just got Aurelia’s text saying that she was here so he walked to the front door but was greeted by a half naked teammate.

“Please put your shirt back on, Aurelia doesn’t need to see that,” Charlie groaned when he realised that it was Trent who was shirtless.

“Aurelia’s here?” asked Trent. As far as the St Louis native was aware, she wasn’t meant to be coming to this event. But it wouldn’t be unlike Charlie to change who he invited last minute.

“Yes,” Charlie wandered through the kitchen to the hallway of Pasta’s house. “So please put a shirt on, she doesn’t need to see your chest.” Trent thought about his request but had to ring out his shirt in the sink before he put it back on because the sensory overload of a wet shirt was not fun.

Trent’s back was to the hallway so Aurelia wouldn’t be able to tell who it was. This was a good compromise between putting a shirt on whilst it was still wet and not wearing a shirt at all, he thought.

A wolf whistle from behind him was unexpected but Trent thought it was one of his teammates so turned around to explain why his shirt was off.

“Frederic!” Charlie shouted. “I told you to put your shirt back on.” In front of him was a fuming Charlie McAvoy and a staring Aurelia McAvoy.

“Not complaining at all Chucky,” Aurelia grinned as she looked Trent up and down. Charlie playfully hit the back of her head and then shouted for David.

Pasta walked into the kitchen with a beer in his hand, which he thought he was going to hand off to the mechanic who was going to fix his car. Instead he was greeted by a shirtless Trent, an angry Charlie and a girl.

“David, Peanut,” Charlie pointed between the two of them. “Peanut is going to fix your car then go home.”

Aurelia raised an eyebrow towards her cousin. “And what if I don’t want to go home after?”

“You’re welcome to stay-“ David started but was cut off by Charlie.

“Peanut,” Charlie sighed, “you’re working tomorrow and you raced today. You should get some sleep.”

“Who are you, my dad?” She questioned back. “Let me take a look at the car and then I can figure out how long it’s going to take me to fix it. Then I can see if I’m going straight home.” She mumbled something that only Trent caught as she walked past him to the garage. “Stupid fucking cockblock,” was what he heard.

Did Aurelia McAvoy like him back?

#ahockeywrites #nhl imagine #hockey writing #nhl fanfiction #nhl writing #hockey fic #hockey story #trent x aurelia #trent frederic fic #tf11

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plutobutartsy · 10 months

Text

here's a page of fun asher doodles i did for tea's birthday :3 in my mind he has a shitty mullet that he insists on cutting and dying himself but he makes it work anyway. his nose is a bit bumpy because he broke it god knows how many times as a kid/teen lol

ID in alt and below cut

[ID:

A page of digital sketches of my design for Asher. He's portrayed as a lanky dude with light brown skin and a bleached blond mullet, the dark roots are still showing. He has a crooked asymmetrical nose, nice lips that expose one fang and messy eyebrows. He has heterochromia, making his left eye a light brown and his right one green. He has a jagged scar reaching from his right jaw halfway up his cheek and over his left eye he has an eyebrow piercing. He is also wearing silver earrings and a spiked choker.

Top left: A headshot drawing of Asher from the front. He's smiling brightly, his teeth exposed and winking. The sketch isn't coloured. Text above it reads, "HAPPY B-DAY TEA!!".

Top middle: A simplified full body doodle of Asher wearing a cropped shirt with the My Chemical Romance lettering on it, a fishnet shirt underneath, skinny ripped jeans and boots. He's smiling with his eyes scrunched shut and a cat-like grin. In his left habd he's holding a bouquet of flowers. The drawing isn't couloured but filled out with white. Next to the drawing there's text clarifying that he's picking Babe up from work.

Top right: A simplified doodle of Asher's side profile as he's kissing tea's profile picture in a very cartoonish way, not coloured. There's text saying "cutest couple fr!!".

Bottom left: A headshot of Asher from a 3/4 view. His expression looks annoyed abd serious. Yet again the drawing isn't coloured abd only filled in with white. There's more text bext to it that reads "thinking very hard about how to best annoy David at the next pack meeting".

Bottom right: Asher from the waist up and bending slightly over while looking at the viewer and grinning. He is wearing a dark blue baseball cap abd a long sleeve shirt in the same colour underneath a white v-neck t-shirt with pinstripes on it. His left habd is thrown up in apeace sign. This sketch is the only one that is fully coloured.

End ID]

taglist: @sharksung @febreze-bottle-without-febreze @teaseat @swanconcerto @beemybella @soup-scope @celestecreateschaos @puffin-smoke @xanyiaz

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted fanart #redactedverse #redacted asher #asher talbot #stella's constellations

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sssuuri · 10 months

Text

The Social Network

"Before this, I was fighting an uphill battle to get in movies, and I do one movie and David Fincher gives me a great break and now everyone wants to meet with me like I’m the hottest thing in the world. It’s crazy."

When Armie only heard that he is being proposed a role in David Fincher's film, he said "yes" without even knowing what it was. The Social Network has become a big turning point in his career, making Armie globally famous. Though working with perfectionist Fincher wasn't easy and sweet (they made over 40 takes of some scenes and finished shooting in the morning), Armie passed this test brilliantly with critics later saying "Hammer jumped over his head". Initially he and Josh Pence were casted to play each twin and spent 10 months in a special camp being trained how to behave like identical twins. But then Fincher said he wants Armie's face on both brothers and Josh will be a body double. Despite being frustrated, Josh appreciated Armie both as a person and as an actor. They still stay in touch. There were funny moments during the promo when people approached Armie asking: "Where is the second Hammer? You are twins playing twins, right?". Also there was a wink of the Universe when Jesse playing Marc Zuckerberg was wearing "Arm and Hammer" t-shirt. First, people thought it was a crew's joke. But then it turned out that Marc Zuckerberg really had such t-shirt. Armie and Josh met real Winklevoss twins only when the shooting was over.

