#I don’t think there's more you can do self
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rottenfyre · 2 days ago
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⸻ ɪ ɴ ᴛ ʜ ᴇ ᴅ ᴀ ʀ ᴋ ⸻
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Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Fem Reader
Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?
Note: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!
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Bruce Wayne is a man shaped by tragedy, a billionaire with an iron will and an unrelenting sense of justice. But beneath the stoic façade lies a broken soul. When Bruce becomes obsessed, it isn’t violent outbursts or chaotic behavior—it’s cold, calculated, and methodical. He doesn’t lose himself to obsession; he leans into it, weaponizing his resources and intelligence to keep you close. After all, what is Batman if not a man who cannot let go?
Maybe you’re someone he met at a gala—a rare individual who caught his attention without trying. Maybe you’re an employee at Wayne Enterprises, someone who treated him like a person rather than the playboy billionaire. Or maybe you stumbled into Gotham’s darker corners, and he saved you as Batman. Whatever the case, Bruce finds himself drawn to you in a way he hasn’t been to anyone else in years.
At first, he tells himself it’s curiosity. You’re intriguing, sure, but nothing more. Yet he can’t stop thinking about you. Every word you said, every look you gave him, replays in his mind like a song stuck on repeat. And Bruce, has to understand why.
Bruce doesn’t approach you immediately; instead, he observes. He justifies it as caution. After all, he’s Batman—he needs to know everything about you to protect you.
He learns everything there is to know: your name, your routines, your friends, your secrets. He watches you through security cameras, listens to your conversations through bugs he discreetly plants, and even monitors your online activity.
But to Bruce, this isn’t invasive—it’s necessary. How else can he ensure your safety in a city as dangerous as Gotham?
As Bruce Wayne, he’s charming, attentive, and subtly magnetic. He uses his wealth and influence to insert himself into your life. Invitations to exclusive events? Job offers at Wayne Enterprises? He makes it impossible for you to say no without coming across as ungrateful.
As Batman, he’s your silent protector, always one step ahead. If you’re ever in trouble, he’s there—appearing out of the shadows to save you. He doesn’t speak much when he’s Batman, but the way his gaze lingers on you feels almost suffocating.
You’d never suspect that the billionaire who’s so eager to help you and the vigilante who seems to always be around are one and the same.
Bruce’s obsession manifests in his need for control. He doesn’t see himself as possessive—he sees himself as protective. You don’t need to worry about toxic friends, late-night walks, or bad decisions because Bruce will take care of everything.
If someone gets too close to you, Bruce doesn’t lose his temper. Instead, he uses his resources to quietly remove them from your life. A coworker who flirts too much? Suddenly transferred. A friend who badmouths Bruce? Their secrets mysteriously come to light.
“It’s for your own good,” he tells himself. After all, Bruce believes he knows what’s best for you better than you do.
Bruce is painfully self-aware. He knows his feelings for you aren’t healthy, and he hates himself for it. But his guilt doesn’t stop him; it fuels him. He rationalizes his actions by convincing himself that you’re safer with him watching over you.
“I’ve already lost so much,” he whispers to himself late at night in the Batcave, your face flickering on the monitor in front of him. “I can’t lose her too.”
In his mind, his obsession is just another sacrifice he makes for the people he loves. He can bear the weight of being a monster as long as it means keeping you safe.
Bruce rarely shows his jealousy outright—it’s subtle, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. If you mention another man, his jaw tightens imperceptibly. If someone touches you, his eyes darken, and his hand lingers a little too long on your shoulder as he pulls you away.
Behind the scenes, though, he’s ruthless. The man who asked for your number? He’ll find himself the target of a police investigation. That friend who keeps trying to set you up on dates? Suddenly, they’re avoiding you without explanation.
“I’m just looking out for you,” he says when you start to notice how people in your life seem to vanish. “Gotham is dangerous. You can never be too careful.”
Bruce’s obsession remains controlled until you try to distance yourself. Maybe you’ve started to feel smothered, or maybe you’ve realized that the people disappearing from your life aren’t coincidences. When you confront him—whether as Bruce or Batman—he’s calm, almost unnervingly so.
“I only want what’s best for you,” he says, his voice steady. “Do you have any idea how much danger you’re in without me?”
If you try to leave, that calm facade shatters. He won’t hurt you—never you—but he’ll do everything in his power to make sure you stay. He’ll cut off your options, isolate you, and remind you that no one else can protect you the way he can.
“You think you’re safer without me?” he says, his voice laced with desperation and anger. “You’re wrong. Gotham will chew you up and spit you out. I’m the only thing standing between you and harm.”
Despite his obsession, Bruce’s love for you is genuine in its own twisted way. He wants you to be happy, even if he doesn’t understand that his actions are suffocating you.
There are moments when the mask slips—when Bruce is just a broken man trying to hold onto the one good thing in his life. Late at night, he’ll hold you close, his voice trembling as he whispers, “You’re everything to me. I can’t lose you. Not after everything I’ve already lost.”
In those moments, it’s hard to tell where Bruce Wayne ends and Batman begins. To him, they’re both the same—a man who would do anything to protect the one person he can’t live without.
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@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ.
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secretress · 3 days ago
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❝𝐏𝐀𝐂: 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞.❞
Where is your future lover from? (Detailed)
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Masterlist.
Authors note,
I finally fixed my links (starting here and with my masterlist), now you can press on them instead of clicking on my profile.
Moodboard. Divider.
Pile I.
Trigger warning: faintest mention of self-harm.
France, Indonesia, Canada, China, Afghanistan, San Marino, Norway, Some of you have someone who is on a cruise/overseas (may be a fisherman, work with the ocean, ocean is key), Sudan, and French Guiana.
You already know where and who your future person is. I, originally, was going to use tarot to figure it out, until I saw 4:44 on the clock, and it hit me, as it will do the same with you. Since you already know where they are, your mind has been running with ideas on what to do about it. Some of you like to travel a lot and want to find them since you are intuitive as it is. And the rest of you want them to come to you like a knight saving their princess. One word of advice for everyone here: allow your heart and intuition to decide for you. I know that listening to your logical mind is better and it can protect you, and sometimes where they are from and finding them can be exciting, but at the same time, with your current energy, it will not help nor happen for you. Right now, your main focus should be working on yourself, healing, and connecting with your flaws. I know that you have healed a lot, and I am so proud of you for that, but you need to connect with your flaws. Not everyone is perfect, not everyone will have the best or good qualities, and that is okay. Not everyone will always be perfect and only have a few of their qualities; sometimes they will have their flaws, and that is how they will act for that day. And that is okay. Everyone has flaws, and everyone has good qualities to them, and that is what makes them human.
A lot of you have been focusing on what is good and what is bad; try to focus on what you want your morals to be instead. A lot of you don’t believe in what society says about morality and how they pressure the world to focus on their ideology, but because of this, you started to feel guilty for it. Don’t. You are allowed to have your own morals and your own ideas on what is right and what is wrong, or in this case, what works best for you. That is the beauty of having your own mindset and not following the crowd, and that is another thing that makes you beautiful. Because I find you and your energy beautiful, and you need to start to believe that. You need to start to fall in love with yourself and learn to appreciate all parts of you. Some of you feel nervous about the flaws you have, and that is okay. But, at the same time, if you don't show appreciation to them, then you will start to feel scared around who you are. You cannot allow your future person to fill the void you feel. You have to do that for yourself first. Because if you don't, you will lose yourself throughout the relationship and become a people pleaser like you did in your younger days.
A lot of you desire for me to speak more about your future person, but there is nothing that I can channel, nor would tarot give me anything. The problem is your current energy. You need to stop chasing ways to find them and start to chase yourself back and accept all of you. I keep thinking of a mile run; some students will work hard to become the best, and some will cheer the slower ones so they can make it at the end. You are in between these two types of people. I know that you have healed, and again, very proud of you, but you honestly need to get a grip and start to cheer for yourself and your flaws. Fall in love with yourself again, you are deserving of that. I do not care what you have done in the past, everyone has forgiven you, so why can’t you? What makes it so worthy to sabotage your happiness for your past mistakes? What is done is done, and you know that, so why indulge further? Make yourself happy so you can be that princess and allow your knight to come your way. Because your future lover is supposed to come to you, not the other way around. Stop taking care of others, respect your younger self for healing your people pleasing ways, and get a grip back into the path you desire. It is your time for your happiness because you deserve that.
I know that sometimes you seek others’ validations or need for comfort, so take it from me. I read people’s energy, and your energy is fine. You’re okay, you deserve happiness, and I am telling you to go seek it. It is time for you to appreciate yourself instead of allowing yourself to be a widower to your past. Stop letting others hurt you and make you believe your flaws are disgusting when they are not. Who are they to say something about who you are when they do not know anything about you? Sure, you can say I don’t know anything about you, and that is true, but yet again, I am reading your energy, so I have the gist here. Do not allow your insecure thoughts to eat you alive again. Our insecurities can always shift into something positive, and you deserve that happiness, and when you do meet your future person, they will show you the same. But please, do not wait for them to arrive to feel their touch, do it for yourself. Take care of yourself, pamper yourself, appreciate yourself, put yourself on a pedestal, and no, that is not wrong. It is not selfish. Those who say it is selfish are the people who do not know how to respect themselves, they do not. They may have grown up in an environment where it was frowned upon, but yet again, it is a lack of respect. So, do not do that to yourself, understood? Some of you think you have selfish tendencies, and yes, you do, however, it is something that can be switched to gratitude. You need to show more gratitude for those who can be a little more selfish; those who aren’t and others say that you are, stop allowing them to make you feel that way and start to become more selfish. Being selfish is not a bad thing, excessive amounts are the problem. So balance it out with gratitude and self-love for yourself. Please show yourself compassion when things become harder and stress arises. Stop nitpicking everything you do, stop going back into picking your skin, chewing something that damages your teeth, and/or picking your nose with sharp nails (it can cause scabs in your nose damaging your inner lining meaning bacteria has a better chance of entering and thus bacterial infections). Stop the self-harm too, you do not deserve that. Okay? You deserve happiness.
Masterlist.
Pile II.
Greenland and Mauritius (drawn to it two times), Ireland, Some of your future person lives on a boat so their locations differentiates, Russia.
Your future spouse’s energy is so beautiful. I instantly kept saying, “wow, wow, okay, wow, wow.” Your future spouse's energy keeps shifting, meaning they like to travel a lot, but at the same time, people are drawn to them like a magnet. Their energy is very strong. It reminds me of taking shots and getting dizzy after one. So strong, wow.
A lot of you are trying to figure out if someone in your friends’ circle is your future spouse. From the readings you have read, the signs you have seen or wanted, the way the people speak to you, and the way you feel about them have made it harder for you to pinpoint or locate who they are. It is no one in your circle, but someone in your circle knows your future spouse online. And they will introduce you to them in the near future. My intuition says, “you are not ready to meet them. You need to let go of being the investigator and stop reading pacs. Give up on them and take a break for the sake of your mind and peace. It’s time for you to let go and have fun before you are introduced to them and fall for them on the sight of their words addressed to you.” They are such a romantic with you, with others, they are like, ‘’meh, whatever. Okay, and?” But with you, it is like let me just find the most perfect, stunning, angelic … (more lovely words) rings for the most perfect person in the world; you are my world, my life, my presence .. and so forth. Very lovey dovey with you, you make them so soft. At first it was gross and weird to have this switch of who they were, but then you started to make them realize how nice it was to feel something more. You are their safe haven, and the same can be said about them for you.
I see a pretty garden, filled with nice roses and pink roses, some dandelions, and dragonflies surrounding the both of you. You have an outfit similar to Alice in Alice in Wonderland, and they have an outfit similar to the White Queen. It’s such a warm and bright atmosphere that you can get lost in it and fall into a rabbit hole. The same can be said about who you both are and how your energy will melt perfectly with one another. So drawn to one another that no one can separate you both away from one another. Your adventurous and childlike wonder personality is what grabs your future lover’s attention and spins their world into the story itself. In short, your relationship will be magical but overwhelming with their parents and yours. There is going to be clashing. A lot of communication will mend it but not heal the relationship. Do not pour yourself into fixing it, focus on you and them.
Masterlist.
Pile III.
Trigger warning: faintest mention of rape.
Mongolia, Panama, Burundi, Northern Mariana Islands, China, Canada, Russia, and Kazakhstan.
Your future spouse grew up and is still living in a close bonded village or community. Their mindset is closed, very closed, hence why the energies you have read differ from one another.
II of Swords and X of Swords.
I need you to listen to me very carefully. Although this is a future lover or spouse reading, your lover is not someone you are supposed to be with. Their energy is so.. so very overwhelming, complex, and so damn off putting. I can’t even read it.. it is that bad. I have no idea if you are speaking with them on a dating app, met them and had a “lovely” date with them, if they are your ex, or even dating you, but leave or do not engage with them. I will describe them. I wish I could give you a cute reading about who they are, but their energy is so blank—so empty, shadow like, and so very much draining you.
This person blends into the crowds and projects themselves as a kind and lovely person who went through so much trauma. This person has told you, or will tell you (future energies appeared), that these people were awful, and these people made them feel small, but they were able to heal, or at least tried to feel better about themselves. (Red flags are waving in my mind), they like to talk about France or are associated with France (born there, love the food, know the culture, etc.). They will subtly mention how perfect you are but secretly hide their disgust for you. You may have noticed it and brushed it aside from how exhausted you have been lately. I would not say you have been gaslighting yourself; you could be, but something along the lines of ignoring it or acting ‘oblivious’ because you want something good to finally happen to you. They like to bounce around each topic, never fully explaining what they are saying but ‘appearing’ intelligent because they bullshit their words. Some of you have noticed it and have called them out on it, but they either love bomb you and you let it go, or they manipulate you and you believe their lies or will (future energies only). They believe you are easy to trick, and they are right. You are easily swayed to someone’s side because of how open-minded you are; you need to start to limit that and focus on your ideals.
They love, and I mean love, being perverse around you. They always act as if they are modest and clean, that they have innocent and pure thoughts, but they do not. Very disgusting mindset, it reminds me of those who think it is okay to rape others. Yuck.
With the X of Swords (ten of swords), they.. (sigh, I am so sorry for you, truly. I hope one day you can finally heal and find the right person for you). They prefer to put you down and make themselves feel better about themselves. Usually, people who are insecure do that, yet they are not. They see themselves as this perfect being who deserves the best, and everyone deserves filth for being around their existence. Very high unhealthy self-esteem and very close tendencies to being a sociopath. I am not sure if they are diagnosed or not, but they do or would have pride for that, for being a psychopath or a sociopath.
You got two sword cards, and when it comes to the more depressive or weaker genre, this symbolizes abuse, lack of empathy or care, and being harsh. This may explain this person’s inner thoughts and how they interact with others, yet on a surface level they act like the better parts of what the swords symbolize: being creative, being brave and taking charge, learning to communicate or perfecting it, and being overall intelligent with a touch of care. I believe now you know who this person is, and the fear that surrounds your heart is making you overwhelmed because you put so much into this relationship only to find out that it was a lie.  I believe it is time for you to let them go and let go of everything about who they are and what they did for you. In reality, it was for them so they could have you wrapped around their finger, and unfortunately, you gave them easy access. Block them, cut contact with them, simply get rid of them, and bring back your peace.
Intuition told me that you need two oracle cards, and I will explain it for you. The first one you got was ‘’dna.’’ It states, ‘’you are predisposed to follow the karmic dictates of your ancestral patterning to some extent, yet as you evolve in your consciousness and expand the light of awareness, you can make choices that shift and modify this ancestral design.’’ Meaning, you have to follow along what your beliefs were all along, stop allowing others to sway you and follow their beliefs, their morals, and their tradition. Though it is good to have an open mind, an open mind with a huge heart, and being naive is what makes you fall down; it is your downfall, and it will be hard to build back the same place you fell from. You can ever truly go back to that, but you can always rebuild it and make a place that is better for you, but at the same time, a safer and calmer place for you to rest when things become tough. The next and last card channeled is ‘’iceberg.’’ It states, ‘’whatever you suppress or deny and attempt to keep out of conscious awareness will show up somewhere and somehow.  These are your shadow aspects.  Now is the time to allow these elements to surface and embrace them.’’ It means exactly what I have been saying to you. Learn to appreciate your open mindset, but learn to push away being so naive that you fall into that spiral I previously spoke of. Learn to appreciate that you care, that you want good things coming your way, and that you know and understand that you deserve good things, but push away those who do not mean well to you. They will sink you like how the Titanic sank with the iceberg. And that is something you simply do not deserve.
Masterlist.
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letorip · 3 days ago
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aline
“et j'ai crié, crié "aline!" pour qu'elle revienne, et j'ai pleuré, pleuré, oh j'avais trop de peine”
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pairing: wednesday addams x reader
summary: sometimes you’d talk about dying to wednesday, though it was something an addams couldn’t ever really fear. that was, until the person being lost was you.
warnings: erm you die lol, major character death, wednesday being sad, mentions of blood, self sacrifice, maybe a little contrived way to die but too bad
word count: 1.6k
A/N: i promise im okay but this was truly an interesting plot line to follow, and i couldn’t bear not writing it down. if it made you sad, don’t worry, because i have more fluffy stuff on the way. it was something short i had considered doing for a long time, so even if this flops i'm completely happy with how it came out.
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"Wednesday?" you asked, eyes on the wooden ceiling of her room. From the way her head rests against the warm plane of your chest, she can feel the smooth skin move as you say her name, heart right under her ear. It nearly lulls her to sleep, had it not been a question.
"Yes?" she purrs, lazily propping herself up on her arm. There are heavy weights on her eyelids, but the line of your mouth tells her something is troubling you. You’re too saturnine, much too glum for what you and Wednesday just did, and her eyes soften imperceptibly, her thumb going to your side to quietly stroke itself back and forth there. “What’s plaguing you?”
You can’t help but shudder at the contact of her hand and the goosebumps the pads of her fingers leave in their wake. “Are you... do you...," you attempt, the question falling flat on your tongue. She furrows her eyebrows at your hesitation.
"Say your thoughts,” she says, forehead creased in concern. It's almost funny, how caring and soft she is, now that she's given up on trying to seem aloof and apathetic towards you, her skin warm against your own.
The Addams Curse to love someone with every fibre of their being had taken hold of Wednesday entirely, and she looked at you sometimes like you held her beating heart in your hands, or at least like she'd cut it out for you, if you were to need it. She raises a hand, gently brushing a few hairs from your forehead.
“Are you afraid of dying?”
Her eyebrows furrow even further, scanning your face for any indicators of harm. “Where is this coming from? Has something been done to you?”
But you shrug, finally looking down to look her in the eyes with softness. “I was just wondering… are you?”
She narrows her eyes. “You know I’m an Addams. Death is a friend, not a foe. Fear of that serves no purpose. Only cowardice from facing a fight. Only to make you weak.”
Your eyes flit away. “Hm.” There’s no hiding of disagreement in your tone, and it has an embarrassing amount of power over her, how she itches to know what goes on in that head of yours.
“What?”
“I think… I think my fear is what makes me strong. I’m afraid of losing those I care about. And so I fight with every bit of sweat, blood, and tears that I have. Your loss is my deepest fear, Wednesday. My deepest.”
She stared at you momentarily, then looked out the window to the stars. “How is one to fear death when it is far from the end? Death may take me from your sight, but it cannot take me from your heart. There I live, vibrant and whole. Forever.”
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You’d never even realised how much blood the human body could actually hold, until you were standing there in the centre of the quad with an arrow straight right below your heart, its steel tip poking from your back. Your own blood coated your hands where you cupped it, dribbling down the splintered wood and splattering in droplets to the cobblestone in thick, dark red splotches.
The blood— your blood— is coming out even more now, and you turn to look at Wednesday, where you had shoved her out of harm’s way. Her eyes are wide in horror, like she's seeing something straight from a nightmare of hers, and you take a clammy step towards her, frigid and burning at the same time.
“Wens—” you stammer, and suddenly your knees are giving out. She rushes forward, trying to catch you in her arms, but you're too heavy, deadweight that tugs on her. You fall onto them, your knees, clutching at the newly opened maw of your chest with a gasp, and before you know it you’re falling forward towards the floor.
Wednesday follows you down, catching you before you can land, and she holds you tight, turning you over onto your back as the arrow sticks straight up from the heart she cherishes so much. The wood is already splintering, nearly falling apart, and her hand goes to your wound as if trying to put your blood back into your body.
It’s uncomfortable, with the metal tip of Xavier’s arrow sticking from the back of your chest and lightly prodding at her front, but she squeezes you tightly against herself, hands frantically travelling the length of your torso and raking over your arms, anywhere she can reach. But there’s nothing she can do. It’s a thought she refuses to confront, but Wednesday specialised in dealing with dead things; she was unfamiliar with how to keep things alive, no matter how much she needed you to stay that way.
Crackstone is cackling from his belly, a toothy sneer spreading itself out onto his leathery face as he looks at the damage he’s done, stomping towards you. “Hey!” Bianca yells from the opposite door, and the pilgrim whips around, as Xavier takes another shot at him. It lands in the pilgrim’s arm but he pulls it out like a twig, snapping it and tossing it to the ground, before he makes his way towards Bianca.
Your white shirt is completely soaking itself in your blood, droplets running down Wednesday’s fingers where she tries to hold the wound and apply pressure. But there was no saving a skewered heart.
"No, no, no," she coos, voice barely above a whisper and tears already pricking at the corners of her eyes. You're crying out in pain as the arrow shifts within you, fingers scrabbling at Wednesday's arms where they hold at you. Your fingernails sink into her skin, and she winces but doesn't pull away.
"Wens," you say again, infinitely weaker than before. "Wednesday…” It’s like your mouth won’t move coherently with your brain, like words mean trudging through ice and slush to come out, even the red-hot ones you need to say. “H—Hurts,” you spit out, and with it comes a small stream of blood from your mouth as you cough and air becomes less and less available.
She nods in a rush, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “I’m aware, I know,” she’s completely crying now. “We will get you care, cara mia, just hol— just hold on for a little while.” But you’re shaking your head.
