#tumblr why'd you do this to me
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[-CRIES- Something in my theme broke in the update forever ago and it's driving me nuts. So I'll be using like a separator just so I can see where things separate with posts on my theme.]
#me: this is fine#me months later: I HATE IT#;ooc jabber#;tbd#tumblr why'd you do this to me#my blockquote.....
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i make a complicated relationship between characters that i even i don't fully understand yet and then it fills my head for weeks as i'm like what is going on here ........ who are you people
#clamtalk#current happenings#obligatory oc tag#i have other things to be doing but . there are Guys in my head#specific guys . with weird interactions. tumblr why'd you just tell me my draft was saved.#anyway#writing. in my head#interactions . and things#yeag......
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1850s Tumblr Dashboard Simulator
👸🏻 girlbossladyjane Follow
It really makes me sick to see people giving money to penny weeklies when Franklin's expedition STILL has not been found 😭 There are good men out there trapped in unimaginable temperatures and literally all that's needed is a little more funding for another rescue mission yet all you guys seem to care about are your vulgar little stories...
🧔🏻♂️ queerqueg Follow
the franklin expedition is dead as hell
👸🏻 girlbossladyjane Follow
Disgraceful thing to say but I'd expect nothing more from a M*lville fan
10,558 notes
👨🏻❤️💋👨🏻 hartgrindisreal
Sorry for posting so much about Tom Gradgrind/James Harthouse from Hard Times lately. It turns out that I was getting arsenic poisoning from my wallpaper? Anyway I took a seaside stroll and I'm normal now. Check your walls y'all
#whyyy did i assume they were committing unlawful actions together like where did i even get that from lol #hard times isn't even that good by dickens standards tbh
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🎨 asherbrowndurand
Just painted this
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ss-arctic-girlie-deactivated18540927
RIP Napoleon... you may have been unable to conquer Alexander's Russia but you sure as hell conquered Alexander's bed
🖼️ preraphaelitebro Follow
HERITAGE POST
📝 shakespearesforehead Follow
How does this have less than 100k notes you could literally not avoid this post back in the 20s lol
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🌄 loyalromantic Follow
poets just aren't dying young in mysterious water-related incidents like they used to :/
#as useless and degenerative as i find 'the living poets' and i'm glad we're finally moving on from them #i have to agree with op in this respect
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🎀 thefopdiaries Follow
I finally got a daguerreotype of myself ^_^ Porcelain urn for scaling
📜 bartlebi-thescrivener
i think i hauve consumption
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🐋 whaler4life
They found oil in the ground??? WTF. THIS IS LITERALLY THE WORSTTTT. FUCK MY LIFE FOR REAL THIS TIME
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🌿 naturesnaturalist Follow
I swear this website has 0 reading comprehension skills. Darwin NEVER claimed we "evolved" from apes like if one of you guys actually bothered to open his new book you'll see all his arguments are backed up by evidence. He actually makes a lot of sense
#sure there's nuance like i don't fully agree with all of it #but his general theory of natural selection seems pretty sound imo
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🤵🏻♂️ byronicherotournament Follow
🙈 butchbronte Follow
Of course these are the finalists lmao this website is so predictable. Anyway vote Heathcliff if you dont i'm going to assume you're a phrenologist
📖 sapphichelenburns Follow
It's not problematic to acknowledge the fact that Heathcliff was a brute like he literally killed dogs in case you forgot. #rochestersweep
🙈 butchbronte Follow
I love the implication here that Rochester never did anything cruel either. He literally locked his wife in the attic and lied to Jane about it 😭 like that was a pretty significant thing that happened
📖 sapphichelenburns Follow
And? God forbid women do anything
#why'd you have to pit two bad bitches against each other #anyway i'm not attracted to men but still went with rochester #bc in terms of living quarters thornfield hall > wuthering heights easily
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👨🏻❤️💋👨🏻 hartgrindisreal
Not the Russian tsar dying immediately after hartgrind became canon
#i know dickens hasn't technically confirmed it yet but like. SOMETHING was strongly implied ok #see: my previous post #dickensposting
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👨🏻❤️💋👨🏻 hartgrindisreal
LORD HELP ME. THE BODY LANGUAGE. THE WAY THEY'RE LOOKING AT EACH OTHER. AHHHHHH
#this installment!!! im-- #dickensposting #i can't fucking cope #dickens wants to KILL us he wants us DEAD....
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⭐️ newamerican
Hi guys sorry I haven't been posting lately it's been so difficult getting to California 💀 I'm finally here now though just need to find a pickaxe and soon I'll be digging! :-) wish me luck lol
#gold #gold rush #gold rush grind #california #adventure
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Someone needs to do a thing about Phoenix Wright becoming a Tumblr celebrity/meme in universe, getting treated in a similar way to how we treat Hbomberguy irl. You cannot tell me that Tumblr wouldn't see a lawyer solve a fifteen year old cold case by cross examining a parrot and not immediately declare him our king.
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Werewolf--Sex:
On trial rn and my defense attorney seems to be lowkey flirting with the prosecutor and it's really killing the mood ngl.
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Steelsamuraiass:
OP, your attorney is Phoenix Wright. He's been married to that Prosecutor for fifteen years. I even credits him for inspiring him to take up law in the first place.
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Werewolf--Sex:
Aw, that's actually really sweet.
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Engarde-Simp:
Didn't that guy once solve a fifteen year old cold case by cross examining a parrot?
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Werewolf--Sex:
What?
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Wrightworthkismesis:
Newbies discovering the pure insanity that is Phoenix Wright's career will never not be funny. Your trial is gonna be legendary.
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Engarde-Simp:
Did you really not do any research on your attorney before hiring him?
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Werewolf--Sex:
Doing research rn. This guy's career is insane. Listed in no particular order, my attorney, Phoenix Wright has apparently:
Needed to have evidence law explained to him mid-trial
Proven the existence of ghosts to win his trials(?????????)
Defended an orca in court.
Only lost three times in his entire career (absolutely fucking insane if you know how Japanifornia's legal system is. Tbh, defendants are screwed in our current system.)
Successfully proven that the prosecutor committed the crime his client was accused of by checking him with a metal detector.
Claims to have a magic necklace that can let him see lies??????
Was once nearly taken out by the mafia.
Once got impersonated by a dude with a cardboard badge.
Repeatedly been assaulted by witnesses and even prosecutors? Like, one of them straight up tazed him and he was once apparently whipped unconscious in court???
Survived getting hit by a speeding car and being sent flying, falling through a burning bridge, and all the times he got assaulted.
Also, that description of his relationship with the Prosecution really doesn't do any justice. Apparently, Phoenix only started practicing law so he could meet this man in court again.
Who gave this indestructible homosexual a law degree? He clearly has too much power.
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Sold-To-Gavinners:
Actually! Phoenix Wright is a fraud who got disbarred for forging evidence! I'd really appreciate it if we stopped ignoring all the bad things he did just because he's gay.
#anti-pw #freekristoph #antijurorsystem #anti-matt engarde
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Engarde-Simp:
Of all the Gavins, why'd you decide to simp for the one whose a creepy lawyer serial killer? The other one's the one with the band ya know.
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Sold-To-Gavinners:
Your name is literally Engarde-Simp.
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Wrightworthkismesis:
Wasn't Phoenix blackmailed into that trial and that's why he lost.
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Steelsamuraiass:
Yeah, apparently Matt hired an assassin to kidnap his girlfriend or something.
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Wrightworthkismesis:
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Steelsamuraiass:
Googled it. Apparently it was his co-council. They're just friends from what I can tell.
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Wrightworthkismesis:
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Warewolf--Sex:
Got declared not guilty btw. Apparently the real killer was the Judge.
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OfficialPWPost:
Official Phoenix Wright post.
#ace attorney#phoenix wright#miles edgeworth#wrightworth#kristoph gavin#matt engarde#tumblr#social media au#maya fey
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Mmm
#oh i do not like what tumblr just did to how i reblog#nono#no thank you#why'd you guve me an extra step???#i forgave you for adding the stupid blue bubble that doesn't disappear#but this extra step to reblog i will not forgive
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#not queuing things feels so wrong and weird. I can't do it#hitting 1k#like. yes this is good art. yes I want people to see it. no I don't want to reblog immediately I want to leave it in my queue#I don't like taking agency. hitting reblog requires a high emotional impetus. the queue allows me to skirt that#thanks tumblr queue for allowing me to operate past my servere social anxiety but why'd you have to break on me#guess I'm getting off tumblr for the day lmao
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DISC WAR FINALE - TUMBLR SIMULATOR
(The posts here are ordered from least to most recent, since I figured it was a better experience to read them chronologically.)
🟩 evilwarcriminal Follow
Mwahahaha… They'll never find my evil lair where I do evil things. Evilly. That I gave them a compass to
#sorry for vagueing #everything I do is mysterious
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💿 fuckdream123 Follow
just said my final goodbyes before my inevitable death and my friend couldn't even be assed to put on a shirt??
#cw nudity
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💿 fuckdream123 Follow
boats are so fucking boring man send me some asks or something
🟩 evilwarcriminal Follow
I'm about to kill you, can you please take this seriously
💿 fuckdream123 Follow
why'd you make it so fucking far away
🟩 evilwarcriminal Follow
Sorry I didn't realize you were THIS SLOW
💿 fuckdream123 Follow
can you just give us the coords
🟩 evilwarcriminal Follow
Then it wouldn't be dramatic
💿 fuckdream123 Follow
it's not dramatic when you're having a whole ass conversation about it either
💿 fuckdream123 Follow
fuck i shouldn't have posted that. who am i gonna talk to now i'm fucking lonely i have no one
🐝 what-if-bees-had-nukes Follow
hi
💿 fuckdream123 Follow
no one at all
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🥇 dreamsno1traitor Follow
EVERYONE SHOULD BE AT THE PORTAL!
If you don't see one of your mutuals here please tag them, it's gonna ruin the moment if someone shows up late
🥚 baddestboi-withahalo Follow
@evilwarcriminal
🔥 murdered-yo-fave-pet Follow
DELETE THIS
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💿 fuckdream123 Follow
#rigging is allowed
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🐝 what-if-bees-had-nukes Follow
he has an elevator, we're doomed.
🟩 evilwarcriminal Follow
Can you get off your phone. I'm trying to monologue
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🔥 murdered-yo-fave-pet Follow
New ask game cause I'm sick of waiting, tell me what you think dream is doing rn and I'll tell you how much death I think he deserves
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🟩 evilwarcriminal Follow
I'm kinda busy rn but can someone remind me later to post my villain monologue? It's only a first draft but I had to spend all my time setting up my lair. And also blowing up that country a few weeks ago
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🐈 antthecatmaid Follow
I stg punz is being so sus. what's he even waiting for. he better be paying by the hour
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🐝 what-if-bees-had-nukes Follow
listen I think I'm gonna die dream is about to take my phone the coords are
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🔥 murdered-yo-fave-pet Follow
Fuck this I'm going through @dreamsno1traitor
🥇 dreamsno1traitor Follow
WAIT I NEED TO GO FIRST STICK TO THE SCRIPT
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💿 fuckdream123 Follow
HOOOLY SHIT BITCH BOY LOOK AT THIS BITCH BOY BITCH DROP YOUR ITEMS IN THE HOLE ✨BITCH✨
#cw nudity #again #can people please wear clothes around me thanks
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🟩 evilwarcriminal Follow
/ tw prison
/ tw loss of canon lives
/ tw near death experience
/ tw getting defeated by your archnemesis
.
.
.
I won't be able to post for a while.
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🦆 stabbyduck69 Follow
ooooohhh look at me i'm skeppy! in the skeppy cage!! can't believe that fucker made this wtf is this place
🦆 stabbyduck69 Follow
okay i'm done now bad where did you go @baddestboi-withahalo i need to get out again @baddestboi-withahalo @baddestboi-withahalo @baddestboi-withahalo
💎 goodestboi-withahalo Follow
Thank you for accepting this job opportunity
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🟩 evilwarcriminal Follow
Guys get out of my inbox. Your hate anons aren't even effective if I don't have a phone in prison
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🧨 deadpresident2 Follow
Hey I'm back from the dead
💿 fuckdream123 Follow
REALLY????
🧨 deadpresident2 Follow
Sorry forgot the /j
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🥇 dreamsno1traitor Follow
Good job today guys. Yeah. Woo. I'm very happy.
#forgive me if I sound too excited
🐝 what-if-bees-had-nukes Follow
.
#I need to be vague about this cause he follows me on here #but I think my best friend almost just traded my life for two pieces of plastic #it was a pretty stressful situation though #ig I can't complain too much #am I weird for thinking that's not normal for a friendship? #sorry #I'm probably being unreasonable #they were some really nice pieces of plastic #you can lmk what you think in dms if you want #just please don't send me asks about this situation #I really don't want him to see #neg #discourse
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🦆 stabbyduck69 Follow
it's great that we got dream but we need to go after @.bloodforthebloodgod next
🐷 bloodforthebloodgod Follow
what's happening what
🦆 stabbyduck69 Follow
go away i thought i blocked you
💿 fuckdream123 Follow
FUCKKJL YOU TECHNOO
🐝 what-if-bees-had-nukes Follow
technoblade is cringe
🐷 bloodforthebloodgod Follow
you literally tagged me
🦆 stabbyduck69 Follow
yeah cause i needed my followers to know where to send the death threats
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🔱 warden-of-the-vault Follow
Pandora's Vault is now open to visitors!
Just be aware that the entry process is a lengthy one with several waivers to sign. Plus there are a couple of annoying manual searches along the way. The prisoner is also highly dangerous, he will get inside your head and control your thoughts, transforming you into a servant to his every whim, destroying your very soul from within. I'd recommend not visiting at all actually. You can if you want but I wouldn't. If I were you. That's just me though.
#just me and him
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(Here's another dsmp dash simulator post I made!)
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Joey B Imagines: I Can’t Help Myself*
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Summary: While Joe’s away doing foundation stuff, there's an overwhelming amount of photos of him popping up on Twitter and Instagram. All of them had you patiently waiting for your fiance's arrival home.
Warnings: Smut
Pairing: Joe Burrow x reader
Imagines Universe: Just the Two of Us
A/N: Apron and shirtless Joe have me feral, had to speed-write this.
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March 3rd, 2024
It all started with an innocent text from my bestie.
Attachment: 1 Image… Tumblr is going crazy over this right now!
At that moment, I shook my head with a laugh at my best friend's text. She was on Tumblr to keep up with her celebrity crushes, but one day, she jokingly looked my fiance's name up. She would never give me details about what was on the ‘tag’, but she'd now and then tell me what was up with Joe Burrow Tumblr.
Joe had left the house earlier today for a foundation event at a soup kitchen here in Cincy. Robin and Jimmy, Joe’s parents, had come from Athens and were going with him.
By the looks of the picture my best friend sent, Joe wasn't having as bad of a time as he anticipated he would. This morning was full of endless grumbles before I eventually shoved Joe out of the door, but he was smiling in the picture as he poured some soup into a bowl.
He seriously looked adorable. The Guinness hat gives him an oddly innocent look, while the apron he's wearing adds to the cuteness factor.
I'm so buying that man an apron to wear when we're cooking. I thought to myself, giggling out loud.
After sending my bestie a quick response back, I pulled up Joe’s contact.
Nice apron, cutie. 😉
Naturally, It was a while later when Joe answered, but his response set butterflies off in my stomach.
Depending on the intentions behind the wink emoji, I could ask to bring one home if it works ya up.
Taking a few moments to calm down, I shot a nonchalant response back to Joe.
The hat too?
The hat too. I draw the line at the plastic gloves, though. I gotta feel you with no barriers, baby.
How this man can control every pulse point in my body with just his words will never fail to amaze me.
Shit, my mom was reading that beside me. 😬
JOSEPH LEE BURROW.
My stomach dropped at the thought of Robin reading her son practically dirty-talking to me. That's next-level embarrassment.
I'm joking, babe. See you later, with an apron and hat.
Omg, Joe! If I was with you right now, you'd get smacked in the back of the head. I love you, though. See ya later!
Love you too. 😘
This morning, Joe woke up ready to go. I'm not talking about being ready to go to the foundation event, I'm talking about sex.
Joe woke up most mornings wanting a quick romp to start the day, so it had slowly become a part of our daily routine.
It was a different story today, though.
—
Still naked from the previous night’s lovemaking session, Joe had pulled me into him as our lips met. I'd just gotten close enough to grind on his erection when Joe’s phone rang on the nightstand.
“You should probably get that.” - you said between kisses
Joe groaned out of annoyance when he pulled away and grabbed his phone, rolling his eyes when he saw the caller ID.
“Who is it?” - you stroked his chest
“My mom.” - Joe
“Why'd you roll your eyes then?” - you
He sighed and pulled me into his chest, moving his hips away, knowing any friction would make him lose control.
“She treats me like a little kid every time we have one of these foundation events.” - Joe
“You're her baby, Joe. She’s just looking out for you.” - you
Joe nodded with a sigh and accepted the call.
“Hey Mom, yeah I'm awake.” - Joe
His deep, raspy morning voice made my cheeks heat up, and I hid my blush in his chest.
“My shirt’s been ironed, yes. y/n ironed it and laid it out last night.” - Joe
The silence gave me the ability to hear what Robin was saying, and the words she said only made my heart flutter.
“You better have thanked her. Joe, I don't think you realize how lucky you are to have that woman by your side.” - Robin
“I'm very lucky, Mom. Wouldn't be who I am without her.” - Joe
“Make sure she knows that. I'll see you later, sweetie!” - Robin
“Bye, Mom.” - Joe
I cuddled closer to Joe, listening to him mumble a quick “Yes, I love you too” before hanging up.
“Wouldn't be where you are without me, huh sheisty?” - you laughed
“Shut it.” - Joe rolled his eyes
A few seconds of content silence passed before Joe cleared his throat and sat up.
“Okay, I'm like super horny right now, but I'm gonna push that away because I've been thinking about something.” - Joe
“What's that?” - you
“We still haven't told anybody that I proposed. I told you we could wait till we got back to Cincy, and we've been back for weeks. I'm trying to say that we need to tell our families soon.” - Joe
“Oh ok, that's fine. Whenever you want to, I'm down.” - you
“Actually? Just like that?” - Joe
I giggled and gently reached out to comb back the curls that had fallen over on Joe’s forehead.
“Yeah, just like that. It's been fun keeping it just between us, but I want nothing more than telling our family we’re gonna get married.” - you
“Can I also ask you about something else?” - Joe
“Mhm.” - you
Joe sighed and took a second to clear his thoughts.
“You okay?” - you
“Yeah… I'm just trying to pay attention, it's kinda hard to, you know…” - Joe
He flicked his head down toward the tented sheet covering his lap.