#armie hammer

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random-imagines-blog · 9 months

Text

Imagine dating the Lost Boys, and having sensory overload issues.

Multiple imagines below the cut.

David, Dwayne, Paul, Marko, Michael, Star.

David

It was just far too much. Too much everything. The blurred lights of the rides as they swung in the air, creating lines of neon in your vision that danced around. Music blasting from three different rides, all different songs. Shouts from carnies inviting people to play their games. And the smell of the cotton candy - it was nauseating.

“Have to go - bathroom -” You said quickly, unlinking David’s arm from your shoulders and ran into the nearest bathroom. Once you were in there, you were able to take a deep breath. The fluorescent lighting was not only ugly, but loud, with a humming. A couple of flies buzzed in the corner. You could faintly hear the music from outside still. But it all wasn’t as bad as it was outside.

You didn’t go into one of the stalls, fearing claustrophobia, so you just paced back and forth in front of the sinks, trying to breathe, trying to calm yourself down, trying not to start crying. A few others in the bathroom looked at you, gossiped while walking out. You didn’t want to be seen, why did you have to be perceived by anyone?

The door opened, an annoying creak which made you wince. And then the lock on the top of the door was dropped down, which made you entirely freeze. “It’s just me,” David said, his hair glowing even brighter in the harsh lighting. He looked somewhat concerned. “Too much?”

“Y-yeah,” You admitted, your hands shaking as you kept on pacing. You couldn’t stop yourself, your body needed some sort of calming action. It came to a quick end when David put his arm around you, pulled you into his chest. He didn’t give words of affirmation. He didn’t tell you everything was going to be okay. He wasn’t the talking sorta guy. But he did put his hands over top of your ears to block out the sounds. Gone were the flies. Gone was the music. All that was left was .. him.

It was very calming. The leather smell of his jacket was what you focused on. And the texture of it against your face. The blackness of it, and his hands over your hears blocked out two of your more overstimulated senses. You were able to calm down. Able to breathe again. Just focus on the softness. The smell. Your breathing grew more regulated. Your heartbeat went to normal levels. You lightly tapped his chest and he let loose the pressure he had against your ears, but continued to touch the sides of your head, a reassuring touch.

“Better?”

“Much. Thank you, David.”

He kissed your forehead, and put his arm around your shoulders again. You knew he’d pull you in if he noticed you getting overwhelmed again, and that alone was a comfort. For someone so cold looking, he could be the warmest guy alive.

Dwayne

Although the summer was the prime hunting time for the boys, it was the season that you hated the most. It was too hot, too sticky in your opinion. And you couldn’t walk down the boardwalk without someone in a bathing suit bumping up against you, feeling their sweaty skin against your arm. And you couldn’t wear long sleeves either, because they’d stick too much. Ugh, it was the worst. You took to wearing looser clothes than usual so that it wouldn’t cling, so you wouldn’t have to feel the texture of the wet cotton against your skin. It always gave you this weird shuddery feeling from your toes to your teeth.

It was affecting you particularly bad tonight. The nights were a little cooler than the days, but it was still just so - not good feeling. You joined the guys when they went out for the hunt, ending up at a small bonfire on the beach. You didn’t understand the appeal. It was already hot. Why would you want to stand near a fire? You wondered if you looked as miserable as you truly felt.

You felt a little tug on the back of your baggy t-shirt. It was Dwayne. He seemed to be the most observant out of the group, probably because he was the most quiet. He had more time to take things in than to think about what to say next.

“What’s going on?” I asked, as he continued to hold onto the back of my shirt, looking like he was amused with it.

“You’re uncomfortable.”

“It’s the middle of August, of course I’m uncomfortable,” I muttered. “I feel like a lit candle and my sweat is the wax.”

“How poetic,” He stated, making me roll my eyes.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To cool down.”

By that, he had apparently meant taking me away from the fire, the warm bodies all gathering together, the very warm breeze that wasn’t doing anything to cool anyone down, and bring me to the boardwalk. Not just anywhere on the boardwalk though. He went ahead and bought me a sno-cone.

“You know this is just ice and syrup right?” You said, taking it nonetheless. Blue raspberry. He remembered that it was your favorite, because there just was something so funny about the entirely made up fruit.

“That’s the point. Cool you down.”

He even sat with you on a bench as you ate it. “Are you sure you don’t want to join the guys?” I asked, knowing the feast would be beginning soon. He waved the thought away.

“I wouldn’t have fun knowing you were suffering.”

“That’s ... almost sweet.”

“Like your wrong-colored raspberry?”

“I’d say more.”

Paul

Paul was a generous sort of guy. He loved bringing gifts to people, especially you, because he knew that you appreciated it. It was the look on your face when he gave you something that made it so special. So when he bought you a t-shirt that he saw out on the board walk with a stupid slogan - ‘I’m with Stupid’, he wanted you to put it on right away. You agreed willingly enough - you planned on sneaking up behind the other guys while wearing it, with the arrow pointing towards them just for Paul’s entertainment - but it was quickly turning into a nightmare.