“Don’t have— I don’t have—” you’re coughing up more blood, and she wipes it from your chin with a shaky hand. There’s just too much of it, everywhere. You had once gifted her some as a token of your devotion and it was a prized possession of hers, but now there was so much and she would have given it back in a heartbeat if it gave you any more of those.
She can vaguely hear Bianca and Xavier yelling on the other side of the quad, and various fires rage on in their chaotic yet vibrant corners, tickling against her skin in large crackles, burning in the reflection of your eyes that stare up at the sky. Your head is leaning against her shoulder, and she raises her hand, stroking through your soft hair as you heave in her arms.
“You must live, I promise you,” Wednesday insists fiercely, “I promise you, if you die right now, I will kill you.” But its tears that streak down her face, her jaw clenching and dark eyeliner running down her cheeks. She’s squeezing you right against herself, feeling the pain of the sharp arrow poke at her own skin.
“Vibrant and wh—whole?” you said with a smile, feeling your voice begin to slow down and with it, the beating of your heart. The blood has pooled in a sick puddle around your body.
She’s shaking her head. “Cara mia, we don’t need to do this, we will get you to a doctor. You will be—”
“—Wednesday,” you interrupt. Your voice has reached an eerie calm that sends a shiver down her spine, and it snaps her from any sort of hope. “Vibrant… and whole?”
She looks down at you for a moment, tracing the features of your nose, the planes of your cheeks, the colours of your eyes and the wryness of your smile. Wednesday swallows. “Forever. You know that. You must always know that.”
You nod, letting out a small laugh. It hurts, she can hear you wheeze right after you done it, but you sit in silence for a moment, and she can feel you get slower and slower, and your shirt gets redder and redder. The tears are uncontrollable, now, as she sits there with you. Her friends are losing in the corner, but she's losing something unthinkable, and she's so damn scared the entire time it's happening.
"The stars look beautiful tonight," you whisper so only she can hear it, your voice cracking at the end. In seconds, you're gone. She can feel the life, the glorious life, evaporate from you, your head lulling back against her and your weight becoming a hundred times heavier, but she doesn't move, squeezing you against her.
She's unsure how long she stays like that, but when she can no longer take it, she shifts, laying you down on the ground. You look peaceful, looking up at the stars, and it takes an effort to close your eyes that Wednesday had never felt with the dead before. She gently closes them, shutting the door on the eyes that used to captivate her very heart. It's almost like she could convince herself that you're only resting for a moment, and she leans over you, placing a meaningful kiss upon your forehead, just like she would when she snuck out after a night of sleeping over, and there were no prying eyes there to watch.
"Vibrant and whole," she whispers like a promise, turning back to the fight with a piece of the sword in her shaking fists. "For you, cara mia."
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well that was sad... anyways more happy stuff coming next time
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yournightmary · 2 days ago
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Vi NSFW!Alphabet
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content warning:: nsfw obviously, not proofread because it’s painful, badly written maybe idk?
AN:: i’ve had 42 hours on cai last week. i am not okay
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A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ she’s the sweetest. it’s like all of her tough girl walls are crumbling and she becomes a literal teddy bear. cuddling and talking is a must, a shower if you’re up for it.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ on herself she likes her arms the most, it’s a simple decision. it’s the strongest part of her body. she’ll stand in front of the mirror and just flex with a shit eating grin. also loves the way her muscles and veins pop out when she’s fingering you.
⇢ ˗ˏˋ on you- and i’ve already talked about this- she loves your thighs and ass. could not pick one or the other, they come as a package. she’ll kiss, bite and lick your thighs every time she goes down on you. and if you wear clothes that accentuate your curves? get ready to get your ass slapped every time she walks by you.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ i don’t think she’s a squirter. not matter how many times you try, how much water she drinks or the position- she just won’t. which is totally normal!! she does get really wet really easily though.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ she would really like it if you got a tattoo specifically for her. maybe her name or a few of those cogs she has herself. not so everyone could see it and know you’re hers, nuh uh- she’d want it to be somewhere hidden, like on your ribcage or low on your hips. just for her to see and know about it.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ she definitely missed out on a lot of things when she was younger, maybe had a few hookups or a prison wife along the way. she might stumble around, not really knowing what to do- but what she lacks in experience she makes up with enthusiasm.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ either something where she can see your face or see your ass, depends on what you want more in the moment. ideally though? cowgirl in front of a mirror so she can look at both of her those things.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ it all depends on the mood. you were play fighting and it turned into fucking? she’s giggling and throwing jokes left & right. you were away for some time and she finally gets to touch you? there isn’t a single word coming out of her mouth (other than praise maybe) because of how focused she is on making you feel good.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ HAPPY TRAIL.
⇢ ˗ˏˋ she’s not really the one to shave or even trim. she’s got good hygiene and it’s not like hair=dirty or disgusting. the hair is a darker than the one on her head, obviously, but it still has that fuchsia undertone.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ very, very romantic. it one of her ways to show you just how much she loves you, so she tries her best.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ she doesn’t really masturbate, which is surprising with how horny she is. if she’s really desperate and you’re away or not in the mood, she’ll just rub one out- nothing else.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ she’s not really that kinky… she does like to manhandle you a bit more than she would like to admit. it’s just the way she can turn you into putty (and that you trust her enough to do it) that gets her going.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ anywhere in your home. she isn’t really into the idea of getting intimate outside of her own space.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ everything and anything about you. just the idea that she’s the one making you feel this good, pulling those sounds out of you, that you trust and love her enough to do those things- it’s the best she could ask for. her goal in life is to make you happy and she will achieve it.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ she hates the idea of doing something to intentionally cause you pain. she hurt enough people in her life- she’s not gonna do it to you, even if you beg.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ she’s getting the ‘best carpet muncher’ award, no questions asked. she loves to give, doesn’t mind receiving. she gets messy with it- i’m talking kissing, licking and even slurping. if you’re up for it she’ll even properly fuck you with her tongue.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ she’ll give you whatever you want and she’ll give it good. to her it’s all about pleasing you, so her needs and wants go to the back of her mind.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ sure, why not? if any of you feel the need but don’t exactly have the time, she’s more than fine with it. she does like to take her time though, so they’re not more usual than normal sex
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ experiment- yes. take risks- ehh, not really. she doesn’t want to hurt you or make you uncomfortable by accident, so usually she’ll stick to what she knows. but if you want to try something she’s more than willing.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ do i even need to say anything? she can go at it until your legs are shaking, your face is stained with tears and there are no legible thought in your head. she herself doesn’t last very long. she was deprived of that kind of touch for so long that she can cum from the simplest things.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ she has a strap and she will not let you use it on her. she just doesn’t find that comfortable. maybe has a small bullet vibrator she received as a gag gift or bought out of curiosity- it’s for both you and her.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ oh my fucking god she’s such a tease. literally the book definition. loves to hear you beg and to see your hips chasing after her touch. but if you try to do the same to her? oh- she’s blushing and shying away from you.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ usually she tries to hold back her noises but does a shitty job at it. and when the strap comes in? she’s whining like she’s actually fucking you with her dick
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ in my head she is not a sub i’m so sorry guys. i just can’t see it. at all. she’s a switch leaning dom at best.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ she is strapped the fuck up, you cannot convince me otherwise. but i feel like she would wait and buy the strap once she’s actually with you, just so you could pick exactly what you wanted. she chose the color though- it matches her hair.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ very high, but in a giving way, not receiving. she can do it all day, every day. not even letting you get out of bed.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
⇢ ˗ˏˋ it all depends on the day. sometimes she’ll fall asleep right after taking care of you, sometimes she’ll stay up for hours cuddling and pillow talking with you.
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i’m a virgin
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netherfeildren · 3 days ago
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Busy, Dying. Part 2;
Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader
Summary: In an in-between place called his life, Joel Miller is alone. In search of a cure. In need of a miracle. In want of God.
Can I interest you in a cure for loneliness? She'd asked him in a language without words. Taking it is the easy part. Letting her go is impossible.
-OR-
an a/b/o soulmates AU
Rating: Explicit 18+
Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, They're behaving badly and doing things they shouldn't be doing idk, HEA!!!!!, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Scenting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Group Therapy, Social Experiments, Explicit Sexual Content, Dom/sub Undertones, Complicated family dynamics, Discussions of self harm, Depression, Existential Angst, He’s a loser your honor!!!
Word Count: 6.3K
Read on AO3
Part 2;
It is your own conspiracy that if you say the words three times in the mirror—I am so alone I am so alone I am so alone—the feeling will go away. Banished ghost. 
You commit yourself to this practice religiously for three weeks before you feel you must absolutely return to the meetings held in the basement of the Emmanuel Episcopal Church or you might just die. 
The first Friday back, you watch him. He blunders around the crowd, struggling to find a seat when he rushes in late that evening, trying to sit as far away from you as possible and, to his great misfortune, ending up right behind you. Squashed between two old ladies, his big body comically trying to fold itself into the tight rows. You laugh at him the whole way through the meeting. 
He’s like a raging bull after that. Scowly and unapproachable as the omegas in the group inevitably make their meager attempts to talk to him. It makes it all the more irreconcilable, a man like that here in a place like this—all the while with a wife at home. 
You wonder about her. 
“That one has a bad temper,” Maria warns as the two of you watch him. They seem to know each other in some way outside of this church, and it takes everything in you not to beg for details. “Big and hairy like a bad, lonely dog.”
You say, “I think he’s shy.” 
She watches you very peculiarly after that, and tells you, “You’re lost, girl. Joel Miller isn’t what you need finding you.”
But you know this, you assure her, and you continue to avoid him. 
The following Friday, he’s the one playing the disappearing act. The next week, as well—no show. You start to dread even your own shadow, wondering where he is, wondering if he’s ever coming back, if he has children and how old he is. Wondering if he wonders about you. Wondering why you’re so obsessed.
Too full of curiosity for your own good, you hover when he finally appears once again. Circling him and Maria, desperate for any sort of information. 
His wife had been sick, he says. He’d had to take her to the doctor. 
You wonder if her sickness might be his baby—sick to your stomach at the thought of it yourself. 
Finally, the week after, the two of you break your fast from one another. 
“You’ve been ignoring me,” he says, coming up from behind, ambushing you once again at the dessert and coffee trough. This is supposed to be a safe space, yet it feels anything but with him near. 
“No I haven’t.”
“You’re not supposed to tell lies in church. It’s a sin.”
“I don’t believe in sin.” You turn to face him, and your stomach hurts. 
He’s got on a dark green fisherman’s sweater—well worn but knit sturdy. A thing that looks as if it’s been his for years. 
You’re feeling thin-skinned and unable to face him today, and for no good reason. You don't know this man. You have no right to punish him with your silence, no right to be angry, to wonder about him. But that sternness from before, the one that looked too heavy for him to carry, has been wiped away from his face now, and in its place he only looks very earnest, like he really wants to talk to you. And it’s only that, well you don’t know him, yes, but you’d felt that you needed to, or that you would. That you were meant to find him in this place, and you’re angry at yourself and at him at how wrong you’d been, still even after all these weeks of radio silence while he’d been busy caring for his sick wife. 
“Me either,” he gives a small huff of laughter, shoving his fists into the pockets of his dark jeans. 
Setting the donut in your hand back on the table—rude and gross, but it’s an afterthought—you wipe your sweet sweaty palm against your hip, appetite all gone now. The basement is suddenly unbearably hot, your heart beating in your throat. 
“Anywho, I gotta run. Somewhere to be—” you mumble, brushing past him. There’s a sudden rush of itching heat burning its way up your chest, your throat, ants crawling over your scalp. The room is stifling, your limbs leaden and too many bodies; so many disgusting, clashing scents: pheromones, and desperation and such terrible loneliness, and him at the center of it, ambrosial.
You’ll have to recite your mantra more faithfully in the mirror every night, not a single miss. Remind yourself, I am so alone, so that the feeling might go away, and you’ll forget him and the way he smells and his eyes like amber green river stones, more quickly. 
“Whoah, hold on,” he calls after you, following to the exit and up the steps to the world outside of this church. You’d brought a coat today, unable to enjoy the cold the way you usually do, uncharacteristically chill, aching limbs, miserable in the biting morning air. He calls your name, and you clutch the wool against your chest, trying to hurry away from his much longer legs and pace as he catches up. 
Suddenly, though, you change your mind. Whirling around to look up, you stop your running, and he’s right there, so close. “I haven’t been ignoring you. You were gone.” Mind changing again, your gaze falls, unable to hold his eyes. You watch his left hand flex like he wants to do something with it. 
“I know. I’m sorry.”
A scoff. “What are you apologizing to me for?” 
“You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met in my entire life.” He says it quietly by way of explanation, like another apology. 
“You must not have met very many interesting people.”
It feels hot and cold at the same time out here. Your stomach still hurts. Your eyes ache as if you could cry, which is ridiculous because you have absolutely no reason to cry. 
“Maybe not,” he says very low. It seems he’s drifting closer, like you’ll float away. A car honks its horn loudly somewhere in the background, and you still can’t look at his face. His own coat is clutched in his fist and now the honker is shouting too, expletives and God’s name being taken in vain. 
“You should go back in there,” you tip your chin at the depths you’d just fled from, stealing a quick glance at his face, “Find someone else who’s interesting.”
He grunts once, a wordless no and lifts his coat to drape it over your shoulders—you decide you’re even colder now, you don’t think you’ll ever be warm again—and takes yours from your listless grip, draping it over his elbow. 
This man. “Aren’t you here to get to know people?” You demand, finally looking up at him angrily. 
“No,” he shakes his head. “Let’s go for a walk.” His palm at your bicep urging you towards Arlington and the garden sends all sound skittering out of your ears. He reminds you of your earlier words, that he might like to walk, and you can hear yourself agreeing while you look up at the muted light of the late November afternoon leaching through the cloud cover. Through the wool and cotton you feel your skin sucking heat from that singular point of contact, warming you entirely.
It had been blisteringly cold last night, the alluring taste of incumbent winter in the air, and a vicious frost had ermined all the tree trunks within the Boston Public Garden, roughened the surface of the grass. 
Joel chooses a quiet spot by the pond, the willow weeps above your head and all around the two of you the sharp autumn air is lightly laced with the fragrance of leaf rot. An elderly couple floats serenely in a lone swan boat at the center of the pond, not a ripple in the surface, as if they weren’t really there. 
Helping you to sit, he gently pulls his coat from your shoulders, laying the garment for you to rest on protected from the frigid ground and carefully looping your arms through your own coat now, he pulls the excess fabric of his up, draped over your shoulders once again, leaving you securely enveloped from the cold. 
“Here, let me help you,” he says, and the sudden gentleness in his voice makes you want to burst into tears. His character, that of some matryoshkin sort, one embedded in another in another, never knowing which is the realest one, the truest one, which will come next. Angry snarling dog one day, a gentleness that burns the next. You have the sense that a person could know him for decades and still never reach the center, never cease to discover more. 
Sitting before you—you perch alone on the island of his given coat—he tilts his head, leaning back braced on thick arms to look up at the swaying vines with just an impression of brilliant yellow-green, as if that were the color of the air. A sudden breeze stirs the softness of his hair, lifting a stubborn cowlick, and at that exact moment, the cloud cover parts on the face of the sun. In the brilliant shaft of buttered sunlight, his dark curls glint with specks of purest silver, leaving you wishing you could touch the fan of fine lines at the corner of his eyes, feel his age with your fingertips. 
“You’re angry with me,” he finally says, head still tilted towards the sky. You watch him very closely, learning. His voice is deep, quiet. He looks tired, the violet shadows beneath the brilliant hazel eyes. Still beautiful, the full, slightly sulky curve of his mouth surrounded by dark beard. He is everything, all of him, masculine. 
“It doesn’t matter.”
Finally, he looks at you, too. He’s got a big head, proportionate to his big body, that falls back heavily. You can’t help smiling at him, it feels too natural. 
“Now you’re honest.”
“I wouldn’t tell a lie here,” you say, and he sighs like you’re a supremely difficult little omega, too impossible to be reasoned with. But turning back to the sky, eyes closed now, there’s a smile across his mouth also, and you wish the two of you could sit here and laugh forever in this moment.
The silence between the two of you is marvelous enough to be unnerving. Settled beneath his great coat, you’d never believed you could feel the cold so little—learning every fine detail that makes up the man. Even inches away from him, he seems utterly unattainable, each of the two of you existing on your separate islands—you trace the woolen edge of his coat against the ground—some twenty years your senior and married. But the cold has given you such a feeling of grounding buoyancy. You’d awoken angry, miserable, so full of despair you would’ve been sick with it if it were possible. And now—you hadn’t felt this alive or awake in years, perhaps your entire life. He is a marvel, and there are bubbles in your head threatening to take you floating away, and yet, your feet are firmly melded to the ground in reality. 
How attractive, how delicious the prospect of intimacy is with someone who you know will never grant it. It fills you with something ferocious or hungry or snapping, something pathetic that makes you want it all the worse. And he, with a gravitational pull too strong to even think of escaping.
Yes. You hadn't felt so happy in years. 
“How old are you?” Breaking the silence, you ask him.
“Forty three.”
“You have a brother.” He nods. “I have one too.”
“Do you speak to yours? I don’t.”
“He calls me once a month. It’s all he can bear of me.”
“Mine won’t speak to me.” He sounds sad saying so. 
“Why not?”
“I hurt him. Scared him.”
“My brother, he says my whole life is papier-mâché. My values are all wrong, I’m a crowd-pleaser. It’s probably true.” You’d felt it impossible to better yourself, and yet still, you tried for him. “How did you hurt him?”
“You can’t change a man, only make him more secure. Depending on his character that may then bring happiness or strength or success. Tommy’s failure of this in me was more than he could bear, also.”
The willow becomes your confessional. “I spiked my own drink once just to see what it would be like. A doctor told me afterwards that I have self destructive tendencies. I want to hurt myself, but I don’t want to actually feel the hurt, which makes me all the more addicted to it. A supernumerary on the stage of my own life, too afraid of hurting and hungry for it at the same time.”
The heel of his left hand, you notice, is bearing down on an old acorn burr, and yet he seems not to feel the pain. 
He’s looking at you very intently now. Some glimmering streak in his eye. It almost looks aggressive, and a muscle flutters madly at the edge of his jaw. He straightens, sitting up to face you. The acorn burr is left flattened and disfigured in his wake.
“The last doctor I saw told me I was depressed. I never went back after.”
“Are you?”
He laughs surprisingly full of humor and then instantly serious again. “Probably. I’ve been watching my life, scratching at it trying to get in. I can’t. It’s right there.” The matryoshka shuffles, locked in his melancholy one moment, spilling brightness the next. 
You want to understand him so badly your hands shake with it. 
“What’s your favorite thing about your work?” You ask him. 
Where does his wife think he is right now?
“That’s a nice question. Maybe…” he thinks a moment, “Getting to make things that’ll go in people’s homes. The idea that something that came from me will be surrounded by a family.”
You can’t help yourself. “Why aren’t you at home?” You ask him imploringly, unbearably sad for him, sick with need, desperate to understand what it is he’s doing here, and all at once, utterly certain of what it is you are. “Don’t you love your wife?” The question is posed with no bravery, and yet it still comes out into the world demanding. 
He clicks his tongue, taken aback, a shocked breath, maybe even a small, reproving smile. A hundred different emotions coming to life across his face in that single moment. 
“I don’t know,” he finally answers. “I remember loving her. Maybe. At best? She’s a stranger. At worst? An excuse?” But he says it like a question. He’s asking you, not telling, for he isn’t even sure of it himself. You’ve caught him off guard. 
“No…” the click of his tongue snapping you to attention, “That's too generous. We’re trapped in a box together, but completely strange to one another.” It suddenly feels like he shouldn’t be telling you this—about her. You’re sure he shouldn’t be. 
“Do you hate each other?” You ask anyway. There’s something…your only example of love and marriage being two people who had always hated one another and filled the home where their children lived with more hate. It’s difficult to fathom something different than what that had looked like. 
If you were truly brave, you’d ask if he has children, too. 
“No,” he says immediately, a non option, his brow furrowed. “That would take too much effort.” 
Now you understand. He’s alone anyways. The feeling of urgency within you mounts. You’re frightened by this moment of discovery. 
“You’re Southern. Your accent…” You can’t discuss this anymore, needing to change the subject. 
“Texas.”
“When did you leave?”
“Long time ago.”
“Do you miss it?”
At his, he laughs like the question is ironic. “No. Where are you from?”
“Sometimes it feels like I can’t even remember.”
And as if he’d pulled the feeling straight from your mouth, he tells you that he understands what that’s like, and you can’t help it when you reach for his hand, being as careful with him as you would any shy creature, needing to hold him. 
-
“I’ve never been in love,” you tell him, childish look of recklessness and valor coming across your face as you pick up on the earlier thread of conversation you’d frightened yourself with. “It seems too daring, even grotesque.” 
He thinks he wants to capture that look in a bottle and take it everywhere with him. His entire body throbs with a heartbeat and the shape of your hand fits his as if every joint and muscle and soft ligament had been specifically designed for him to hold, filled suddenly with a terrible sense of foreboding. Looking at you, one just knows there’ll be a broken heart. 
Your small thumb smooths gently over his large one, and he marvels that such an exquisite creature would touch him. God, but you’re beautiful. Your touch, soft and enticing and painful all at once. No one had ever been so gentle with him.
“Won’t you tell me a secret?” You beg.
He will. He might give you anything in this moment. In the weeks he’d been kept away, he’d desperately counted the days and minutes until he could return to that place of worship and honesty. 
“I think about you,” voice hushed, the shaking of the leaves not loud enough to mask the soft breath you suck in as he gives you his confession. He maps the architecture of the small hands in his grasp, fingers tracing fingers, uncured clay fragile before the heat. He feels tired and strangely spent, almost drunk on your touch. His thumb slides upwards, marveling at the softness of your wrist, and then there, beneath the shivering distraction of your pulse and his disturbing search, the unlocked fragrance of your scent gland. It drifts towards him slowly like smoke rising from sleep.  