“Focus, babe.” - you laughed
“Okay, uhm… what if we got married earlier than this coming offseason?” - Joe
“What do you mean?” - you tilted your head to the side
“What if we got married at the courthouse, no one else there? Just you, me, and the judge. It could be as soon as next month or as late as a week before our actual ceremony.” - Joe
I let his idea sink in, thinking about how sweet his idea of getting married soon is.
“I’m listening.” - you smiled
“We won't do our big vows or even exchange rings yet, just the license saying we're married, and hopefully your name change.” - Joe grinned
“y/n Burrow.” - you
Joe grinned from ear to ear, a blush on his cheeks as he heard my first name paired with his last name.
“Always thought that sounded perfect. I remember thinking about it on the first day of college during roll call. I couldn't take my eyes off of you after our professor said your name, and I thought about your last name as Burrow.” - Joe
“You're adorable.” - you
“Thanks.” - Joe
A few seconds went by without either of us saying something, but Joe broke it with a sigh.
“Are we going to continue what we were doing before your mom called?” - you
“Sadly, I have to start getting ready. Waiting will make tonight even better, though.” - Joe winked
“How do you know I'll even want it later?” - you
“You will, baby. You always do.” - Joe
—
Now, here I was, staring at a picture of my fiance pouring soup into a bowl.
Something about the moment just screamed husband.
Maybe it was the adorable apron. Or hat. Or plastic gloves.
Whatever it was, I wanted more of it. More of him. All of him.
My thoughts lingered to the most intimate moments with Joe. Catching myself before I got too worked up, I pulled up my phone to scroll through Instagram.
As soon as I did, though, my plan of a distraction was shot to hell.
Justin Hillard made a post of the Arizona trip the boys went on and one of the last slides showcased a sweaty, shirtless Joe.
“Where's Joe when you need him.” - you groaned
—
What felt like hours later, I heard the garage door open signaling Joe was home.
A minute later, his tall frame was striding into the kitchen. I watched him look around for a second before his eyes landed on me.
A grin formed on his lips as he walked up to the couch. Joe dropped to his knees in front of me and leaned in for a kiss.
When I went to pull away, Joe grabbed the back of my neck to keep me in place. After a few minutes of making out, Joe finally pulled away.
“Sorry, I really needed that.” - Joe sheepishly smiled
“It's alright, I did too.” - you smiled
“How was your day? I didn't leave you too bored, right?” - Joe
“My day was good, and no. I spent most of it obsessing over the new pics of you.” - you
“Felt like I never left then, huh?” - Joe
“Dead wrong. Staring at the pictures only made me miss you more.” - you
I watched as Joe teasingly licked his lips, never once breaking eye contact.
“Why's that?” - Joe
“Cut the shit, Joe. You know exactly why.” - you
“Because we didn't have sex this morning? That's why you missed me?” - Joe
“Well, that's not the only reason why. I naturally hate being away from you, but yes sex has something to do with it.” - you
Joe reached out and placed his hand on my inner thigh, nestling his hand against my crotch.
“Wanna go upstairs then?.” - Joe
I nodded, and Joe was quick to stand up and pick me up bridal style.
Giggles flew from both of our lips as Joe hurried up the stairs to our bedroom.
Soon, Joe was laying me on the bed and crawling on top of me.
“I love you.” - you said between kisses
Joe smiled and returned the sentiment, my arms wrapping around his neck as we kissed.
“Listen let's just get straight to it. I've been looking forward to this all day.” - you
“You don't want the tongue & finger combo first?” - Joe
I laughed at his bluntness before nodding my head.
“I need you inside me.” - you
“Fuck, I love hearing you say that.” - Joe
Joe placed his lips back on mine and shifted his weight onto one arm, lifting the other hand to unzip his fly.
I helped him shed his pants off, but Joe took my hand away when I reached for his boxers. He sat back on his knees for a second to pull his shirt over his head, quickly returning to his position above me when he was done.
My arms were around his shoulder as Joe slowly dropped his hips to grind on me. Just seconds later he'd pull away to take my clothes off.
When we were both naked, Joe’s lust-filled eyes scanned over my body before reversing course and locking with mine.
“God, you're beautiful, baby.” - Joe
After Joe lined himself up to my entrance, he slowly pushed inside. Making sure I felt every inch of him.
“You feel so good.” - Joe groaned
“You too…” - you
“So hot and wet for me, baby.” - Joe
Joe didn't move for a minute, just savoring the feeling of my walls wrapped around his hard cock.
“Joey, move, please?” - you
I watched him nod before he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to my cheek. Joe formed a path of kisses from my cheek to my lips.
Once he met my lips, Joe slipped out of me before slamming his cock back inside.
Both of us moaned loudly when his tip hit my cervix, my walls squeezing Joe’s thrusting cock as he set a rough pace.
“You feel insane.” - Joe moaned
“I've been dreaming about this… all day.” - you
A few minutes later, Joe and I were still locked together at mouth and crotch.
“I'm not gonna last much longer.” - Joe moaned
“Me… neither.” - you
Joe’s face contorted as the overwhelming pleasure coursed through his body. His cute nose scrunching as his eyes are clenched shut.
“Oh, fuck!” - Joe grunts
Seconds later, with a shaky hand, Joe reaches down to where we were connected and rubbed my clit with his thumb. His thrusts became uneven but never once unsatisfactory.
“Joey! I'm gonna cum!” - you moaned
It wasn't much longer after that when I fell over the edge, moaning Joe’s name through my climax.
Joe continued his thrusts before rushing to get as deep as he could.
His head fell back, and his mouth fell open. A moan and grunt of my name leaves his pretty pink lips as he cums.
After his orgasm, Joe fell forward and on top of me. Burying his face in my neck as he stayed inside me, fading out the experience.
I reached a hand up and cupped the back of Joe’s head, slowly running my fingers through his unruly curls. The comforting sounds of our mutual heavy breath and the ceiling fan created a soft moment.
“You really liked that apron, huh?” - Joe
“Yeah.” - you giggled
Joe stayed there for a bit, enjoying being cuddled before he eventually pulled out and hopped out of bed.
My eyes lingered on his perfectly plump butt as Joe walked into our bathroom, later returning with a washcloth to clean us both up.
He strode up to me as I stayed lying in the bed. Joe softly caressed my thighs while gently spreading my legs apart.
I hummed in contentment at the feel of the warm washcloth, and Joe only smiled at the sound.
After cleaning himself up too, Joe slipped on a pair of clean boxers.
“Do you want one of my shirts to sleep in? Panties too, maybe?” - Joe
“Just one of your shirts will be fine.” - you smiled
Joe nodded and disappeared into the closet. A few seconds later, he walked back in with one of his pregame shirts that was from a previous season.
“Lean up for me, baby.” - Joe
I did his bidding and Joe slipped the top over my head, making sure my arms went through the sleeves.
“Comfy?” - Joe
He walked around the bed and climbed into his side.
“Very, and it smells like you.” - you grinned
“I hope that's a good thing.” - Joe laughed
“It's a very good thing, you smell delicious.” - you
Joe chuckled as he pulled me into his chest, one of his big hands running over my back as my head was hidden in Joe’s neck.
“I love you.” - you
“I love you more.” - Joe
He lovingly stroked my hair, providing tender words of affirmation and holding me tightly in his arms during their comforting aftercare ritual.
“Oh shit, do you know what I just realized?” - Joe
“What?” - you
“My apron is down in my car. I forgot to show you.” - Joe sighed
“It's okay. You can show me tomorrow.” - you giggled
“Guess what.” - Joe
I narrowed my eyes, trying to see his expression in the dark but failing.
“What?” - you
“I grabbed one for you too.” - Joe smiled
“Oh my god.” - you laughed
“I couldn't help myself!” - Joe
He laughed along with me before we both paused, coincidently yawning in sync, which ended in another laughing fit.
“Goodnight, baby.” - you
“Goodnight, my love.” - Joe
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Authors note: because Joe was illegally fine that day.
Came from my own head! 💞
#joe burrow#bengals#joe burrow imagine#joe burrow x reader#joey b#cincinnati bengals#joe burrow fan fic#joe burrow series#joe burrow smut
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alone (pedri x reader)
pt1!
warnings!; spanish speaking, smut, unprotected sex, fluff at the end!
note!; this took me so long since i had a few issues at home& i was pretty busy these past days and weeks, i have deicdd to make a masterlist and should be getting uploaded between any of these days now, alsoo.. i realized you can only make requests for a fanfic through online tumblr..i don't know why but plz don't ever be afraid to write a request at all,, but besides this. enjoy the pt2 to windows! :')
you had just gotten back form school, it was 3pm and everybody wasn't at home, that includes your annoying brother, your mom and dad. you went to your room as you put your bag down on the chair next to your laptop. you left school since you weren't feeling too well and you had a headache, since you were alone for god knows how long, you decided to go shower. you made your way to the bathroom as you turned the shower on and you undressed yourself.
you did a whole routine as you took your time on taking care of yourself, you got changed into one of pedris hoodie that he let you keep and your white cheeky lace panties. you went downstairs to go get a snack and just try and find some medicine until you heard thuds and footsteps coming from your room..which was upstairs.. you ignored it until it got louder, you rolled your eyes as you held lola, the blonde furry weiner dog as you giggled when she began to scratch and jump on your legs.
you held her as you sat down on the couch, laying down as you went on your phone turning some random tv show on, it started to thunder and the clouds were getting darker as tint of grey and dark blue appeared, you opened the door that led to the backyard as you slid it to the side, "lola! go tinkle before it starts to pour!" you said as you watched her run out the house into the backyard, she started barking as you followed her outside, she usually struggles to get down the stairs from the pathio and to the grass. you held her then went down the small stairs as you placed her down before looking around.
once it started to pour you watched lola come back inside running before you closed the door, you turned the tv off as you heard the same thuds and sounds from upstairs, you grabbed your stuff before going to your room as you made your way upstaird after turning everything off, you walked into your room looking at your window then looking around your room.
━
"helloooo..?" you said looking around before the door behind you closed quietly, you looked around your room even under your bed until, "Y/N!" you screamed loudly as you dropped your phone again before you turned around, pedri.. "this is the 2nd time you do this! quit scaring me!" you smacked his arm as he kept laughing as your reaction, you cupped his cheeks before slapping him playfully, "you're all soaked..why did you come either way.." you said running your hands through his damoed hair giggling, "i came because i got your message, i wanted to see if you were okay." he said before he sat down on your bed.
"you're all wet too.." you said ruffling his hair as you sat on his lap putting your hands on the hem of his shirt, lifting his shirt above his head, you giggled cupping his cheeks, "just cover yourself with the blanket for now, it's okay" you said kissing his cheek before getting off his lap wiping off the footprints and the puddle of water that was scattered in your room, you placed a towel on the edge of your window since you'd rather prefer the air than your fan.
you sat back on the bed as you covered your thighs, last time you had your thighs and panties out well.. it turned out to be a sex session, even tho you've been thinking about it lately you just nudged it off and just not thought as much about it, "why'd you leave early? it's only 3.." he said holding your hand as he began to caress it with his thumb, you looked down and smiled before looking at him, "i had a headache and i was nauseous as well, i don't know why tho." you said as you felt his hand go on your thigh, you smacked his hand off, "stop it." you said. he pulled his hand away as he rubbed his hand pouting as you laughed at his reaction, your dimples showing off.
"it's not from 2 weeks ago right?" he said as he was referring to the last time the two of you had sex. yo shook your head smiling, "no bebé..i was on the pill, you're okay. don't worry about it." you said as he held your waist placing you ontop of him. "we can't..my parents could come home any second.. and hey!-" you said as he cut you off lifting your hoodie up as your panties exposed him, "llevas mis bragas favoritas puestas.." (you have my favorite panties on..) he said chuckling as he began to caress your thigh. he slid his hands inside your hoodie as you covered your face with your hands, his cold hands squeezed your breasts as you moaned out in agony. his finger tips began to rub and squeeze your nipple. you bit down on your lip. "we can't.." you whispered smacking his chest playfully, "no estabas timida hace dos semanas.." (you weren't shy two weeks ago..) he whispered as he sat up a bit, his crotch hitting your clothed slit, you moaned out as you uncovered your face and looked at him.
━
"fuck it.." you whispered as you took off your hoodie as your bare chest fully was exposed, you cupped his cheeks as you smashed your lips on his kissing him, he kissed back holding onto your waist as you continued to kiss him. you wrapped your arms around his neck as he held onto your breast, you hummed in between the kiss as you moved your hips slightly against his clothed dick. he bit down on your lip as he slid his tongue, exploring your mouth ss you moaned running your hand down the back of his hair, you sucked on hia tongue and his lips as he squeezed your breast slightly. "i-i want..more.." you stopped for a bit to catch your breath as you kissed him again, you continued to rock your hips slowly asgianst his clothed cock as you moaned in the kiss while grunts and small groans escaped out of pedris mouth.
he looked down at your panties as he slid them to the side, your clit being exposed as your panties were still on, you rubbed yourself against him as you gasped in pleasure holding onto his bicep, god.. he was so beautiful you just wanted him in you already, you whined as you continued to move yourself against him. he stopped you as he squeezed your butt before he pulled your panties down to your mid inner thigh, you giggled before getting off his lap as you laid down infront of him, he kissed your cheek before kissing down onto your body as he pecked each of your breast. you giggled ruffling his hair before he kissed down onto your stomach, his breathing against your cold body as you arched your back whimpering as he dragged your panties down with his teeth. you blushed heavily as he threw them on the floor, you giggled as you pushed him down you pulled his black sweatpants down as you sat on his crotch again.
you pulled down his boxers tossing them ontop of your clothes on the floor as his dick sprung out. you swallowed thickly as you hovered your legs over his thighs, lining yourself above his dick, before sinking yourself in as your breath started to hitch out. "this is.. different from..u-usual.." you said blushing heavily as he chuckled cupping your ass cheek, kneading it as you began to move your hips back & fortg around his cock. you mewled out pleasurable moans, placing your hands on his chest as your hips were at a steady pace that had you moaning. he squeezed your ass cheek as you whimpered as he watched your breasts bounce up and down slightly. admiring your body as he held onto your waist.
"you're so unreal..nobody i'd do this with but you." he whispered as you giggled before leaning down to kiss himas you held onto his shoulder, your other hand cupping his cheek. he kissed back guiding you by your ass, you moaned in between the kiss before he sat up as he lifted his hips up, his dick pushing you deeper as you shrieked a bit before you placed your forehead against his, your other hand holding his jaw as the two of you kissed while you repeatedly grinded your hips agaisnt his girth. your kisses being muffled just in case your parents came back. as a matter fact..they did. but you left a message saying you weren't feeling so well, so you had them under your trap, you closed your eyes as you enjoted the pace, a slow abd sready one that had you drunked out from the pleasure, you sighed out in pleasure before looking at him, his brown chocolate eyes. you cupped his cheeks as tears formed from the pleasure, "w-want me to move..f-faster?" you stuttered trying to comprehend your sentence as he caressed your waist chuckling, "whatever you're okat with, i am too hermosa.." he whispered as you nodded your head.
you held onto his shoulders as you began to bounce quicker on his dick, your wetness spreading everywhere as your ass hit his thighs from how deeply and quick you were moving, the repeated movement had you moaning constantly, fuck you were definitely in heaven..your eyes were shut as your head was leaned back before his dick hit against your sweet spot, you lowered your head, your eyes still closed as your moans were getting higher and higherm you were so fucked out you didn't even feel pedri's palm when he covered your mouth, "h-hey!" you shouted into his hand as your sentence got muffled, you spasmed opening your eyes whining into his hand, he chuckled as he kneaded your ass cheek, "you're parents are here..how didn't you hear them mi amor.." he said quietly as you whined out before your head fell on his shoulder as you panted trying to catch your breath.
he pushed you down on the bed as your back hit the sheets and your head hit the pillows, he caressed your thigh before cupping your cheek as your lips found his in a slow passionate messy kiss as your hand tugged on his hair, pulling him closer. he held onto your inner thigh before placing his hand underneath you as the two of you kissed, he lifted your thigh from beneath placing it on his hips as he pushed himself in, he bit down ono your lower lip sliding his tongue into your mouth as you moaned into his mouth when he began to pump himself in & out of you slowly but passionately, he wrapped your legs around his waist thrusting a bit deeper as you digged your nails into his skin. he rested his sweaty forehead as you felt his breath against the bridge of your nose that was all rosy, even your cheeks were all pink. "my god..you feel so amazing.." he says, his voice a little shaky as you giggled between your moans before he found your g-spot.
you arched your back as a whiny moan slipped out of your mouth, you scratched his back as you dug your nails into his skin, as a moan slipped out of his mouth. he thrusted deeply into your g-spot as he smirked holding onto your waist tightly as he sped up his pace slamming himself back and forth against your spot. he rested his face against your neck as your legs wrapped around his hips, groaning and moaning at the way he thrusted deeply and passionately against you. you leaned your head against your pillow as you breathlessly moaned between every thrust against your clit, your stomach felt warm, small little butterflies you felt as well. you lifted his cin looking at him, little sparkles in his eyes as you smiled at him, he pecked your nose as he sped up thrusting quickly against your g-spot.
you tugged on his hair as you moaned louder closing your eyes he leaned down to your neck as he began to plant wet kisses sucking on noticeable areas, you whined out in between your moans as you moaned into his ear scratching his back slightly as you felt your stomach tighten, you whimpered into his ear as your breathing increased and got heavier, "p-pedri..i-i'm-" you said before getting cut off as he placed his finger over your lips, "i know mi vida..i know.." he said before thrusting quicker than he was as you felt his dick hit your cervix many times, each thrust recieving a shriek and a whiny moan, he cupped your cheeks as he kissed you passionately yet deeply, you moaned in between the kiss as you felt your thighs shaking uncontrollably.
his thrusts began getting sloppier as he twitched inside of you, your moans getting whiny and becoming high pitched as you digged your nails into his back, he pulled away from the kiss as he looked down at you, your pink heavy cheeks and glossy teary eyes, "wh-what happened.." you struggled to say as he chuckled at your fucked out of state mind, "nada..you're so beautfiul.." he said shakingly as you giggled before pulling him closer, as both of your forehead's touched, his nose an inch away from yours. "joder..estoy cerca.."(fuck..am close..) he said gripping onto your hips tightly as yoy were trembling non-stop beneath him. "q-quiero correrme.." (i-i wanna cum..) you said biting down on his shoulder as he groaned in pain, "correte para mi hermosa.."(cum for me gorgeous..) he said shakingly as you relreased yourself whiny moaning, spasming all over his cock as he groaned loudly feeling your wamrness as he came inside of you, filling you up with his seed as he collapsed on your chest.
heavy breathing filled up the room as you looked down at pedri, you played with the small strands of his damped hair as he looked up at you smiling, "how's your headache now?" he said caressing your waist as you rolled your eyes giggling, "b-better..thank you for checking up on me tho, you dork.." you said kissing his cheek as he pulled out carefully, laying down next to you. he pulled you into his chest as you rested your head on his chest, you traced your hands down his chest, tracing the scratch marks you left from earlier. he chuckled patting your butt before you fell asleep on his chest a few minutes later.. he looked down as he noticed before he smiled kissing your cheek before wrapping the two of you into the blanket as you two fell asleep.