Paul didn’t really understand your sensitivities. And he often forgot about them because it was something that he didn’t understand. He didn’t do it on purpose, he didn’t want to irritate you on purpose - unless he was pulling a prank - he just didn’t always think. He didn’t cut the tag off of the back of the shirt when he gave it to you. And you didn’t want to say anything because he was just so happy that you were wearing it.

“Do you like it?” He asked, and then started to laugh. “Nooo - you love it.”

You would absolutely love it, if you couldn’t feel the tag rubbing against your skin, creating the most unwanted friction in the world. Still, you grinned, just thinking that if he were to go on a ride or get distracted, you could try to go into a shop and find some scissors, just snip it right off. “It’s one of the funniest shirts I’ve ever seen,” You cracked up.

Sneaking up beside Marco with the most innocent expression was the highlight of the night. Paul kept cracking up, and then Marco would look at you, and you’d cover the shirt with your arm or something, looking like you also didn’t know why he was laughing.

But because of this attentiveness, you couldn’t do what you needed to do and eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore. You wanted to just .. cry. It didn’t hurt, it was just so ... wrong feeling. Like why did clothing brands do this, it wasn’t fair. How did people not complain? You started to fall silent, sulky, your shoulders constantly rotating, trying to push the tag into a different place so it wasn’t lying on the skin that it so irritated.

Paul was paying close attention as you quieted down. You were usually his partner in crime. And he shot you all of these concerned looks. When he finally had you more or less on your own, on the carousel, your shoulder blades still subtly moving, he mentioned it.

“You hate it, don’t you?” He asked, his face fallen like a puppy. “The shirt?”

“No, no, of course not,” You insisted. “It’s really funny.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s the - Paul, it’s the tag, I hate tags. That’s why I cut them all off of my own clothes,” I reminded him. Realization filled his face and he physically hit himself in the forehead, sweeping his hair out of his face.

“Well why didn’t you say so?” He asked. He came up beside you on the carousel, made sure that your body was hiding him from others, and used his sharp teeth to tear the tag right out of the shirt. He spit it onto the ground and your relief started to flood in. It was like you went from wearing steel wool to cashmere. “Better?”

“Much.”

He’d remember the next time he bought you something, but forget after that. And you couldn’t be mad at him. That was just .. Paul.

Marko

What was it about the Summer months that made everything feel so much louder?

It probably had to do with the fact that you lived in a tourist town. It might be the murder capital of the world, as the sign said, but it also had the boardwalk which people flocked to during the hot and sticky weather. Riding roller coasters, checking out babes on the beach, eating greasy and fried food that should in reality be neither but somehow, through human intervention, became both. You hated the summer. You hated the people. The noise.

But you could never turn down the opportunity to spend time with Marko and the boys when they went out on their nightly walks and hunts. You didn’t take part in the latter, since you were still a human being, but the former, absolutely. You were regretting it now though, as you walked with Marko near the rides, holding his hand, squeezing it.

Kids running on the wooden boardwalk, their shoes making constant noise. The sound of dough frying in oil inside of the food stalls, bubbling, bubbling. The waves hitting the shoreline down below, crashing. Voices everywhere. Screams from the rides. It was all giving you a headache, combined with the warmth of the night and the crowding of people, those bumping into you without even giving you a first glance let alone a second.

“I’m - going back to the cave,” I said to Marko, stopping, my feet refusing to let me walk any further.

“Shit,” Marko said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That bad?”

“Just - wake me up when it’s the winter and everything is pretty and quiet please.” That’s what you were waiting for. Even if there wasn’t much snow, considering it was California, you barely got a sprinkle, everything felt so much more muted in the winter. The water barely trickled, the boardwalk was closed, people stayed home.

Marko looked conflicted. He was hungry. He needed to feed. But he also didn’t want to leave you alone like this. But it didn’t take him all that long to make up his mind. “I’ll catch up with you later guys, I’m taking y/n home,” Marko said. The guys just nodded, understanding, and didn’t let that stop them from continuing with their night.

Seeing as a loud motorcycle and traffic would probably make you worse, Marko scooped you up and then shot up into the sky, quick as a dart, flying you towards the cave, over the waters. You clutched onto him, but had to admit, up in the sky, things were quieter. You were escaping from the noise and your senses were thanking you for it, bringing you into a feeling of calm. Though the waves were hitting the rocks rather hard, the inside of the cave, the fallen down hotel, kept you at ease. Marko set you down upon the couch and sat with you, stroking your arm. “You good now, babe?”

“I’m a lot better. I’m sorry - I don’t mean to keep ruining your nights...”

“You don’t,” Marko protested, that cherub-like grin coming onto his face. “You could never ruin anything.”

Michael

Just don’t think about it. Just don’t think about it. Just don’t think about it.

Really, it was all David’s fault. Ever since he had tried to turn you and your boyfriend Michael into vampires, eating rice and noodles has become impossible. But Lucy had invited you and Michael to a Chinese restaurant to to celebrate your engagement. And of course, her attempting to be helpful, she had spooned some of the rice and noodles, along with other more appetizing things, onto your plate.

You looked over at Michael who had also turned a bit pale. A bit green.

“Thanks Lucy,” you said, smiling weakly, and picked up my fork. All you could picture were maggots. Maggots and worms. It was making you feel a little sick. At first you started to eat around it. And then you thought, well, maybe you’ll just disguise it with other things. You put a little rice with the orange chicken and tried to eat it but the texture. The way the sauce mixed with it and made it feel gooey. You tried to swallow it down. Okay, chicken and rice bad idea. Try the noodles. Noodles with the broccoli, that should work.