The air seems to pulse between the two of you with heat and premonition. That singular moment before everything goes terribly wrong, he can see it in your eyes. Such vibrancy, excitement, recklessness turned danger. 
“We should…” you feel him begin to pull away, grappling to hold on to the moment and his hand, “We should fuck.” He takes himself back, letting you go. Where else was this being led?
He cringes away from you. “Excuse me?” 
“Sex. You’ve had it before.” His mind reels. His body’s reaction at hearing your mouth say these things, the way it shapes them, the soft, full lips wrapped around the words.  
Looking away, he watches the pond’s couple help each other out of the swan. In his periphery, he can see you begin to bristle at his silence. 
“Don’t be peevish. It’s unbecoming.” 
He can’t help feeling angry. “I’m not. I’m old enough to be your father.” And you laugh at him. You’re deviating paths now, going opposite ways and angry at one another for it. 
“We could pretend that—if that’s what you want,” you say, voice husky and seductive. A small palm smooths up his thigh and his gaze snaps fire at you, hand clamping painfully at your wrist, fingernails digging at your gland, disturbing more of that gorgeous scent into the air. 
You make a pained sound. He needs to leave. He needs to never see you again.
“Don’t be disgusting,” he shoots back, hot everywhere. 
“Don’t be a prude.” He flings your wrist away, and you cradle it against your chest as if he’d hurt you. The heat turns to guilt pulsing through his limbs. 
Warring to wounded then, your eyes. You wrap your fingers around your discarded wrist. “What if we lose everything? What if tomorrow’s the end of the world? What if we’re so thoroughly cured of our loneliness after all this is done, we never feel like we need another person this way again?” 
His muscles tense with the need to flee or attack, the thought of you needing him, of being needed in such a way—he’s like some creature coming upon its mate. 
Despite his age, he had never tried to truly seduce anyone. He had never truly wanted anyone. Not in any real and base sort of way. Desire for him had been a mute and ordinary thing. But he could have you now, turned into a thing he’d never been before, he could mount you and rut you into the dirt like an animal. Never so much a product of his designation as he feels in this instant. 
He can’t even form word, and your body seems to pulse against his with embarrassed heat and indignation. 
“Have you ever even fucked an omega?” You spit at him meanly. 
“We shouldn’t be talking about this.” Voice carefully restrained, each syllable off his tongue is measured with his tenuous control. 
“Tell me anyways,” you demand, shoving his coat off your shoulders being the thing that almost makes him lose it. 
“It’s cold. Put that back on.”
“Tell me.” And he shouldn’t. You should have no sway over him. No demand of his honesty or anything else that belongs to him.
“Once. Only because I wanted to know what it was like.” He’s man enough to admit to himself the embarrassment he feels telling you this.
But it seems to quell some tremor in your eyes, and you sit back, palm petting at your throat as if you’re trying to soothe yourself. 
“I’m sorry,” you say, gaze averted, glassy, delirious look there. “I’ve always gotten my feelings hurt easily. I’m—” you shake your head quickly, sucking on your lip. “...too sensitive. Sometimes I feel like I’ll float away if I don’t find anyone to hold me down.” 
He should tell you that you’re not, wants to, but the image of you weak and pinned beneath him churns in his mind. Whole body aching suddenly, needing his hands on you before he does something truly heinous—he straightens abruptly, abandoning your reassuring warmth. Feeling suddenly cold despite the sweat dotting his spine. 
Without another word he turns to leave you there, alone, while the swan pair watches from across the pond as the two of you part ways. 
The next morning he awakens stiff and burning, his cock a brand of heat against his stomach. And works his entire day in a static haze, lavender spots at the edge of his vision where all he can think about is how you smell and the way your hand feels in his. By five o’clock, his fingers ache, spasming painfully from gripping his tools too hard. Breaking his weeks-long habit, he decides to attend the Saturday night meeting, full of constrained energy and sullen moodiness. Reasoning that a pretty, young girl like you wouldn’t waste her weekend in the basement of a church abandoned by God. 
And is sick to his stomach with equal measures elation and dread when he spots you sitting amongst the crowd of metal folding chairs—wearing his coat. He doesn’t hesitate even a little when he claims the seat next to yours. 
The two of you sit in strained silence the entire meeting, the other alphas and omegas surrounding throwing alarmed and intrigued glances your way as the tension brews hotter and more frenzied. 
His body hurts. This is a painful kind of lust. 
He listens to the speakers tonight with only half an ear, instead, occupied with the memory of what you’d looked like the other week eating a jelly and cream filled donut, imagining what your mouth would look like smeared with his blood and come. He can smell your body, how hot and trembling nervous you are. So unlike all that blistering, innocent valor from yesterday. 
The omega with the cruel husband turned sick one is taking her turn again tonight. Now that he looks at her, she has hair that at one time was vibrant red, now turned a softened copper threaded through with white. Time is such a painful, slow thing, Joel thinks. 
“Have you ever been with someone you knew you were too good for?” The omega asks the room, while the one beside him begins to shake, knee jolting nervously.
You’re anxious, and it makes him angry that you should be made so by his actions. 
Too rough for forbearance, his palm clamps down tightly on your knee, holding it still, and you make some supplicant whimper at the back of your throat. Almost imperceptibly, you draw away from him, the line of your shoulders growing rigid, and a wild, irrational sense of loss steals his breath. 
He’s been so busy lately, distracted. He’s hungry, overstrained, anxious himself. He doesn’t mean to be brusque with you. He just can’t help himself. 
Would we be here if we had? Someone lost in the crowd pipes back. 
The woman laughs, she has a kind face. “Me either.” You shove his palm off your leg as if it burns. “But there was someone… once. A chance, maybe. Someone I didn’t choose but should have. We were friends. We came very close to being happy.” 
And he suddenly feels a wave of desolation so overwhelming wash over him. He turns to look at you, your vibrating profile, so pretty, and he’s gentle this time when he touches your knee. Just to feel you. How terrible, he thinks, to only come very close to being happy. 
The speaker changes, and then it’s Maria’s voice talking to them all. Joel still can’t look away from you as you, in turn, refuse to look at him. “Stop, Joel,” you whisper. But he can’t. 
“At the start of this, we usually discuss a second option for those of you who aren’t able to find what you’re looking for in this. Sometimes it’s not so simple,” Maria tells them. 
A miracle move on drug, she calls it. 
The group’s coalition is sponsored by a pharmaceutical company, one testing a cure for loneliness. Something they think of as pilled perfection, something to numb the pain of loss. Any emotional wound, now with the potential to be a thing of the past. The young omega handing out the pamphlets had promised an easy cure, it seems this is what he’d been referring to. And if the potential side effects included an inability to hold on to any sort of emotional attachment afterward, well, the encounter groups they’d targeted thus far were grateful for it in the end anyway. They were all alone after all. 
“It’ll help you let go of everything you can’t let go of,” Maria tells them. “Help make you forget. Help make you un-lonely. We’ll be holding a session Wednesday morning for anyone who’s interested in being part of the trial. Our sponsor company, Firefly, is very happy to welcome as many of you as possible.” 
Beside him, you whisper, “Only a coward would take that option. What a cheat.” He hesitates, perplexed and wounded by your words. 
“You’ll never have to grieve or miss something you can’t get back, ever again. I know that for many of you, this is the ultimate fantasy,” Maria says.
“I think it sounds like something to help let go. Like what I came here for.”
You exchange cards. Now it’s your turn, the wounded look. 
When Maria’s through, bidding the group goodnight and setting them all free to mingle, you’re up and out of your seat before he can get a word in. He watches you go as if he were some sort of abandoned lapdog, only for a second, before he’s once again, striding after you. 
You weave almost drunkenly through the crowd, first heading towards the exit, then to the beverage station, then correcting and veering towards the back hall where the restrooms and catechism classrooms are. 
Gaining on you, he takes you by the elbow, pushing you deep into the darkness of the long hallway. Going far enough the din of desperate socialization turns a quiet murmur. You’re really in the belly of the beast now. So quiet and dust infused it feels as if it’s been years since a soul stepped through here. 
“What’s wrong with you?” Your face glows with fevered sweat. 
“I’m sick,” you mumble on the tail end of a whine when he shakes your arm into responsive compliance. “Let me go. Stop,” you fight, trying to claw away from him.
“No you’re not.”
“Yes, I am. I threw up all night. And you have the personality of a snarling dog more than a man. Has anyone ever told you that?” Shoving at his chest now feebly.
Ignoring your caterwauling, he takes you in entirely. “You’re not sick,” he says again, sure now. 
There’s a timeless hunger gnawing at his gut. Joel suddenly feels more himself than he think he’s ever felt in his entire life. 
Dragging you high against his chest by the collar of his own coat, he brings the tip of his nose slowly to the valley of sweet fragrance at the side of your throat. Inhaling deeply at the flushed, swollen scent gland there. The sound of your toes scuffing against the floor excites him even more. 
“You’re not sick. You’re going into heat,” he says slowly; gathering the overwhelmed, shivering creature as gently as he can in his arms. 
Your fingers claw at his own throat in return, as if digging for his own answering scent. “No. But it’s not time. I had one not so long ago.” You sound on the verge of tears, and he makes a deep, soothing sound in his chest. “My blockers...I— I can’t be. It’s not time yet.”
“It’s a breakthrough heat.” His other hand comes around to the small of your back and ever so slowly, he presses your hips closer to his. “It’s mine. Because of me.”
“No.” You shove back with renewed strength suddenly, spinning around to scurry deeper down the dark hall and then careening on weak legs into an abandoned classroom. 
Heart beating madly at the prospect of the hunt, he takes a singular calming breath before he’s prowling after the sound of your crying. 
-
“You need to not run from me right now. It’ll make my rut come faster,” his deep voice comes from somewhere in the dark unknown. 
You scramble around the children’s desks, weaving your way clumsy with disorientation to the far end of the classroom. You don’t want to go into heat right now. You can’t. Not with him. You need to be safe and alone in the confines of your warm, comfortable bedroom, far away from the temptation of him.
His heavy, panting breath sounds closer and there’s a shriek in your throat like a struggling kitten. 
“You want me to lose my self control. That’s what this is, isn’t it?” There’s a loud crash as he shoves one of the little desks out of his way, followed by your answering shriek. And then he’s here, coming up behind you but finding mercy enough to hold himself back at the last moment, panting as if he’d just run miles fighting against himself. 
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. Come here, baby. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s okay.” He takes a step closer, and the slowing of his breath and soothe of his voice calms you in turn. “You’re only going into heat, that’s all, sweet girl. I’ve triggered it for you and I’m sorry. Let me come to you.”
You let out a high and harried sound, palm smoothing over your throat over and over again. “Joel,” you say once.
“I’m here. It’s okay.”
“It’s only that—”
“What is it?”
“I have to tell you something.”
“Tell me.”
“I’m embarrassed.” A helpless tear spills out over the edge of your eyelid. 
“You’ve nothing to be embarrassed about with me. Ever. We understand each other, you and I. Don’t we?”
And he’s right of course. You’d picked his face out of the crowd in instant recognition, after all. “I’ve had heats…but I’ve never—never had a, a heat with someone. With an alpha.” 
He’s utterly silent and you feel deranged enough you’re almost certain you can hear the pound of his heart inside his chest.
“You’ve never had a knot take your cunt?”
“No.” You swallow. “Never.”
You hear a muttered fuck, and his breathing goes quick and shallow and then even again. He has better control over himself than you do at this moment. 
“Then how?”
You flush full of heat, embarrassed. “T—toys,” you stutter. “Medication to help ease it.”
When he steps closer, only calm accompanies him. All is suddenly quiet. You want him. Your disjointed mind, overwhelmed by too many confusing emotions had gone into overdrive for a moment, but now, with the scent of hot, aggravated alpha surrounding you, it’s obvious this was all you’d needed to calm down. 
You can feel his hot breath against your forehead, the wash of heat on each exhale and the lingering scent of sweet musk at his inhale. You touch his cheek with shaking fingers and feel him turn ever so slightly into your palm, and then he’s bending slowly. 
First, it’s a soft, wet nudge of his mouth, your bodies held apart. Then his strong nose bumping into the side of yours, the splendor of inexperience turning to knowing, a nuzzle. Coming in again hungry, with the slick of tongue now, and the deep inhale of shock at first taste. Your breaths rush through one another, and you feel yourself backing away in maybe fear, more likely overwhelm, but his mouth follows your retreat and then his palms are at your waist, tugging you into himself, pressing you tightly to his body with a ragged groan. 
“Your mouth…Your mouth is so beautiful,” he says.
Everything in your lower belly cramps in painful agony, and you scratch at his arms and neck without much strength, trying to climb higher and take more of him into your mouth. Oh, you want this so badly. You want it to be everything you’ve dreamed of so obsessively the past weeks. Nothing else in the world exists except for your two mouths pressed together.
His lips burn a wet path across your cheekbone, sliding to the side of your neck to suckle at your scent gland. “Fuck.” His scraped teeth along the patch of sensitive skin. “Have you had sex before?” The question is gentle, understanding, his tongue tasting your sensitive earlobe, head ducking suddenly to give a sharp bite at your breast. 
“Yes.” His erection is pressed firm at your belly, hot even through his jeans and your sweater. His large body radiates heat. At your back, his palm finds the edge of your top, sliding underneath to make first contact, blistering skin against blistering skin. 
“But not an alpha.” He says it smugly, the bastard. Palm sliding down to your rump, tucking you more tightly against his hard cock. You shake your head at the crook of his neck, fingertips twisting in the back of his hair. Your breath comes in wet little pants that sound too pathetic to bear. 
“It’s going to feel so good,” he promises, rubbing slow circles low on your back with that wide, strong palm. “It’s different. It’s…” That palm slides lower, squeezees the curve of your ass. “It’s ordinary if it isn’t with someone…special. If there’s not the possibility of—” 
You tell him you understand what he’s trying to say. 
“I think it’ll be so good between us,” he finishes. 
At the waist of your skirt, his fingers press between your skin and the stretch of your tights, forcing his large hand into their confines. Your breath skips into his open mouth, panting into one another he cups you between your legs and suddenly all you can focus on is the tight ache there, the nylon soaked obscenely between your thighs. His arm around your back squeezes you tighter to his chest and his fingertips are pushing past lace edge to feel the slick swell of wet cunt. 
“Oh, Joel. Not here,” you moan. “Someone will come in.” He’s circling your clit, so sensitive and so swollen it hurts. You tug him impossibly closer, and he presses you back into the cold stone wall. “We can’t in a church.” Your protestations sound weak even to your own ears as you spread your legs wider for him. 
“I don’t give a fuck.”
He takes your mouth again, sucking deeply, groaning even deeper when he presses inside of you to the first knuckle. “Tight, baby,” he breathes into your neck, his hips slowly grinding into your pelvis. 
He feeds you more, then presses a second finger, holding still for a second, then another. Panting like a rabbit caught in a trap with three of his too thick fingers stuffed in your overstretched cunt. The sound of popping seams moves up your spine. 
“Can feel your little cunt shaking around me. Jesus—” he groans. It’s all mine, whispered into your hair. 
Suddenly, there’s the open and close of a door nearby. And then the sound of someone’s voice calling your names. Joel huddles you further into the dark corner, confined by the protection of his body, his fingers still moving in and out of you, stretching you well enough to burn as he presses as deeply as he can and with the utmost gentleness, pets lightly at the painfully sensitive mouth of your cervix. Humming in satisfaction at the feel of you. 
“Right there?” He hums. 
You’re crying, clutching at him even more tightly. Your name sounds again, being searched for, like a warning. 
“If I fuck you, nobody else ever will.” His voice is so dark it’s menacing. It’s recklessness, verging on a lie. Maybe it’s hope. 
Pressing lightly again, petting, petting, he pulls his fingers back a little, the loud sucking sound of your cunt trying to hold onto him, and you’re coming for him, crying into his neck, sucking on his scent gland so that the taste of him floods your mouth. The sound of a door opening, and you hear him growl at someone to fuck off in a very scary voice, his fingers never ceasing their steady thrust inside of your clenching pussy, and the frightened slam of a door. 
“It’s alright. You’re alright. That’s my good girl,” he pets and soothes at you, pressing a kiss to your temple, your eyelids, your mouth again and again.
Part 3;
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javier-pena · 3 days ago
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i didn't read this immediately when you posted it because i knew it would destroy me, and i needed to pick the right moment very carefully and STILL .... well i am destroyed and i have no idea how i will continue with my life, go to work tomorrow, and such :(
i loved their date so much, it was so romantic and sweet and hot, and it was the first time (and certainly not the last time) while reading this that i wished javi was a real person - like the way he immediately held ms reader's hand when they left the apartment 😔 need me a freak like that
(also once again ms reader was just like me when she was like "So he’s a southern boy. That detail definitely adds to his charm." because i would've jump javi right then and there)
but everything that came after that did exactly what i predicted -> DESTROYED me ... “I don’t think I can just be friends with you.” 😔 i'm so glad they immediately came back from that because i wouldn't have been able to go on knowing javi's heart had been broken, that he thought he'd been rejected again, it would've been too much, also ms reader's insecurities were so fucking relatable, i would be the worst if i was dating pornstar!javi, i would drown in them actually (but also i feel like if a guy like javi just so much as looked at me, it would do wonders for my self-esteem)
but luckily, their "first time" more than made up for all the heartbreak you put me through, like javi said so many hot things i had to take a break regularly to catch my breath ... “Go ahead, baby, take it. Put it in.” (skdjhasjf) “I’m not gonna last—shit.” (right after he put it in like wtf???) “That’s right, baby. Gonna give me one more on my cock, show me how bad you wanted it.” (yeah i still haven't recovered from that one
and then, at the end, when ms reader is like "You're not real" i felt that ..... because he isn't real for me and no matter how much i wish he was he's never going to be 😔 good for her thought that she finally got everything she deserves, and i can't wait to ferociously live through her ...
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West Side | Pornstar!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | Part 5 of Unscripted Desire | ~15k wc | Series Masterlist | gif cred | Explicit. Minors DNI.
Summary: A lot of firsts with Javi.
Tags: smut, slight angst, nipple play, dry humping, lots of making out, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, jealousy, edging, overstimulation, use of sex toys (vibrator), oral (f receiving), cum eating, unprotected p in v sex (finally), javi is clipped (not mentioned), babe wake up pornstar!javi lore just dropped, no use of y/n, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.
A/N: i attempted to make this chapter a little longer, definitely filthier, and above all: satisfying. shoutout to my bestie hermosa @persephone-girl for reading over part of this and quelling all the second thoughts i had in the middle of writing it out 🖤 love you guys, enjoyyyy ✨
You purse your lips at your reflection, tilting your head as if a new angle will make everything click. The phone is wedged between your shoulder and ear, and Connie’s voice crackles over the line, keeping you company. 
“Since when do you care so much about getting dolled up?” she teases, picking up on the way you’re fussing.
You tug the hem of the dress down a bit, “That’s not even the issue here,” you counter, a little more defensively than you meant. “It’s just… what do you even wear on a date with someone like Javier?”
Connie lets out a sly laugh. “Well, if I knew more about him, maybe I’d be able to help you out here.”
You huff, rolling your eyes even though she can’t see it, leaning closer to the mirror as you swipe at the mascara wand. “You’re still on that?”
“It’s not every day that my friend leaves with a man like that at the end of her shift, only to find out he’s some annoyingly hot coworker she didn’t even bother mentioning—”
“There was nothing to mention,” you cut in quickly.
“Nothing to mention?” she repeats, scandalized. “He ate you out in an elevator, you talked an orgasm out of him, and you let him slip the tip of his dick inside—”
“Okay!” You cut her off again, voice a bit higher than intended. “Shouldn’t you be out saving lives or something?”
“Currently on day two, hour nine, of my three-twelves.” Her sigh fills your ear. “I’m exhausted. Let me live through your smokin’ sex life so I don’t tear my hair out.”
“Steve not doing it for you anymore?” you tease, rubbing away a bit of lipstick that smudged onto your teeth.
“Oh, he is, but after three overnight shifts? Even the thought of sex is exhausting,” she admits, a laugh edging her words. 
You get it; distinctively thinking about the last spring break week where you worked non-stop, running from shoots all day to the bar all night on three hours of sleep.
That was definitely the week you aged five years in one go.
“Now, back to you,” she snaps you out of your memories. “What did you finally decide on?”
“The black dress.” You say it like it’s the only logical choice.
She groans, dragging it out for dramatic effect. “No. You wear that thing out all the time.”
“I bought it for a reason. To wear it.”
“Oh, come on. I think you should switch it up a little. Make it more fun.”
“Fun?” you echo, skeptical, glancing over at your closet.
“Fun,” she confirms, “like that mini skirt with the flowy fabric. Makes your ass look so good and shows just enough cheek to leave him hanging,” she says all playfully, “Just throw on a top that shows the girls off and you’ll be set. It’s flirty and hot… exactly like your little boy toy and way fresher than a black dress.”
You snort, feeling a little flutter at the mention of Javier being your boy toy. “A classic date-night outfit is classic for a reason, you know?”
“Mhmm, so classic I’m falling asleep. Go grab the skirt and thank me later,” she presses.
You grumble out a fine, deciding to humor her. Maybe you will like it better than the dress.
Rummaging through your closet is a little difficult with the corded phone in your hand but you manage, finally spotting the garment under the mountain of clothes that you’ve just thrown in here and pretended weren’t your problem.
“Where’s he taking you, anyways?”
“No idea, which makes the getting ready process even more difficult. I’m putting you down,” you warn her, setting down the receiver on your dresser.
You toss aside a few ‘not quite’ options before finding a top cute enough for this flirty and hot vision she’s painting. The deep color of it has your skin glowing, the cut of the neckline making your tits look enticing.
The snug skirt teases just enough at your thighs and you do a half turn, glancing back at the mirror to check your own ass out—and damn if she wasn’t on the money.
“Okay, I’m back.”
“And?”
You pause, smiling as you take in your reflection. “I look hot.”
There’s a sharp, delighted squeal on her end. “See? I told you! That’s what friends are for—giving you advice you don’t listen to until you’re basically forced to.”