━
you woke up to pedris head being on your chest as he snuggled his head against your breasts, you giggled as he woke up looking at you he pecked your boob before he checked his phone, he groaned in annoyance as you watched him type his reply back to his mother, asking where he was and when he's coming back home. he put his phone down before he rested his head back on your chest, "am not leaving until tomorrow morning, it's okay.." he said as you smiled before falling back asleep as the two of you fell asleep, it was still raining outside, cold air was roaming through the room again. the sound of water outside your window and the small thunder making it even better for you to sleep, the blanket covering the two of you as your chest including pedris were somewhat exposed.
your head was resting on his chest after shifting around movements. he sat up as you whined before waking up looking at him half asleep, "where are you goingg..come back.." you said as the blanket fell and now your breasts were exposed. he giggled putting his shirt back on as his sweatpants were already put on as he kissed your cheel, you looked at him kissing his lips as he kissed back then kissing your forehead. "tengo que irme..te vere en unos dias o tal vez esta noche.." (i have to leave..i'll see you later on in a few days or later..) he said winking at you as you smiled before he kissed you again, you kissed back cupping his cheeks before pulling away. "gracias.. por anoche bebé.." you said before he hugged you kissing your cheek, you hugged back as your hands wrapped around his waist, "te quiero mucho, te vere mas tarde mi amor.." (i love you so much, i'll see you later on my love..) he said as he kissed your cheek before walking to your window as he stepped out and left your room. you fell back on your bed as your head hit the pillows, you covered yourself in your sheets bringing it to your chin, turning to your side as you fell back asleep.
#pedri x you#pedri x y/n#pedri smut#pedri gonzalez smut#pedri x reader#pedri imagine#pedri imagines#pedri requests#pedri blurb#pedri headcanon#pedri#smut#pedri fanfic#pedri fluff#pedri one shot#pedri one shots#football one shots#football x reader#football imagine#football smut#soccer smut#soccer x reader#football one shot#football x you
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you cut your hair, and take some space.
pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader
synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 1 of 2 !
warnings. no use of y/n, age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, officer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, so much crying ( reader spends half her time crying over javi p which is honestly a mood ), violence, undetailed depictions of sa ( not javi ), smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !
word count. 15k
hyde’s input. this was written over the course of four months and could easily be used in court to prove i am, in fact, unequivocally in love with one mr. javier peña. if you take the time to read it, just know i appreciate it so much. i really poured my heart and soul into this and, as someone who's been writing for years, it's been so long since i've written something so self-indulgent that's brought me nothing but joy to write. as the fic has surpassed 30k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it, i've decided to post it in two parts. part two will be posted within the following weeks.
(it'a nearly 4 am as i post this, please look the other way at any typos or editing errors.)
“i told you, corazón mia (my heart),” he can't meet your eyes. “made it clear from the start i wasn't looking for anything serious.”
“i know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “but if it wasn't serious, why'd you treat me like it was?”
I cut my nose to save some face
You cut your hair and take some space.
The mirror is not clean enough to see yourself.
Where there are usually your eyes, there’s a discoloured splotch of brown. A crack runs down the left of what should be your face. Someone’s taken it upon themselves to draw a cartoon penis just where your mouth is. But in your drunken haze and laser focus, you don’t care enough to notice. All you see is the spot where your nose is, a tiny ball of silver nestled just above your right nostril.
It’s something new to fidget with.
On the flip side, it stings like a bitch. Or, more appropriately, like the tequila shots that led you to this run-down tattoo parlour.
You wonder if, come the morning and mental clarity, you’ll regret it.
If you do, you’ll blame him.
Your night was going fine. Good, even. And, with a lack of good nights in the recent week, that was an accomplishment.
You’d dressed up, let loose, had fun. A friend on either arm and a drink close at hand, you’d giggled and gossiped your way through this impromptu girls’ night.
They’d ambushed you, in a way, forced their way through the barricade of tissues and take-out boxes into your apartment. A skimpy dress tossed at your head and four hands dragging you, limb by limb, into the shower.
Get some dinner, hit the town, get fucked up. That was the plan they set out for you.
You skipped dinner, dove head-first into the town.
You were careful all night to never speak of him.
One part fearful it would summon him, another part embarrassed to admit just who you’d gotten tangled up in. A third part, tucked away in a locked closet, ready to do it all over again.
And then it happened.
You didn’t say his name, no.
Not aloud.
You thought it, for just a second, hearing the person beside you at the bar order the same drink you’d watched him nurse time after time. It wasn’t him but, instead, a man far too short and a clean-cut kind of handsome to even begin to compare to the ex-agent.
But it was enough to make you want to leave.
Giving up your space, you’d made your way back to your girls and made up some little white lie, surprised neither of them called you out on it- what kind of bar doesn’t have white wine?
They left to find someplace with wine, you left to find some peace of mind.
The bar they dragged you into was familiar, the setting of many of your father’s stories. It only took you walking through the door, tugging down the dress-too-short, to hear your name called across the floor.
“Hey kiddo!” Your dad’s a tell-tale kind of drunk, his eyes giving away even the smallest sip of alcohol he has. He was just tipsy, scooting his way out of a tattered booth to wrap you up in his arms. It felt as nice as it did guilt-inducing, knowing you’d been avoiding his calls all week since The Incident. A punishment to yourself more than one aimed at him. “You here yourself? Could join us for the night, if you like. Ain’t that right, boys?”
It was only then that you’d realised two men were sat within the booth, collars undone and ties loosened after a week’s work.
There were usually three of them.
"We’re just waiting on Peña." Oh god, it makes you feel sick. Heart in your throat, stomach at your feet. His name no longer feels real, not when spoken by anyone but you.
“And raising bets on his tardiness,” one of your father’s friends said. You recognised him from a few of the barbecues and Christmas parties your dad's thrown. He's nice, responsible. Married, to a woman his own age. “I’m saying he’s chasing some tail. God knows he could use some stress relief. Boy’s been wound up all week, nearly bit my head off for asking him about some files."
It’s a wonder none of the three men- one a retired lawyer, the other two members of the force- noticed the blood drain from your face.
“My guess is he’s pulled some muscle in his back and can’t get himself out of bed,” a nudge from your father’s elbow, delivered straight to your ribs. “Whatcha think, kiddo?”
You didn’t have an answer.
You didn’t get to give an answer.
“You need to quit speaking ‘bout me like you’re not a whole decade my senior, viejo (old man),” it came from behind you and threatened you to look. Like the foolish final-girl in a slasher, you ignored your basic instincts and glanced over your shoulder.
You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you know what you were hoping for.
Tired eyes, chewed lips, unkempt facial hair. A twitch of sadness drawn between his brows and the stains of cigarette ash on a worn-out suit.
Javier Peña was none of that.
The suit, grey. One that fit him all too well and had you wishing you could stain it with your drink.
The signature moustache, perfectly groomed, sitting perched above the bow of his pouty lips, rosy-red and fresh for picking.
His eyes have always given him away but, staring down at you in that moment, they read only as passive, unaffected.
It was like, nothing.
And, yes, that’s what you’d asked for- from now on, whenever you see me, can you at least pretend that none of this happened?
But he's smart enough to know you didn't mean it, right?
“Hey officers, sorry to interrupt but,” a hand curled around your arm. It tugged and you let yourself be inched away from heavy brown eyes and your father’s smile. “She’s ours for the night. We’re going clubbing!”
That was never part of the plan.
Neither was skipping dinner, though.
You caught the back of him as you were dragged away, some pleading from your father to take it easy and call me in the morning, and noticed it only then.
His hair, freshly cut.
“‘S getting too long,” a mumbled sort of thing, hidden in your neck, spoken against your pulse. A kiss placed upon it, and then another for extra measure. Fingers dragging through his hair, ridding him of the knots your very same hands had worked into them an hour of passionate touching ago. “Lo sé (I know).”
A pause of silence. The blissful moan birthed from nails on his scalp. And, then, “no. It’s nice, I like it.”
That puppy-dog stare, so particular to the cool-down moments between you, meets your own, chin propped up on your sternum. He’s sweet like this, honeyed skin and pleasant smiles.
“Yeah?” He asks, like he even needs to. “You like it, corazón (sweetheart)?” You opt for a hummed confirmation, finger tracing over the arch of his nose. “Guess I better keep it this way, then.”
Now he’s gone and chopped the overgrown curls off.
In a way, it feels like he’s cut you off with them.
We don’t speak cause it’s too tricky
But if I’m tricky, why’d you kiss me?
The next time you see him, a wedding is taking place.
He sits on the groom’s side, you sit on the bride’s.
It feels unreasonable to be surprised by his presence. Why wouldn’t he be here, sitting four rows from the back, at his cousin’s brother-in-law’s wedding?
The bride is gorgeous, the groom is in tears. The priest drones on a little too long.
Somewhere between the exchanging of vows, and the ceremonial kissing, and the cheering of guests, your instincts get the better of you and you glance back at him.
He’s already staring right back, eyes ignited with something that weakens your knees and shakes your confidence. The newlyweds walk down the aisle, cut through your line of sight. He’s still staring at you when they’ve passed.
The reception takes place in the events room of some glammed-up hotel, the kind you can barely afford the one night you’re booked in for.
An open bar, a local band. The catering is tasteful, handpicked by the couple, and the table you feast at is so far away from his that you don’t get that chance to see if he chose the chicken or the beef.
You find a friend behind the bar, in the shape of a bottle and toothpick-impaled olives.
You dance till your feet hurt, slip away to your table, take off your heels. You’re back on the dance floor in time to catch the bouquet, too busy basking in the envy of the other women to notice his eyes burning a hole in the back of your head.
If it weren’t for the dent in your bank account made by the room you booked, you’d gladly dance away the whole night. But if a bed with a view costs double your rent, you’ll be damned if you don’t get to sleep in it.
So you stumble to the elevator.
Clutch your heels and flowers to your chest, struggle to remember your floor number. The fifth floor seems to ring a bell, but it might’ve been the eighth floor. Your room key! Maybe, you hope, that’ll have your floor number on it. You struggle with your purse’s zipper, trying your best to pry it open.
You succeed, but at what cost? Heels and bouquet tumble to the floor, thumping and clunking as they knock against it, flower petals falling loose.
You try to bend down, stretch your fingers out to grasp the clasps, seize the stems. A wave of exhaustion mixed with too much alcohol washes over you and you stand up straight again. Take a calming breath, do a little song and dance before reaching down again.
“Déjame. (Let me.)”
Scuffed shoes come into view as you’re halfway down, bent at the waist and holding your balance with one arm against a wall. You stand up straight, too fast, lose your balance and stumble forward.
He catches you.
For a moment, it feels like you’ve never left his arms.
“C’mon, let’s get you to your room.” You hate the way he ends his sentence, no term of endearment and no impure intentions.
He asks for your floor, you give him your key. He punches the number into the elevator and it shakes to life.
Neither one of you makes an attempt to part. There’s a chance he pulls you closer to him. You let yourself melt, regardless, muscles relaxing and sinking into his arms.
He’s still warm. He’s still steady. but his cologne’s different and it makes your eyes sting.
You’d warned him he was about to run out of his signature bottle, made a note to buy him another one for his birthday or Christmas, whichever came first.
“You look like you had fun,” he rasps out, eventually, as the elevator slips past the fifth floor.
“I did,” you tell a partial truth. You would have had more fun, if he’d stood at your side, ate at your table, danced in your arms. But you can’t say that, because he doesn’t want that.
“I’m glad.”
It turns out your floor is the ninth. He’s careful to guide you out the mobile-box, hand on your hip, pressing you to his side. Your heels dangling from one of his fingers and the bouquet gripped in his palm, smacking against his thigh every other step. A little down the hall and there you find it, your precious and expensive home for the night.
It’s easier to let him open the door, he tells you.
It’s easier to let him guide you to bed, you tell yourself.
Dropping the heels on the floor, he disappears out of your line of sight and you stare motionless at the ceiling above, buzzing in your brain and pain in your heart.
You’ve never shared a space like this with him, one that’s hollow and decayed. The shell of a creature that’s long abandoned it, grown too big for its home.
Your eyes sting all over again, this time enough to brim with unfallen tears.
A thud against the nightstand.
You roll onto your side and find he’s still here, a glass of water and some painkillers lay to rest at your bedside. The first tear gives way, running down your cheek and dropping to the crisp white sheets below. Even more fall as he raises a damp cloth to your face, wiping away smudged mascara and bringing your lips back to their natural colour.
The undressing is gentle and so unlike his usual impatience.
Fingertips drag down each inch of skin released as he unzips the back of your dress, tugging it down and folding it by your heels. The weight off your chest helps you breathe as he unhooks your bra. Left only in your underwear, the sheets ruffle as he drags them up your tired limbs and tucks them under your chin.
“Get in bed, please,” you plead like you have any right to ask that of him. “Javi.”
It’s the first time you’ve said his name since that night in May. His shoulders tense and release, his fingers smooth down his moustache. He looks like he’s going to fulfil your request, slip in behind you and wrap you up in his soft but steady embrace.
He looks like he wants to.
His back cracks as he bends down and presses a kiss.
Against your forehead, lips that linger.
Then, he stands up straight and walks out the door.
On the forehead, way up north
Pressed the scar and found the source
Vermont, ‘98.
That’s where it all began.
Your dad, turning fifty.
Javi just hit forty.
It was someone in the station who had the wild idea they celebrate it together. The sheriff and the station’s rookie- really, a hardened, inching-out-of-a-fresh-retirement former DEA agent your father manipulated back into the force, some promise of a light workload and a hefty pension. With no need for money, you wonder why he ever accepted the offer.
Plans were set, money was put in a pot, and a wheel of fortune was spun. It landed on the northern state, a downpayment to rent a ski lodge placed within a matter of twenty-four hours.
Somewhere along the way, you’d been roped into joining this boys-only trip. Your dad argued you needed a break from studying. Your mother argued there needed to be a responsible adult to supervise your dad. and, well, a free holiday never hurt nobody, right?
Wrong.
The final evening, with a constant pounding of a hangover never-quite-nursed, a litter of bruises down your back from falling and a firmly closed chapter on any possible career as a ski prodigy you may have had, you trailed your way down to the only bar in the tiny ski town.
Textbooks on the table, glasses on your face.
A half-drank glass of cabernet, an empty plate.
Peaceful and quaint, until it wasn’t.
The cheer of a frat-boy out in the wild warrants the same response as hearing a lion’s roar in the dark of the Saharan night.
The kind you hear them before you see them, spilling through the door in their obnoxious jerseys and their face-painted cheeks. one wore the badge of honour, a giant Soon To Be shackled Married printed poorly onto the back of his jersey.
You put your head down, breathed more subtly.
The pride stormed their way over to the bar, pounding their fists onto the surface and gnashing their teeth, spit spilling down their mouth as they brutally tore into the bartender, demanding pints of beer and rounds of shots.
The key was to avoid eye contact, keep low and out of sight.
They dispersed through the area, sniffing out free booths and the occasional local to irritate out of their seats.
One of them found the jukebox and wasted his coin on blasting Pour Some Sugar On Me. The group of older women playing bingo scowled and made their way out of the joint, calling it for the night.
You got up to follow suit, hands slowly packing up your belongings and slinging your bag over your back.
Inching towards the exit, footsteps light as a feather.
“Woo! Look at you,” just as you were close to slipping out the door, a single member of the pack spotted you, prowling his way over. He already had his chest puffed out by the time you turned around. “Ain’t seen an ass like that since we left the city!”
Hardly charming. Tame, compared to other things frat boys have said to you.
“Why don’cha come join me and my buddies over there?” He nodded back at them, like they weren’t the obnoxious centres of everyone’s attention.
You were not scared of him, exactly. But you’ve seen where things can go. Heard about it, countless times, from your own father.
So you spoke with caution, gripping your bag a little tighter, “thanks, but I’ve got an early flight. Have a nice night-” He told you his name, like you cared. “Yeah, thanks, bye.”
And then you were stepping out into the quiet of the night.
Fresh air, cold enough to sting your lungs. You breathed it in like it was going out of fashion.
You barely got a moment to compose yourself before that grating voice was back in your ears.
“Oh don’t be a buzzkill!” He whined, you cringed. Took a step back, watched him move an inch. “It’s early, stay. Have a drink.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“To have fun?! C’mon, it’s too cold to be out here by yourself.”
“I have an early flight.”
“It’s just one drink, sweetheart. I ain’t asking you to sign your life away.”
A couple bumped past you both, weaved their way between you. His eyes trailed after them, your feet twisted around, carrying you away from him slowly, carefully. Best not to make yourself look like prey, not to this predator.
“Hey!” He called after you. Your steps sped up. “Where you going, sweetheart?”
It didn’t even matter that you were walking in the opposite direction of the ski lodge. You told yourself you would find your way back, once this lion was off your back.
“I ain’t done talkin’ to you!”
The lion pounced, sank his claws into your back and ripped through you.
Your hand flew out to break your fall, the contents of your bag spilling out onto the sidewalk.
Pain, the kind that stings. It nipped at your knees, and your hands, and your eyes. Pushed it down, pulled yourself up.
He froze, maybe surprised at his own actions, maybe waiting on the chance to pounce once more, this time with his fangs instead of his claws.
You wouldn’t give him the chance. Filled your bag, collected your senses and ran.
It was tricky on frozen ground, trying so hard to not look back.
He followed and you knew it, heard it. Roaring and growling, chasing you down streets you’d never walked.
You slipped, momentarily, slammed into a wall. A crossroads, go right or go left.
You don’t remember which direction you turned.
“Quit running, you bitch!”
He was still following, how was he still following?
Caving in, you glanced over your shoulder and saw the blurry figure of him running after you.
He was getting faster. Maybe you were getting slower.
You came to a screeching halt, body smacking into something solid. Eyes shut, mind alive. You feared the worst, hoped for the best, expected to open your eyes and find yourself trapped in a dead-end, nowhere to run from this predator.
Instead, you heard your name. Called softly, at first. Gentle, coaxing you to pay attention. The second time it was more urgent, worried and aggressive. You sank deeper into the wall, felt your feet shuffle on the gravel below.