But your senses were going against it. The texture. The texture never got better. Maggots and worms, squirming on your tongue. You could feel it moving. You could -

“Excuse me,” You said quickly, getting up, napkin to your mouth, spitting the food into it as you ran for the nearest bathroom to try to catch your breath. To try to get rid of this feeling. Taps - you ran towards the row of sinks and started the cold water in a heavy stream, then put your face under it. You wanted to clean your tongue. Totally clean palatte. But even the water tasted a bit metallic. It wasn’t good enough.

“Hey, hey,” Michael said, coming into the bathroom, after looking around to make sure there was no one watching. “Look at me, you okay?”

“The - the fucking maggots, Michael,” You said, going into one of the stalls and ripped off some toilet paper. You were really going to start scrapping off your taste buds if this feeling didn’t go away soon. “I can still feel them -”

“I know, I can too, I came prepared,” He said, lightly taking hold of your wrist to stop you from putting the cheap toilet paper on your mouth. “That won’t help. Here...”

He took out a container of tictacs. The plain kind, nothing too overstimulating, like mint or fruits. He shook one out and put it right onto my tongue for me. I immediately began to suck on it, and my shoulders drooped as I started to feel better.

“I used to like noodles,” I said, grumpily, making him chuckle.

“Yeah, me too. We just gotta suffer together.”

Star

There was a lot going on at once. And by that, you really meant a LOT. The telephone was ringing off of the hook, probably another telemarketer. They’ve been spamming you lately, despite how many times you complained and asked to be taken off of their call list. The pot was boiling over on the stove, sending a mess of boiling sauce all over the stove top. There was a knock on the door as your neighbor was complaining about the noise. And the noise was your cat had decided to - yet again - step on the volume button of the television remote, sending it soaring high, and then freaked out and kicked it under the couch.

So there I was, reaching under the couch, frustrated tears seeping out of my eyes because of all that was going on, fingers outstretched and reaching absolutely nothing. I couldn’t feel it. I was done. I was too overwhelmed by it and I just laid my head down on the floor, letting it all happen, feeling stressed because You know you should take care of at least one of those things. Just one would make my life easier. Just hang up the phone or go thte tv and turn it down that way, which would take care of two problems, or stir the pasta sauce -

“What is going-” Star said, coming out of her bedroom and then noticing, well, everything. Including you being shut down, lying on the floor, my arm stuck underneath the couch, and the cat coming over to sit upon your back, thinking of you as the best pillow in the world.

“Help,” You squeaked.

Star was so effortless. And efficient. Once she saw what was happening, she went to the stove, and turned down the heat on the burner. She picked up the telephone and hung it up so that it stopped ringing. She rushed over to the television and pressed the power button so the noise shut off instantly and told the neighbors it’s dealt with and they can screw off now.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” She said, kneeling next to you and ran her hand over your back, shooing away the cat who had started to try to make biscuits with your shirt. She pet you as if you were the cat, cooing you, making you start to feel safer, calmer. This wasn’t the first time that she had to do this. Nor was it going to be the last. She had a good voice for it.

“I ruined dinner,” You frowned, thinking about how much pasta sauce must be spilled over the stovetop.

“That’s what takeout is for,” She assured you. “I’ll go get our usual. Are you going to be okay for a couple of minutes?”

“Yeah, I’m feeling better now,” You said, sitting up and wiping floor lint off of your shirt.

“Don’t forget to turn the volume down on the tv when you start it,” She giggled, standing up, her skirt brushing past your face, the familiar smell of her laundry detergent helping you to feel even more calm.

“I won’t,” You chuckled a little, knowing you probably weren’t going to touch it until she got home and you could deal with it together.

#The Lost Boys #David #Dwayne #Marko #Paul #Michael #Star

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britany1997 · 1 year

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Hello! I got a motif request we’re open and I’ve never clicked anything so fast ahah.

But gn! Or male S/O trying to get David comfortable with more feminine clothes/ accessories? Love ur stuff honorary sister<3

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Webs!!! Hey friend! I would love to write this for you! Love your stuff too honorary brother🫶 I hope you like this!

Typically if you give me a choice I’ll default to GN reader, but this time I’m going to write a male reader fic, because I only have one on my Masterlist and I would love to contribute more to the male reader demographic:)

Big thanks to @dwaynesbiboyfriend & @crustyraccoon for pre-reading this for me and sending me some words of encouragement🫶🫶

David x Male Reader

Warnings: some angst but happy ending, mention of abuse, mention of toxic masculinity, some small mindedness

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

You heard a soft knocking at your window, prompting you to check your watch. It flashed 8:10pm, you were late. Meaning that knock could only have been from one person…well, almost person.

You smiled, rolling your eyes with affection as you walked over to the window, lifted it up, and poked your head out, “can I help you?” You asked.

Your smirking vampire boyfriend hovered off the ground to be eye level with your second story window. “Can I come in?” He asked patronizingly

You let out a little laugh scoff, “hmmm I don’t know,” you pretended to ponder, “I’ve heard you shouldn’t invite vampires into your home, gives them complete power over you or something.” You teased.

David’s smirk deepened, “that’s a myth baby,” he told you, “it’s my quick wit and devilishly good looks that give me complete power over you,” he told you winking.

You smiled and pecked his lips, “mhmm, guess your right, come on in,” you invited, moving back from the window so he could get through.