Her laugh makes you grin, but then you hear a muffle as she talks to someone else in the background. She comes back, tone rushed but still playful. “Alright, I’m being called back onto the floor. But seriously, have fun. Don’t put out unless you want to, and please, please, don’t wait months to fill me in, okay?”
“I won’t,” you chuckle, her instructions making you feel like you’re back in high school. “Thanks, Con.”
“Go get him, you vixen,” she teases, and the line goes dead, leaving you with your thoughts.
You’ve been doing everything possible not to spiral into overthinking, trying to act normal about this date. Part of you still can’t believe it’s actually happening.
You’ve fought him, resisted him, silently judged others for falling for his charms—yet somehow still managed to give in.
If someone had told you months ago that you’d be in this position, you would’ve straight up laughed in their face.
The whole trajectory of it feels warped. You can’t help but wonder if this is all some elaborate game, a long con to get you in his bed.
But then, the doubts don’t quite hold up, not with how much effort he’s put into just getting your attention. If it were about sex, he wouldn’t need all this—he could walk outside, flash that lazy, dimpled grin, and probably have someone falling for him within seconds.
Hell, he could call one of his co-stars and make it that much easier on himself.
Yet, he keeps choosing you, showing up with this sincerity that’s completely messed with your head, confessing feelings and sticking around like he’s actually serious. He’s taken over your mind, lingering there like a sexy, infuriating ghost.
At least you’ve given yourself an ultimatum: if this goes south, you’ll walk away and he’ll leave you alone.
You still remember how low you felt after things with Frankie, and that was amicably ended. 
With Javier, it would sting worse if he turned out to be the arrogant womanizer you’d pegged him as after all the shit that’s transpired between the two of you.
You finish getting ready and head into the kitchenette, grabbing a shot glass. You pour yourself a quick splash of Fireball, hoping it’ll help you feel a little more mellow, maybe a little less wound-up. You toss it back, letting the burn calm the nerves that won’t stop buzzing as the minutes drag by.
Then, you hear the familiar creak of the stairs, the soft shuffle of footsteps, followed by a knock at the door. Your heart skips a beat.
With a deep breath, you slip on a light jacket and grab your purse before unlocking the door and swinging it open.
The sight that greets you could knock the air right from your lungs.
His typical black leather jacket stretches across his broad shoulders, a flushed blue shirt underneath, his neck on full display while the top of his chest teases you beneath the few undone buttons.
His jeans fit him perfectly, hugging his narrow waist and leading down to a pair of well-worn leather boots. But what really catches your attention is the single peony he holds delicately in his hand.
“Hey,” you greet, trying to keep it casual, as if your heart isn’t pounding just from seeing him stand there. He is so damn handsome, it almost feels unfair.
His gaze roams over you, like he doesn’t know where to look, definitely lingering on your legs then your cleavage before his warm, brown eyes meet yours. “You look good, nena.” He leaves you feeling like he’s undressing you with just that look.
You bite back a smile and raise an eyebrow, opting to tease him. “Thanks, Javi. You look… exactly how you always do.”
He chuckles, a lazy smile spreading across his face, and you catch a little dimple on his cheek. “Damn. And here I thought I put in more effort tonight.” He licks his lips, then holds out the flower. “This is for you. I might’ve mentioned our night out to my neighbor, and she clipped this from her garden. Thought it was less on the nose than a red rose.”
You take it from him, its soft petals brushing against your fingers, and bring it to your nose. The sweet, fresh scent makes you sigh a little.
He’s doing the bare minimum, bringing you a fucking flower, and you’re already feeling all warm and mushy. You’ll just blame the one shot of whisky for that. “Talking me up already?”
He chuckles, his eyes appreciating the way your makeup highlights each feature.
“Let’s just say I bum cigarettes off her in exchange for a little company. You just happened to come up.”
“Well now I have to know what you said.”
“Maybe one day.”
This moment already feels charged for no reason.
“I’m going to hold you to that” you warn him playfully. “Thank her for me. And tell her she’s got good taste in flowers.”
He gives you a nod, eyes softening. “I will. You ready?”
“Mhm,” you hum, stepping out to lock the door behind you.
As you turn, you realize how close he’s standing, and the scent of mint and cologne hits you in an instant, making your head spin. He smells fucking incredible.
“So,” you start, trying to ignore the fact that you can practically feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Where are we going?”
He falls into step beside you as you both head down the stairs. “To the best food truck in the city.”
“Really?” You raise an eyebrow, both amused and a little charmed by the casual choice.
He nods, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s by Lake Hollywood Park, which is convenient ‘cause we’ll end our night around there.”
It seems like he has an actual plan for this date, which surprises you, but then again he’s been full of fucking surprises since the moment you met him. “Sounds like fun. Better not be shit though,” you say, adjusting your bag strap on your shoulder, twirling the flower between your fingers.
“I think I’ve lived in L.A. long enough now to know what’s good and what isn’t.”
So he’s not native to this city, which was kind of obvious with the slight twang some of his words seem to have. You wonder where he’s actually from.
As you reach the sidewalk, Javier surprises you by sliding his hand into yours, smooth and confident. The gesture catches you off guard, and you can feel heat pooling at your cheeks. He’s annoyingly charming, and he knows it.
His hand is so much bigger than yours, rough skin brushing against your softer palm in a way that feels—well, it feels like it fits.
Your mind doesn’t miss a beat, leaping straight to the memory of his fingers pressed inside you, knuckle deep, his tongue flicking at your clit as you unraveled for him.
You bite the inside of your lip, willing yourself to stay cool, but damn, those hands could do a lot of things.
How you even fit two of his fingers remains a mystery, but it’s one you’re more than willing to solve again.
“This okay?” he asks, glancing down with a glint of mischief in his eyes, catching you right in the middle of your little lustful trance.
“Perfectly fine,” you reply, squeezing his hand, that glint pulling you in deeper, and you let it.
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“Okay, I think I have a little more faith in your spot now that we’re here.” You settle across from Javier at the picnic table you managed to snag nearby, eyeing the food as he sets it out between you.
He smirks, raising an eyebrow. “You doubted me?”
“Just a little.” You pinch your thumb and finger together with a playful grin, scrunching your nose as you laugh. His lopsided smile makes an appearance, sending your heart into a flutter.
“Then I’ll let the food do the talking. Let that be my ‘I told you so.’”
“Oh, please, I don’t need to hear that twice in one day.”
As you stick your straw into your cup of hibiscus agua fresca, the sweet flavor hits you instantly, and you let out a delighted little hum without even thinking.
His gaze snaps to you, amusement lighting up his eyes. “Someone’s already beaten me to it?”
“Connie,” you confess, dragging your tray of tacos closer and inhaling the smell that makes your stomach practically growl. “She helped me pick this outfit, you know, since someone here was pretty vague on the details.” 
He chuckles, reaching for the salsa verde and giving his tacos a generous drizzle before handing the bottle over. “I told you we’d be outside. I thought that’d be enough.” 
You take it from him, fingers brushing together, and damn if your skin doesn’t actually tingle. “Honestly, I was expecting more of a steakhouse vibe.”
He gives a soft scoff, looking amused. “That’s not really my style. I’d feel like a total fraud…” he pauses, studying your expression, “unless that’s what you wanted. I could do it if that’s what you’re into.”
Your tongue darts over your lower lip as you take in his thoughtfulness. “Nah. This is...perfect, actually.”
A light sparks in his eyes at your word choice. “Perfect, huh?”
You playfully roll your eyes, “Uh huh, don’t get a big head over it.”
“So, I owe Connie for getting you in that skirt?” His voice is smooth, that teasing lilt unmistakable.
Heat climbs up your neck, pooling at your cheeks. “You like it?”
His eyes narrow slightly, that look dark and appreciative. “I think it’s sexy as hell, yeah. But in an effort to be more...gentlemanly—Te ves hermosa. Like always.”
Normally, you’d roll your eyes at him laying it on thick, but right now? You don’t mind it at all.
The attention feels genuine, his words dipping straight between your legs rather than floating on his usual bravado.
“Sweet talk me all you want,” you say, trying to rein yourself in, “but the real test of this date’s success? It all lies in this meal.”
He chuckles, and you’re grateful for the little shift, picking up a taco and clinking it with his, like a toast. The first bite is practically life-changing—the smoky, spicy flavors somehow better than you’d even anticipated.
“Oh wow,” you say, chewing slowly with a hand hovering over your mouth. “Not bad, Peña. This is actually delicious.”
His grin is smug, triumphant, and as he takes another bite, you’re momentarily distracted by the way his jaw flexes, muscles taut as he chews. And damn, if you don’t notice every bit of him in that damn leather jacket, his dark hair slightly tousled and looking as if he were some walking sex deity. 
You mentally curse yourself for already feeling way too into him. 
You chat lightly, going over the usual first-date questions. Somehow, even the simple stuff feels easy and natural with him—there’s something in the way he responds that keeps you drawn in, even if the questions themselves aren’t all that thrilling.
What’s your favorite color? When’s your birthday? Where are you from?
“Texas. And you?” he answers, swiping the napkin over his lips before balling it up, tossing it into his now empty tray.
So he’s a southern boy. That detail definitely adds to his charm. You tell him the name of your hometown, and then, after a beat, add, “Bit far from home, huh? Got family here?”
He shakes his head, reaching into his jacket for a pack of gum. He pulls out two pieces, offering you one.
Okay, another bare minimum act that’s got you all fucking blushy.
“Nah,” he says, chewing his own piece of gum. “It’s just me out here.”
“Your family must be thrilled about what you do…wait, do they know?” you ask, unwrapping the stick and glancing at him.
He sighs, scratching at his jaw. “My pops knows. My mom…” He pauses, a shadow of something crosses his face. “She passed when I was in high school.”
Your heart squeezes, a flicker of guilt making you wince. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“Don’t sweat it,” he interrupts gently, waving it off casually. “It gets tiring hearing it. But yeah, my pops and the rest of them…they don’t exactly jump for joy when it comes to my job. Guess it’s a good thing I stopped giving a fuck about what they think.”
The reality of it sinks in as you watch him across the table, his eyes distant for a moment. You’d never really thought about how it all might affect him (or any of the other stars, honestly) outside of sets and studios.
The world sees sex work as some kind of sordid choice, casting assumptions.
Sure, it’s got its problematic aspects just like any other industry, but with the puritan culture that’s plagued society since the beginning of time, really, it’s seen as such a devious thing when in reality; it could be something so beautiful. A celebration of the human body, of the unity between two people.
Whether you’re a woman or a man—you bear the weight of every stereotype, every judgment, and, especially, the stigma that comes with it.
You hesitate, but your curiosity gets the best of you. “Are you close with them?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he absently smooths his mustache with his thumb and forefinger, eyes thoughtful. “Yes and no.”
Something in his tone tells you this isn’t a thread to pull on right now. So, you pivot the conversation, deciding to leave that part of him for another night.
You glance at your tray, grinning. “This might actually be the best meal I’ve had in a long time. And I’m not bullshitting you.”
His eyes light up, that charming, lazy smile sliding back into place. “I’ll refrain from saying I told you so.”
You laugh, throwing a crumpled napkin at him, which he catches without missing a beat.
He leans in, his voice low. “So, now that I’ve won your approval in the food department, I’ve gotta finish on a strong note so I don’t mess it all up, right?”
You feel your pulse quicken “Sure do. Got anything up your sleeve, or is this where the gentlemanly plan ends?”
“I’ve got plans.” His voice dips, his eyes tracing over you, wetting his lips and that thudding begins to thrum faintly between your thighs. “Thought we’d take a walk, keep getting to know each other…” The suggestive way in which he’s speaking definitely gives his words a double meaning, “Then head to my favorite lookout spot. Best view in the city, hands down.Whatever happens to feel right can unfold after that.”
“Sounds like you’re anticipating something unfolding.”
“Can you blame me? You’re walkin’ around lookin’ good enough to eat.”
You feel a thrill dancing up your spine at his bluntness, “Boundaries still stand, Javi. I’m not sleeping with you.”
He chuckles, a low, knowing sound that sends your stomach into a twist. “That’s fine. I think I’ve shown we can have plenty of fun without crossing that line.”
Every electrifying sexual encounter hits you all at once, and as much as you’d hate to admit it, he’s right. 
No one has ever gotten under your skin or tangled your senses like he does. With Javier, the tension builds until it’s all-consuming—whether it’s the way his hands map every inch of your skin or his mouth works you over. It’s maddening, how easily he pulls you apart and leaves you craving more.
“And If I remember correctly, I wasn’t the one begging for more.”
A hot flash sweeps through you. “You’re so fucking annoying.”
He grins, not missing a beat. “Admit it, you like it.”
And as you share an amused glance, you can’t help but think… yeah, maybe you do.
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The two of you walk side by side under the soft glow of the street lights lining the park. He flicks open his lighter, cigarette wedged between his lips, and you watch the quick flame as it lights up his face for a second before fading out.
You would usually mind the smoke, but somehow, with him, it’s just… fitting. A small indulgence that somehow suits his edges.
“Favorite music genre?” you ask, breaking the quiet.
“Would it be a cop-out to say a little bit of everything?”
“Oh absolutely.”
Javier pauses, a thoughtful look in his eyes as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “Alright, alright. Probably rap. Used to be all about rock—my pops had me hooked young. But out here? My taste has gotten a little West Coast.”
“A Texan boy gone Cali,” you say, feigning surprise. “You love to see it.”
He laughs, his eyes crinkling as he glances at you, then flips the question back. “What about you?”
“R&B. Lauryn Hill and Destiny’s Child have provided the soundtracks to some very pivotal moments in my life.”
He nods, and for a while, the conversation flows smoothly from one topic to another—favorite childhood memories, the dumb stuff you did as teenagers, and random things you never imagined you’d share with him.
Javi raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I bet you were a teacher’s pet.”
“Teacher’s pet? No way. I was a bit of a know-it-all, but I had this rebellious streak,” you admit, “Got in trouble more than once for talking back. I just couldn’t help it.”
“Figures. You’ve got that fire.” 
Eventually, he flicks his cigarette to the ground, stamping it out before looking at you with a curious glint in his eye. “I gotta ask you something,” he says, his voice dipping just a bit. “And be honest. Why didn’t you like me?”
It’s not the first time he’s asked you this, but now that you’re seeing him in a different light, the answer comes easily, less defensive. “Okay,” you start, meeting his gaze. “I wasn’t a fan of how you... got around. And the way you’d micromanage every move during shoots, like your way was always best. Or how you’d just use your dick to get whatever you wanted.”
His silence stretches, and he takes out another piece of gum, nodding slowly as he listens. “And when we met, you were already trying to charm your way into my pants like I was one of your groupies,” you add, “Made it feel like you were always angling for something. I guess I just didn’t want to be another name on your list.”
He exhales, scratching at his jaw. “Fair enough,” he declares. “I didn’t always used to be like this. The whole showboating thing, it’s sort of… a front, I guess. When I started, I had to become a different version of myself. This cocky asshole who had his shit together because… fuck, I didn’t know what else to do. After the bullshit back home, I needed the distance. I needed to prove something.”
There’s something in his tone that pulls at you, but you don’t press. You’re surprised he’s even sharing this much.
“The women, the confidence—all of it. Figured that’s who I had to be to make it. And it worked up until you left… when I realized just how fucked things had gotten for me. After walkin’ out on Robbie, I’ve been trying to be more careful with the jobs I take but fuck, it’s hard.”
This man—this smooth, confident guy you thought you had all figured out—carries more than his rugged allure and that killer smile.
Sympathy blossoms, the kind that grows for someone who’s managed to build walls without even meaning to.
The details remain unsaid, and though curiosity simmers, you let the silence hang.
“You’ll figure it out, Javi. Life has a funny way of kicking you when you’re down, but somehow, things start falling into place eventually. Might sound like a bad fortune cookie, but it’s true.”
His gaze intense and warm under the park lights, brown eyes looking softer, shadows dancing across his face. The way he looks at you makes your legs shake.
You can’t help the small, vulnerable smile that plays at your lips as you wonder if maybe, just maybe, this moment is worth disregarding your own rules for.
His eyes flicker down to your mouth almost on instinct, and you’re caught in a breath, almost tempted to close the space and feel those lips on yours.
But instead, you let the moment breathe between you, keeping the tension electric, and he’s the one who finally breaks the silence. “Thanks nena. Here’s to hopin’ I don’t have to make a trip down to the unemployment office.” He jokes with a laugh that pulls one out of you too, “Let’s head back. Got one more thing to show you.”
As you both turn back towards his truck, he reaches for your hand again, his fingers curling around yours, gentle and reassuring. You lean into him, resting your head on his arm as you walk. It feels natural, like you’re both finally seeing each other, piece by piece, without all the defenses.
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A gentle breeze passes through as you lean against the hood of Javier’s truck, taking in the iconic view.
The twinkling city lights are sprawled out in front of you, while the Hollywood sign looms large and proud in the background. You’ve avoided tourist traps since you moved to LA. Dealing with the general public and pornstars on sets on a daily basis already felt like a big enough dose of Hollywood.
Tonight, though, there’s some kind of magic in being here and you can see why people find themselves drawn to it. Maybe it has something to do with the handsome man beside you.
“You bring all your dates here?” you ask, teasingly.
Javier rubs his lips together, a quiet smile flickering at the edges. “I don’t go on many dates, believe it or not.” He inches a little closer, draping his arm around your shoulder.
“Oh wow, Peña. So smooth.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t ignore the steady, intoxicating scent of him, the one that’s been teasing you all night, and how it engulfs you entirely.
There’s a warmth that reaches from his body to yours, one you can’t help but lean into as your hand finds his, fingers lacing loosely.
Resting your head just near his chest, you feel the gentle rise and fall of his breath, solid and steady.
“Can’t let this night end without you knowin’ what my intentions are.” He pauses, then adds, “I want to keep seeing you.” His words melt into the night as he dips his head to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his face nuzzling softly into your hair.
Your breath catches for just a moment, and he feels it too, the faint hesitation creeping in.
Because the truth is, you’re not sure exactly what you want from this. A relationship? A fling? Could you handle being with someone whose job meant fucking other people—even if emotions are fully detatched?
You draw away slightly, positioning yourself to stand between his legs now as he leans against the truck, watching you, a question in his eyes.
“Tonight was wonderful. Better than a lot of first dates I’ve been on…” you trail off, and he quirks an eyebrow, a hint of concern already flashing in his eyes.
“But…?” he prompts, his voice soft but wary.
“Look, I have the utmost respect for what you do. I know what it takes, if anyone can understand what you actors go through, it’s me and all the other crews out there. I’ve seen shit hit the fan more times than I can count.” You twist your fingers, feeling the tension between wanting him and feeling hesitant. “But dating someone in the industry… I don’t know if I’m cut out for that.”
His shoulders drop a little, and he sighs. “Yeah… I figured.” He lets out a rough laugh, though it’s clear he’s disappointed. “Not the first time this has happened, or the last, probably. I just… I guess I was hopin’ this would be different.”
“It’s not about you, or… or the work. I don’t care that you’re in porn.” you say gently. “It’s just the idea of dating someone who—well, you know.”
He lets out a sigh, a heavy, defeated sound, and his eyes meet yours. “I know, nena, trust me. It’s a lot. I’m not holding it against you.” His hand runs over his face, frustration tightening his jaw. “It’s just…disappointing as fuck, but I get it.”
Before he can sink too deeply into the regret, of thinking he’s wasted a night taking you out, you reach out, catching his wrists and gently pulling his hands down. You’re close enough now to feel his breath brush across your cheek, and you hold his gaze, fierce and a little daring.
You’d be fucking stupid to walk away from all this without knowing what it feels like to kiss him, the man who’s wound you up so tight and left you as breathless as he has conflicted.
Slowly, you place his hands on your waist, leaning in until your lips barely touch his, your breath mingling together. You can practically feel his heart beating against his chest.
“Kiss me, Javi,” you murmur.
There’s no hesitation. His mouth meets yours, warm and certain, sending a spark through every nerve. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer, and you lose yourself in him.
Javier’s mouth moves against yours like he’s savoring every second, his lips plush and gentle, taking his time. 
It’s all so new, so beautifully unhurried.
You meet his pace, moving your lips softly, feeling the slight press and release. When he parts from you slightly, you’re already missing the taste of his mouth, chasing after him.
Then he tilts his head and leans in again, deepening the kiss, his lips fitting against yours with more purpose. He presses closer, his body warm and solid, and you feel his tongue swipe slowly across your lower lip.
A shiver runs through you as you part your lips for him, and the moment his tongue dips into your mouth, a soft moan escapes you, helpless against the sensation.
The sound seems to set something off inside him. Suddenly, the kiss grows hot and urgent, his hands gripping your hips as if he’s afraid to let go, kneading the flesh there while his mouth moves against yours with a new hunger.
Your own hands find their way to his jaw, your fingers sliding up to frame his face, desperate to bring him closer, needing the taste of him to linger.
The feel of his mustache brushes against your sensitive skin adds an edge that only heightens every sensation he’s bestowing on you.
Your tongue meets his, every glide and stroke of it fueling an ache that spreads through you, heat pooling as your teeth clash slightly, both of you pouring months of pent-up desire and frustration into this kiss.
His hold on your waist tightens as your hands slide up to tangle in his hair, tugging at it, and he lets out a low, guttural grunt that gets your bones vibrating.
In one swift movement, Javier maneuvers you, switching positions so that your back is pressed against the hood of his truck.
The cool metal beneath you contrasts with the heat of his body, and one of his hands slides from your waist, strong and possessive, until it grips the plushness of your thigh, hitching it over his hip and pulling your core against his.
The friction, the way his body aligns so perfectly with yours, ignites every nerve in your body.
You gasp against his mouth when his hard length presses against your clothed cunt, right where you need him most. The pressure sends a surge of arousal pooling low in your belly, and you arch into him, craving his intensity.
Your own hands roam, sliding to his jaw, feeling the scratch of his stubble against your palm, then his back, his shoulders, reveling in the feel of him. His mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, tracing a slow, wet line down to your neck, where he leaves a trail of heated kisses that have you gasping for air. 