“...Gotta let me know, nena,” the wall pulled you back from it, a firm grasp on your forearms. Your eyes opened and met his. “Fucking Christ, look at the state of you.”
You’d not known much about Javier Peña at the start of the trip.
Your dad had mentioned something about a family ranch. Your mom let it slip that he’d enjoyed the pumpkin pie she’d brought to the station’s Thanksgiving feast.
There’d been one time you’d caught the end of a conversation between him and your dad. Nothing concrete, just some shameful mutterings about Colombia and Los Pepes. You’d left once you heard your dad start to comfort the man, deciding your intruding on the moment had already gone too far.
You now knew he liked his whiskey, no ice. His coffee, no milk. His bread, no butter.
He didn’t like the mess of mixing things, and you had to wonder if it had always been this way. Or had he learned his lesson, the hard way? Mixed the wrong things, burnt his own blessings?
“You’re bleeding,” he announced it, fresh news for you.
A pleasant warmth thrummed through your veins as he took hold of your hand, inspecting it under his scrutiny.
His thumb swiped over your palm.
Your mouth winced, your arm pulled back.
He held you in place.
Something visceral shifted in him, enough to coax you to glance at him.
He was looking past you, eyes a deadly killer stalking their prey. You followed their line of sight and found the lion at the end of the street. Standing still, arms at his side, eyes a little wider than you remembered them. You’d not really been looking, in the first place.
The former agent twisted you behind him, an effortless shield. Took an urgent step toward the frat boy, and then another three.
You grasped at his sleeve and tugged him back, didn’t let him stray too far.
“I’m fine,” you lied. He didn’t believe you, furrowing his brow. “I’m just cold.”
He seemed to hesitate, softened by a tremble in your voice.
He glanced back to see the lion was retreating, staggering his way back to the pride of frat boys. A perfect opportunity for him to attack, from behind and unexpectedly.
“Leave it, he’s not-” The sting in your eye got the best of you and a tear tracked itself down your cheek. You wiped it away with your scraped hand, leaving behind a smear of gravel and blood. “It’s not worth it.”
You said it not for the agent’s sake, but the boy’s.
The agent puffed out a breath of frustration, then followed your plea. Turned back to you, licked his thumb and swiped off the dirt on your cheek. Pulled you in, against him once more, and pressed a deliberate kiss against your forehead.
It was instinctual, no thought placed behind his action.
He did it because that seemed to be in his nature: to nurture.
“C’mon, the lodge is this way,” he pointed in some direction.
You didn’t bother paying attention, more than willing to follow wherever he led.
“Put this on.” It was not posed as an option, not when the agent tugged off his coat and draped it over your shoulders.
Somewhere along the path, you realised you’d lost your key to your cabin. Your dad carried the other.
Officer Peña offered to take you to him, drinking down in the ski lodge’s bar with the rest of the men.
You shook your head, told him your dad couldn’t see you in that state.
He took you back to his own cabin instead.
Cleaned up your hands, put on the fire, poured you a drink.
Then fucked you into his bed, till you clawed and sobbed around him.
If you don’t love me,
Why’d you act it?
Late june brings nothing but gloom.
You get bored quick, no college to fill your days. Pick up extra shifts, hope to combat the empty feeling in your chest with the rush hour traffic that torpedoes it’s way through the cafe.
Friends invite you out, you rarely go. They tease you’re becoming a recluse, and that just makes you want to shut yourself in even more.
Tonight, you’re appeasing them.
Some line dance event, downtown in a bar that’s only gimmick seems to be a worn-down mechanical bull. It’s missing a horn and no one seems to know why.
Truth be told, you don’t want to go.
You want to stuff your face with take-out while you melt into your couch, watching reruns of the first season of Friends and drooling over Joey till you forget about another smooth-talking, raven haired man.
Here you are instead, fighting against the cheesy cowgirl hat till it sits on your head correctly.
In the mirror, it’s still lopsided.
The clock sits at eight forty-seven.
They’re 2 minutes late.
You give up, decide to pretend you want the hat this way. Slip on your jacket, do a sweep around your apartment: windows locked, flat iron off, fridge closed. Grabbing your purse, you unzip it and wrestle around in it’s contents, searching for your keys.
You pull on something and- it’s a pack a gum.
Dive back in, search again.
An empty tube of lipbalm.
Third time’s a charm, you think, and try once more. Something scratches your fingers, coaxes you to tug it out and inspect it.
A broken earring.
A familiar car honk’s outside, you stay frozen in place, staring at the broken hoop and counting one, two, three.
Bile burns the back of your throat.
He opens on the fifth knock.
Any other night, he practically rips the door off it’s hinges and tugs you in, before you can so much as raise your fist for a second knock.
Maybe he was busy, on the toilet or on the phone. You don’t think too much into it.
He steps aside, lets you in. Stands so far away, it’s hard to read his eyes.
The air’s uncomfortably quiet.
You think’s it’s all in your head, self-doubt at an all time high after a bad day.
“My earring snapped today,” there’s a growing pit in your stomach, just from staring at him. He looks so distant, not present. Mind a galaxy away. "Your favourite ones, too. You know, the little hoops with-”
“The hearts dangling from them.” He finishes, on your behalf, and it’s the first green flag you see. Green enough to lull yourself into a faux calm.
The silence returns.
You rock backwards on your heels, glance around the apartment. Try to find what has changed, because this no longer feels like the place you’ve grown so familiar with. And neither does the man observing you from a distance, hands glued to his sides.
He should be touching you by now, in any way he could: his foot bumping against yours under his dining table, his hand trailing patterns over your shoulders as you settle into his side on the couch, his tongue delving between your folds as you lay splayed out on his sheets.
You notice his bedroom door is shut.
It’s never been shut before.
“Is- Am I-” You don’t have to find the words, but the courage to speak them. “Do you have someone over?”
He blinks, slowly.
It’s hard to tell if it’s from guilt.
“Because if you do, that’s fine!” It’s not. “I understand,” You don’t.
He doesn’t answer.
You keep talking.
“Totally chill, I’ll comeback some other night. Or, you can just come by mine! Yeah, actually, that sounds better. Won’t risk interrupting again-”
“This needs to stop.”
You don’t have to question it.
You do, anyway.
“What?”
“Us. This-” He’s pointing between you both, a little haphazardly. It’s like he’s rushing to get the words out, get it over with. Get you out his apartment. “Thing we’re doing. It’s done.”
“I don’t underst-”
He cuts you off with your name. “Why’d you come here tonight?”
He’s stern.
Not in the way that makes you want to bend to his will and indulge in all his sins. But in a way that makes you feel dirty, wrong. A child scorned for touching fire and getting themselves burnt.
“I,” you’re beginning to wish there was someone else in his bed, so she could stroll out of his room in one of his stupidly soft shirts and interrupt this conversation. “Uh, I had a bad day.”
“Okay,” he nods. Smooths a hands over his chin, pops out his hip. “What’s that got anything to do with me?”
Everything, you want to tell him.
For every single thing that went wrong throughout your day, seeing Javi gave you something to look forward to.
“I just thought-”
“You thought, what?” His face twists up, just like your insides. He’s angry and you’re the one to blame. “This isn’t a- I’m not your boyfriend.”
I know, you mouth.
Because you do know. Repeat it to yourself all the time.
When he calls to make sure you got home safe.
When you sneak off to pee in the middle of the night and are welcomed back to bed with a forceful tug into his chest, a sleepy, gruffed out ‘where’d you go?’ whispered into your neck.
When he picks up on the things you say, remembers silly things like your favourite toilet paper brand and the exact milk to cereal ratio you enjoy.
Javier Peña is not your boyfriend.
So why does he act like it?
“Look, kid, you’re young, and I know-”
Kid.
That makes you angry.
He wasn’t calling you kid when he bent you over your parents’ bathroom counter.
“Don’t call me kid.”
“And I know,” he pushes through your protest, keeps up the distance. “This can be a lot at your age. Don’t blame you for getting caught up. But whatever you think you’re feeling for me, it’s not-”
“Is this about the p-” The word won’t come out of you, so your change the verbiage. “The hospital? Because I told you, Javi. We’ve been safe. Safer than a pair of purity-ring wearing teenagers-”
“No, this is about me needing to do the right-”
At this point, you’re just interrupting one another.
Fighting to get in the next word, frowning at what you do hear.
He tilts his head back and pinches the bridge of his nose, a groan leaving his cracked lips. You’d imagined him doing that tonight, but not like this.
Eventually, the back-and-forth stops.
Silence.
You take the lead.
“So, what? That’s it just... over?”
“I told you, corazón mía (my heart),” he can’t meet your eyes. “Made it clear from the start I wasn’t looking for anything serious.”
“I know,” you heave in a breath, hold back a sob. “But if it wasn’t serious, why’d you treat me like it was?”
It takes him a few minutes to answer. There’s a twitch, in his hand, reaching up only to drop back down at his side.
Usually, he wipes your tears before they get chance to fall.
The rug at your feet turns darker with each wet spot that drops.
“I got caught up,” his eyes seem so sad, so lost. Staring across the ocean of his living room, searching for a lighthouse to pull him safe to shore. But he won’t let you be that. “In the way you deserve to be treated, instead of some sleazy secret.”
He breathes out your name, the most painful melody you’ve ever heard.
“This has to end,” you’re unsure if it’s only you he’s attempting to convince. “Before someone gets hurt.”
Too late, you want to say.
You’re already being torn apart by his hands, and he’s standing ten feet away.
“Corazón, I’m so sor-”
The car honks, again.
You breathe in, and find it’s hard, snot piling up in your nose and tears splashing down your cheers.
Another honk.
You never make it to the line dance.
You curl in on yourself, instead, and fall asleep to the sound of Joey and Chandler’s bickering.
Love’s a verb
And not a bandage
In retrospect, it’s hard to tell where the lines begin to blur.
A promise of casual, turned into something fragile.
Whenever you think about it, for too long, your mind carries you back to the same night. A few months after Vermont, you don’t recall the exact date.
All you remember is a pounding at your front door.
1 am. Too late to be causing ruckus.
You nearly trip over discarded shoes, curse earlier-you for assuming you would remember their existence. Undo the bolt, grab the key and then-
Pause.
This could be anyone, anything.
You check the peephole, find exactly who you were hoping for.
He’s on you like a moth to a flame, pressing you flush against him the instant he can fit through the crack in your doorway. Mouth on mouth, hands on waist. The door thuds as he closes it behind you both, you’re too distracted to notice.
You let him invade your senses.
Smell his aged leather and nicotine thrill. Feel his strong arms and bulging crotch. Hear his laboured breaths and muttered pleasantries. Taste his whiskey tongue and metallic lips-
You pull back. He follows.
It’s flattering, his inability to get enough of you, but you halt him nonetheless.
Cup his cheeks, pull down his face, and stare.
“My dad finally figure out who those panties in your glove-box belong to, Peña?” It’s meant to be a joke.
There’s nothing funny about his bleeding lip and split eyebrow.
He graces no response, dives back into you and submerses himself in your touch. Kisses you slow, with deliverance, his final mission to arrest all your sense of self till you turn yourself in to his embrace.
Only as you pass by those discarded shoes do you realise he’s inching you both deeper into the dark of your apartment.
This time, you do trip over them.
It’s okay though, Javi’s there to catch you.
He finds refuge in your neck, burrowing in deep, mouthing at the skin like a dog does a wound. Your arm shoots out to find a light-switch. A warm glow fills the apartment, bathing you both in an orange hue.
The gold of his skin shines brighter.
The red on his skin appears darker.
“What happened to you?” You don’t need to worry about him. And, yet, doing so comes naturally.
“S’not important,�� it’s spoken against your skin, as if he intends to seep his gravelled tone into your pores and have it grow a new life for itself within you. A gentle scraping of his teeth sends a shiver down your spine. “I’ll tell you later.”
Later with Javi never seems to come.
‘If you’re not busy, I’ll make you dinner later.’
‘Keep it up and I’ll be fucking that attitude out of you later.’
‘I’ll get these back to you later.’
He’d never made you that dinner.
He’d dragged you into the station’s bathrooms and fucked the attitude out of you only seconds after.
You’d never gotten those panties back.
You decide to grant him no time for later. Shove him down into a seat at your dining table-for-two. Roll your eyes as he asks if you’re “gonna put on a show for me, corazón?”
The makeshift first-aid kit put together by your mother resides at the back of a cupboard, hidden by mugs and cups. It takes several minutes and a smashed glass to manoeuvre it out. You step over the pieces of glass and head straight back to the table, dumping out the contents.
You click your tongue, point your finger. He scoots the chair back from the table and you slip between the space. Press back against the surface, stand between his parted knees and do your best to not look down at the jeans that grant him no modesty.
Distractions are not welcomed, your patient needs tending to.
He’s insisting he’s okay, yet he’s hissing when you dab at the tears in his flesh with betadine. His hands find a place upon your hips and give a tight squeeze as you press butterfly stitches to his no-longer bleeding brow.
“I,” he starts up, an indefinite time of silence passing between you both. He shakes his head.“It’s stupid.”
“Javi,” you stroke your finger over his jaw, tilt his head back to meet your eyes. “The less you tell me, the more I’ll worry.”
It does the trick, unlocks his tongue.
“I was just wanting one drink, was gonna head home... Or to you, after. I had a shitty day at work and... You probably don’t care about that,” he has no idea you’ll hang onto those words for the weeks to come, wondering how to lighten his workload, ease his tension. “Heard some loud-mouth kid beside me at the bar, he was talking to this girl. She gets up to leave, he follows. I was just gonna go back to nursing my drink but-”
He hisses.
You’re pressing too hard on his fragile lip.
There’s no malice in his eyes as you pull your hand back, only soft and tender. He must sense your remorse for hurting him, chasing after your fingers and grazing a gentle kiss upon them.
A splotch of red stains your skin.
“Corazón,” he croons, shifts himself closer to you. His hands grip the backs of your exposed thighs, his chin presses into your lower stomach. A few movie-strand hairs cover the molten brown eyes that stare up at you. “You’re exhausted. Vamos, basta de preocuparte (C'mon, stop worrying), I’m fine. I just wanna crawl into your tiny bed so I can wake up to your bedhead and more back pains.”
It’s a tempting offer, and one you’ve given into far too many times acceptable for the casual agreement you both share.
A deep breath. Your hand lands on his cheek, his eyes flutter shut.
There’s bags under them. Heavy, dark. Bearing the exhaustion he hides behind charming winks and dashing smiles. Your thumb grazes over one and you ache to give him the rest he deserves, the rest his body craves.
“But, what?” You persist, pleading for him to continue his story.
Javi sighs, gives in.
He always gives in, to you, eventually.
“I just- I don’t know, it’s crazy, but I kept thinking of you,” his eyes reopen, sorrow buried deep in his soul and a worry-line etched into his brow. “In that bar. Alone, in Vermont, when you...”
He doesn’t finish his sentence.
He doesn’t need to.
“So what did you do?” It’s best to keep him talking, drag his mind away from whatever dark thoughts those memories bring up.
“I followed them outside,” he admits with a tinge of shame. “Tried to be subtle about it. Lit a cigarette, took a few drags, scoped out the street. Neither of them were around,” you’ve long abandoned the first aid kit, transfixed by the tight grip he holds you in, his hands smoothing up and down the backs of your thighs in an attempt to soothe himself. “I thought I’d maybe read into it wrong. Maybe she was into him, and they’d got a cab back to her place. Or his.”
He’s rambling.
Stumbling through words he deems unimportant, rushing to push out the thoughts that clog up his brain pipes.
You listen closely, swallow up every morsel he offers.
“It was just as I turned to go back inside that I heard something,” his hands no longer dance over your skin. They sit stagnant, halfway up your thigh, fingers flexed and nails digging into flesh. He’s burying himself into any part of you he can, rooting himself in your solid figure. “Rustling, or something. Coming from the alley. And I just... I felt my stomach drop. Followed after it. Found them, him-”
He chokes.
On his words, on his breath, on his failure.
You run a hand through his curls, soothe the lines off his face.
Bend down, drag him up, press your lips to the arc of his nose.
“Didn’t think, I just dragged him off. Punched him, a few times. Felt his nose crack under my fist.” He’s still pushing through, his earlier unwillingness to talk now a streaming fountain you can’t switch off. “I must’ve tripped on some glass, lost my balance. Gave him the space to get a few hits in, and-”
“Did you arrest him?” You cut him off.
He nods.
“Did you help her?”
Another nod.
“Did you get her someplace safe?”
This time, a reply.
“An officer checked her in at the hospital, stayed till her friend arrived.”
“Then Javi,” you make a point of saying his name, remind him of who he is when he’s not on duty. Not parading around with a badge and a gun, and answering to Officer Peña. The shift in his stare tells you it helps. “You did enough.”
A weight slips off his shoulders and he slumps further into you, eyes squeezing shut.
“I didn’t,” frustration steals the show, coursing through his voice.
“What more could you have done?”
“I don’t know... I could’ve-” He groans, like something pains him, and purses his lips. “I should’ve helped her sooner. Followed them, the minute they left. Shouldn’t have let...” A whiff of whiskey reaches your nostrils. Javi pulls you in tighter, breathes in the mixture of sleep-sweat and lingering cologne on the shirt you wear- Pink, the top buttons undone, left behind by him. “Shouldn’t have let you go out alone.”
You whine out his name.
The air is miserable, dragging through your lungs and staining them.
The chair creeks at the loss of his weight, knees straightening him up to his full height. Instinctually, you lean back into the table, head tilting to meet his broken eyes.
He’s searching for comfort, in the only way he knows how.
Slap a bandage over a bullet-hole, place a kiss upon his gaping-heart.
“Not everything about that night was so bad,” you play into his game, splay a hand upon his shirt. Trace a finger over a stained blood spot. “If I hadn’t gone out, then maybe we wouldn’t be...”
The words catch in your throat.
Partially because you don’t know what you are anymore. Boundaries crossed, lines blurring. Hands that hold and eyes that linger. Too close to be nothing, too reckless to be something.
But mostly because he kisses you.
Desperate, hungry. Groaning into your willing mouth.
He’s a man on a mission, to consume your soul right out your willing body. Unravelling you where you stand, he takes pleasure in peeling his shirt off you.
Hot mouth to hot skin, the tip of his tongue meeting the peak of your breasts. Your hands pull at his hair and he grips at your waist.
The descent into madness is quick, bodies melting together in a dance that’s unique, improvised, and yet always in sync.
He tugs at your panties and you undo his belt. He hooks your thigh over his hip and you anchor yourself to his chest. He teases you with a pinch to your clit and you torture him as you cup his heavy balls.