“I’m almost ready, just give me one more second” you told him.

“No worries baby,” he replied, “I can wait as long as you need.” He said while moving to sit on your bed while you finished getting ready.

You smiled and turned back to your floor length mirror. You looked at the outfit you were wearing, a blue t shirt you’d pulled on over a white sleeve top, paired with black pants and combat boots.

The look wasn’t doing it for you tonight, something felt off, you cringed as you stared at your reflection in the mirror.

It wasn’t that the outfit itself was bad, it just wasn’t… you. You switched your pants out for one of your long black and blue plaid skirts. You smiled as you clipped chunky blue lightning earrings into your ears, and a pearl necklace around your neck. Perfect, the look was complete.

The locals of Santa Carla were familiar with you and your creative style. People gushed over your outfits and showered you with compliments for your self expression through your clothes. You were like the male Claudia Kishi of Santa Carla.

You still got a side eye or two from the occasional old lady, but you knew it was only because they knew they’d never be able to rock a skirt half as well as you could.

David watched you as you admired the look in the mirror. You turned to tell him you were ready to go, but caught his eyes trained on your skirt. You furrowed your brow with confusion.

“What is it?” You asked, “you don’t like the skirt?”

David snapped out of his trance at your words.

“No,” he said immediately, “that’s not it at all. I just…” he trailed off.

“Yeah?” You encouraged him to keep going.

He sighed, “well I wish I could wear something like that too.”

Your face softened at his words. You walked over to place a hand on his cheek and rub it gently, causing him to lean into your touch, “what’s stopping you?” You asked softly.

David grimaced as he thought back to his time as a human, an experience that now seemed many lifetimes ago.

“My dad,” David started, “when I was eight years old, my father caught me trying on my mother’s pearls.”

David grimaced, “as soon as he saw me like that, he tore the pearls off my neck and he slapped me across the face.” David rubbed his cheek at the memory.

He laughed humorlessly, “I still remember his words that night, ‘No son of mine is gonna dress like some…” he cut himself off, head in his hands.

You slid in next to him on your bed and wrapped an arm around him, waiting in silence for as long as he needed.

“You can imagine what he said I’m sure,” David mumbled.

You sighed, “unfortunately I can,” you told him, “and I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” David replied.

“No. It isn’t.” You stated, “your father was a hateful bigot who was too small-minded to let his son be happy.”

David pulled his head out of his hands to meet your gaze, “if you’d prefer not to wear feminine clothes that’s fine, but no one has the power to stop you from wearing what you want to wear, and being who you are. No one.” You told him.

David listened intently as you spoke, “I’m not going to pretend that I don’t get the rude comment every now and again, because I do. But I’m not going to let these small-minded assholes, with one foot in the grave, tell me what I can and can’t do.” David’s brow furrowed, and he began to nod as you continued.

“And I know I look damn good, and so would you.” You said matter-o-factly as you stared into his bright blue eyes. “Your father’s not here anymore,” you whispered as you took his hand and threaded your fingers with his, “but I am, and I want you to be happy, I love you and I’ll support you no matter what.”

Tears rolled down David’s cheeks as he smiled at you, “thank you,” he said seriously.

You returned his soft smile with one of your own, “of course,” you told him.

You reached both hands behind your neck and unclasped your pearl necklace. You took it in your hands before holding it out to David, “it’s yours if you want it,” you offered.

David stared down at the necklace, thinking it would go perfectly with his all black look. He took it from your hands as he pushed away any bad memories that still plagued him. He reached behind his own neck and secured the clasp into place.

He stood from your bed to take in his new look in the mirror. You came up behind him, resting your hands on his shoulder and smiling.

“You look amazing”, you told him.

His lips lifted up into a half smile, “I feel amazing,” he said as he placed his hand of yours on his shoulder, and turned to place a soft kiss on your lips.

There wasn’t a better dressed pair in Santa Carla.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Taglist��️:

@pixielostboy @ghoulgeousimmaculate @anna1306 @6lostgirl6 @misslavenderlady @solobagginses @heyriojude @its-freaking-bats

#the lost boys #tlb #tlb 1987 #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys fic #lost boys #david lost boys #david tlb #lost boys 1987 #David x male reader #male reader

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ingravinoveritas · 11 months

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How are you doing after all the lovely new GO/David and Michael content we got today? I'm just so happy they're back together again, and that we are getting so close to season 2!!!

Hi, Anons! Oh my goodness, what a day it's been. Anon #1, you've asked how I'm doing, and the truth be told, I'm genuinely emotional. I don't think I truly realized how much I missed seeing Michael and David together until we finally got them in the same interview today, and those photo call pictures.

The thing is, it's not as if we haven't seen them at all over the last year, as both Michael and David have been busy with work and different projects. They've both done interviews and appearances on their own, but there's just something that comes into being when they are together that's missing when they're by themselves. This third thing between them, that is so palpable it's almost visible. We know Michael and David are closer now than ever, but it's as if the chemistry between them has grown and transformed into something much, much deeper.

To your point, Anon #2, I absolutely did notice that Michael and David nearly held hands at the beginning. I think it was Michael who attempted first, then David, before they settled on linking arms:

What gets me about this--what got me earlier when I watched it and still does now--is how instinctive and natural it was for them to reach for each other's hands. I had a feeling prior to this, but it seems almost certain that they have held hands before. Neither one of them hesitated for a second, except for seemingly having to stop themselves from holding hands and linking arms instead. The contrast becomes even more stark when you see the video of Nicole Kidman and Zoe Saldana walking onto the set in a similar manner--it's incredibly awkward, and there is none of the warmth or chemistry that Michael and David have in abundance.