The burn in your lungs is nothing compared to the ache building between your legs, an ache that only grows sharper every time he ruts his hips against yours.
“Gonna make me cum in my pants kissin’ me like that,” he mumbles against your neck..
He drags his lips back up, brushing his nose against yours, coaxing you into another kiss—this one softer, more controlled, yet no less potent.
You’re breathless when you part again, but it’s as though your body doesn’t care, desperate to keep feeling him against you.
When he reaches the curve of your breasts, he pauses, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses over the swells, grazing the sensitive skin with his teeth just enough to make you shiver.
“Please, Javi,” you murmur, though you’re not even sure what you’re asking for. All you know is that you’re floating in this thick haze of desire, utterly lost in him, the feel of his lips, the intoxicating drag of his teeth against your skin.
His mouth curls into a smirk against your collarbone, and he lifts his head slightly, his hand sliding over the fabric of your top, shifting it down until your breasts are bared to the cool night air.
You gasp, eyes widening, instinctively sitting up straighter, a half-laugh, half-nervous glance flicking around your surroundings, instinctively pulling him closer to shield you.
His dark eyes meet your gaze, a flicker of mischief swirling with the lust there.
“Here? What if someone sees us?” you breathe, heart thudding in your chest as the chill hardens your nipples to sensitive peaks.
“No one’s gonna bother us, nena, te lo prometo.” Before you can respond, his mouth is on your neck, placing a soft, slow kiss there, licking a stripe and tasting your perfume.
His hands find your breasts, fingers curling around the supple skin, his thumbs brushing your nipples in languid circles that have you melting against him, your breath catching with each teasing stroke.
It’s impossible to focus on anything when Javier’s so in tune with every inch of your body, instinctively reading each gasp and shiver.
His hands are so skilled, cupping, squeezing, until one trails along your waist, playing with your pretty skirt with a firm, claiming touch.
It's the perfect push and pull that floods your senses with him, until you’re completely lost.
His scent fills your lungs, his taste lingers on your tongue, feeling his perfect fucking body against you, hearing his subtle grunts, your vision glazed over with tears of pleasure from how he’s making you feel. 
He watches your reactions, eyes dark and filled with a simmering hunger as you lean flat against the hood of the truck, giving him access.
His mouth descends again, and he looks up at you when he’s reached your breasts. “Not gonna fuck you, since I’m bein’ a gentleman and all,” he murmurs, the words hot against your skin, “but I am gonna get you off just by playin’ with your tits.”
The whimper you let out is animalistic, your legs wrapping around his waist, pressing him closer.
Javier’s mouth is unrelenting, lips wrapping around your nipple with a hot, wet pressure that sends electric jolts straight to your cunt.
His tongue swirls over the sensitive peak, teasing it, as his teeth scrape the aching bud ever so lightly, making you gasp. Then he shifts, sinking his mouth lower to nip, to suck harder, his fingers coming up to twist your other nipple roughly, pinching and tugging at it, making you cry and writhe beneath him.
“Oh fuck that feels so good.” You can’t help but be so vocal and he loves it, the sound of your voice doing just as much to get him off in the same way that his mouth doesn’t let up on your tits.
His other hand is no less demanding, gripping your thigh and ass with rough squeezes, the heat of his touch spreading through the thin barrier of your skirt. When he smacks your flesh, the jolt arches your back off the hood of the truck, pulling a breathy moan from your lips that has him smirking against your chest.
You’re soaked, and he can feel it, his cock pressing insistently against the heat of your clothed pussy as your hips grind down onto him, building a rhythm that he matches with his mouth.
His tongue circles, flicks, and finally he pulls at the hard peak with his teeth, sending another shockwave through your body that has you rolling your hips, more wildly against him.
He pulls back just enough, a string of saliva still connecting him to you as he murmurs, “Baby, just with the way you’re movin’ your hips, I can tell you ride cock like a fuckin’ champ.”
His praise lights you up, fueling your need. Your fingers tangle in his hair as you pull him back to your chest. 
He groans, his mouth latching onto your other breast with fervor, tongue flicking over your nipple rapidly before he pulls it into his mouth, the wet sounds of his lips smacking against your flesh, working your sensitive and pert nipples is filthy and obscene in the best way possible.
“So good, Javi… I’m so close,” you manage, the words spilling out unbidden.
He lets out a low groan as he adjusts the angle of your hips, pressing you firmly against his erection. The new angle grinds perfectly against your clit, drawing you deeper into the pleasure until it’s all-consuming, each nerve tuned only to him.
“Oh, god… Javi,” you gasp, feeling the familiar coil of pleasure tighten, your orgasm creeping closer with every pull, every flick, every grind.
Your body is on fire, trembling as you near the edge, your breaths coming in gasps as you hump him, completely lost to the intensity building.
Javier’s mouth alternates between your breasts, each suck and bite tugging moans out of you until you feel like you might lose it.
When his lips finally find yours again, his fingers replace his mouth on your chest, rough and insistent as they pinch and twist your sensitive nipples.
His tongue sweeps into your mouth, deepening the kiss while your body trembles, your jaw slack as you melt into him, moaning his name into his mouth as your orgasm breaks over you in a helpless wave of bliss.
Your body locks up, head canting back and hitting the material beneath you with a gentle thump as you wail his name out into the night. 
“That's right, baby, just like that,” he murmurs, his praise and gentle kisses softening the overstimulation into something even more intoxicating.
His mouth trails over your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, every kiss pressing into your flushed skin while spots of pleasure blur your vision.
As you go limp against the cool hood, Javier’s touch softens on your chest, his fingers now gently kneading the sensitive flesh while he eases you back down, his lips trailing tender kisses over each swell before pulling your top back into place.
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his deep inhale followed by warm, nipping kisses, his mustache scratching your skin just enough to bring out a fresh shiver from you.
“Javi,” you whimper, barely catching your breath, utterly wrecked and starstruck, amazed that he brought you so much pleasure by just teasing your breasts and rutting against you.
“Yeah?” His voice is a husky rasp, a hint of satisfaction at his lips.
You giggle, breathless, “I… don’t even know…” You laugh again, and he joins in, that low laugh rumbling in his chest as he cups your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek.
“You enjoy that?” He tilts his head to the side, smugly grinning down at you.
“What do you think?” you tease back, still panting, eyes half-lidded.
You can’t help but admire how sexy he looks with his swollen lips and mussed hair. 
“Wait you didn't finish—” You murmur, beginning to reach down to toy with his belt, but he catches your hand gently.
“Don’t worry about me, nena.” His gravelly voice reassures you. “Seein’ you like this is enough for me.” 
You frown, feeling like you should do something for him, but before you can argue, he’s leaning down to kiss you again, over and over, until you’re both sinking into another slow, heated makeout session under the open sky, everything else fading away.
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You’re standing in front of your door, the glow of your porch light casting soft shadows over the two of you. “Thanks for tonight; I had a great time,” you say, though your legs still feel shaky from what happened earlier. 
Javier’s eyes linger on you, “Thank you for letting me take you out,” he says, his tone soft. “Even if… things aren’t ending the way I’d hoped.”
A frown flickers on your face, but you keep your tone light, forcing a gentle laugh.“We can still be friends, you know? That’s one hell of an improvement from where we started.”
But your attempt to ease the tension doesn’t reach him; his expression remains fixed, serious.
“I don’t think I can just be friends with you.”
Then he goes and says something stupid like that. 
“So, what now?” you ask, voice sharper than you meant, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “We just… go our separate ways? Pretend none of this ever happened?”
He looks down, his jaw tense, and the silence that follows is thick, each second feeling like an eternity. His eyes meet yours and he sighs.
“I guess so.”
You release a bitter huff, shaking your head as you turn away, rummaging in your purse for your keys.
Fine. Fine. If that’s the way he wants it, you’ll let it be.
He calls your name, his voice slipping through your defenses like a last-ditch plea, making your shoulders tense. You ignore him, wrestling down the tide of frustration and vulnerability clawing its way back up.
You’d told yourself you didn’t want to get involved with him from the start, and now it feels like you should have stuck to your guns. Would have been easier to just tell him to kiss your ass that day he came into the bar, seducing you in your apartment, then asking you out on a date that ultimately meant nothing.
You find your keys and jam them into the lock, refusing to look back.
The second time he says your name, it’s firmer, and you whirl around to face him.
“Javier, listen—before tonight, I didn’t think there was a chance in hell I’d ever be into you. But I gave you a shot, and turns out, you’re not that bad. You’re actually pretty fucking sweet,” you confess, half-laughing, but it’s tinged with the bitterness that you feel. “And maybe if things were different, I could see us together. But things aren’t different. They’re the same as they always have been, and I won’t make you choose between me and your job.”
“I could quit—”
You let out a laugh, loud and unfiltered. “And do what? You’re damn good at what you do, Javi. I’ve seen it firsthand, and yeah, most of the time it’s some pretty raunchy shit, but there’s something almost… artistic in it, and I’d feel selfish as hell if I was the reason you gave that up.”
He places his hands on his hips, shifting his weight, exasperation written in every taut line of his body. “Do I need to remind you that I’m a grown-ass man who can make his own decisions? I’m starting to hate this job, and I want you.  I don’t care if I have to work a hundred side gigs. If that’s what it takes for you to be mine, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”
The weight of his confession makes your grip on the doorknob tighten, his words sinking deeper than you want them to.
“Javi, please, think this through—”
“You sound like my agent,” he interrupts with a dry laugh, flexing his jaw. “I’ve thought about it. It’s all I can think about. I can’t even keep my cock hard enough to fuck the girls on set anymore, and like I told you before—I’m not taking pills for that shit.”
He steps closer, and you feel a pang in your chest as his hand brushes yours, his gaze desperate, pleading with you to see him the way he sees you.
But it’s messy and it’s hard, and even if it’s everything you didn’t know you wanted, you’re terrified it might be everything you don’t know how to hold onto.
His hands slide up, fingers splaying gently over your cheeks, holding you as if he’s anchoring himself. “Please stop fighting me on this,” he murmurs insistently. “I know what I want, and it’s you.”
The intensity in his eyes roots you in place, brown and warm and so damn certain it’s almost overwhelming. You’re taken aback by the softness in his touch, by how steady his hands feel against your face.
He’s usually much braver in action than in words, and yet here he is, unwavering.
“And you’re sure?” you whisper, not sure you can even trust yourself to hold up your guard.
“Si, nena.” There’s no hesitation, no doubt, just a rock-solid conviction that somehow soothes your racing heart. 
“You’re not gonna regret this down the line? Not even a little?”
“Absolutely not.” His answer is quick and firm, like he’s spent every minute leading up to this one, getting ready to say it.
Oh, fuck. With him looking at you like that, you know you don’t really have any other choice but to give Javier Peña a shot at being your boyfriend.
“Okay… okay, Javi, fine. We’ll see where this goes, but if you start having even one doubt—”
He doesn’t let you finish, cutting you off with his mouth on yours, pulling you close in a kiss that’s somehow even more intense than you were expecting.
It’s deep and consuming, worlds away from anything you’ve ever felt, like he’s pouring everything he has into it, and you can’t help but lose yourself in him like you have been since the moment things shifted in your dynamic.
When you finally come up for air, foreheads resting against each other, you’re both a little breathless, eyes shining with adoration.
“So...we’re doing this?” he asks, a crooked smile on his face that makes him look boyish and so damn pretty.
“I guess we are.”
“Does that mean I can come inside?” And with the way his lips quirk up into a cocky smile, you know exactly what this motherfucker means.
“Nope, we’re taking things slow… and I’m not fucking you until you get tested.”
He shrugs nonchalantly, “Fair enough. I can work with that.”
You kiss again, his mouth soft and so damn inviting that it takes all your willpower to pull yourself back before you’re tempted to give in right here, in the doorway. “Alright, Javi,” you murmur, feeling his breath linger against your lips as he bites playfully at your lower lip before letting you go. “Goodnight.”
He’s grinning, and it’s that smile that has a way of melting everything inside you. “Goodnight, nena. I’ll call you, set up our second date. Soon.”
The giddiness hits you hard—like back when Frankie was all about pursuing you, only it’s different this time and you don’t know why.
‘“I’ll be waiting.”
He quirks a brow. “I won’t make you wait too long.”
One last, lingering kiss and he’s gone, leaving you at the door, flushed, breathless, and completely jumbled in the best way possible.
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“It feels weird being on this side of the bar,” you say, settling onto a barstool across from Connie. Javier slides into the stool next to you, immediately pulling you closer, his hand warm and possessive on your thigh.
“If you’re here to flaunt your relationship, you should start charging for it—I know I’d pay to see it,” Connie teases with a wink, already preparing your usual drink and turning to Javier. “And what about you?”
“Whiskey. Neat,” he answers, then leans into you, his voice a murmur by your ear, his hand slipping higher up your thigh, sneaking under the hem of your dress. “She does have a point, though.”
You smirk, pretending to ignore the way his fingers are trailing dangerously close to your panties. “Not sure I’d be any good on camera. Not like you, anyway.”
He chuckles and you can feel the heat between you two, that ever-present hum of lust you’ve been riding since the night he first kissed you.
It’s been blissful a month of dating Javier, and being with him is like no relationship you’ve had before.
You’ve found so much joy in the simplest moments with him—like when he fixes the little issues around your apartment that your landlord could care less about, or, the lively debates you have in the grocery store aisles, passionately debating which brand of coffee is better. 
Sure, you still haven’t officially slept with him, but that hasn’t stopped either of you from exploring each other. He’s kept his promise to make you feel amazing, finding delicious ways to learn your body without actually crossing that line.
It has only made everything feel deeper, sweeter. The way you make out like teenagers, unraveling each other in all the ways that matter, has been more than enough.
It wasn’t until a few days ago that you finally returned the favor, slipping into the shower with him and blowing his mind in every sense of the word, until he was helplessly spilling down your throat. Your jaw’s still a little sore from how eagerly you’d gone down on him, the memory of his breathless groans seared in your mind. 
Tonight, he’d asked you to be his girlfriend, officially. He’d planned this whole evening at a rooftop restaurant, it was a little too fancy, but he looked at you like he couldn’t believe his luck.
The restaurant itself was overpriced and borderline ridiculous, but you two had made a game of it, teasing and laughing over the small portions and the pretentious plating. 
He even surprised you with a beautiful pair of earrings that you immediately put on, and he looked so damn proud when you showed them off.
Now you’re here at Lucky’s, both of you a bit overdressed, not ready to call it a night yet.
You can feel Javier’s gaze on you, intense and unwavering. “Baby, you’d be a fucking sight,” he says, teeth grazing your earlobe before he bites down gently, his warm breath tickling your skin and sending a shiver through you. You can’t help but giggle, feeling breathless and flushed as he plants a quick kiss to your cheek.
“Why are you two all dressed up?” Connie asks, setting your drinks down with a raised brow.
“Went out for dinner at the most overpriced spot I’ve ever set foot in. Easily spent my entire Friday night’s tips, and I’m still hungry.”
“Not only does that sound like a waste of time, but it’s definitely not your style.”
Javier leans back, one arm draped over your barstool. “To clarify: she didn’t spend a damn dime,” he interjects, “I had to take her somewhere special to ask her to be my girl,” he says, voice dripping with smooth confidence as he raises his glass for a sip.
Connie’s eyes light up, and your cheeks flush. “Consistent dick is the ultimate antidepressant. Trust me, I’d know,” she says with a wink.
You laugh at her bluntness, and fall into an easy rhythm of conversation, her giving updates on things with Steve, then gushing over the earrings Javier had gifted you earlier.
Just as you’re leaning in to admire them together, you notice a figure approaching. A woman, older and stunningly beautiful, glides up to the bar—her gaze fixed squarely on Javier.
“Javier, is that you?” Her voice is low, sultry, every word dripping with familiarity as she slides up beside him, her gaze unmistakably hungry. “Dios mío, mira qué guapo te has puesto, mi amor.”
Your head snaps up, conversation with Connie dissolving as Javier stands, greeting her with a hug that makes you do a double take.
You share a look with Connie, her expression mirroring the curious frown you feel. She raises her brows, silently mouthing, Who is that?
I don’t know, you mouth back, jealousy twisting in your stomach as you glance back at them.
They part, but her hands linger a moment too long on his chest, her manicured fingers trailing down. Javier very politely but firmly moves them away, a small frown creeping onto her face.
“Judy, long time no see.” His tone is courteous but distant. “This is my girlfriend,” he says, his voice warm as he makes the introduction, stepping back to your side, positioning you squarely in her line of sight.
You’re about to revel in the term girlfriend rolling so easily off his tongue, but her eyes lock onto you with a chill that runs down your spine. Standing your ground, you straighten, meeting her gaze head-on.
She’s stunning, her hair tastefully graying in elegant streaks against her rich brunette, her makeup precise and expensive. The smile lines around her mouth only enhance her aging beauty and if it weren’t for the absolute diabolical vibes you’re getting from her, you would have complimented how good she looks.
The tailored outfit, chunky gold bracelets, diamond-studded earrings and matching necklace leave no question—she has money.
What she’s doing at a dive bar like Lucky’s is beyond you, but maybe LA has its fill of pretentious types everywhere.
“Encantada,” she purrs, a fake smile flashing across her face before her focus shifts back to Javier. “¿Tienes novia? No lo puedo creer, Javiercito. Nunca me lo imaginé de ti.¿Sigues actuando?”
Her words drip with disbelief, her eyes giving you a nasty once over, and you catch enough Spanish to know she’s making a point to speak only to him. It’s like you’re just a side note, something to size up and dismiss.
Javier shifts, catching the tension in your posture, but she’s unrelenting. He responds curtly, “No, not with others. More solo work now.”
She scoffs, a haughty tsk of disapproval as she tilts her head.“No me digas que tu noviecita no te deja.” A mocking pout twists her lips. “Mija, if you’re going to date a pornstar, you’re going to have to deal with the baggage that comes with it. You don’t just get to benefit from him, from what I taught him.”
A flush of fury burns through you, and you’re on the verge of standing up, ready to beat her ass for her audacity. But Javier senses it and steps in, fingers pressing gently but firmly against your thigh, silently calming you down before you do something that’ll make him have to bail you out.
“It was my choice. Gig isn’t fun anymore,” he says firmly, a hint of irritation finally creeping into his tone. “We’re actually in the middle of a date, so if you wouldn’t mind leaving us to it…”
She glances between the two of you, clearly displeased at being dismissed but not quite willing to push her luck. Her smile turns syrupy, and you roll your eyes, signaling Connie for another drink. She’s failing miserably at pretending like she’s not listening in. 
“Of course,” she says in a sugary tone, eyes lingering on him.“Provecho. Si cambias tu mente, sabes donde encontrarme, Javi. We used to have so much fun together.” Her fingers trace down his arm a little too slowly, and she practically purrs, “Enjoy your date, sweetheart,” as she struts off, hips swinging with exaggerated flair.
But his eyes don’t follow, they turn to you.
Once she’s out of earshot, you raise a brow, waiting for some explanation. “So… who was that?” you ask as he sits back beside you, tossing back the last of his drink.
“An old colleague,” he says flatly.
You feel another surge of jealousy, and the second your drink arrives, you’re downing it in one go.
“Woah, nena, take it easy—”
“Is that normal for you?” you ask, unable to hide the irritation bubbling up. “Having fans… ‘colleagues’ just approach you out of nowhere, all of them ready to fuck?” You know your tone’s more annoyed than you intended, but the image of her hands all over him pisses you off.
He studies you, cautious, as if measuring his words. “Honestly? Yes. I’m very popular, baby,” he says with a crooked smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “I thought you knew that.”
You let out a sigh, guilt creeping in for directing your irritation at him. “I know… I do. There’s just a difference between knowing and actually experiencing it.” You try to keep the bite out of your tone. “It’s not like she was being subtle either. Looked like she was two seconds away from spreading herself out for you right here.”
There’s definitely an adjustment that still needs to be made in terms of dating a pornstar.
“I’ll be better about shutting them down,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Even if you do look hot when you’re jealous.”
You try to suppress a smile, rolling your eyes as he leans closer, brushing his lips along your bare shoulder, then trailing up to your neck, melting your frustration just a bit. He’s too good at this.
“I wasn’t jealous,” you lie, glancing sideways at him. “Also didn’t peg you as an ‘older women’ guy. I’ve only ever seen you with the younger girls.” Saying it even makes you cringe.
As if on cue, Connie, ever the observant bartender, swoops in with replacement drinks, eyebrows raised knowingly. “Everything good over here? I don’t need to call an ambulance or anything, right?”
You snort out a laugh, shaking your head. “No, Con, we’re fine.”
“Even though I wouldn’t mind seeing her kick some ass.” Javier teases.
She laughs, nodding at you. “Oh, you want to see her fight? Be here during a major sports event. Last year during March Madness, she gave this guy a black eye ‘cause he called her a cunt when she accidentally changed the channel, then ended up going toe-to-toe with his girlfriend.”
Javier raises his brows at you. “Seriously?”
You shrug, unfazed. “They asked for it.”
As Connie gets pulled away by some patrons at the other end of the bar, Javier turns to you, his expression shadowed and a bit more serious than before.
“When I first started, my confidence was shot. I’m talkin’ nonexistent,” he admits, his voice low.
You arch a brow, struggling to picture a less-than-assured Javier Peña. “Really? I’m having a hard time imagining that.”
“Yeah, well…” He lets out a rough sigh, “When your fiancée gets knocked up and leaves you at the altar for the guy she’s been cheating on you with, that tends to happen.”
You choke on your drink, and your hand flies to your chest, eyes wide. He glances at you, his concern slipping past his own discomfort for a second. You wave him off as you try to get it together, the words still rattling around in your mind.
“Sorry—what?” you finally manage, hardly believing what you just heard.
“Didn’t mean to dump it on you like that,” he says, leaning on the bar, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat on the counter, his gaze cast downward.
“Hold up. You were engaged?” You can’t help but lean in, your curiosity clawing to the surface. “And she left you?” You’re struggling to piece it all together, mind spinning through images of the man sitting next to you, younger and heartbroken.