When Javi fucks you, he fucks with purpose.
The table thuds and scrapes along the floor with each punctuated thrust he gives, driving his cock deeper and deeper into your welcoming cunt, the coarse hairs at its base gifting you the occasional thrill of friction on your aching clit.
He’s slurring out curses and pet-names, lavishing you with delightful proclaims of what a pretty girl you are when you 'shut up and take my cock'.
When he does manage a full sentence of logical wording, his forehead’s pressed to your shoulder, his cum coats your thighs and the sweat between your frantic bodies holds you both together.
“There’s not a universe where this doesn’t happen, corazón,” you feel him softening against your thigh, yet you still delight as he drags a finger coated in his own spend up your folds. “Want you too damn much to miss out on you.”
Curling up into your bed that feels too big these days, you grip at the pink shirt and wonder when that changed.
When did Javier Peña stop wanting you?
And I’m spiritual cleansing (but the truth)
Is I’m good at pretending (oh and you)
By July, things change.
The stud in your nose is traded out for a silver ring.
The lonely nights in your apartment turn into stumbling back home from some nameless club in the early hours.
Boredom leads to hobbies.
At first, you try pottery.
Four plates broken and a crumbled mug later, you put on your dance shoes.
Slip. Almost break your arm. Wrestle with the doom placed on your budding dance career. Throw out the dancing shoes, bring home running shoes.
You hate it, running.
You sweat, you ache, you exhaust.
But when you’re gasping for a breath and your feet pound into concrete ground, you don’t think about it.
The heartache.
The headache.
The agent.
You drop a few pounds, tone up your muscles. Watch your body’s shape outgrow your wardrobe, investing in a new one while clinging onto the items you love too much to lose.
Like the dress that now rests just below your ass, instead of it’s usual place mid-thigh. Or the sweater that once hung loose, that now hugs new curves and creases. The jeans that were tight now sliding off your hips.
The pink shirt still lives on one of your hangers.
But you’re not thinking about it, or it’s previous owner.
Not right now.
Now, you’re balling your fists and counting your breaths. Music blasting through your headphones, sweat dancing on your forehead.
The sun is warm on your back, even as it makes way for night to begin. This is the best time to run, dusk, you’ve discovered.
No kids loitering on park grounds, no threat brought on by the dark, no slow-walking pedestrians crossing your path.
You run your self-made circuit with freedom, switching off all your senses and emptying your mind.
Today, however, it’s more challenging.
The thought of him creeps through, no matter the effort you put in to fight it. Your father’s the one to blame.
You have to come, kiddo.
The phone-call still echos through your thoughts.
Because it wouldn’t be the same without you there.
You’d wanted a better explanation than that.
Then, you tried some lame excuse of already having plans.
You had no plans.
Bring your friends then! The more the merrier!
You nearly groaned out loud at his enthusiasm, but held back. Your father’s light didn’t deserve to be dampened by your shadow.
C’mon, kiddo! I’ve not hosted the annual barbecue since you were still wearing your braces!
You bit your tongue. Fought against telling him that, back then, there were no pretty-eyed, heart-breaking agents for you to worry about.
The whole station’s gonna be there, you have to come!
He said it, like that would persuade you.
Keep asking about ya, the whole lot of them.
The more he spoke, the less you wanted to go.
Just last night Javi was asking how you’re doing!
You’d hung up.
Immediately.
Called back, 3 minutes later. Mumbled an apology and an excuse- I lost signal!- and ultimately agreed to going to the damn barbecue.
Now, you run from the phone call, from the impending doom it brings.
All this heartache and pain, it’s not good for the soul.
Of course, being dumped is a lot easier when the person isn’t your dad’s closest confidant.
It gets hard to breath. Each pound against concrete shakes the cassette player glued to your hip. There’s a sting of tears in your eyes.
Until you come to a screeching halt.
Double over.
Place your hands on your knees.
Dry heave.
You pay no mind to the figure sitting a few feet away on a bench.
Nor to the dog that’s chasing it’s ball back forth between it’s owner’s throws.
You let the sadness flood your soul, deflate you like some discarded party-balloon.
You’ll have to see him.
Spend time near him.
Watch him laugh, and smile, and share beers with your father.
It’s unfair, and you hate him for putting you through this.
For not quitting the force.
For being your dad’s friend.
For not wanting you the same you wanted him.
Want him.
You wipe your face with the back of your hand. Try to stand up straight, get lost in the knots you’d tied into your laces. Sloppy and uneven.
You’re usually more careful.
You catch, in your peripheral, the figure on the bench move. Take it as your sign to compose yourself, get over yourself.
You pick your pace back up.
Manage only a handful-or-two steps.
Your feet fly out in front of you.
Land ass-first on the gravel below.
Beneath the sounds of Olivia Newton-John demanding you get physical, you hear a muffled sorry! yelled out. Spot as the dog rushes to grab it’s ball, halfway down the path thanks to your kick.
You groan and prepare to get back on your feet.
You’re met with a hand in your face, palm open and waiting for you to accept the open offer. You take it, no hesitation.
Big mistake.
The hand tugs you.
You glance up.
And meet the eyes of Javier Peña.
“Easy, tiger,” he coughs up a laugh, like you don’t wind him as you slam into him, full-body force, nerves on fire and all systems shutting down. “You trying to break my ribs?”
It’s no less than you deserves, you think.
And instantly regret it, heart turning blue at the thought of him hurt at your hand.
You take a few steps back, create a safe distance where you can’t smell the remnants of his last cigarette or count the eyelashes that line his eyes.
He asks you how you’ve been, and tries his best to smile.
It comes off as awkward. A crooked line across his lips.
You try to remember the last time he smiled at you and meant it.
You come up empty handed.
Maybe it was back in April. A hospital hallway, one hand clasping yours, the other peeling through the leafs of some medical pamphlet.
Or, was it after, on the drive home, back to his apartment, hand still holding yours while the other spun the wheel?
There’s a vague memory that toils in the depth of your mind.
Sharing an elevator, your heels in his hand, his lips on your forehead.
Wedding attire, a post-party glow.
It’s toyed with you since you woke up in that hotel room, driven half-mad by an image you can’t quite form of him tucking you into bed.
Had he smiled, then?
Had he even been there?
Or was he merely a product of martinis and negronnis-
His fingers grasp your chin, no warning, and tilt your face.
His eyes don’t greet your own. Instead, they’re focused on the centre of your face, inspecting you like a piece of evidence.
“Hmm,” he’s so close, you smell the mint of freshly bitten gum on his breath. Dart your eyes down, catch the glint of his badge poking out his pocket.
He’s still on duty, a tailored uniform contrasting the hair roused by stress. Maybe at his desk, in the office next to your father’s, hands running through his tresses to express frustrations, tensions.
Were they his own hands, or someone with longer, brightly painted nails? Your stomach turns at the thought, your loins warm at the memory of writhing in his desk chair, legs thrown over his shoulders whilst his own dug into the ground below, eager to please mouth and a happy to taste tongue working you to a orgasm muffled by your own hand.
He’d slapped your ass, kissed your cheek and sent you out his office door, wiping your own wetness off your cheek just in time to greet your father.
“You suit the ring,” his voice and a gentle breeze bring you back to the present. To the park. To the heavy feeling that hangs between you both. “I prefer it to that stud.”
“I- What?” Confussion.
You furrow your brow, wipe your sweaty palms over your thighs.
He just smiles, still crookedly, and brings his hand up to your nose.
Adjusts your piercing, swipes his thumb over your cheek.
It’s hard to breath, but you do it anyway.
Thank him, in a struggle to find your voice, with a whisper.
His eyes bore into your own, chase them as you look off to the side, watch the dog still chasing it’s ball and failing to catch it.
You wonder if it’s a cruel metaphor sent by the universe, a symbol of you and Javi.
And then you wonder if you’re the dog or the ball.
Or both.
“You never answered me,” his voice, honey, sweet on your ears. It melts away your other senses, turns you blind to anything other than him. “I want to hear how you’ve be-”
“Peña, if you don’t report your skinny ass to my office in 5 minutes and share a celebratory drink with me, I’m putting you on cleaning duties at our next poker night.”
A static-filled voice blares out his walkie-talkie.
Your father’s voice.
It’s enough to set things right, force your body to retreat from his.
He’s not your Javi anymore, desperate to hear about your day and kiss any aches away.
He’s Peña, your dad’s best friend, meant for nothing more than to be a passing figure in your life.
His eyes are heavy with emotion as he fishes out the device.
Maybe it’s sadness you see.
There’s definitely remorse.
Guilt, too.
“We... Your dad caught the guy that’s been breaking into college girls’ apartments.” He tells you, shares information that should help you sleep better at night. You’ve not done that since the last time he lay next to you. You watch him press down on the call button, hold the speaker up to his mouth. “Do that and I’ll shit in your shower, pendejo (asshole).”
It wouldn’t be the first time he’d commit an indecency within your parent’s bathroom.
But none of that matter, anymore.
You’re already walking away.
Wringing your hands and hoping the tension in your limbs falls out.
He calls out your name, loudly.
Attracts the nosy eyes of people around.
People who know fine well who your father is, who Javier is.
You turn in time to see him half-jog, half-pace his way over to you.
He reaches out for your hand.
And quickly gives up on the thought of holding it.
“I’ll, um,” his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, grinds his teeth in an attempt to say something. “I’ll see you at the barbecue, right?”
He knows the answer.
You still give him it, “yes.”
Smile, uncomfortably brightly, before you turn and walk away once more.
You feel his eyes on you.
And pray he takes no notice of the sob that shakes your shoulders.
Broke me big time
It’s funny and I’m laughing baby
You think I’m alright
You’re laughing but it’s mostly fake.
A courtesy, a polite gesture. A signal that you’re still listening, despite tuning out her voice five minutes ago.
She’s a nice lady, someone who works alongside your father. Specialised in forensics, she balances the darkness of her job with the brightness of her wardrobe.
Today, she’s paired a lemon-yellow skirt with a vibrantly orange camisole. She looks like a walking cheese cube.
You’ve known her since you were a kid, even if you can’t remember. She claims you used to stand on her desk, make a big spectacle out of nearly matching your dad’s height.
You’d got to talking to her after she helped you wipe ketchup off your chin.
That was half an hour ago, and the discomfort of wanting to be anywhere but here is finally settling in.
It’s not her fault. You know.
She’s not the one who roped you into going to this barbecue.
Your dad is.
And right now he’s stood on the other side of his backyard, half-drunken beer bottle in one hand and Javier Peña’s shoulder clapped under the other.
Even from here, you can hear him bragging.
So then Peña’s on his ass.
Chases this guy, whilst he’s driving down the street!
Catches him at an intersection, physically rips him out the car.
All while the man in question shrugs, sheepish. Dismisses your father’s praising.
He’s exaggerating.
The guy was barely going 5 miles an hour!
He stepped out the vehicle at his own will.
Sweat lines his forehead, shirt-sleeves hug his biceps, joy wrinkles his eyes.
He’s happy, at ease. Enjoying himself, in a way he was always meant to.
Something about him fits so perfectly in this picture: laughing with your father, complimenting your mother, playing fetch with your dog.
If you step inside the frame, it cracks.
Shatters.
And maybe he knows that.
Knew it all along.
Broke things off before you could try find a frame large enough to fit you all in.
And, though it hurts, you see why things had to end between you and feel relieved it happened before it was too late.
The feeling lasts all but four seconds.
“Kiddo!”
Your father’s voice is obnoxiously loud. Several of the party-goers turn their heads, follow his line of sight. Spot you, frozen in place, glass full of watered down lemonade and a belly full of dread.
It takes a moment, but you wave.
“Come over ‘ere!”
Not the response you were hoping for.
Still, you do as he asks. Smile at your mother, shuffle your feet, make your way across the yard. Do everything in your power to not look at Javi.
Even if the weight of his stare threatens to crumble you.
“You having a good time?” Your dad’s got this smile, big and dopy and oh so caring, that you can’t bring yourself to ruin with the truth.
“I’m having a great time,” you barely manage out before he’s squeezing you into his side.
The condensation on his bottle of beer seeps through the shoulder of your top, his arm secured safely around you.
He must be tipsy already, a buzz in his veins making him more affectionate than normal.
“I can’t believe it,” he laments, speaking to no one in particular.
In your peripheral, you fail to ignore tight jeans and a loose-fitting shirt.
It’s hardly buttoned, the top three undone and leaving a golden plain on display.
Perhaps you’re going crazy but he seems thinner, skin drawn a little tighter against his ribcage.
It’s not a sight you want to see.
It fills you with dread.
Pulling you out of your own head, you father continues to drone on.
“My little girl’s spreading her wings soon, going on her first adult holiday to-”
“London.”
Javi’s voice, interrupting your father, finishing his sentence.
All eyes snap to him.
Your own, wide and panicked. Scared. Trying so hard to dismiss how intensely he’s staring back you.
Your mother’s, amused and curious. Flicking back and forth between his face and her husband’s.
Your father, confused and perplexed, “I- Yeah...” He speaks slow and the arm on your shoulder slips down. “How’d you know?”
“I’ve been, you know?” Two hands dance in front of you, somewhere in the dark, intwining and unwinding. It’s a nervous habit, of Javi’s. You welcome the contact of soothing touches. “To London.”
That peaks your interest.
Enough to shift positions. Rip your hand out his own, roll onto your side and rest a hand under your propped up head. Your other, inevitably, finds its way upon his warm chest, rests over his no-longer-racing heartbeat.
“Really?”
“Yeah. I’ve been a few times, actually. I’ve got some friends out there.”
With Javi, friends could mean anything.
A fellow agent, a government official, a moonlight lover.
For all you know, this friend could be the Queen of England.
So it’s best you don’t inquire on it.
“Where do you recommend I visit then, Mr. Bond?”
“Mr... Bond?”
The room is dark, but you still notice the furrow in his brow.
You can practically hear it, in his voice.
“You know, like James Bond.” That’s the thing about jokes, explaining them makes you realise how dumb they are. “‘Cause you were an agent and you like London, and he’s an agent in Lon-”
He cuts you off in the way you like best: his mouth against yours.
The kiss is brief, and leads no place further than the simple act of wanting to silence you.
And, though it goes unaddressed, because it’s been too long since he’d last done it.
Even if he’d done so less than an hour ago, naked bodies intertwined on ruffled bedsheets.
“That was the worst pun I’ve ever heard, corazón,” somehow, the words don’t bruise your ego.
Instead, they make you giggle and burrow your heated face into the crook of his neck.
His lips press against your hairline before speaking again.
“I’d need to write you a list of places to go, too many for me to pick one.”
“Maybe I need a tour guide,” a hand of his greets your back, strokes soothing motions back and forth. It’s lulling you to sleep, at last. “Y’know, show me all the places a real Londoner goes.”
“I could,” he pauses. Clears his throat. Pulls you a little tighter against him, till your limbs are tangled and it’s hard to tell where he stops and you start. “I could check my calendar. See how many holiday days I’ve got left. Could come with you, to London, if you want me there.”
It’s too late though.
You’re already snoring against his skin.
“How does he know?” Your mother shatters the silence, tone incredulous. “I mean, seriously, are you blind!?”
For a minute, it feels like she knows.
She knows why Javi knows.
You should be panicking.
Both of you should.
Should look away from one another, should wipe the guilt off your faces, should already be working on some excuse for when your mother exposes what once was between you.
But you aren’t. Neither of you are.
You’re just staring at each other, as if you’re working to commit each other’s face to memory.
“He knows because you won’t shut up about it!”
Your dad gives an unceremonious oh.
Your mom rolls her eyes.
Javi takes a sip of beer and looks off to the side, eyes breaking contact from your own at last.
“Ok but,” your father’s back to talking before you can fully work up the courage to leave. At least that’s the excuse you try give yourself, anything to distract from Javi. “I bet I’ve not told you what she’s decided to do on her travels!”
“You have,” your mother’s tone is pointed.
Javi laughs, sputters up a little beer back into the bottle. Tilts his head back, accepts his own backwash.
There’s a worn-out cigarette box squeezed tight inside the front pocket of his jeans.
You try ignore the fact he’d promised you he was working on quitting.
“Shh,” your father waves a hand in your mother’s face, dismisses her teasing with a playful wink.
Pulls her close, kisses her shoulder.
Gives both you and Javi a display of what a relationship is.
Open, celebrated, acknowledged.
Not secretive, dirty, scandalous.
Javi cuts the tension with a chuckle and a gentle shove to your father’s arm.
As his hand retreats back to his side, his knuckles brush your skin.
“She’s gonna get herself a christmas-tree decoration every holiday,” your father reveals. You’re frozen at the fact he even remembers you mentioning it. “What was it you said again, kiddo? So in the future, when you’re decorating the tree with your kids, you’ll think of the places you’ve been and tell them all about it?”
Your heart drops.
Javi’s seems to do the same.
For a moment, you worry he’s stopped breathing.
Till his chest rises and falls, no thanks to your father’s stupid rambling about you, and the future, and kids.
“Uh, yeah,” the ground can’t swallow you sooner. You’re already planning your exit, from this conversation and, hopefully, this party as a whole. Your dad’ll understand. You just need to tell him something came up. Or came out. Tell him you’ve got food poison. Blame it on some dodgy take-out the night before. “Something like that.”
But I’m actually bloody
Motherfucking batshit crazy
There are moments in one’s life where they must question their own sanity.
You’ve lived plenty of such moments.
But none quite like right now, half-crouched in the middle of a grocery store aisle, peeping into the next one through a gap between two cereal boxes on the shelf.
And all because you heard his voice.
“This is what you’re craving?” Through the crack, you see him wave about something in his hand. It’s hard to see what exactly he’s holding, though.
He’s facing a woman.
She’s pretty.
With dirty blonde hair, piercing blue eyes that not even the shelves and produce between you both can block the shine of.
And a well-rounded belly.
“No, Javi, this,” she doesn’t say his name the same way you do- did. There’s a jovial tone, but there’s no awe, no seduction. Maybe that’s just what your bias hears. “Is what the baby is craving.”
You’ve never seen her before.
Not on the mantel of photos that line Javier’s television. Not at any of the station thrown parties. Not in his wallet, tucked behind the picture of his mom.
She’s a total stranger, to you.
But that doesn’t mean she’s a stranger to him.
A very pregnant, non-stranger.
“We gotta get this kid some better taste.”
His hand rests on her bump.
She welcomes it, placing her own against it to hold him in place.
The image of the American dream, a beautiful woman and a handsome man. The promise of a child, soon, half her and half him.
The blood drains from your face. There’s a lump in your throat and a sting in your eyes.
You won’t let it fester.
Take deep breaths, pretend there’s no shake in your exhales.