The other part that stood out to me about this woefully short and inadequate interview was how toned down Michael and David both were. This is particularly noticeable when Michael is describing Good Omens and refers to David/Crowley as "my best buddy":

There is a lot happening here, not the least of which is both of them looking completely disgusted as Michael says that (the "meh" head nod from David, and then Michael sucking his cheeks in and looking like he's choking on his own bile). I think both of them were/are under specific instructions not to talk about the second season or share anything that could be construed as "spoilers" (including but not limited to The Thing, which you know they were both dying to talk about), so that is certainly a large part of why this went the way it did.

But there does seem to be more going on beneath the surface. We saw David in the photo call earlier today wearing a "Leave Trans Kids Alone" t-shirt under his jacket. Yet here on the One Show, he is no longer wearing the shirt. It doesn't seem farfetched to guess that the BBC asked him to change out of the shirt, and Michael--not wanting David to stand out for the wrong reasons or get flak for it--changed his own clothes in solidarity.

The strangeness is further compounded by something that was pointed out to me by several folks via DM, which is that in the pictures from the photo call, David is visibly not wearing his wedding ring:

As we know, David always wears his wedding ring, which makes its absence even more conspicuous. Could he have simply forgotten it on the nightstand in Michael's hotel room? Sure. But what makes things even weirder is that he is indeed wearing the ring on The One Show. So, to recap: David is not wearing his wedding ring when he has the trans pride t-shirt on in the photo call, but he is wearing it when he doesn't have the trans pride t-shirt on on television.

What this leads me to think is that someone--the BBC? Amazon? PR?--is making some specific (homophobic) marketing choices, which in this case means trying to sell the show to a mainstream (a.k.a., straight) audience, and therefore told Michael and David both to tone down the gayness (as if that's even humanly fucking possible for either of them) overall, but especially when talking about the characters/plot.

Taking all of this into account, what happened later in the interview is even more glorious, which is Michael giving the biggest "fuck you" to all of the above (BBC/Amazon/PR) by doing what he does best: Being Michael--because when can he not?--and (again) calling David's hips "slinky," followed by getting in a good, long, loving, sexy stare:

All of this leads me to your comments, Anon #3. I know you had sent this prior to now, but I wanted to include your Ask here because I think it speaks to exactly what we saw today. I've thought about what you've mentioned so many times, because that's exactly what I think Michael and David do and are for each other--a safe place, and they have truly helped each other through some of the hardest times in their lives.

Thinking about David's anxiety, I find that especially poignant given today's events, and how vocal David has become in recent months. I think he deliberately wore that trans rights shirt and that rainbow pin because he knew how much reach they would get...but at the same time, I am sure he knew the risk of doing so, and that it would set him up as a target.

It's very easy to imagine David feeling that anxiety before the photo call today, knowing what he was going to do, and Michael calming him--maybe even holding him in his arms if they had some time alone this morning. And when they came out onto the set of The One Show, you could see Michael nearly bursting with pride and love as they walked together. Even when they got flustered nearly holding hands, as soon as they linked arms, they both became so calm. It felt as though Michael and David were a united front--on their side--and while David flashed a big smile to the camera, Michael could not have given two shits about it, because he was holding onto David and never letting go.

Michael couldn't say the things he wanted to today, but that's not what today was about. It was about him stepping back and giving David room to be in the spotlight and to shine. Soothing David's anxiety and encouraging him to be vocal the way Michael has been for the past four years. He's supporting the man he loves, and it is so beautiful to see.

So yes, those are my thoughts on the new GO and Michael/David content from today. I'm truly hoping that Michael and David have an opportunity to do an interview where they can be totally unleashed and say exactly what it is that's on their minds. But I'm still so glad to see how much relief and joy it brings them to be back together again, and I hope they'll get to do it a lot more in the weeks ahead. Fingers crossed...

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bullet-prooflove · 11 months

Text

The Choice - Nestor Oceteva x Reader (feat: Miguel Galindo)

Tagging: @anime-weeb-4-life @danzer8705 @drabbles-mc @alwaysachorusgirl @witches-unruly-heart @mysoulisasunflower @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @the-wandering-lunatic @multifandomloversworld @est1887 @genius2050 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @nessamc @lyly00 @oureternalbond @lexondeck @weiwei0210 @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @callsignartemis @kmc1989 @trublu2u @@the-person-in-the-circle @thanossexual

Companion Piece to the Choices!Series

Nestor doesn’t expect company this late at night.

It’s a little past midnight and you’re already in bed, fast asleep. Despite the fact it’s been over eight months since your injury, you’re still recovering. You tire easily these days, he thinks it’s your body’s way of trying to get you to slow down, to settle, to take some time to find yourself. He smiles when he thinks about the languid kisses he’d stolen from your mouth as he undressed you, of your hands tangling in his hair as he plants kisses down the curve of your throat before he guides one of his t-shirts over your body.

You’re relaxed when he tucks the sheets around you, his palm smoothing the hair away from your face as his lips brush over your forehead. When you’re breathing evens out, he retreats to the kitchen, turning the music down low on the Alexa as he puts away the dishes.

When there’s a knock at the door, his gaze strays to his gun, resting on the sideboard near the front door. His fingers wrap around the grip, the weight of it feeling like an old friend in his palm. It’s only when he peers through the peephole and sees Miguel standing there, that he sets the weapon back down.