“Yeah,” his jaw twitches. “Her name was Lorraine. We were high school sweethearts—whole ‘marry your first love’ thing.” There’s a hard edge in his voice now, his fingers gripping the glass a bit tighter. “Thought I’d have the life, fill a house with kids, do the whole all-American family bullshit.” His words are bitter, the resentment so clear you almost feel it yourself. 
He takes a breath, rubbing the back of his neck before continuing. “Wedding day comes around and she’s gone. Left some half-assed note saying she ‘couldn’t do it,’ and her sister finally broke down and told me what was really going on. She’d been screwing her boss. He got her pregnant.”
There’s a crash behind the bar as a glass shatters. You glance over to see Connie, her face red, scrambling to clean it up with an embarrassed apology. You can’t blame her for listening in—you’re feeling a similar gut punch. 
You knew there was something that happened that made him jump the gun and move to California, now, you know what it is. An ain’t shit ex.
“Javi, that’s fucked. I can’t even begin to imagine how much that must have hurt.”
He gives a small nod, lifting his glass and taking a slow sip.
From where you’re sitting, you can see his profile in the low light—his strong nose, the gentle curve of his cheekbones, those lips that naturally form a pout when he’s deep in thought.
"I tried to keep it together, but that town became… suffocating. The looks I got…” Javier’s voice trails off as he shakes his head. “So I packed my shit, said goodbye to my pops, and just started driving. Stopped in all sorts of places, did some sightseeing, trying to figure things out.” A hint of a smile plays on his lips. “Ended up here, and Steve was the first friend I made. That asshole’s the one who got me into porn.”
Your brows shoot up, surprised yet again by his story’s unexpected turns. “Steve? Oh god, don’t tell me he used to do it too.”
Javier smirks, amusement dancing in his eyes. “He did a few flicks. Nothing groundbreaking like me.” He says all cheekily, and you can’t help but nudge him. “So, yeah, I started out for a few bucks. Wasn’t so hot in the beginning—and then I met Judy.”
At the mention of her, your face twists involuntarily, and he notices but ignores your reaction. 
“She taught me most of what I know, and we shot a lot of projects together. People liked what they saw, and after a while, I started getting paired with older co-stars. That kinda became my thing. MILFs and cougars,” he says, his gaze tracing your features to gauge your response. 
You’re still reeling from everything he’s told you so far, marveling at the many lives this man has lived before finding his way to you. “That explains a lot, actually,” you say, your thoughts slipping out with your words.
It now makes sense why he’s so damn good at foreplay. Skills like his? They’re honed under women who know exactly what the fuck they’re talking about, who aren’t shy to take what they need.
Suddenly, your own insecurities begin to simmer and you wonder if you’ll ever amount to the women before you.
He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Yeah? Like what?”
You glance up, unflinching. “Like the fact that you can fuck.” Your bluntness pulls a laugh out of both of you—his full of mischief, yours tinged with nerves.
“Not a problem, is it?” he asks, that signature smirk softened, yet curious.
It’s a loaded question, so you take a sip, buying a little time before answering. “What, that you can fuck?”
He laughs again, more genuine this time, a sound that melts some of the tension inside you.
“No, nena,” he replies, still grinning. “Everything else.”
The laughter fades, and for a moment, you sit in the quiet, watching tiny droplets slide down the condensation on your glass.
You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for honesty. “It’s not a problem, Javi. But… if I’m being real with you, I don’t feel up to par with what you’re used to.”
You can tell from the way his face falls into a scowl that he doesn’t like how you’ve phrased it. “What I have with you is different, cariño. Not something scripted for a camera.” 
“I know that, but still. You’re used to professionals—people who know exactly what to do, how to look, how to please. Me?” You let out a shaky laugh, grimacing at your self deprecation, and your gaze falls to the drink in your hand. “You’re lucky if I even get on top.”
As the last word falls, your cheeks flush with embarrassment, feeling raw and exposed at a fucking dive bar.
Before you can turn further away, Javier leans in close, gently catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His expression is nothing but tender, his dark eyes soft.
“Hey, stop that,” he murmurs, his voice so gentle it’s almost a whisper. “You’re more than enough. Trust me.” His fingers stroke softly along your jaw, lingering. “I wasn’t looking for a waxed-up, camera-ready professional. I wanted something real and I found you.”
Your heart stirs at the depth in his voice. He lets out a small breath, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheek. “I know you’ve got your hang-ups, and I get it. I’ve been there. It’s… hard to feel like you’re enough when you’re constantly comparing yourself to people who don’t even matter. But I’m tellin’ you, baby, it shouldn’t be like that with us.”
He shifts a little closer, his gaze earnest. “I’ll help you feel more confident the way someone once did for me. But the difference? I’m givin’ you everything. Not just sex, not just some half-hearted attempt. I’m here—all in.”
You swallow the mix of emotions he’s just poured into you—gratitude, desire, and a newfound trust that fills the spaces where your insecurities had settled.
Your eyes search his, words catching in your throat as you try to express everything you’re feeling. But instead of speaking, you reach for the hand at your face, your stare steady as you quietly murmur, “Let’s go upstairs.”
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You stumble through the door, bodies pressed close as you and Javier crash into the walls of your apartment, lips never parting for more than a heartbeat.
Your hands roam each other’s bodies, his fingers tracing down your spine, your own tugging eagerly at his shirt, popping buttons until it falls open, greedily feeling up on his warm and toned chest.
His belt follows, clinking to the floor, and as you kick off your heels, you barely register the sound of them hitting the ground—lost in the heavy rhythm of your pulse, the taste of his mouth, the roughness of his scruff.
He sinks down onto the edge of your bed, and you move to straddle him, but he catches you just in time, leaning back a bit with a smirk. “Take your dress off…” he orders, his voice gravelly as his eyes travel hungrily over you, biting his lower lip.
Your heart races as you take a few steps back, antsy fingers reaching for the zipper at your side.
“Slowly,” he adds, and you slow down, teasing him as you draw the zipper down until your dress is loose against your skin.
Holding it to your chest with one hand, you turn around, letting it slip and fall in a gentle whisper to the floor, leaving you standing in just your underwear.
His satisfied hum makes you shiver, and you feel his gaze burn down your back, over the curve of your hips, your thighs.
Looking over your shoulder with a flirty smile, you catch his eye, and he grins in return.
“Turn around, baby, let me see you.”
You turn to face him, nerves quieted by the way he’s looking at you—as if he’s seeing you naked for the first time.
He lets out a soft, almost reverent groan, then extends his hands, urging you closer. You step forward, your hands finding his shoulders as you finally straddle his lap, his warmth searing through you. 
His mouth captures yours, rough hands sliding up to cup your breasts, teasing your nipples until you’re trembling, gasping against his lips as you remember what happened the last time he toyed with you like this.
“Javi…” you whisper his name, your voice barely a breath as you pull away just enough to speak, eyes meeting his. “I want you. All of you.” You lean in to kiss him again, fervent, moving to trail your lips along his jaw, nipping lightly.
“I want you to fuck me.” You say it firmly, leaving no room for doubt, wanting him to understand exactly what you need.
He groans deeply, his hands dropping to grip your ass and pull you closer. “Are you sure?” his nose brushes along your neck, his breath hot against your skin as you continue kissing along his jaw.
“Yes, Javi,” you breathe out, voice thick with need, “I need you so bad.”
With practiced ease, Javier shifts you onto your back, stretching out beneath him as he hovers close, his touch claiming every inch of exposed skin. His hands trail over you, hot and lingering, and you feel like you’re melting beneath him, completely under his control.
When he finally pulls away to slip out of his remaining clothes, you see his gaze wander, fixated on something by your bedside table.
Following his line of sight, you realize he’s locked onto the purple vibrator you’d left out after using it the other night when he wasn’t around, leaving you to fend for yourself.
A sly smile tugs at his lips as he reaches over, picking it up and turning it over in his hand. “This little thing gets you off?” he teases, holding it up as though he’s sizing up the competition.
You roll your eyes, wrapping your legs around him to pull him closer, but he resists, firmly planted just out of reach.“When I’m in a pinch, yes. Haven’t exactly needed it much lately, thanks to you.”
A thoughtful hum escapes him as he glances between you and the toy, as if weighing his options. Then, moving back over you, he kneels between your thighs, one hand gripping your hip possessively, teasing the band of your panties, while the other holds the vibrator with a wicked gleam. “I think we could put this to good use tonight.”
The spark of excitement floods through you, making your thighs tense instinctively, hips lifting slightly in response. Javier notices, his smirk widening as he lets the band of your panties snap back against your skin, making you gasp.
His eyes darken as he watches you writhe, clearly savoring your every little movement.
“Oh, yeah?” you manage to ask, your voice breathy with anticipation. “How?”
Instead of answering, he switches the toy on, and the low, steady hum fills the room. His eyes never leave you as he drags it lightly over your pelvis, nowhere close to where you ache for him, but enough to make your breath hitch, a soft moan slipping out as you arch into his touch.
His grip on your hip tightens. “Stay still,” he commands, using that sexy bedroom voice of his that’s even more gravelly and deeper than his usual cadence.
Obediently, you settle back, watching him with bated breath. He keeps the toy hovering just above your soaked panties, tantalizingly close to where you need him most.
When he finally presses it down on your clothed pussy, just enough to tease, you let out a low, pleading whimper, your hands gripping the sheets as he works you over in slow, cruel strokes.
His stare holds yours, a silent promise that tonight, he’s going to take his time, making sure you feel every single second of it.
Your breaths come out heavy and uneven, your whole body tensing as you fight the urge to grind up against it, trying to maintain some composure while he has you pinned down beneath that slow, teasing rhythm.
Javier moves the toy in tight, deliberate circles, dragging it excruciatingly slow over your needy clit, the first setting absolute torture.
He’s in no hurry, watching with intense focus as you tremble, his eyes tracing every twitch, every bead of arousal that weeps from your cunt, dampening the thin fabric even more.
He keeps that maddening pace, and as the vibrations ripple through you, you feel the familiar tightening in your belly, an orgasm coiling dangerously tight, ready to snap.
Your nails dig into the duvet, a strangled moan spilling from your lips. “Oh, fuck, Javi—I’m… I’m gonna come—”
But just as you reach that edge, he pulls the toy away and turns it off, leaving you gasping, the sensation dissipating as quickly as it built. Your eyes snap open and you sit up slightly, desperate and hazy, locking onto him. “What the fuck?”
“Shh,” he hushes you, though there’s no denying the look of satisfaction on his face. Javi brushes his lips over the corner of your mouth, calming you with a soft, feather-light kiss. “Just trust me, okay? You know I always take care of you.”
You do know. This man has pulled so many orgasms right out of your body without even fucking you with his dick. That reassurance melts away your frustration from being pulled back from the precipice. You nod, swallowing hard. “Okay.”
Your lips meet in a kiss that’s so intoxicating, tongues sliding against each other, his hand skipping down your side to the band of your panties.
Slowly, he drags the fabric down, his fingers gliding over your skin, leaving a blazing trail as they go.
When he finally discards your underwear, you’re left bare beneath him, exposed and aching, while he still wears that unbuttoned dress shirt, his slacks riding low on his hips, half undone.
It’s annoying how good he looks—just dressed enough to drive you wild with impatience.
He taps your knee, urging you to spread wider, his gaze fixed on you with unrestrained desire. And the way he looks at you—like you’re all he’s ever wanted—banishes every flicker of self-doubt, every whisper of insecurity.
You let yourself open up to him completely, your sticky, swollen pussy on full display, pulsing in anticipation, needing him more than words can say.
His eyes rake over you with reverence, dark and smoldering as he drinks in every inch of yourself that you’re offering to him, his chest rising and falling a little heavier. 
“Always so fuckin’ pretty,” he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss to your knee before settling back between your legs.
The vibrator flicks on again, and he traces it up your inner thighs, letting you tremble beneath his touch. You bite down hard on your lip, trying to hold back the urge to shout at him to stop playing around, to just give it to you.
Javier trails the toy along your slick lips, his gaze dark and hungry as your arousal drips out of your cunt, every inch of your body clenching with need. When he finally presses the vibrator to your clit, a shudder ripples through you, your back arching off the bed.
He groans low and deep, clearly savoring your reaction.
“Javi,” you moan, hips already grinding against the pressure as he keeps the vibrator in place, turning up the intensity to make you gasp, your body moving to meet it, demanding more.
“Feel good, baby?” he murmurs, his voice like smoke.
“Uh-huh,” you manage to get out, nodding feverishly, your eyes squeezed shut as you let the pleasure wash over you, helplessly rocking against him.
But just as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls it away.
Over and over, he teases, edging you with that relentless, maddening rhythm, each denial more tortuous than the last.
He alternates between fucking the toy inside you, pressing it against the fleshy cleft of your clit, and peppering soft, almost loving kisses down your body: your neck, your jaw, the valley between your breasts. His tongue traces your nipple in slow circles, flicking it just enough to drive you wild, until you’re a trembling, teary mess beneath him, desperate for release.
“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” he coos, stroking your cheek as he sets the vibrator to its highest setting, plunging it inside you. The wet, obscene sounds of your pussy crying around it only fuel his hunger as he watches your face.
You feel his fingers cup your jaw, firm and unyielding, his eyes blazing into yours as you cling to his touch, mascara running down your cheeks, feeling so utterly wrecked.
“Please, Javi… please let me come,” you beg, your voice ragged. But he just tightens his hold, fingers digging into the skin of your cheeks, pressing the toy in deep as his thumb circles your clit, leaving you breathless. 
“Just when you think you can let go… it’s snatched from you,” he whispers, ignoring your pleas, dragging you to the brink only to pull the vibrator away once again, leaving you a shaking, furious mess.
A strangled sound escapes your throat, torn between anger and need, barely feeling like yourself.
Javier chuckles, bending down to nip at your chin, his teeth grazing your skin before his tongue traces a line up your jaw. “That’s how you’ve been making me feel for months now, nena,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “Driving me fuckin’ crazy. It’s only fair that I make you feel even a fraction of it.”
“Y-You’re an asshole,” you try to retort, but your voice comes out barely above a whisper, your tone more a helpless whine than any real protest.
He grins, mocking your pout with one of his own, voice dripping with feigned sympathy. “Don’t say that, baby. You’re breakin’ my heart.” He brushes one last kiss against your lips, pulling back just as you lean into him, already aching to feel him close again, his warmth a cruel tease.
He undresses fully, and your mouth literally waters as your gaze traces the sculpted lines of his stomach, following the trail of hair that leads down to his thick, throbbing cock.
The head is swollen and red, already dripping with precome, and you can’t help the moan that slips from your lips, your hips shifting instinctively, every nerve ending primed and desperate for him. You’ve been dreaming about this moment for so long, craving it with every fiber of your being. 
You need to fuck this man.
As he climbs back over you, his hands reach to pull you closer, your legs wrapping around his waist as if they belong there, your hands clutching at the solid warmth of his shoulders.
You pull him down to you, your bare breasts pressed to the hard plane of his chest, as he balances himself with both hands planted beside your head, his eyes burning into yours. 
“You okay?” he asks, voice soft, and you nod, kissing the corner of his mouth before tangling your fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck.
“Mhm,” you breathe, staring up at him, completely wrecked and totally ready. “I’m just ready to take you, Javi. Need it so bad.”
He groans, the heat in his eyes darkening as he adjusts his hips, hovering right there, just out of reach. “Go ahead, baby, take it. Put it in.”
His words are like gasoline to a fire, and a shiver runs through you at the sheer, visceral need in his command.
Reaching down, your fingers wrap around his length, both of you gasping as you feel the heat and hardness of him pulsing in your hand. You squeeze gently, stroking him slowly, and he hisses, rolling his hips into your grip.
You swirl your thumb over the head, spreading the bead of precome across his skin, the silky-slick texture making you dizzy with anticipation.
Drunk on him, on everything he evokes in you, you guide the head of his cock to your soaked, swollen entrance, rubbing it slowly against your aching slit.
The sensation has you trembling, but when he finally pushes forward, easing himself into you, you let out a loud, breathless whine. The stretch of him is so perfect, so utterly fulfilling that your back arches, your toes curling as your head falls back into the sheets. 
“Oh, fuck—Javier, you feel so good,” you gasp, your walls clenching around him, holding him deep as your body adjusts to every thick, pulsing inch. It’s even better than you ever imagined.
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and uneven as he thrusts forward, filling you to the hilt. “Nena,” he grunts, voice ragged, “I’m not gonna last—shit.” He sounds as wrecked as you feel, his hips pressing flush against yours as he sinks in deep, your inner walls gripping him as if you’ll never let him go.
“Please,” you whimper, grinding your hips up to meet him, urging him on. He sinks his teeth into the delicate skin of your neck, sucking until he’s left a mark, his mouth hot and relentless as he peppers kisses and bites along your throat.
He’s holding himself back, giving you a second to catch up, but every inch of you craves him.
“Give me, fuck, gimme a second,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your collarbone. He starts to move, his thrusts slow and controlled, his mouth capturing yours in a heated kiss, your bodies locked together as he builds a rhythm, deeper and more intense with every movement.
Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in as he grinds just right, the coarse hairs of his cock rubbing against your swollen clit, making you babble helplessly against his parted lips, your own pleasure climbing higher with each thrust. “Right there, Javi, right there—I’m so close, please…”
He speeds up, his strokes hard and unrestrained, driving you to the edge. But even as he tries to keep his control, you feel him faltering, his body tensing as the pleasure becomes too much.
“Fuck—puta madre, nenita—you feel so good—” His voice breaks, and he gives one, two, three hard thrusts, burying himself deep as his release finally takes over, his warm, pulsing release spilling into you as he groans loudly, hips grinding as he rides out the last waves of his orgasm.
Your chest heaves with every breath, your body still humming with tension. As much as you’re flattered by his performance, you’re left tingling, unfinished, after all the edging and teasing he put you through.
“Javi…” You murmur softly, your hands sliding from his tousled hair down his shoulders, the heat radiating off his skin. 
He responds with a low grunt, still draped over you, his weight grounding you.
“Javier,” you say again, a bit more insistently this time, and he lifts his head, eyes heavy and glazed, looking at you as if you’ve just broken him in the best way possible.
You’ve never seen him look this wrecked, his breath still uneven and his face flushed—all because of you. Fighting the urge to smirk, you can’t help but revel in the sight of him.
Men can be sensitive about finishing quickly, but he looks nothing but smug.
“Pussy’s too damn good, baby. Fuckin’ Christ,” he groans, a grin tugging at his lips, his words breathy and awed.
Now you let yourself smirk, feeling the flush of satisfaction. He nuzzles his nose against yours, murmuring, “Gotta make up for that.”
You raise a brow, intrigued. And then he’s moving, slowly pulling out of you, making you hum as the absence of him sends a small flutter through your sensitive cunt, his warm, milky cum trickling out and coating your thighs. 
With determination in his gaze, he begins his descent, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your sternum, his breath a delicious tease against your skin until he’s nestled between your legs.
His broad shoulders press your thighs open, and then he throws them over his shoulders, eyes locked on yours, his look nothing short of ravenous.
Javi nips and kisses along your inner thighs, each bite and lick sending sparks straight to your core. When he finally reaches your swollen, aching pussy, his thumbs slide over your folds, parting them to reveal the slick mess he left behind.
Then, you feel the first swipe of his tongue, warm and slow, tasting you both. His groan is deep and low, the sound vibrating against you as he begins to devour you, licking and slurping at your mixed arousal with a hunger that’s overwhelming. 
You can’t hold back—you’re too wound up, too sensitive, and you grab at his hair, your fingers twisting and tugging as your release crashes through you, every wave building on all the ones denied before. 
You’re left gasping, body arched and taut, thighs clamping around his head as you scream his name, mindlessly babbling through the pleasure.
“Javi! Fuck—fuck, yes, oh god—” 
He growls against you, mouth working as he drinks in every pulse, his tongue relentless as he wrings every last aftershock from your shaking body.
It’s beyond anything you’ve felt before, overwhelming and intense, leaving you utterly spent as you finally start to come down, your body melting beneath him, weak and utterly satisfied.
As he finishes devouring you between your thighs, you barely have a moment to catch your breath before he’s thrusting into you again, harder and deeper this time, with a fierce intensity that rips a loud, shameless cry from you.
Right, he’s got that pornstar stamina.
His hands grip your hips, pulling you up with him as he sits up, his brows knitted in concentration, his tongue peeking out as he watches you completely unravel around him.
“That’s right, baby,” he growls, “Gonna give me one more on my cock, show me how bad you wanted it.”
You used to roll your eyes at the exaggerated moans you’d hear on set, doubting anyone could actually be that good.
But he is that good. Beyond that good. He’s better.
Now here you are, body trembling, head thrown back, moaning his name so loudly it might echo through the whole building. Every hard thrust feels like it’s driving into the core of you, filling you so perfectly that the room spins. 
His grip tightens, hands splayed across your hips as he finds a rhythm that sends shocks of pleasure coursing through you. The thick drag of his cock hits every spot, and he knows just how to read every gasp, every shudder, adjusting his pace and angle to push you higher and higher. 
He pulls your legs up, folding them against your chest, his hips angled to grind against that one perfect spot that has stars dancing across your vision. You’re lost to him, mimicking those moans you used to scoff at, now higher and even more desperate as he laughs, deep and husky.
“Got you singin’ like a fuckin’ bird, nenita,” he teases, his laugh tapering off into a low groan. “And to think you didn’t want this. Now look at you—all fucked out and creamin’ on my cock”
Your bed creaks with every hard thrust, the scent of sex thick in the air, but all you can focus on is him—his rough hands, the way he looks down at you, utterly in control.
He’s all you can feel, all you can breathe, and as he digs his nails into the plush skin of your thighs, you know you’re on the edge, your pussy clenching tightly around him. 
Your gaze meets his, and somehow you manage a blissful, shaky smile, a small act of defiance just before he pushes you over.
“There she is,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Come on, baby—let me feel it.”