It’s not enough to stop the vicious thoughts that sink their jagged ends into the soft tissues of your brain.
Was she the reason things between you and him ended?
Had he got her pregnant, decided to stand by her, and found love along the way?
Was he with her, all along, while he was with...
Surely, he couldn’t have.
But, then, why couldn’t he have?
You were never exclusive.
You were never anything.
“Did-” Somewhere, between the aisles, Javi speaks in amazement. The smile is practically dripping off his words. “Did it just kick?”
Your heart’s palpitating.
Your hands are sweating so badly, they threaten to drop the box of Cap'n Crunch in their grasp.
Jealousy turns to misplaced anger, irrational in every form but impossible to conform.
Because, how could he do this to you?
Make a mockery of you, turn you into the other woman?
Love you so deeply and leave you so easily?
Settle down with this woman and her baby, yet run from you at the first scare of a-
“He’s a real kicker, ain’t he?”
At first, you think it’s spoken to you.
But, no, it’s too distant. Too far.
A third person enters your view through the window in the shelf.
He’s handsome, in the typical sense.
Blonde haired, a nice smile.
There’s a little girl in his arms, resting on his hip, half asleep and clinging to a worn-out giraffe doll.
“He?” It’s Javi who echoes.
“Don’t get him started,” the woman seems to beg, rolling her eyes.
The man nods, pride on his face, “I’m telling ya, Peña, it’s gonna be a boy. It needs to be a boy, ‘else I’m gonna be overrun by little girls.”
The woman must give him a pointed look, or a gentle nudge, for not two seconds later he’s following his words up with a tickle to the sleepy girl’s side and “little girls who I love very much.” Pause. He leans closer to Javier, hand covering one side of his mouth as if to block the woman and the child from hearing him. “I still want a son, though.”
“Olivia,” the pregnant woman strokes a hand over the little girl's head, coxing her to keep her eyes open. It’s hard to tell if there’s a drool mark on the man’s shoulder. “Why don’t you show uncle Javi your favourite toy?”
The bile in your throat burns more than ever before.
The misplaced anger bleeds into sadness, shame, embarrassment.
Here you are, going stir-crazy over a man who never wanted much of you in the first place, raising your heart-rate at the thought of him moving on from something that never even existed.
And there he is, fine as can be- in every sense of the word-, sharing laughs and exchanging smiles with old friends in the grocery store.
Friends his own age.
Worlds apart, yet nothing but a shelf between you.
Through the gap, you watch him lean down to the little girl’s eye-level. A twinkle in his eye, he happily tugs at the stuffed giraffe’s tail.
“Glad you liked it, Olive,” curse him, and his soft voice, and his gentle touch and his everything, for still forcing you to swoon over him, knees weak and ovaries treacherously screaming. “I had to go all the way to Africa to find him.”
The little girl perks right up at that.
Eyes widened, head off her father’s shoulder.
“Really?!” She’s amazed, and how could she not be? Javier Peña is beaming at her, ear to ear.
“Mhmm,” he nods, feeds into his own lie, ignoring the disapproving looks from the other man. “If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll go back next year and get you a zebra.”
“Quit lying to my kid, Peña.”
Javi, undeterred from keeping the little girl’s smile, rolls his eyes and pokes his tongue out at her father, huffing under his breath “Your dad’s a right grump, Olive.”
You begin to wonder how long Javi’s known this couple, how he knows this couple.
“Just wait till you’ve got your own kid and I’m feeding it lies.” The man punctuates his empty threat with a dull punch to Javi’s forearm. Javi barely flinches, unfazed. “Speaking of, when are you making me uncle Steve?”
In sync and apart, you and him both physically freeze.
Your breathing stops.
Javier stands up straight. Rolls his shoulders, scratches at the back of his neck, clears his throat and, “not any time soon.”
“Really? What about that girl you’ve been seeing, the-”
“That- We- It didn’t work out, we wanted,” you begin to see cracks in his facade. Fake laugh, solemn eyes. “Different things... I want, wanted to settle down but, yeah, no it was for her best that we-”
“Sorry, can I just,” your heart jumps in your chest, flying back so quickly from your peep-hole that you nearly knock over the person behind you. “Grab one of those?”
You nod, gain composure, watch the stranger pick up a box of cereal off the shelf.
They walk away and you’re left alone, again.
Your eyes flicker up to the shelf and-
He’s no longer standing on the other side.
You turn on your heel, ignoring your half-filled cart and book it out of the store before you fall apart.
Try as you might, you can’t shake off the weight of his stare as you pass by the check-out.
I kept it in, but it wrecked my organs
So pour the gin and call Graham Norton
You wake up early.
You tell yourself it’s because you’re seizing the day.
Making the most out of your time upon foreign land.
The early bird gets the worm, and all that proverbial bullshit.
The truth lies in that you can not sleep.
Jetlag. Your body clock is at odds with the timezone.
Which lands you here: strolling upon the cobbled streets of Notting Hill.
A quarter past six.
Its barely light out, the sun still fighting to rise over the horizon and the streetlights still shadow your every step.
Colourful houses, cosy shops, a melodic thud each time your feet meet the ground.
It’s picturesque, straight out of a romantic comedy.
Yet, somehow, you’ve never felt more gloom.
In the silent bustle of a city awakening to a new day, you’re startled.
Trip over a cobble, nearly meet the floor, and just about save yourself from rolling your ankle.
Your ringtone is the culprit.
Loud, imposing. It scares a flock of birds off a wire and gains you a stare from a man stepping out his home.
Scrambling to get the clunky cellphone out your bag, you spare the screen a fleeting glance.
You question if it’s one of your friends, awakened back in your shared hotel room to find you’re not there, and press the green button.
“Corazón.”
It’s funny how one word can drain the blood from your face.
You swallow the lump in your throat, made of equal parts anger and sadness.
Anger that this is the first time you’ve heard Javier Peña’s voice in nearly two months.
Sadness that it sounds so broken down the line.
“I- Shit, I can’t tell if I’ve even dialled the right number...” He’s muttering in your ear, confused and at odds with himself, mouth a fountain his thoughts pour out of. “... Probably changed it or- Can she even receive calls all the way in-”
“I’m here,” it’s only a whisper.
It’s enough to shut him up.
Silence rings down the line, a static buzz that reminds you of the distance between you.
“You’re in London,” he states.
“I am,” you affirm.
He hums, sips something.
Ice clinks against glass, and you feel a little sick.
“How have-” His voice sounds strange. Muffled. Different. Maybe it’s the poor connection. “Was your flight okay?”
“Yeah,” you spare him the details.
The truth.
The boredom, the turbulence. The fact you’re dreading the flight home.
“I’m glad,” he sighs the words out, worry going with them. “Know you’re not the biggest fan of planes, kept thinking of you alone and afraid on it.”
“I wasn’t alone,” it’s defensive, and ironic.
You sure felt alone.
“That’s right, corazón, you weren’t,” something slips, rolls, smashes. Glass shatters and is met with cursing anger, an oh, shit! followed up by hollow laughter. “You’re never alone.”
“Are you...” The street’s a little brighter, a few cars have begun to back out of driveways and you’re still there, frozen in the middle of the street, phone pressed to your ear. “Drunk?”
“No, I’m javi.” If his laughter is anything to go by, he thinks himself the comic of the century. “Had a few drinks with your dad, sweetheart, that’s all.”
For a moment, it feels like you shouldn’t be here, in London.
You should be home, in Laredo, dragging a drunken Javi to bed.
Stripping him of his clothes, kissing his rosied cheeks, urging him to go to sleep. Leaving him a pair of painkillers and a glass of water for his breakfast before curling yourself into his soft arms.
You blink, and feel the familiar weight of a tear on your lashes.
“Why’d you call me, Javi?” It’s a desperate plea.
For answers, for clarity, for closure
“I wanted to hear your voice,” that’s too vague of an answer, too unfair of an answer. Your heart swells nonetheless. “Wanted to go to London, with you. I should be there.”
“It’s your fault,” that’s as cruel as you can bring yourself to be towards him.
Even then, it kills you to do so.
“’S half my fault. Joder (fuck),” you can picture him, leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. You wonder how much he’s drank, and if he spoke to any women. Maybe he took one home, fucked her nice and good before dialling your number. “Wanted to give you my answer, too.”
Someone bumps your shoulder on the street, walking past you.
You pay them no mind, vision blurred to the world around you.
“What answer?”
“Where you should visit, Mrs. Bond,” he says it, like it doesn’t send you into cardiac arrest.
You miss the nights like that one, tangled in your bed, smelling him on your sheets and feeling him against your skin.
He’d woken up first the next day, coaxed you out of bed with the promise of homemade pancakes and his head between your legs.
“There’s this little bar in Inslington, called the Distillery Club. The owner, he makes his own gin. You like gin, don’t you, corazón?” You nod, and it’s almost like he feels it. “It doesn’t look like much from the outside. Or the inside, either. But it’s some of the best gin I’ve ever had, in the greatest company.”
You try to picture him, sat amongst friends you’ve never met. Friends who don’t know your dad.
You try to picture yourself, next to him, scooting your bar stool closer to his.
The image doesn’t quite form.
“Want you to go there, get yourself a drink. Tell him Javier Peña sent you, and that you’ve not to pay.”
It’s like he’s given you a piece of his soul. A piece of his history, someplace he’s sought out refuge in his lowest moments.
Refuge he’s willing to share with you.
That tear finally gives way, dropping off your lash and rolling down your cheek.
You wipe it off with the sleeve of your sweater, before anyone can see.
“Promise me you’ll go, corazón.”
Your reply is instant, “I promise.”
“Ok, I’ll let you go,” it’s solemn, regretful, devoid of truth. You almost beg him not to, but that didn’t work last time. “Enjoy yourself, okay? Come home, safe.”
“Javi, I-” the line cuts off, disconnecting before you even finish. “Miss you.”
I’m gonna throw you down the river
Your mum can watch it over dinner
“How you feeling, kiddo?”
You startle awake at your father’s voice, eyes heavy with exhaustion.
Before you can give him an answer, you erupt into a fit of coughs.
“Not good,” he grimaces and slowly steps into your room. “Got it.”
Stepping off the plane, you’d managed only one night back in your own bed before the fever had taken over.
All it took was hearing your nasally voice over the phone for your mother to demand you come stay with them.
Just till you’re back on your feet, she’d said, like she ever needed an excuse to have you over.
She’s not quite adjusted to being an empty-nester.
Neither of them have, really.
“Actually,” your tone is matter-of-factly. “I almost smelt something earlier.”
“That’s great, kid!” And he means it, you know he does. Even if his shoulders slump at any sign of you feeling better and returning to your apartment. “Now we just gotta figure out if it’s your sinuses unclogging or your stench just growing more rancid.”
Try as you might to aim the pillow right at his head, he still manages to catch it inches from his face.
“Hey, I’m just saying! You’ve got the flu, you ain’t dying! Could be a little courteous to those who’ve gotta be around you and take a shower.”
“You’re literally in my room!”
“Which is literally in my house!”
Downstairs, your mother yells something unintelligible.
Likely, she’s telling you both to shut up and to quit behaving like children.
Making eye contact, you both can’t help the roll of laughter that comes out.
He steps a little closer, and that’s when you spot it.
Tupperware, clasped in his hand.
The contents are hard to decipher.
Luckily, your father spots you eyeing it.
“Your mom said ya wouldn’t be up for eating much but, if you’re hungry,” he pauses, at the foot of your bed. Tugs a little on the homemade-blanket you’ve had since you were in grade school. You wonder if he remembers making it with you. “One of the guys down at the station made you some stew.”
Your stomach growls, hungry and unfed.
The prospect of a hot, boiling bowl of brothy stew suddenly peaks your interest.
In fact, you can’t think of anything better.
“It’s a family recipe, he said it would cure ya right up.”
He’s popping the lid open, presenting the delicacy before your eyes.
Immediately, you spot chicken.
Some corn cob, a couple lumps of potato, flakes of chilli.
You wish you could smell it, ingest it through your nasal canal and get a taste of it before you even put it in your mouth.
Your father continues, practically talking to himself.
“What’d he say it was called again, ga-sue-lay day ah-vay?”
“Cazuela de ave.”
A change into warmer, drier clothes.
Your hair still sits wet upon your head, but it no longer drips puddles onto his floor.
Thirty minutes it took him to drive from where he’d spotted you, walking soaked upon the sidewalk.
It would’ve only taken him seventeen minutes if he’d dropped you at your apartment.
And that fact is partly what warms your insides.
You watch him, tie discarded and the top buttons of his shirt undone, strutting around his kitchen.
Objectively, you think, he’s gorgeous.
Yet the word somehow doesn’t seem like it’s enough to summarise him, when he’s making his way round to you, two ceramic bowls in his hands and a look of pride in his eyes.
He put his own bowl down first. Sloppy, uncaring, spilling a little of it’s contents over it’s edge.
And then yours. More careful, slowly, both hands guiding it down.
The scent alone is enough to have you salivating.
Warmth and care, all encased in a bowl of brothy goodness.
“It smells delicious,” you inhale deeply, for dramatic effect.
And to get more of that meaty, comfort-food goodness.
Javi sits on the opposite side of the dining table, and you try hard to stop your mind from wandering off to visions of you both sat like this, out in public, in a restaurant.
A real date.
Only, this isn’t even a fake date.
You guys don’t do that.
“It’s- It was my mom’s recipe.”
Frozen in place, you wonder if the shock spills over your face.
He’s never mentioned his mother.
Or much about his family, really.
There’s the occasional comment about projects he takes on at his dad’s ranch, and tid-bits of information you hear across a dinner table that's set by your mother and seated by your father.
But you’re no fool blind enough to not realise the obvious.
A worn-out polaroid in his wallet, his mother smiles brightly in permanent ink each time he opens it. It contrasts her impermanence in the real world, dead and gone long before you became so much as a ripple in the lake of Javier’s existence.
Across the table, he’s relaxed. At ease.
Open.
His eyes, his mind, his heart.
And so you try venturing inwards, test his waters with a dip of your toe.
“Was she a good cook?”
Lukewarm, they appear, when he favours you with a tiny smile, his eyes staring somewhere off in the distance.
“No,” and he laughs at his own admission.
Not just a scoffed out chuckle, or a gesture meant to feign joy.
A full, hearty laugh, that shakes his shoulders and splits his cheeks.
It’s disturbingly beautiful.
You wonder if there’s a life where it could be like this, always.
Javier laughing at his own jokes, you smiling at his visceral joy, plates of homemade food filling the space between you.
“No, she, uh,” he restarts, relaxing a little bit. He wipes under one of his eyes with the back of his palm, a rogue tear breaching his waterline. “She was awful. She burnt every slice of toast she made, and even served an unbaked cake at one of my birthday parties. This dish is actually one of the few she knew how to nail.”
You can picture it, a young Javi, party hat on his head and a cheesy grin topped by rosy cheeks, eating away at gooey batter mix sprinkled in icing.
It’s hard to imagine him complaining, or getting angry at her.
In spite of his reputation, and the career he’s undertaken, Javier Peña is a gentle soul, who nurtures and protects anyone he can.
A modern-day hero, a knight who’s exchanged his shinny armour for form fitting jeans and unbuttened shirts.
“Tell me more about her,” the words are out before you can reel them back in.
Because you like this feeling, and you like this Javi, reminiscing on his late-mother.
“She not only was awful at cooking, but she had the worst coordination too.” It’s like he’s been waiting to tell you this, with how easy he slips into doing so. “She was forever falling and tripping over herself. And her driving, god! Pops used to dig out his rosary each time she’d be out on the field, driving the tractor.”
There’s something intimate about him recalling details so many would see as flaws, whilst he sports the most earnest, heart-wrenching smile.
Like nothing about her was wrong, all of her perfect and angelic.
“She was brave, too. I’d like to think I’m just like her in that respect. She didn’t let anything stop her from doing things she set her heart on, and she never let her inabilities hinder her,” he’s getting a little emotional now, you can hear it in his voice, see it in the lump he swallows back. You stretch a hand across the table and watch as he leans on you for support, fingers interlocking with your own. “There was this one time when I was a kid, I was swimming in a river and got stuck in a current. She dived right in to save me... She didn’t even know how to swim!”
You don’t know what to say.
You opt for saying nothing, silence speaking more than a thousand words.
Give his hand a reassuring squeeze, feel him squeeze back harder.
Your stomach rumbles, but it doesn’t ruin the moment in the way you feared it would.
“Listen to me being a sap and starving my poor lady to death,” still, he tugs your hand closer and plants a kiss on your knuckles. You’re still trying to process the possessive adjective he’d used to address you. My. His. “Eat up.”
Both of you settle back in your seats.
You pick up your spoon, scoop up a piece of chicken out the steaming bowl and-
“Asi no, corazón (not like that, sweetheart),” he spews out, panicking to pry the cutlery out your hand. He ignores the questioning looks you give him. “You drink the soup first, eat the filling after. Like this.”
Leaning over the table, he scoops your bowl up in his careful hands and guides it up to your lips.
When your lips part and rest against the bowl’s edge, he tilts it and you feel it’s warmth invade your mouth.
And then your chest, branching out over your heart, your lungs, your stomach.
Horned-up bias you so often show towards Javier aside, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.
Like a hug on a gloomy, wet day, all wrapped up inside a ceramic bowl.
You hum, hands taking over his own to allow him back into his own seat, focusing his attention on drinking his own soup.
“Javi, this is...” You trail off, eyeing the small ring of liquid pooling at the bottom of the bowl. One more mouthful and you’ll get your taste of the stew’s fillings. “Amazing. Your mum would be proud.”
Instead of modesty, instead of 'thank yous', instead of bashfulness, Javier smiles, takes another sip from his bowl.
“She would have liked you.”
You stare across at him and find no jest in his eyes.
They’re as open as before.
“Really?”
“Mhmm. She always liked pretty girls smart enough to put me in my place.”
“Kiddo?”
You’re ripped out your own head by your father’s voice and his hand, waved repeatedly in front of your face.
“Hmm?”
“You okay there? I was talkin’ to you but you seemed lost in thought.” There’s a little excitement in you father’s voice as he presses his cold hand to your sweated forehead, the prospect of you still being ill, still needing taking care of, filling him with the relief of keeping you in your parents' home a little longer.
“I’m- Yeah, just tired, s’all.”
“Ok, let me know when you’ve finished your food,” he presses a kiss atop the crown of your head, and you hold back the pointless comment of not risking getting himself or your mother sick. “Need to get the tupperware clean ‘fore I give it back to Javi.”
Your stomach twists and longs for the meal before you, while your heart shatters into pieces you doubt will ever be repaired.