Even dressed casually Miguel looks like he’s stepped off the cover of GQ. He’s wearing designer jeans and a leather jacket that Nestor knows cost more than most of the furniture in the apartment. His hair is artfully tamed into that cross cropped side parting of his. Comparatively Nestor is wearing the faded grey Method Man t-shirt that David gave to him before he died and black boxers shorts, his hair is a mass of loose curls falling across his shoulders like a mane.

“Mikey?” he questions, holding the door open. He opens his mouth to say something else but already Miguel is striding past him like he owns the place. For the briefest of moments Nestor regrets letting the other man sign the lease as a guarantor.

“I need to talk to you.” Miguel states as he deposits himself on the couch, his arm coming to rest upon the back of it. “I…”

He trails off and Nestor follows his gaze to the jar of multicoloured paper flowers perched in the centre of the coffee table. He watches as Miguel’s brows furrow into a frown before he gestures at the origami roses.

“Where did you get those?”

Nestor knows he’s at a crossroads and he only sees one path because he remembered that time, right back in the very beginning. The one when you were sitting across from Miguel, your hands working almost by compulsion as you folded and plucked at the delicate petals of a napkin. He remembers being captivated by it, the grace of your movements, the elegance in the finished product. It was something you did to keep your hands busy; you had explained to Miguel at the time.

He doesn’t get a chance to answer because the bedroom door is opening and you’re standing in the doorway, rubbing the back your hand across your blurry eyes as you say.

“Are you coming to bed my love?”

It feels like he’s been handed a gun with a bullet in the chamber and asked to play Russian Roulette. Miguel’s head snaps towards you, his mouth setting in a firm line as he registers your attire. One of Nestor’s t-shirts and a pair of black cotton panties.

“How long?” Miguel asks his gaze darting back to Nestor.

Nestor shrugs because honestly, he doesn’t know. Your relationship isn’t linear, it’s a series of moments where the two of you exist in the same space. He doesn’t keep track of it the way other people do. There’s no six-month anniversaries, or Valentine’s Day dinners. There’s just the two of you, together, making the most of the time you have.

“You must have some idea.” Miguel says forcefully. “Months?”

Nestor shakes his head; he knows it’s been longer than that. He thinks it might have been over a couple of years since you buried that body in the desert together.

“Around two years.” He tells Miguel honestly.

Miguel laughs and it’s bitter, Nestor can practically taste the sourness on his tongue as Miguel rolls his eyes to the ceiling as if praying for strength.

“So, it’s serious then?” Miguel questions, his eyes surveying the rest of the room. Nestor can tell he’s cataloguing all of the small personal touches you’ve added. The Aztec style blanket thrown over his recliner from where you’d fallen asleep reading earlier, your book – a feminist retelling of the Medusa myth set on the side table. His gaze lands on the wild flowers, those pretty dried blooms with those vibrant pops of colour and his jaw tightens. “Because it looks like you’re fucking living together.”

“I’ll give the two of you some space.” You begin, pulling the hem of the t-shirt down to cover your panties.

“Oh no.” Miguel says, gesturing for you to step out of the bedroom and join the conversation. “Let’s get this all out in the open, I want to know more about my friend’s paramour.”

“Mikey, this isn’t about her…”

“Of course, it’s fucking about her.” Miguel snarls, jabbing his finger in your direction. “You’ve let a fucking assassin into your life, into your home. I feel I should be conducting a fucking intervention.”

“OK so I feel like I need to be wearing pants for this conversation.” You tell the two of them. Miguel waves his hand, dismissing you from the room. It’s only the look that Nestor gives you, that prevents you from biting back at the other man.

Let me handle this.

You comply with his wishes before heading into the bedroom to dress. By the time you return, the tension in the room has increased tenfold. You’re fully dressed with your go bag slung over your shoulder. You’ve packed a couple of clothes and a sudoku book because from the looks of it, this is going to take all night and you think its better you’re not in the vicinity because you still want to kill Miguel for the position, he put you in all those months ago and the expression on his face right now is equally as murderous.

“I am going to go,” You tell the both of them as you remove your leather jacket from the coat stand and pull it on. “Let the two of you talk.”

“You should stay.” Miguel says, his gaze on yours as he leans back into the couch, seemingly completely at home in his surroundings. “I want to know how you infiltrated my fucking head of security.”

It’s the ‘head of security’ part that does it. Not friend, not brother, not the man whose been by his side since he was a fucking teenager. The sheer fucking audacity of Miguel Galindo astounds you.

“Are you even listening to yourself right now?” You snap at him, eyes blazing. “Infiltrate? He’s your fucking friend, treat him like one.”

A silence falls, your words hanging in the air as the two of you stare at one another. There’s a fury in this man, you can see it in the way his shoulders tense and those dark eyes fucking burn like coals as they bore into you. He forgets that you’ve met men far more dangerous than him, that they’ve had their fucking hands wrapped around your throat, that one tried to bury you alive in the desert once he was finished with you. You’ve lived your nightmares, surpassed your demons and you’ve come back from hell with a thirst for blood. Miguel Galindo may have done some nasty shit, but you’ve done worse.

It's the simple act of Nestor clearing his throat that diffuses your rage, it brings you back to the present, reminds you that this isn’t your fight. As much as you may hate Miguel, he’s an important part of Nestor’s life, you can’t just wipe him off the face of the earth no matter how much you may want to.