“Javi… oh my fuck, I’m coming!” The words are a gasp, strangled and desperate, as your body locks around him, your orgasm crashing through you in waves that leave you breathless, gushing around his cock as every muscle in your body clenches tight.
It feels like you’ve drifted to the heavens, like he’s drawn out every last ounce of strength from you. 
You’re dazed, floating, but he’s still there, whispering to you, “Good girl, that’s it. I’ve got you,” his voice a warm balm as he slows his movements, matching the rhythm of your aftershocks, soothing you with each gentle thrust as he holds you close.
Your body shudders, tiny jolts of overstimulation sparking through you as he stays with you, coaxing you back down from the edge, until you’re nothing but a soft, sated mess in his arms.
He gently eases your legs down, pulling out of you with a slow, tender touch before settling by your side. 
His arms wrap around you, drawing you in close as you both lie there, utterly spent, skin warm and sticky from sweat and the lingering traces of your wild fucking.
His lips press a soft kiss to your forehead, and you let out a contented sigh, burrowing into his chest. You crave the solid weight of his body, the grounding warmth of him as you slowly come back to reality.
“You’re not real,” you mumble into his chest, your voice muffled but laced with awe. His chuckle vibrates against your cheek, a low, comforting sound that makes you smile even wider.
“I’m very real, and very yours, nena,” Javi replies, his hand drifting lazily up and down your back in gentle strokes that make you melt even further. The warmth of his words seeps into you, and your heart flutters.
You lift your head, resting your chin on his chest, and take a moment to really admire him: the deep brown of his eyes, the dark sweep of his lashes, the fullness of his mustache, and that defined jaw you love tracing your fingers along.
Your hands wander, tracing faint shapes on his shoulders, running over the hard lines of his triceps, relishing the feel of him beneath your fingers.
“I need a shower. And to change these sheets,” you murmur, glancing around at the disheveled bed.
“Yeah, someone made quite the mess,” he teases, pinching your ass, which makes you yelp and swat his chest with a playful smack.
“Asshole,” you grumble, but he just laughs, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss that’s softer, and you melt into him all over again.
“I’ll go start the shower for you, then change the sheets while you’re in there.”
“Catering to my every whim already? I just became your girlfriend,” you tease.
“Yeah, and I’m trying to keep it that way for the foreseeable future,” he says, brushing a quick, sweet kiss on the tip of your nose before slipping away from you.
You can’t help the little pout that forms as he sits up, rolling his shoulders back, his muscles jolting, which makes you weak in the knees.
You watch him as he moves throughout your room then into your bathroom, your eyes trailing over every muscle, every line of his body, unable to resist biting your lip.
He really is gorgeous—so damn hot—and he’s all yours.
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tsuutarr · 1 day ago
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As just imagined then everything as a game and the hero as seeing like a freak by all the people and the reader as the only good and nice npc then treat him well and even give him free item even if our store is not very we still give him a apologize about the others (npcs) being rude with him and the hero being so delusinal the fall over us lol
so, because i have absolutely NO self control, I made another story <3
Yandere! RPG Protagonist x Reader
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Gallius isn’t entirely sure when he gained sentience. Maybe it was when he’d have insistent feelings of déjà vu. Maybe it was when he would want to go somewhere or do something, but an external force prevented him from doing so. Maybe it was when the people he talked to would say the same things over and over and over again.
Regardless, one day, he realized that he doesn’t actually exist – at least, not in a way that matters. He’s just a piece of code, a bunch of pixels moving across the screen, trapped in a video game.
The worst part is that everyone around him – and he means everyone – lacks sentience. It’s gotten to the point that he’s memorized everything. Every dialogue, every story path – everything.
It’s a fruitless life, really, especially since he’s forced to obey his code. He’s forced to go along with whatever the person controlling him wants. He’s forced to be the happy-go-lucky protagonist. He can’t be anything but that.
Gods, he’s going to go insane.
And he’s tried to talk to people, really.
“Hey, so, I think we’re in a game.”
“Beer is fifty percent off, young man.”
Gallius never thought the tavern’s owner could look so lifeless. “So, you know, I guess you really don’t have sentience.”
“Man, can you believe the monster outbreak?”
“Don’t you wish there was a way you could… I don’t know, break free? Talk beyond your code?”
“Beer is fifty percent off, young man.”
Gallius holds back a sigh. The tavern owner says three things exactly. “Beer is fifty percent off, young man”, “Man, can you believe the monster outbreak?”, and “I don’t know if I prefer a full tavern or an empty one!” are the exact phrases the tavern owner recycles. It isn’t just the tavern owner, either. It’s everyone else in town. The blacksmith, the carpenter, the seamstress – all of them.
It kind of drives him insane. Maybe that’s why he tries to find solace in anything he can, like you.
“Gods, I hate being the only one who sees that we’re a pile of code,” he tells you. You’re a cute shopkeep – whoever designed you must be a genius – that he likes to see from time to time. If anything, you’re easy on the eyes, at least.
“Yes, it does appear that you’re having quite the rough time,” you say. He knows you’re just saying one of your coded phrases, he does, but he can’t help but latch on to that piece of support you give.
“Yeah, you get it.” He laughs dryly. “But what can I do? I have to keep going. It’s not like I have a choice.”
“You’re doing well. I’m proud of you.”
Gods, he can’t hide his grin. Yes, you’re just saying one of your phrases, but the comfort your words bring – it’s unreal. It’ll probably be even more unreal if he could actually talk to you. If you both had sentience, if you both could go against your code. The thought makes him fall silent.
“...Hey, I’m gonna leave for a bit. Maybe a long time,” he says finally, determined to help you break away from your code. He doesn’t really care too much about the other NPCs, but you? Oh, he wants you. He wants to talk to you, to be with you in a way that matters.
“Have a safe journey,” you say, automated. You hand him a potion, a freebie from your shop, with a smile. “On the house.”
Gallius smiles, taking the potion from you. Yeah, he’ll find a way to give you sentience like him. That way, you guys can truly be together forever.
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A Conversation | Rewrite of 8x06 Bucktommy
“You’d end up breaking my heart. And I - I don’t think I can deal with that,” Tommy looks to the ceiling, feeling the tears well at the bottom of his eyes. He blinks and looks at Buck. His brows are furrowed; his face is a mixture of disbelief and confusion. Tommy swallows, “I should go,” he whispers and heaves himself off the chair.
This can’t be happening. How did this go downhill so fast?
Buck is quick to get up and grab Tommy’s wrist as he turns his back. “Whoa whoa. Hey, what’s going on right now? What just happened? Sit back down,” Buck gently commands and pulls Tommy back to the stool and scoots his own closer so their knees are interlocked. ”This sounds a lot like a break up.”
Tommy sniffles, “it’s for the best, Evan.”
“For who? We’re happy. We have a great thing here and you want to throw it away? How does that make sense?”
”You’re not seeing me for who I am. The guy you admire? The one that ‘paved the way’ is not me. Never was,” Tommy explains.
”Okay,” Buck says and he can see where he put Tommy on a pedestal. “I’m sorry I made you out to be this gay mentor for me to idolize. You’re not. You’re my boyfriend. I still admire my boyfriend. I still think you’re confident and capable.”
”I never felt confident, I’m always feeling like a fraud.”
Buck takes a moment to let Tommy breathe, he takes Tommy’s hands in his and holds on tight. “You are confident. It takes confidence to fly like you do, to come out in his line of work, to kiss a guy who didn’t even know about his own bisexuality,” Buck laughs. “Honey, sorry to break it to you, but you are confident.”
“But this isn’t about me,” Tommy says.
”Isn’t it though? You self sabotaging in some weird way of protecting yourself,” Buck says, trying to tamp down his frustration.
Tommy looks struck, he looks like he’s about to bolt out the door. Buck hit the exact wrong nerve. “Because I’ve been there. I’ve been through it more than once. With you it’s different. You actually give me hope for a future, but if it ends, like it inevitably will, it’s going to destroy me.”
“So that’s it, huh? You just get to decide our fate and walk out of my life?” Buck asks and takes a deep breath. He can sympathize with Tommy in some sense; he felt that fear of heartbreak when he started dating again after Abby. “And you know, this isn’t my first relationship. It’s not even my first serious relationship.”
“But it’s your first with a man,” Tommy tries, but Buck scoffs.
“Why should that matter?” Buck’s voice gets low and intimate. He leans even further into Tommy’s space trying to catch his eyes. “Tommy. Why do you get to decide something that I feel? I can even say I’ve been in love before. But it wasn’t like this.” Tommy’s breath hitches. “With you, it’s easy. Easiest it’s ever been. And that’s not something I’m willing to give up on. I love you. And I’m sorry I jumped the gun asking you to move in before saying that. I don’t love you because this is my first queer relationship. I love you because you’re you. I love your patience, your attentiveness, your dry humor, your warmth, your heart. There are a lot of reasons that don’t have to do with your gender. Although I do love your rugged face and your dick,” Buck adds with a laugh and that makes Tommy smile. “If I had to bet I’d say you love me too.”
Tommy nods and breathes deep then ducks his head, focusing on Buck’s hands holding his. “I do. I’m just so scared.”
A tear falls down Tommy’s cheek and Buck reaches up to catch it on his thumb. He cups Tommy’s stubbled jaw and caresses his cheek. “Why are you breaking your own heart, baby?” Buck whispers. That makes more tears spill out. Tommy really wishes he knew.
“Can we take a step back? No moving in, no Mach speed. I can slow down. Is that what you need?”
“I-I don’t know,” Tommy says shakily. “It would help I think.”
“Okay. Then we do that. We take our time. But please do me a favor?” Tommy meets Buck’s earnest eyes with still tearful ones. “You have to trust me with your heart. We’re in this together. I’m scared too and just as invested.”
“I’ll try,” Tommy promises. “I love you.”
A beaming smile threatens to split Buck’s face in two and pulls Tommy in for a deep kiss. He stands up, still connected to Tommy’s mouth as both hands move to land on either side of his neck. They kiss like that for a few minutes with Buck standing as close as possible in between Tommy’s spread knees and bent over at an awkward angle to keep kissing him.
“I think we should skip the movie, we’re late anyway,” Buck says against Tommy’s lips. “I’m gonna take you upstairs and get you out of your head.”
“Okay,” Tommy agrees and makes a mental note of trusting that Buck knows what’s best for him. How lucky is he?
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nathaslosthershit · 8 hours ago
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The Main Event (Multiple Pairings) Part 1
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Can be read as a standalone but also (Part 8 in the Blind Items AU A/N: Its my nineteenth birthday 🥳 I wanted to write about adults being happy in different stages of their life because I am so scared of growing up and the thought of not being a teenager next year makes me nauseous. Enjoy! Each pairing has a Blind Items backstory which is linked at the start of their section (You don't have to read the backstory, though) Multiple (separate) Pairings: Logan Sargeant x Leclerc!reader, Oscar Piastri x reader, Charles Leclerc x reader, Lando Norris x reader, Lance Stroll x reader, Lewis Hamilton x reader, Alexander Albon x reader in the next part Summary: A wedding between Logan Sargeant and the youngest Leclerc child means a very interesting guest list, in which all previous victims of the F1 Blind Items account are included.
Oscar Piastri
“Dude, how come you are more nervous about my own wedding than I am?” Logan asked.
Oscar rolled his eyes and scoffed, pretending what the American was saying was ridiculous, as he nervously picked at his nails, trying to hide his trembling hands. Logan just laughed at his friend's failed attempt at nonchalance.
“It’s just- I’m nervous about the media inserting themselves in the events today. I mean I don’t want to have my toddlers in the spotlight any more than they already are.” Oscar explained. After being forced to reveal his kids to the world before he nor his fiancée were ready, and after just a few interviews and racing events the kids attended, Oscar didn’t want to give the media much more for the time being.
“Wow, way to make my wedding about you.” Logan teased, trying to relieve the utter look of anxiety and despair on Oscar’s face. But the Mclaren driver just shot him an unamused glare. “Look, I have told you time and time again if you don’t want them as flower girls- or kids, I’d gladly make my brother frolick down the aisle throwing petals. As much as I love my honorary niece and nephew, nothing would make me happier than making Dalton do that.”
This finally got a laugh out of Oscar. “They have been practicing too much to do that, we would be in for a shit storm if you tried to take away their time to shine.” It had been a big thing in the Piastri household for the past few months. Every second of every day, Frances and Hudson had been asking their parents questions about what weddings were like, how they should walk down the aisle, and if they had to see uncle Logan kiss his wife (they were not amused by the idea of having to see that). Not to mention the hundreds of times they forced their parents to watch how they would walk down the aisle, asking what they thought and ignoring any criticisms given to them (they saw no reason as to why they shouldn’t be allowed to dance and sing while throwing petals). 
“Then calm down. If all goes well there won’t be any media there, I mean I think we have done a pretty good job at making sure no one outside the event knows about it. Plus, no offense but there are plenty of people with far more interesting stories and scandals than your family. The tabloids are bored with y’all now that there isn’t anything new to expose.” Maybe a harsh way of putting it, but it was true, there were plenty of Formula 1 couples who had been exposed by the media for various reasons in attendance today. 
“Right. Got to say, Logan, the guestlist is impressive. I mean could you imagine telling your 13 year old self that the Lewis Hamilton would be attending your wedding?” Oscar asked. Even after a few years racing against the guy, the shock from being around him never wore off. He just had that ‘greatest of all time’ energy.
“I can’t even take the credit for much of it though. It's the bride who brought all the biggest names.” Logan rolled his eyes playfully. It was true though, his wife-to-be had made friends with all the biggest names in the world and they weren’t half assed friendships either. She could make even the tiniest of acquaintances feel like longtime companionships. She could make everyone feel so unbelievably loved and cherished in such a short time.
God he couldn’t wait to marry her. 
Oscar laughed at the lovesick grin on his friend’s face. Usually he’d tease him, but he decided maybe he should just cut the man some slack on his wedding day. 
But the urge was too great he couldn’t let Logan go unteased, before he could do so though-
“Dad! Dad! Dad! Look, me and Fran match!” Oscar’s son, Hudson, ran into the room, his sister following after him.
The two seemed to light up in their soft blue outfits.
“Don’t you two look awesome!” Logan said from behind the twins, making them turn around. “You guys look better than me on my own wedding day.”
The toddlers shouted in excitement as they ran to their favorite honorary uncle (much to Lando’s chagrin. He fought hard for that title).
“You two ready to be the stars of the show? Throwing petals ain’t easy work.” He said as he crouched down to hug the toddlers.
Oscar rolled his eyes. Leave it to Logan to make his own children completely uninterested in him. Fortunately, someone who was actually interested in him entered the room after them. His wonderful fiancée.
“You look gorgeous, honey.” Oscar said awestruck.
“You saw me in this earlier.” She deadpanned. 
“Let a man compliment his fincée, will you?” Holding her close to him, kissing her deeply. It was only when the two weren’t cut off with toddler “ewws” and “stop grossss” that they looked back at their children, currently in a… dance competition with the groom. “Glad to see how much they care for us.” Oscar sighed, feeling childish jealousy. 
“Let him entertain them, he’ll get some more practice for when he has his own kids.”
“He’s too young, honey. He is about to get married, he doesn't need to think about that right now.” Oscar scoffed, feeling offended for his children that Logan would ever dethrone his honorary niece and nephew from being his favorite kids.
“Says the man who had two kids by 18 and has been engaged twice, but not married, by 23.” Honey amused.
He blushed at the reminder that their relationship had been done a bit… backwards.
“They already have an officiant and audience, maybe we can just jump in with the bride and groom, two birds with one stone.”
“Nope! I already have two Piastri’s taking the spotlight today, I don’t need more.” Logan said while both twins climbed all over him.
Charles Leclerc (And the Leclerc Co.)
Normally, hard launching your child was not something a bride would encourage on her wedding day, but as the youngest Leclerc child, Charles’ sister loved the drama. Hence why her nephew was making his debut to the public as the ring bearer. Only a month old, the media hadn’t gotten to meet the cutie as he was born right at the start of winter break. It brought tears to his eyes, how insistent his baby sister was on having her nephew involved in her wedding. It was already an emotional day for Charles, who felt like he was losing his first baby as he walked her down the aisle and sent her off into her future, but he truly couldn’t be happier.
And doing it with his son by his side just made it all the more memorable. 
“Honey?” Charles’ girlfriend called as she popped her head into the room he was getting ready in. In her arms was their newborn who, while still so small, broke everyone’s heart at how big he was getting. “Oh, my love, are you seriously crying again?” she asked as he tried to inconspicuously wipe away his tears.
Being reminded that he had just been crying only made him start to cry more.
“Charlie, you are more emotional than I was while pregnant. What is going on with you today?”
“It is stupid, I’m sorry. It's just- it was yesterday my sister was in my arms, having just been born, and now she is getting married and the American is taking her away.”
If there was one thing the Leclerc brothers loved to do, it was make fun of their soon to be brother-in-law. They truly did love Logan, but it was so easy to pick on him and he was far too polite to try anything with them yet. If you asked them, they would say they are just treating him like the brother he is, but they also just really love how much it pissed their sister off, who will certainly be defending him. 
“Oh, sweetheart, she isn’t going anywhere. They are still going to live in Monaco, and you race with her husband almost every weekend. If anything now that they are married you will see more of her.” 
It was true. Even if the Leclerc brothers had a strict ban on dating drivers, they had to admit that their sister had found a good partner in Logan. A man who was driving alongside Charles, had been on the same team as Arthur in the past, and knew just how important and difficult the sport was on family. 
Giving her boyfriend a quick kiss on the cheek after wiping his tears from his face, Charles’ partner went on to try and fix the mess of hair that her lover was currently fighting. 
The Leclerc’s had terrible bed heads, something that unfortunately had already been seen in the first grandson, even at just a month old his hair was thick and unmanageable. 
Fortunately, Charles had calmed down enough that he was no longer a complete mess when his brothers entered the room. If Charles knew anything about his brother’s (and his sister) it was that such tears would have led to him being teased for the rest of his life about it. 
“Have you seen her?” Charles asked Enzo, hoping for any indication on how their sister was doing, having been too busy setting up for the wedding and taking care of his son to check on the bride thoroughly.
Arthur rolled his eyes, “When we tried to see her, Maman wouldn’t let us in.”
“Why? Is something wrong?” Charles’ girlfriend asked, the same level of concern in her voice displayed accross Charles’ face. 
“No, no, the bride said she wanted to have a little moment with the four of us before the wedding, so she didn’t want us to see anything before.” Enzo explained. He had understood her sentiment, Arthur… not so much.
Letting out a breath at the confirmation that nothing was wrong, Charles sat quietly while he got his hair tamed, his brothers playing with their nephew in the back.
It was a sight that almost brought tears to Pascale’s eyes, but she had already cried so much and she knew she needed to save the rest of her tears for the ceremony. Her three boys, all in different stages of their lives, all dressed up and ready to support their baby sister on her big day. 
There was a sense of love and excitement in the air, reminding her of when her daughter had first been born, her older brothers hardly able to sit still while they waited in anticipation. Though everyone was calm now, having gotten most of their childish impatience out of their system, those feelings hadn’t changed. 
“Someone wants to see you all.” She spoke up, getting the attention of her boys. Charles’ girlfriend pressed a kiss to his cheek and took their son from his uncles, wanting to give the Leclerc siblings a moment alone. 
“My goodness, you look stunning.” She said to the bride as she walked through the doorway before leaving. This made all the brother’s perk up, losing the rest of their patience as they waited to see their baby sister.
The second she stepped into the room and tears welled up in everyone’s eyes, the Leclercs knew it was going to be a long day full of bittersweet melancholy, but also one so full of love.
Lando Norris
“Have I told you how wonderful you looked?” Lando asked, grabbing his girlfriend’s hand as he ran his thumb over her knuckles.
She rolled her eyes, “Only a thousand times since we got in the car. Not to mention when I was getting ready, when I was trying on dresses, or when I was simply speaking to you about what I was thinking of wearing.” She teased.
He knew it was overkill, but he also knew how stressed she was. Not about the wedding, she was excited to attend and celebrate, but of the fact she knew she’d finally be identified as Lando Norris’s “unremarkable” girlfriend the tabloids have talked about for a while. 
The media knew he was dating not a model, or heir to a fortune, or an influencer, but a “simple” teacher, one who had a private instagram account with hardly 100 people on it. They had seen what pictures Lando posted of her, maybe a few posted by friends, but they never showed her face. They didn’t even know her name.
Even though their words were harsh, even though it hurt they thought she was undeserving of him when they didn’t know her, the anonymity at least came with the sentiment that all their judgements came from one simple fact, that she was a teacher. Now, they would have more to criticize, more to know, and she hated the thought.
Despite the public not knowing about her though, she had still been able to become good friends with many of Lando’s. Had been present for many arguments between Logan and Lando as they defended their individual titles of being “the best honorary uncle” to the Piastri twins and had been there to help watch the toddlers so Oscar’s fiancée could get a bit of a break during races. 
She loved so many of the people there, and she knew they all had her back. Because of this, she felt more ready to face the music. She shouldn’t be ashamed of who she was, she loved everything about her life, and she wouldn’t be made to feel bad for loving Lando. 
In the end, it was what the two of them thought and felt about their relationship that mattered. 
Lando smiled as he watched her take a deep breath, ready for what was to come. He’d move heaven and the earth for her, and he for sure wasn’t going to let some idiots online ruin something so good.
Lance Stroll
“You must have the worst heartburn, huh?” A mutual friend of a friend, Marie, asked.
“Oh, well actually-”
“Ugh it was so bad! And the indigestion, that really sucked. Oh! Reminds me of this one awful stretch of time when I was pregnant. I was actually also at a wedding…” Marie started on a tangent about some pregnancy horror story. One the currently pregnant woman she was talking to, didn’t appreciate hearing at the moment.
Lance looked over at his wife, stuck in conversation looking pained. Fearing that something was wrong with her or the baby, he quickly made his way over with an excuse to whisk her away.
“Are you alright?” He asked once out of earshot of Marie. 