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Heyyy~ saw your requests were open and was lookin for some Damian Priest content! Definetly Judgement Day vibes, maybe he’s looking to recruit Y/N? I wanna read this and BLUSH, FLUSTER ME I DARE YA!
I DOUBLE DARE YA! 😂 ok thanks!!!
Thanks for helping me hammer out the title on this @auburnwrites!! Hope you enjoy what I came up with! 😀
Title: Love & Conquests
Pairing: Damian Priest X Reader
Summary: You work as a trainer for WWE. You notice competition between Damian Priest of the Judgement Day, and wannabe member, JD McDonagh, but you don't realize why. Till they both start hitting on you. Then you feel like a conquest and decide to shun them both. But will you grow feelings for Damian as he spends more time around you? And will JD take the hint that he never stood a chance? Or will his actions go too far, causing the Archer Of Infamy to unleash his pent up rage on him?
Disclaimers: I own nothing or anyone associated or affiliated with WWE. I own only the original characters. This is just a fictional story that came from my imagination.
Content/Trigger Warnings: Some violence toward men and women.
Note: I saw someone on Tumblr call JD a Funko Pop and I thought it was funny so I used it in this story. Sorry, not trying to be a thief or anything!
Love & Conquests
"Have you seen the new trainer," Dominik Mysterio asked Finn Balor, Damian Priest and JD McDonagh in the locker room Saturday night. "She is a looker, hermanos."
The group was all getting ready for the Fastlane pay-per-view that was to start any minute.
"Really," JD asked. "I'll have t' go check 'er out later."
"Dream on, Pipsqueak." Damian said, his base voice going even lower in pitch. "Keep your mind on business."
"Yeah, okay," JD said reluctantly, buttoning up his black dress shirt. "I'll take care o' business first."
"Why'd you have to go and get his mind off work, bro," Damian said to Dominik. "It's hard enough getting him to pull off a win around here. Why does Finn even want him in our faction?"
"Damian."
Damian looked up to find Adam Pearce standing in the doorway to the Judgement Day's locker room.
"Yeah?"
"I need you to go to the trainer and see how that knee is doing."
"It's fine," Damian replied, giving said knee a pat.
"I still want it checked out. I know you wouldn't tell me if it was still hurt."
Damian rolled his eyes and stood from the couch he'd been sitting on. "It's fine. I'm barely limping."
"But limping nonetheless," Adam shot back. "Go get it checked out or you're not cashing in tonight."
"Wait, what?"
Rhea stood up from the seat she had on the floor. "What do you mean? I thought you were waiting!"
"Chill, Rhea," Damian said, glaring at Adam. "It's not a for sure thing. I was just thinking about it. And if I do cash in, I want to do it on my own." He held up his hands when Finn and Rhea and Dom all three gave him a look. "Look, I just want to win it on my own merit. If y'all go out there and help me, I'm gonna be called a transitional champion. No. I have to do this on my own."
With that, he left the room, a slight limp in his gait.
He headed straight for the trainer's office ready to get this over with. Just as he stepped through the door he was greeted by a beautiful doctor.
}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{
You watched as a very tall, handsome Puerto Rican man entered your office. You felt your face flush, and hoped he didn't notice.
"Hi, Are you Damian Priest," you asked shyly, checking your appointments list.
Seemingly quiet, Damian only nodded as he stared at you.
The fact that he stared at you only made your face heat up even more.
Dang it.
"I'm Y/N. It's nice to meet you."
"It's nice to meet you, Y/N," he replied.
His voice was so deep and sexy!
He reached his hand out to you to shake and you gently took his hand, and shook. You couldn't help but notice how his hand swallowed yours whole.
"So, Adam Pearce said you'd be stopping by. Let's take a look at that knee." You said, motioning for him to sit down on the exam table.
You watched as Damian took his seat on the table. "Now, don't be nervous. We're just going to do a couple of exercises to make sure your knee is stable."
"That's fine. In fact, my knee is fine. I know it."
"I hope so," you said softly, taking a rubber mallet to test his reflexes with. Then you had him hold his leg out straight for thirty seconds to see the strength in his knee and leg. Then you had him stand to his feet and perform a few squats.
Then, you were feeling his knee to see if anything seemed out of place.
"Any pain at all when I do this?"
He shook his head and smiled at you. "The only time it hurts at all is when I walk on it. But the pain is negligible."
You nodded with a hum. "I see. Well, I can't find anything really wrong. I'd still advise you to not cash in your briefcase tonight, but if you do, just use caution."
"Thanks, Doc," Damian smiled at you and reached for your hand once more. You gave it to him and were surprised when he raised the back of your hand to his lips and kissed it.
"Oh," you couldn't stop the half-moaned word if you tried. Then you were flaming red again, you could feel it.
Flustered, you tugged your hand back gently and spoke "If… If you do cash in tonight. Stop by here afterward so I can recheck your knee."
Damian smiled again. "Sure thing, cariña. Thanks again, for checking me out," he said with a wink.
Your face would not stop burning this night.
Especially thanks to Mr. Priest.
}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{
"You weren't kidding, bro. That new trainer is a knockout. I think I'm in love," Damian said, chuckling. He punched Dominik lightly on the shoulder and grinned as if to say, "You know how to pick 'em!"
"I told you," Dominik responded, with a laugh.
"So are you going to ask her out?"
Rhea asked the question with her arms crossed across her chest. She was protective of her family and wanted to make sure the woman in question was good enough for her "terror twin".
"Of course! Maybe tonight after the show. She wanted me to stop by anyway if I was to cash in. So I figured I might stop by regardless."
"I may have t' stop by m'self," JD grinned. "I love a challenge."
"Excuse you!" Rhea scolded. "Did you not just hear Damian say he was going to ask her out? And women are not challenges, jackass."
"Hey, all's fair in love an' war, love."
"Don't call me love," Rhea spat back.
"You'd better back off," Damian growled, stepping toward JD. "The only reason you're here on the outskirts of the group is because you are Finn's friend. That's the only thing keeping you safe right now."
"Easy, lad," JD said, raising his hands defensively. "I just want t' see what all d'a fuss is about."
Damian took another step toward JD, threateningly. "Leave. Her. Alone."
"Alright. Alright, partner."
"I'm not your partner. And you're not part of the Judgement Day!"
A loud, piercing whistle whizzed through the air then.
Everyone stopped in their tracks and looked at Finn.
"Ever'body, just calm down!" He nearly shouted the words. "I'm gettin' tired of d'a mayhem! Can we all just get on d'a same page?"
Sighing, Finn left the room before anyone could answer him.
"He's right guys," Rhea said. "Get it together!"
She stormed out next.
Which meant Dom was running after her.
Which left JD and Damian.
Not wishing to piss Finn or Rhea off any worse, he simply left the room as well, knowing full well that if he stayed, he'd probably kill JD.
}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{
Damian was setting Cody up for JD to hit him with the Money In the Bank briefcase on top of the announce table. But JD screwed up yet once more and slammed the briefcase into Damian's sore knee. Damian instantly went down as his knee buckled and he held onto it.
In the next instant, however, Cody had lifted Damian up and performed a Cross Rhodes onto the announce table. Rhea was beside herself as Jey Uso maneuvered Finn into a double-team Cody Cutter. Jey rolled out of the ring and Cody covered Finn for the 1…2…3!
There were new Undisputed Tag Team Champions!
Rhea sat on the floor looking toward the rafters as if to say, "I can't believe this!"
Finally, after Jey and Cody celebrated in the ring, it was time to head backstage.
Finn and Dom helped Damian backstage and to the trainer.
JD trailed behind them apologizing up and down–only to Finn, not Damian.
}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{
You watched Damian's match on the little tv in your office and immediately after JD hit Damian with the briefcase, pulled his file from your drawer and prepared to see him in the next few minutes. You watched as Finn Balor and Dominik Mysterio helped Damian backstage with a shorter man–JD McDonagh if you remembered right–following behind looking to be very apologetic.
Minutes later, Damian headed into your office, a more noticeable limp this time, and waited for you to direct him.
"Have a seat," you told him, motioning to the exam table.
"You don't sound surprised to see me," Damian said to you, as he sat down.
"Well, I was… watchingyourmatchontheTV."
You flushed as you said the words as fast as you could.
"Checkin' me out again, huh?"
"Stop it," you smiled, as your face burned even more. "Now, let's take a look at that knee."
"Miss? Can I have y'r assistance please?" came an Irish voice from the hallway. The man that had trailed behind Finn and Damian on the ramp, stepped into the room holding his head.
"Yes, I'll help you in just a few moments," you replied. "If you'll have a seat in one of the chairs, I'm with a patient at the moment."
You heard Damian grumble under his breath as JD took a seat and waited.
"What are you even here for," he demanded. "I was the one who took a hard hit to the knee. Because of you!"
"Hey now," JD sounded defensive. "I took a hard hit t' d'a head. I need t' be checked f'r a concussion.
"Your big head could take a few hits!"
"Guys," you said, squatting down and gently rolling up Damian's pant leg so you could better see his knee. "I'm not equipped to break up a fight. So, please calm down."
"Don't worry, cariña. We're not going to get into a fight. In your office." Damian specified. "The hallway, now that's a different matter."
You frowned as you checked over Damian's knee. There was a bit of swelling, but as you examined it, you couldn't find anything wrong with it–other than the swelling.
"Ice it down tonight and put some heat on it tomorrow, and it should be fine," you said, with a sigh. "You guys need to be more careful."
"Tell that to Funko Pop over there," Damian said.
"Hey, it's not my fault I was given a big head."
There was an odd tone to JD's voice and you looked over at him, saw him smiling an almost perverted grin at you. There was unmistakably an innuendo in his choice of words.
Your face burned drastically, and you frowned again.
Damian seemed to notice and instantly tensed. "Keep the language PG in front of the lady, pendejo."
"Yes, please do," you commented uncomfortably. You went back to looking over Damian's knee and still could find nothing wrong.
"I think you're good, Damian," you said, rising to your feet. "Just ice it and then heat it like I said and rest it till the next show and it should be fine."
"Thanks, cariña. I appreciate it."
"You're welcome."
He got up and surprised you by taking a seat in one of your chairs. You gave him a puzzled look.
"I'm just staying here to make sure Funko behaves himself."
You grew even more uncomfortable. You felt as though they were competing for your attention. And that made you feel like a conquest. Right then, you decided to shun them both. You weren't going to be treated in such a way.
"Okay, have it your way," you said finally. You took out a pen light and tested JD's pupils against the light. They dilated perfectly. You performed other tests to check him for a concussion and there were absolutely no signs of a concussion at all.
"I think you're fine," you said, putting your pen light back in your pocket.
"I think you're pretty fine, too," JD flirted, his blue eyes went dark and he reached out, traced the cross necklace at your neck.
You stepped back, growing more and more uncomfortable.
"Stop it," Damian instantly said from his chair.
You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose. "Seriously, I think you are… okay, JD. There are no signs of a concussion."
"Okay, chill, darlin'. It's all good."
"JD. Leave. Ahora," Damian spoke up once again and stood to his feet. His eyes flashed fire.
"Alright, mate. I'm going."
Damian grabbed him by the collar of his dress shirt and escorted him out of the room himself. As he shoved JD out the door, he turned and looked at you. "Would you maybe like to get some drinks tonight? After the show?"
You looked over at him and gave a slight shake of your head. "I don't know what's going on with you two, but I'm not a conquest. And I won't be treated like one. So, no. I wouldn't like to go out for drinks."
With that, you slammed the door in Damian's face and went to work on filling out the medical reports on Damian and JD.
}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{
"Eres tan estúpido!"
Damian swatted JD on the back of his head and gave him a shove into the wall right next to Finn.
"I swear if you two don't stop it!" Rhea exclaimed. "What is going on now?"
"He screwed things up with me and Y/N," Damian spouted off. "He started hitting on her and made her think we were making her a conquest."
"Maybe you should stay out of Damian's business, JD," Finn said, "After all, he'd made it known his intentions to ask out Y/N."
"But, I wasn't asking her out, per say," JD protested. "I was only hitting on her a wee bit."
"You nearly touched her chest when you were checking out her necklace!" Damian growled, getting in JD's face. "I'd say you weren't hitting on her a "wee bit". You were nearly assaulting her!" He stepped closer, forcing JD to step back against the wall. "And now she thinks I'm a scumbag like you!"
With a roar of rage, Damian lifted JD off his feet by his throat and proceeded to choke the life out of him.
Finn, Rhea and Dom all three freaked out and began trying to get Damian to release JD. He only did when he was good and ready. Which was a full minute later. He finally set JD back on his feet.
"Now, go apologize to her. NOW!"
Nodding silently, JD left the hallway and went in search of Y/N, so he could apologize. And hopefully live after the fact.
}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{
You were filing the reports into the file cabinet when you heard a knock at the door. Striding to the door and opening it, you saw JD McDonagh standing on the other side.
"I just want to, uh, ap-apologize." JD started before you could close the door again. "I'm sorry for d'a way I acted."
He wouldn't even look you in the eye. Some apology.
"Thank you JD. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm quite busy."
"Would you want t' catch a late dinner lat'r? After d'a show?" He asked suddenly. Hope lighting up his bright blue eyes.
"I-I don't think so, JD. I've already eaten," you lied. Why you didn't just come out and say you weren't attracted to him, you didn't know. Probably to keep from hurting his feelings.
"Oh. Well, if Damian's a problem, we don't have to let him know, ya know?"
"It's not that. I just really don't feel up to another meal."
"Okay, I see," JD smiled softly. "We can go another night. Catch ya later!" He was off down the hall before you could object to going out with him another night.
Sighing in frustration you sat down at your desk and began working on the remaining reports for the night.
}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{
Weeks passed with JD continuously badgering you for a date. You always came up with a lame reason why you couldn't, but he wasn't taking no for an answer. He seemed adamant that the reason you weren't going out with him was because of Damian's temper.
Which couldn't be further from the truth.
Damian had been nothing but kind since the night that JD and Damian were at each other's throats.
He'd come by a while after JD had, and said he was sorry, himself–in detail–not just some flimsy apology. You'd noticed that he also looked you straight in the eye and took your hand–not in a sleazy way either–giving it a gentle squeeze.
He'd won you over in the past weeks, plain and simple. He'd been there in your office when a fight broke out between Jey Uso and Drew McIntyre. If Damian had not been there to put a stop to it, you didn't know what you would've done. You were slightly shaken up because you'd never been around a fight before. Especially so up close and personal. Damian had hugged you afterwards and made sure you were okay.
He'd been coming around your office more and more hanging out, and one night he asked you out again. This time for dinner after the show.
"Yeah, I'd like that," you said softly with a smile. You failed to mention that JD had asked you out earlier and you'd turned him down yet again. In fact, you'd not said anything about JD hitting on you at all. You didn't want to start a big row between the two.
So, later, the two of you went to a nice restaurant and had a sit-down meal so you could talk and get to know each other better. You were seated next to the restaurant's front window facing the street, and your menus were brought to you. Within minutes, you had both placed your orders and then were waiting on the food.
"So, how long have you been a trainer," Damian asked. "I heard you used to work for TNA."
"About twelve years. Yes, I worked at TNA from the time I graduated till about a month ago." You took a sip of water. "What about you? How long have you been doing this?"
"Almost nineteen years," Damian answered. "I debuted in Monster Factory Pro Wrestling and trained there for about ten years and then went on to ROH for a few years, and from there, I signed with WWE and started in NXT. I've been on the main roster for about two years and I am loving it."
"You're very good, I've seen your work here in WWE."
"Thank you. So, tell me about yourself. And how did you come to be a trainer for WWE?"
"There's not much to tell. I am single. I live alone in an apartment till I get ready to settle down and buy a house. I grew up an only child and got into athletics at a young age. Got a torn ACL playing baseball when I was fifteen and had to get out of sports due to the severity of the injury. But I had an amazing PT that helped me through the healing process, and I decided I wanted to get into the same line of work. I worked my butt off and did just that. And here I am."
Your food came then and you both decided to eat a few bites before continuing on with your conversation.
However, you didn't notice the car in the street drive by extremely slowly, a pair of blue eyes watching you both angrily…
}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{
"I had a great time with you tonight, Y/N," Damian said, walking you to your hotel door.
"I had a great time too," you replied, giving him a shy smile. "It was really nice getting to know you better."
Damian nodded, "Do you want to go out with me again?"
You nodded, a flush creeping up your face, "I do."
"Aaaand… would it be okay to kiss you goodnight?"
You giggled, you couldn't help it. He made you feel like a school girl all over again. "Yes."
He smiled and leaned downward, instantly catching your lips with his, giving you a firm but gentlemanly kiss. No tongue. That was interesting, you thought. Most guys just rammed their tongues down your throat, no questions asked. Damian was full of surprises.
"Goodnight, Y/N."
"Goodnight, Damian."
With that, he made sure you were safe in your room, before turning and going down the hall to his own room.
}i{}i{}i{}i{}i{
At the next show, the following night, you walked to your makeshift office and was surprised–though not deeply–to find JD standing at your door, waiting on you.
"Hi, JD… What can I do for you?"
His eyes seemed to go dark as he answered you, though he kept up a cheerful appearance. "You could let me take ya out t'night."
"I'm sorry, JD, but no." You said softly, reaching around him to unlock your office door. "I have plans tonight. I've just started seeing someone, and I don't want to discourage them by going out with someone else."
You unlocked the door and stepped into your office, but JD ddin't take the hint. He stepped into the office with you and slammed the door shut to your utter shock, and then locked the door.
"JD, get out." You said, trying to sound firm. "Unlock the door and leave."
"Let me guess, d'a mystery man is none other than Damien. Am I right? I saw ya together at d'a restaurant last night."
You tilted your chin up in defiance despite your growing trepidation. "That's none of your business. Now leave, before I scream for help."
Growing enraged, JD stepped forward and swept his hand along the surface of your desk, raking everything to the floor. Then he pounded his fist against the desk, hard. "I asked ya out too! You should be going out with me!"
"I didn't want to," your voice rose in your indignation. "You make my skin crawl!"
JD charged at you then and slapped you right across the cheek. Stunned, you fell across the desk and held your throbbing face in your hand.
"You're so in trouble now," he growled, unbuttoning his dress shirt from the collar, then undoing the wrist's buttons.
Not knowing exactly what he had planned, but not wanting to find out, you screamed, "Help me! Somebody HELLLLP!"
You knew that you were heard when the buzzing outside your door stopped. Suddenly there was a pounding at the door.
"Y/N? Cariña, open the door!"
You rose from the desk to make a mad dash for the door, when JD latched onto your hair. "LET ME GO!"
The door was being pummeled then. "Who's in d'ere wit' her?" You heard Finn Balor faintly from behind the door.