“Let me know where you land.” You say quietly to Nestor, your lips brushing his cheek before you close the door to the apartment quietly behind you.

He knows what you’re doing, you’re giving him an out. It shouldn’t have to be a choice, his lover or his friend but if it comes down to it you’re telling him you’ll bow out gracefully. If it needs to be one way or the other, you won’t fight him. It’s self-sacrificing bullshit, but it’s part of the reason he loves you. You’ve always had his best interests at heart.

“She’s right Mikey.” Nestor says finally as he sits on the edge of the recliner. “When’s the last time we actually talked?”

He watches the cogs turn in Miguel’s brain as he considers his words. He’s trying to pinpoint a time, a date, an event but it all comes back to the exact same thing. He doesn’t remember the last time he asked Nestor anything about his life.

“I guess we haven’t.” Miguel says, rubbing his palms over one another. “The last time we spoke about anything personal was Emily. We sat on the stairs at my house and you said ‘honesty buys honesty’. Do you still believe that?”

“I never lied to you Mikey.” Nestor tells him, raking a hand through his hair. “I just didn’t tell you.”

“A lie of omission is still a lie.” Miguel states accusingly.

Nestor shakes his head before inhaling deeply. He normally doesn’t have a problem keeping his temper but this shit right here, the hypocrisy of it…

It’s starting to piss him off.

“Then I guess it’s time for us to put a few things on the table.” Nestor says frankly as leans back in his chair. “You have questions, ask them.”

“Why?” Miguel shoots at him. “Why settle down now? Why with her? You’ve never wanted that before.”

Nestor sighs because that is to fucking far from the truth he isn’t even sure where to begin.

“It was never available to me before.” Nestor explains, his eyes meeting Miguel’s as he searches for the tiniest fragment of understanding. “You know how hard it is to maintain a relationship that’s built on secrets. You can’t let that person see that side of you, you can’t tell them what it is you really do. It tears you apart inside, it eats you up and eventually that relationship, it dies because there’s no trust.”

“You’re talking about me and Emily.” Miguel says, his gaze lowering to the wedding band on his finger as he rubs his thumb over the gleaming metal.

It’s then that Nestor loses his temper, because somehow, it’s happening again. Miguel is hearing what he wants to hear, twisting Nestor’s words to reflect on a situation in his life.

“No I’m talking about me.” He erupts, his voice raising as the frustration of what feels like decades surges through him. “About how I haven’t had a fucking relationship in years because it always ends the same way. Not everything is about you Miguel! You preach loyalty to your family, but I am your family and I have been nothing but loyal to you. I have killed for you, I have bled for you, I have protected the ones you love but there’s no space for me, not the way there used to be.”

“So what?” Miguel asked him, jabbing his finger at the jar of paper roses on the coffee table. “This is your way of proving a point?”

Nestor wants to scream, he can feel that urge brimming in his chest as he stares at the man he’s known for the majority of his life as if he’s never seen him before.

“The point is Miguel, that I found someone who makes me happy. Someone whose knows everything about me and accepts it, someone who loves me for me.”

“Who loves you?” Miguel laughs and the sound grates on every single one of Nestor’s nerves because it is so fucking dismissive. “What do the two of you even talk about? Top ten ways to torture someone? The type of knot to use when you’re staging a suicide. She doesn’t love you; she’s fucking using you!”

“Christ Mikey, it’s not fucking about you.” Nestor finds himself shouting. “You think we sit here and talk about the latest happenings in the Galindo Cartel? What you’ve been up to that day, who you’ve been seeing? No we fucking don’t. We talk about books, about music, about life, about shitty normal things and the other crazy shit we get up to. You aren’t even a topic of conversation.”

Miguel looks at Nestor as if he’s slapped him, like he can’t comprehend that he’s not a factor in this relationship. Nestor hopes it fucking stings. He watches as Miguel leans forward, his hands clasped together as he speaks in a low authoritative tone.

“Nestor, I want you to be happy.” Miguel states. “Just not with a fucking woman, who can take a man apart like he’s a piece of meat in a butcher’s shop.”

“You’re not hearing me.” Nestor shakes his head vehemently.

“No, I am hearing you perfectly. You want to settle down, have the white picket fence and fuck out a bunch of babies that’s fine.” Miguel informs him, before using his palm to draw a line underneath the statement. “But this thing with her, I can’t have that. It’s too much of a distraction.”

“For you or for me?” Nestor asks cocking his head to one side. “You still have my loyalty Mikey, my relationship hadn’t effected my ability to do my job over the past two years and it won’t effect it now. You need to accept that this is happening, with or without your permission.”

He hears Miguel’s intake of breath, sees him recoiling because Nestor has just thrown down the gauntlet and he knows it’s the last thing that Miguel ever expected. He has never denied the other man anything but he won’t give up his shot at happiness, he’s not letting him dictate who he falls in love with. If it puts a target on his back so be it, the two of you can weather it. He’s done being the lap dog, the one that’s coerced into submission. He won’t let Miguel take you from him, not now, not ever.

Marcus’s words ring in his head, that warning from when he’s first found out about the two of you.

At some point you’re going to have to make a choice, Marcus had told him. And I pray for your sake you make the right one.

When it came to you there is no choice because he loves you with every single fibre of his being.

“Alright Nestor.” Miguel says as he raises to his feet, fixing the lapels of his leather jacket before he meets Nestor’s gaze. “You’re out. Effective immediately.”

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