Then Damian, "JD. It has to be. The little…"
JD ignored the bustle outside the door and bent you backward over the desk. Immediately, his mouth was on your neck.
"STOP IT!" You cried loudly, and struggled against him. He yanked your head back by your bangs, severely arching your back, and bit into your neck. You screamed in pain and fought him even more.
The pounding at the door intensified as JD licked where he bit.
"NO!" You screamed and managed to claw JD's face. He let out a furious roar of pain as he punched you square in the jaw.
Your head bounced back from the blow just as the door busted open and Damian and the rest of the Judgeement day and some policemen came bustling into the room.
"I'LL KILL YOU!" Damian roared at JD, seeing the predicament you were in.
He lunged at JD and tackled him away from you, his face contorted in his rage.
The police stopped Damian before he could get more than a punch in, but a hard punch nonetheless.
You lay against the desk, scrambling to right yourself and fighting tears as the police handcuffed JD and prepared to drag him away from the scene.
Damian went to you, instantly pulling you into his strong embrace as JD was led away. Your legs weren't strong enough to hold you up and buckled. You fell in a dead faint as he caught you up in his arms, cradling you against his muscled chest. He immediately carried you over to the exam table and laid you on it, settling the pillow underneath your head.
"Despierta, cariña. Estás a salvo ahora." His long fingers traced the already formed bruising at your jaw, rose up to the welt forming on your cheek. He also took note of the bite mark on your neck. "I want to kill him."
"Rhea grabbed a bottle of water out of the mini fridge and handed it to Damian. Finn and Dom fumbled around the medical supplies looking for smelling salts. When they finally located them, they handed them over to Damian as well. He snapped them open and waved them frantically under your nose, willing you to awaken.
You jumped awake and before your eyes even opened, your first instinct was to fight. So you did. You swung your arms out and struck out at anything that was around you.
"Hey, easy now," came Damian's soft voice. His large, warm hands caught your wrists and gently held on. "Easy, baby. You're safe."
You sobbed and latched onto him, hooking your arms around his broad shoulders as he pulled you into a close, intimate hug.
"Shh-shh… You're okay. You're okay now."
"I-I was so scared!" You couldn't stop crying to save your life. You felt another hand rubbing your back comfortingly–probably Rhea.
"I know pequeña, I know. But you're safe now. I won't let him hurt you again. I swear it."
Hunter hurried through the door then. "I just heard about what happened…" His attention turned to you in Damian's arms. "Y/N, are you okay?"
You nodded slightly and snuggled closer into Damian's hold. His chin rested atop your head. "I'm okay now."
The police asked you so many questions your head spun but you managed to answer them all. Then you were finally free to leave and go back to your hotel room. Hunter had given you the rest of the night off–and the rest of the week if you needed it.
You went to move off the table, but Damian kept a hand on your arm to guide you. When you threatened to crumple again, he lifted you up and carried you out of the room, and all the way to his rental. Once he had you settled in the passenger's seat he turned back to the rest of the Judgement Day who'd followed him to his car. "Can one of you guys get my things out of the locker room and take them by my room? I'm staying with Y/N tonight."
Dom nodded in reply and said, "Sure, don't worry. I got this. You go take care of your girl."
With that, Damian got into the driver's seat and drove the two of you back to the hotel.
He carried you inside, and followed your directions as to where your room was. Minutes later, he was settling you on your large bed and was climbing in beside you.
"Is this okay, amor? Do you want me here, or do you want me to sleep on the sofa?"
"Here!" You cried, pulling him against you. "Don't leave me."
"I won't. I'll be right here. Just relax and get some sleep."
"I'm sorry."
"Whatever for, cariña?"
"He'd been hitting on me for weeks. I should have told someone–you. I kept putting him off but he kept asking me out. He wouldn't take no for an answer."
"It isn't your fault, sweetie. It was all him. He…has issues. But none of this was your fault."
"Thank you. For being here. For saving me. I don't know what would have happened if you'd not shown up when you did."
A tear spilled out of one of your eyes, and Damian wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. "I couldn't let him hurt you." He leaned forward, lightly kissing away your tears. "I could fall in love with you."
His lips trailed down with a feather lightness to your mouth. He captured your lips with his and applied a soft pressure. When you didn't protest, he pulled you even closer and kissed you more deeply, gently slipping his tongue past your lips and tasting your mouth fully. You moaned softly, and encouraged him to continue by curling your fingers into his muscled biceps. Finally, he pulled back, only to find that he couldn't get enough of your taste, and moved in for another kiss. And another. Another.
"I could fall in love with you too," you uttered softly between his kisses that travled down to your neck. He gently kissed the place that JD had bitten so roughly, a show of tenderness.
"He'll never touch you again. Ever."
You smiled softly and snuggled closer against him as sleep overcame you.
THE END
Translations:
"Cariña" ~ "Sweetheart"
"Eres tan estúpido!" ~ "You're so stupid!"
"Despierta, cariña. Estás a salvo ahora." ~ "Wake up, sweetheart. You're safe now."
"Pequeña" ~ "Little one"
If you want on my tag list, just ask! 😀
Tagging:
@oreillystolemyheart @lookalivesunshine-x @shortyiceheart @vebner37 @claymorexpunisher @kalliravenne @swamptrashwithasideofsass @beardedbarba @emisrose @sweetpea-1970 @sassymox @pikapuff-316 @heavymetalgirl420 @bigpsychicbagelauthor @darktammy @waywardwrestlewritingwaif @sultryfandoms @blondekel77 @demonqueen29 @amariemoore @letsgivethisonemoreshot @thelastemzy @springgirlwaiting4fall @vampirepixi @wwenhlimagines @louisianalady @swthrt890 @librathepheonix13 @justanerdwholikestoread @kiwiedge @ironshamelessyouth @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore @moonwolfdemonprincess21 @moxkindagirl @jstarr86 @oliviasinematic @southerngirl41 @claymoresofinfamy23
#Damian Priest#Damian Priest Imagine#Damian Priest X Reader#Damian Priest Fan fic#Damian Priest Fan Fiction
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FAQs!
I go by Ice, she/her pronouns 💕. In case you had any of these questions, here you go:
1. "Why'd you make this page?"
I want to make the creation space- fandom to professional- more inclusive for people that look like me.
It is very disheartening when you really like something, and you see that oh! It's going to include a Black character! And then you get that character and... They're subpar. Especially in comparison to the usually white characters that have so much thought put into them. You accept them because you REALLY want that rep, but... We deserve to wholeheartedly accept our characters too, no ehhs about it.
I wanted to challenge myself, using my amateur art skills and my teaching skills, to convey to creators how that makes us feel, and little things they can do to more intentionally create their Black characters. There's more to us than adding to a diversity quota.
2. "So you aren't even a professional?"
I got 27.5 years of being a Black person on my resume 🤣 jokes aside, I am a self teaching artist. It's only been about a year for me. My more specific goal here is to use my skills to convey a perspective change towards Blackness, not necessarily a "how to do". If you want to learn the specific how-to's of drawing Black characters, there are Black artists all over Tumblr and the web that can show you. I actively encourage you to go check them out and support them, it's a great way to learn as well as to support our community!
3. "But if you're not a professional, why should I trust you?"
Well, again, because I don't have to be a professional to recognize when supposedly Black characters... Don't look like me 😅. Or, in writing, don't have any thought about me behind them. I could show my 87 year old Grandma some art and she'd recognize the issues.
But also, I personally believe that if you start from the foundations thinking about intentionally creating your Black characters, it'll make it much easier for you moving into the future. I am holding my hand out as a Black peer to HELP YOU! There are professional video games and art pieces and projects out there with poorly designed Black characters. The concept clearly needs to be introduced to the people somewhere before a million dollar project is release 🤣 But I can't talk to the people at the AAA studios. I can talk to you!
4. "I don't think race matters/should matter."
Alas, it does, everything we do is affected by our beliefs unconsciously or not- but I'm not going to waste my time and argue with you. This blog isn't for you 🤷🏾♀️ this blog is for those who want to take that first step to be better, both as creators and as people. 👍🏾
5. "Do you support AI?"
Not in the arts. Learn how to draw and/or write, it's very fulfilling.
6. "Do you answer asks?"
I do! However, this is a lesson based page, more than an ask based page. If I think your ask can be answered by one of my lessons, I'll refer you to that lesson. If it's an ask that's relevant to something coming up, I will answer it, but you will find more detail in the lesson coming up! I'm only one person doing this, and I can't answer every singular scenario. Also, keep in mind, if you ask me my opinion on something, I will be fair, but honest!
7. Will you be turning on anons?
Okay: right now, we've earned Anon Office Hours Wednesday thru Friday 12:30-6:30pm EST!
Most of this is due to the nature of what I'm discussing. Historically, these topics (and how race is relevant) upset some people, and it can get unsafe. Personally, I have no intention of allowing racists, or those who will take my advice in bad faith, to hide their faces. If you want to hate me, speak with your chest 😤👍🏾
The other part is that it is not a bad thing to ask questions! I did create this blog to be a learning opportunity. So long as you are kind to me and send me asks in good faith, I will be kind to you and reply in good faith. I'm also pretty sure I have the option to answer privately, so if you don't want your question posted publicly, You can say that.
If I get more questions, I'll update this!
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I remember you mentioned having a Mihawk playlist, and the way you manage to find songs that perfectly fit the vibes of your fics and enhance the reading experience is one of the things I love about your writing
So I was wondering if you could share some of the songs on your playlist? Or even some songs that you associate with certain characters/tropes/scenarios?
I always love it when you send me asks, @sexc-snail.
I absolutely DO have a Mihawk playlist. I share the playlist construction with another creator on Tumblr who I love, cherish and adore: @sordidmusings. We add to it as we write, recommend songs as they come to us to help with words in works.
I could get into a long, long rant about music so I will add a page break here ❤. Lots of song recs to follow for the OPLA cast so far.
I am a violinist; have been playing for 25 years this year (I AM GETTING OLD, JEEPERS CREEPERS). Music is a great, passionate love affair for me and I adore learning about songs and pieces new and old. Here are some recommendations for songs and vibes I associate with the characters and the tropes.
I never add lyrics to my fics so the readers can visualize their own favourite melodies where they see fit, but I do have tunes in mind when I write them. The only fic I've really centralised a song about is the "You Should Be Sad" Mihawk fic I wrote a while back and the Koby series I'm writing.
Here are some song recommendations: all songs are Spotify linked. Enjoy a peek into my madness.
For the Characters
Luffy:
Long Way Home: Walk off the Earth, Lindsay Stirling
Following the Sun: SUPER-Hi, NEEKA
La Isla Bonita: Madonna
Zoro
Work Song: Hozier
Promise: Voyager
Cold Shot: Stevie Ray Vaughan
Sanji
Love Story: Indila
Know You Girls: Franz Ferdinand
Family Line: Conan Grey
Nami (She gets four, because she's amazing and I love her)
Runaway: Aurora
My Mother Told Me: NATI, Cullen Vance, Jonny Stewart
Outside: Ellie Golding, Calvin Harris
Queen of the Kings: Alessandra
Usopp
Mechanical Instinct: Aviators
The Higher Ground: Red Hot Chili Peppers
Eastside: Benny Blanco, Halsey, Khalid
Buggy
Be Your Shadow: The Wombats
Gasoline: Halsey
I Wanna Be Your Slave: Maneskin
Shanks:
The One that Got Away: The Civil Wars
Atlantis: Seafret
Barton Hollow: The Civil Wars
Mihawk
Seven Nation Army: Postmodern Jukebox
My Heart With You: The Rescues
The Snake: Lana Lubany
Koby (He also gets four, because he deserves only good things, and because Morgan Davies is Aussie like me)
Grieve No More: Patty Gurdy
Siuil A Run: Ella Roberts
Mad World: Jasmine Thompson
Again: Flyleaf
Helmeppo
Fighter: Christina Aguilera
Torn: Natalie Imbruglia
Elastic Heart: Sia
Garp
Sharp Dressed Man: ZZ Top
Under a Violet Moon: Blackmores Night
Billie Jean: The Civil Wars
For the Tropes
Unrequitted Love (My all time favourite thing)
Wrecking Ball: Beth
Can't Help Falling in Love: Tommee Profitt, Brooke
I Found: Amber Run
Comptine d'un autre ete l'apres-midi: Yann Tierson
Derniere Danse: Indila
Only in my Mind: Kenya Grace
Over and Over: Three Days Grace
Broken Pieces: Apocalyptica Lacey
Too Close: Alex Clare
Stupid Heart: Sorana
Enemies to Lovers
FMLYHM: Sether
Closer: NIN
Hella Good: No Doubt
Play With Fire: Sam Tinnesz, Yacht Money
Why'd You Only Ever Call Me When You're High: Arctic Monkeys
For when they give into their feelings:
Surrender: Natalie Taylor
As the World Caves In: Sarah Cothran
Freeze You Out: Marina Kaye
Say Yes To Heaven: Lana Del Rey
For when they give up but feelings are still there
Lose you to love me: Selena Gomez
Liar: Camilla Cabello
Darkside: Alan Walker
Say My Name: David Guetta, Bebe Rexha, J Balvin
Only Love Can Hurt Like This: Paloma Faith
I See Red: Everybody Loves an Outlaw
If you made it this far, thank you. This was a labour of love. Happy listening ❤
#one piece#opla#opla fic#one piece live action#x reader#buggy#shanks#koby#Luffy#Zoro#Sanji#Nami#Usopp#Helmeppo#Garp#mihawk#opla song recs#opla music#one piece music recs#fic recs#fic writers#music fic#music#spotify
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tumblr decided to be a little bitch and make me unfollow you?? the only reason why im wriitng this is because my social anxiety would die if i just showed up following again without an explanation :3
D'8 why'd it do such a thing
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So I had a dream a few weeks ago and I thought you good omens Tumblr people would want to hear about it.
What was this dream, I hear absolutely none of you cry?
Good Omens Season Three of course!
It begins with Crowley, with his hair just above the shoulders and wavy, very similar to the 2000s Crowley hair. He's in his house, wearing sunglasses and dressed in his final fifteen outfit. Somehow my dream self knew that this was a month or two after the final fifteen. Crowley is lounging in his chair, looking depressed, with a glass of wine balanced on the arm somehow.
Then, we cut to Heaven. Aziraphale is sitting at the desk that Michael is seen at in S2, with stacks of paperwork on the desk. He's smiling, but tears are pooling in his eyes. The Metatron comes over and says something that I can't remember, to which Aziraphale says "yes of course" in his polite way with a smile. He shuffles the papers and then gets up and walks away, the Metatron looking on with an expression that I can only describe as villainous.
Then, we cut to... Hastur? Who is narrating? Subconscious brain, what are you doing? He stares straight at me (which is basically like staring at the camera) and monologues, which boils down to
"Our great heroes are separated, grieving the loss of each other when neither are dead" (sarcastically)
"Well," *chuckles* "neither are dead yet."
Cut back to Crowley. He's angry, tears streaming from underneath his glasses. He throws his wine glass at the wall before collapsing on the floor. Looking up at the ceiling, he speaks to someone above, we all know who.
"Why did you go? Why'd you have to go and leave me you adorable little bastard. You left me, I needed you! I still... I still need you. Come back. Please come back." Or something similar to that. His voice breaks and he just lies there crying.
Up in Heaven, Aziraphale can't hear him but something upsets him. He buries his head in his arms, crying.
Then, back to Crowley's flat, but this time he's not alone. Hastur, Dagon, Shax and Eric burst in through the wall, grab him and drag him out of the door whilst he's screaming and cursing at them.
Cut to Hell, in the room that Beelzebub teleported Crowley to in S2. Crowley's on a black throne, but he's chained down and his head is forced into a bowed position. The four aforementioned demons stand before him, cackling. One of them holds a sword to his throat.
Cut back to Heaven, and Uriel comes over to Aziraphale and says that they've been sent a message from Hell. The message is a live video call, showing the previous scene. Aziraphale gasps, suddenly going from mildly confused to purely terrified. His eyes flood with tears and he appears paralysed, standing stock still and eyes glued to the image before him.
The demons laugh and hiss, before burying the sword in Crowley's shoulder. It glows brightly and Crowley screams in pain. A bucket is seen next to them, and I somehow know that Aziraphale is certain that it's full of holy water. Aziraphale seems to break out of his daze, stutters a bit then says, to nobody in particular
"I'll just be two ticks"
The demons are visibly confused, as is Uriel. None of them really know what to make of this. Then, still on the video, Crowley starts to shake, and is suddenly not chained. He collapses and rolls off the chair. One of the demons shove him onto his back, where we see that Crowley is... Laughing???
"Oh, we're all seriously fucked. That's his 'I'm going to pretend that everything is fine then turn into an absolute raging maniac' voice."
He then starts laughing even harder. The demons exchange worried glances. Has he gone off his rocker?
One of the demons is getting seriously pissed off by the laughing, and stabs Crowley in the other shoulder. But this time, he doesn't scream, he just keeps on laughing.
Suddenly, the room rumbles and an extremely pissed, immaculately dressed Aziraphale appears, wielding his flaming sword. His eyes are glowing the purple of Arch-Angelic power. With two strokes of his sword, Eric discorporates and the sword pointed at Crowley is knocked away. Aziraphale stands over Crowley's bleeding form and growls in the same tone as in the bookshop
"Stay back."
He waves his hand over Crowley's body, and a shield of light splits him off from everyone. Somehow my dream self knows that Aziraphale isn't only protecting Crowley from the demons, he's protecting Crowley from him. With that, Aziraphale thrusts his sword deeply into the ground, the room shaking violently and filling with pure angelic light. When it fades, Aziraphale is covered in soot and bears several burns, and is carrying Crowley through the light, up and up back to
The bookshop.
Crowley looks up at Aziraphale in a bit of a daze, and weakly says
"Did you... Stop to change before charging down to hell?"
"I wanted to be dressed appropriately! It's not every day one fights off demons in their home territory." Aziraphale sounds defensive, but also worried.
"You idiot angel." Crowley smiles at him affectionately.
"Yes, he very much is."
DUN DUN DUN!
The Metatron appears in the bookshop, an expression of fury on his face.
"I gave you power, I gave you status, I gave you a name for yourself. But still, you throw away all this for some, failed angel who couldn't even be a demon right! I won't have it!"
The Metatron snaps his fingers, white light flooding the bookshop and Crowley cries out in alarm. The husbands grip each other tightly, refusing to let even the Metatron's power separate them.
My dream ends with Hastur's laughter, as the two wake up in Heaven, still clutching each other.
#good omens#good omens season 2#good omens season two#good omens season three#weird dreams#even my subconscious is obsessed#dear lord#aziraphale#crowley#david tennant#michael sheen#my dreams are really strange#the good omens#it is too powerful
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