His wife opened her mouth to answer, but was unable to when a choked sound made its way out first. The sound attracted the eyes of several wedding guests, who upon seeing that she was pregnant, turned back to their conversations, finding that as the excuse for such an outburst. While she was embarrassed when all eyes turned to her, the lack of interest in her wellbeing after seeing her belly just made her start to sob even more.
Knowing his wife was in distress and clearly the crowded room was adding to the discomfort, Lance led her to an unoccupied hallway. 
“Come on, hun. How can I make this better?” Sweetness, with a bit of helplessness, in his tone.
“You-you can’t!” She cried. God, how was she ever supposed to explain what the hell was happening with her. Especially when each second, she felt differently.
Maybe that was the problem. 
 “I’m- I am so tired of being the pregnant lady.” She managed to get out.
Lance frowned at the confession. “I know, love. I can’t imagine what it's like to be pregnant, and I wish I could help. I know it sucks, but you can get through-”
“Stop! That's the problem. Every single issue I have is written off as something that just happens with pregnancy. Like they are just side effects that can’t be helped! Like I just need to deal with them alone because “I signed up for this”. Maybe it sounds stupid or childish but I don’t give a fuck anymore, Lance. I don’t want to be treated like some pregnant lady, I don't want to be treated as if every single emotion I have is just because of hormones or because all women are just expected to suffer through this! Marie just came up to me and started talking about her own horror stories from when she was pregnant! I don’t want to hear that, not when she isn’t giving actual advice, just trying to laugh about things I, as the currently pregnant person, don’t find funny! I don’t want to talk about how I am so hungry and have people laugh and say ‘oh that's just what happens’. I want to get food! I want to be able to be upset without people losing interest the second they realize it's just the pregnant lady crying. I want the things I'm going through to be taken seriously, Lance.”
A beat of silence as he took in her words. 
As the silence stretched on though, she found herself with an apology forming on the tip of her tongue, feeling bad for yelling at her husband during her tangent when, even if he had contributed to the problem, he didn’t really do anything wrong. 
Just as she opened her mouth though, he got on his phone. 
She started to not feel as bad as she watched her husband seemingly ignore all she said.
“Are you-” She began, just to be cut off by him putting his phone in his pocket, and kissing her deeply.
Most of her anger seemed to disappear at that moment. He hadn’t kissed her like that in what felt like forever. Since she had told him she had been pregnant, he had been unsure of how to go about doing… well, anything. 
After a few passionately blissful seconds, he pulled away, still holding her face between his hands and stroking her cheek with his thumbs. “I ordered a car to take us to a crappy fast food place.”
She stammered, “What do- why?”
“You said you are hungry, the ceremony hasn’t even begun yet, we are going to be here for a while before we can eat and while I’m sure the bride and groom have an amazing set up, there isn’t a point in making you suffer any longer when we can fix it.” he explained.
She didn’t know what to say. She wanted to agree, but she also wanted to support their friends and knew she probably shouldn’t skip out on their wedding day. But she really needed something to eat and her feet were killing her already- 
“No, Lance, we shouldn’t it- it would be rude.” She answered.
Lance laughed at her attempt at trying to convince both herself and him. “As much as I’d love to stay, I’d much rather watch you eat a disgusting amount of fast food in an impressively short amount of time all the while dressed to the nines. Plus, we both know the bride and groom would be understanding.” He said as he grabbed her purse and opened the door for her. “After you, my love.” 
She sighed, realizing he was right. 
“Oh how gentlemanly of you,” she teased in a posh accent. “Is it often you whisk away distressed damsels to fast food restaurants?” 
“Only the gorgeous ones. I did earn my nickname of Sir Lancelot from my wife for a reason.” He teased back.
“It seems you have.” She replied with a kiss on the cheek.
Lewis Hamilton
“Oh, sweet pea. You look stunning!” Lewis said as he facetimed his daughter, currently at home with her mom.
The young girl giggled at the compliment, asking her dad about the wedding. She had been more than curious about weddings lately after hearing that her dad was attending one. 
“-and the bride wears a beautiful white dress”
“Like the one mommy is wearing?” she asked her dad, pointing to the oversized t-shirt her mom was wearing with paint stains on it from when she and her partner had painted the nursery for the 1 year old currently asleep in said room. Lewis laughed at the image.
“While I am sure your mommy could wear that and still be the most beautiful girl in the world. A wedding dress is a little… different.” Lewis answered.
“Mommy! Can I see your wedding dress?” her daughter asked.
Both parents froze at the question, realizing they might have not told their child a pretty important detail about her parents. 
“Oh- honey. Daddy and I never got married.” She answered. Her daughter looked back at the phone, at her dad, confused.
“Dad? Why didn’t you marry mommy? Don’t you love her?” 
Harsh. Lewis didn’t know how to answer such a question, but he eventually found the words. 
“Sweetheart, you know I love your mom very much. You are all my most favorite girls. Some people just don’t get married, they don’t feel the need to.” He answered. It wasn’t that the two of them didn’t want to, they had planned on it. But their first daughter had been unplanned, then their second had been too, and eventually, as they became everything to one another, they didn’t have a wedding so high on their priority list, knowing the proof of their love was evident in the two girls they were raising, in the life they had built together despite many unwanted opinions trying to ruin it. 
“Let me talk to your dad sweetie. Can you grab my water from the living room?” His girlfriend asked as her daughter handed her the phone and jumped off the bed.
After the sound of the young girl’s footsteps softened in the background, she spoke up, “Sorry about that, Lew, she saw a photo of some celebrity wedding today and her interest in the topic was reignited.”
“She is a curious kid, I get it. She is a smart one too, she gets it from her mother.” He watched his girlfriend blush at the compliment. Even while tired having to take care of the two young children alone, she seemed to be glowing. “We never did get around to marriage, did we?” 
She sighed, “I guess we got too busy. I hadn’t even thought about it in a while- not that I don’t want to marry you still!”
He laughed at her realization she may have chosen her words wrong, “No, I haven’t either. Two kids is a lot, and we both know how we feel about each other. But I will always be ready to marry you, the second you say so.”
“Well, I’ll always be ready to marry you, after you properly propose. You already got two kids out of me, I at least deserve a big flashy ring.” She teased.
“And you shall have it my love.” Lewis suddenly heard his daughter coming back. He spoke up when he saw her pop back up on screen, “What do you think, love bug? Should mommy and daddy get married? I think your mom would look beautiful in a big white dress, right?”
The little girl perked up at that, “Yes! But, will it be hard for mommy to wear a dress with the baby in her tummy?” She asked, pointing to her mom’s stomach.
Both adults froze. 
Slowly, Lewis’ girlfriend let out a deep sigh. “Baby, I told you not to talk about that with daddy till we could tell him…”
If his eyes opened any wider, they would have popped out of his head. “She’s serious? We are having another baby?”
“Surprise? I wanted to keep it a secret till you came back and make it all special but she was so sad when you left I told her to cheer her up.”
Lewis’ heart softened at the thought, “Well, I guess a wedding might have to be postponed for the time being” He amused.
They’d get around to it, maybe after this next kid, maybe after the next few.
Part 2 coming soon featuring: Alex Albon x reader, Logan Sargeant x Leclerc!Reader (Its 1 am and I have work in a few hours)
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takamor · 3 days ago
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“what are you doing here?”
in all honesty, he should’ve expected the brittle ring to your voice.
he really should’ve expected how you fold your arms around your chest as if protecting your heart from him. (he’s been so rough with it in the past, after all.)
and especially how you squint your eyes at him like you can’t believe he’s really standing in your doorway at one in the morning, rain pounding against his back and a lopsided grin on his face. (he doesn’t blame you—never has. he can’t even believe where he’s at, but he’s not exactly surprised. you’ve always felt like home to him.)
it’s not a surprise how you stand squarely between him and your entryway, but there’s a part of him that breaks anyway. (he isn’t welcome here, he knows it, but it’s one in the morning on a rainy tuesday night and he just wants to go home.)
“c’mon, darlin’, you know why i’m here.” he tries his hardest to sound lighthearted, but there’s a wobble to his tone, and he hopes he didn’t imagine you softening just the slightest bit.
but just as quickly as he sees a flash of tenderness across your face, you’re back to glowering at him the best you can and standing your ground. “no, i don’t, atsumu, considering you broke up with me two weeks ago.”
“is it cheesy of me to say i’ve regretted it every day since?”
“incredibly, but also incredibly like you.”
“even if it’s true?”
“especially if it’s true.”
it’s easy to fall into familiar banter with him, a reflex almost. atsumu has always been easy to bicker with. there’s something bittersweet about how sharp both of your tongues are and how thick your skin is. it was the foundation of your relationship. evidently, a weak one. and whether it’s the alcohol pumping through his veins or the feeling of belonging taking root in his guts, he doesn’t realize he’s reached out his hand towards you until he feels his knuckles brush against your cheek. you indulge it just for a moment, long enough to remember how good it felt to wake up to him every morning, before grabbing his wrist.
“what are you doing here, atsumu?” you repeat, firmer this time, his pulse thumping against your palm.
he feels guilty, but not enough to leave. just enough to look slightly sheepish and gently wriggle his wrist out of your grasp so he can scratch the back of his head. a nervous habit of his, and you can appreciate that he has the sense to be somewhat ashamed. “jus’ wanted to see ya’ is all…”
you hold your chin up and he shrinks away from your glare. “then you should’ve thought twice about breaking up with me, huh?”
“look—” he tries to get out the rest of his sentence, he really does, but it’s freezing cold and the rain is starting to sting his skin and his tongue feels a lot heavier than it should and his vision is starting to blur and, by god, he thinks he might actually be crying. how much more of a fucking cliché can he be? pathetically standing on his ex’s porch in the pouring rain, sake and regret causing his body to feel stuffed full of cotton and stones, hands shaking from nerves and cold air. atsumu miya is truly the epitome of pride and self-destruction at its finest. “i…” he runs his hand down his face in hopes that it’ll sober him up a little, and his previous suspicions are confirmed when he can feel the telltale warmth of tears. “i was an idiot and bein’ selfish and i shouldn’t a’ said what i said—”
“you called me insecure when i told you i wanted to spend more time with you.”
“i know and i’m sorry and if you—”
“you said if i wanted to date an all star athlete then i shouldn’t try to drag them down.”
“i know and—”
“you called me childish. you. of all fucking people, atsumu.”
he isn’t sure when you guys started yelling or when your words started to feel more like fists, but his hands are shaking and he thinks his heart is breaking. it feels like it is. his stomach is churning and he’s certain it isn’t from the alcohol; his lungs ache with every breath he takes; his throat is raw and closing more with each minute that passes by; his mind is racing trying to keep up with his mouth, but it can’t seem to catch up. someone must’ve hit his power button, because he feels as if he’s shut down. he’s frozen. unsure whether you’re going to keep fighting him or just slam the door on him. he hopes it’s the former, so he has more time to memorize the curves of your face.
“what gives you the right, atsumu miya?” you continue on, indignation staining your words. “what gives you the fucking right to break up with me after i told you i was worried about you caring more about volleyball than me, and then show up on my doorstep in the middle of the night drunk off of your ass? i tried calling you, texting you, and you never fucking answered. you even blocked me on your socials before the night ended. even osamu, your fucking twin brother, reached out to me because he knew how much you meant to me. and right when i’m starting to warm up to the idea of moving on, you show up. you fucking show up...”
he reaches out to wipe the tears from your cheeks, but you flinch away this time, scared of crumbling under his touch. the ice in your chest has melted enough to reveal the clumsy stitching you’ve done to seal angry cuts he left. you don’t want to show the ugly deeper ones you’re still trying to figure out how to bandage. the wounded look in his deep eyes has you longing to feel warm again.
“please,” he whispers. “jus’ let me inside and you can yell at me. you can even kick me out after, i promise. but my feet are numb and i dunno how much longer i can stand out here without catchin’ a cold. and i think your neighbors are startin’ to hate ya’.”
it’s one in the morning on a rainy tuesday night, and a drunk atsumu miya is standing on your doorstep, and it’s the most vulnerable you’ve ever seen him. something cautiously optimistic twinkles in his eyes as you scoot over to let him in your apartment, and he folds in on himself as he squeezes past you, and it’s so unlike him, a seedling of hope starts to bloom in your rib cage. atsumu has never tried to make himself appear smaller for anyone’s sake, but he’s trying his best to shrink his body for you. with the deliberation of someone handling glass, he slips feet out of his shoes and makes his way over to your couch, droplets of rain rolling off of his clothes and landing soundlessly on your carpet. anxiety radiates off of him in heavy waves. he fiddles with the strings of his jacket, dark eyes watching your every movement, the corners of his mouth twitching, muscular legs bouncing with anticipation as if he’s ready to bolt at any given moment.
it’s the most nervous you’ve ever seen him, and a part of you feels righteous.
“what are you doing here, miya?” it’s the third time you’ve asked him the question and the softest way you’ve done it. and though he cracks at the formality of his last name, he can appreciate how delicate you sound while whispering it.
finally, somehow, he finds his voice buried under the lump in his throat. “i’m an idiot. i ruined the best thing to ever happen to me because i got scared, and i wanna make it right.” he bites his lip. copper explodes on his tongue and it shouldn’t taste so good mixed with sake, but he finds himself indulging nonetheless. when you don’t speak, he continues on in an uncharacteristically gentle voice. “‘m sorry. i dunno how much my words are worth to you now, and i don’t blame you if you hate me. i kinda hate me right now…” He humorlessly chuckles and glares at the floor as if it were the source of all of this. “but i miss you. none of this shit means anythin’ to me if i don’t have you, darlin’.”
“don’t say that.”
his eyes snap up back to you and he’s somewhat relieved to see you earnest. “hm?”
“don’t say that volleyball doesn’t mean anything to you,” you mutter, and it’s your turn to glare at the carpet. “i won’t allow you to. with or without me, volleyball is your…thing. it’s what you wake up in the morning for. it’s what you go to bed thinking of. it’s what your mind wanders to. and, yeah, it’s annoying sometimes, but that’s a part of you. don’t let me take that away from you.”
atsumu rubs at his face and inspects his hands, all of the calluses and evidence of his days on the court. a part of him still wants to cut out volleyball, hurt himself as much as he’s hurt you, because he knows you’re right—him without volleyball is like him without food to eat, water to drink, oxygen to inhale. it’s been the one constant in his life, the thing that has brought him back from the ledge again and again. he thought it’d be the only thing he’d care about, until he met you. could one take priority over another? would you make him choose? or was he just scared of you doing it and cut his losses before he could find out? in the end, you both know what he’d choose, and maybe he was trying to save you from that. he never thought of himself as so chivalrous. then again, he didn’t think much of himself outside of volleyball. but he’s been through this story so many fucking times he knows the ending: you’ll grow to resent him because volleyball takes up more of his heart than you do and he’ll end up with another hole in it. it already started when you mentioned you hadn’t seen him much these past few weeks during practice season. and although at the time you brought it up off-handedly, he knows the topic won’t be so easy the fifth time it’s brought up.
and so, he did what he does best: made the kill shot and ended things before they got too hard.
but there’s that annoyingly idyllic part of him that’s hoping, praying, this ending is different and maybe his love for volleyball is a part of the reason you love him so much. seeing him so passionate, pushing himself on the court, looking in your direction after every shot he takes, silently dedicating every serve he makes to you. maybe you see all of that and adore him for it. he hopes you do.
“how drunk are you?” you ask suddenly.
he perks at the sound of your voice. “drunk enough to say what’s on my mind. sober enough to know how stupid i am for tryin’ to pull this off.”
you chuckle despite yourself, and that blossom of hope in his ribcage grows a little more. “well, we’ll talk about this in the morning, okay? i’m tired and not thinking clearly, and you obviously aren’t either. here—” careful to avoid his touch, you grab at the blanket strew over the head of the couch. he still gets a noseful of your shampoo, however, and that’s enough to make his chest ache and his arms long to hold you. “crash on the couch, ‘kay? you know where the bathroom is if you need to vomit.”
“i can hold my liquor,” he begrudgingly mutters as he wrestles to take his jacket off and cocoon himself with the blanket. it smells like you as well, and he can almost pretend it’s you wrapped around his body instead of the woven acrylic. he shivers, despite the warmth provided by the blanket.
you look down at him fondly. it doesn’t help his ribcage one bit. “i know.”
once he’s settled in, you bid him goodnight and begin to tread towards your room, feet heavy and heart feeling even heavier.
“does that mean there’s hope?” he sounds so small, his words rose-colored and dripping with caged optimism, that you can’t help but soften some of your hard edges for him. you glance over your shoulder and are surprised by the shining dark eyes peeking back over to you.
“what?” you dumbly reply, too emotionally drained to contemplate much more.
“you said we’ll talk about this in the mornin’,” he slowly explains, as if his words weigh more than he expected. “does that mean there’s hope?”
“i—” you bite your tongue. atsumu is looking at you as if you have his heart in the palm of your hand, and you have a slight suspension he’s right. hesitantly, as to not break him any more than he already has, you meet his eyes, and there’s that fragile hope staring right back at you. “i don’t know, ‘tsumu. but i’m willing to hear you out.”
he smiles, because you’ve finally used the name he fell in love with hearing roll off your tongue. even if there’s no way to fix what he’s broken, he can at least know that there’s a part of you that’s still fond of him, even if it’s buried under the bitter animosity of heartbreak. that, he thinks, will be good enough for now.
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transgenderer · 3 days ago
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Would it be ethical to let your children starve to death if you donated all their meals to charity?
Let’s say I have a child that needs surgery, he’s got a disease, he’s gonna die, my insurance company won’t cover it, I’ll need to pay out of pocket, I ask the doctor how much it will be, he says “5k.” What is more moral:
A) spend 5k getting my own child the surgery
B) send 5k to AMF to give anti-malarial nets to Africans
I don’t have another 5k saved up, so it’s one or the other
so, i think these two asks are of a kind, but the latter is neater, so ill answer the latter primarily, with the obvious implications for the former
so, this is a tough question! i think theres a lot of explanations you can come up with, for why your own child is more important. perhaps most significantly, no one else cares about your child, but other people care about as much as you about the statistical african child youre saving. obv problems there, but theres an argument. you could also make all sorts of practical calculations ("calculations") that say the net benefit is higher with your child, whatever, its actually not important
i dont think any of that stuff is the real reason. real reason, is that you care about your child more than you care about the african child, and you want to act in accordance with what you care about. and i dont think thats wrong! or, to the extent that it is "wrong", ethics isn't doing what we want it to. i think ethics, insofar as it is a decision theory, has to include self-interest. that trying to remove self-interest from a decision theory is a...mathematical toy example, and not what ethics is really for or about. so yeah, help your kid! but youre not helping your kid out of altruism, youre helping your kid out of self-interest, and that's fine! the same way its fine to do all the other things out of self-interest.
but there's this other thing, actual altruism, helping people because you think its the right thing to do, even though it will never benefit you outside of warm fuzzies (which, if you were willing to accept delusion, you could get easier), and that thing is valuable, and important, and the human mind must be constantly dragged towards it. but its not the only thing. there are at least two poles in any ethical system i can accept, a pole towards the self and a pole towards the universal Good, and every ethics must be stuck in the tug between them. there might be other poles to. beauty, probably. community, maybe, although i think community is actually just long-term (like, over the course of a life, not long term as in 1000 years) self-interest (which is fine).
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faithshouseofchaos · 1 day ago
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Hello Faith, can I ask for Mick or Esteban x autistic reader where the reader lost their fidget/comfort item please?
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The lost fidget toy — Mick Schumacher x Autistic!Fem!Reader
Word count — 773
Fluff
Y/N’s hands trembled as she tore through the drawer for the third time, her breathing uneven and shallow. Papers, pens, and random trinkets littered the floor around her, but the one thing she needed was nowhere to be found. Her fidget toy—the one item that grounded her, especially on overwhelming days—was missing.
“It has to be here,” she muttered, slamming the drawer shut with a little too much force. The noise startled her, a sharp sound in the quiet apartment, and her frustration bubbled over. “Stupid! So stupid!” she snapped at herself, tears blurring her vision.
She dropped to her knees, shoving aside the coffee table, the cushions, even the rug. Her movements became frantic, her chest tightening as her mind spiraled.
“Why do I always lose things? Why can’t I just keep track of one stupid thing?” she cried, her voice cracking as the first tear slipped down her cheek. “I can’t do this. I can’t—” Her words dissolved into a sob.
She sat back on her heels, gripping her knees as she rocked slightly, the overwhelming panic settling like a weight on her chest. Her breath hitched, her mind a chaotic mess of self-blame and worry.
The sound of a key turning in the lock startled her. The door opened, and Mick stepped inside, his usual cheerful expression instantly replaced by concern when he saw her on the floor amidst the chaos.
“Y/N?” he called gently, setting his bag down as he took in the scene. “What’s going on?”
She didn’t respond, her face buried against her knees. Mick crouched a few feet away, careful not to startle her further.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” he asked softly, his calm voice a stark contrast to the storm inside her.
Her head lifted slightly, tear-streaked cheeks and red, puffy eyes meeting his worried gaze. “I lost it,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I can’t find my fidget toy anywhere, and I’ve looked, and looked, and—” She broke off with a hiccup, wrapping her arms around herself.
Mick moved a little closer, his expression soft. “Okay. It’s okay. I’m here now. Let’s take a moment to breathe, yeah? Just focus on me for a second.”
“I can’t—I can’t breathe properly,” she stammered, her voice rising.
“You’re doing fine,” he reassured her. “Just follow me. In… and out.” He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, keeping his movements steady and exaggerated.
Her breaths hitched a few times, but eventually, she mirrored him, her shaky exhales gradually evening out.
“There we go,” Mick said with a small smile. “You’re doing great. Now, let’s figure this out together, okay? Where did you last have it?”
“I think… on the couch,” she murmured, wiping at her cheeks. “I was using it while I watched TV this morning.”
Mick nodded, his voice encouraging. “That’s a good start. Let’s check around there.” He moved to the couch, crouching to peer under it while carefully lifting the cushions.
Y/N sat still for a moment, clutching her sleeves tightly. Seeing Mick so calm and focused made the crushing weight in her chest a little lighter. She pushed herself to her feet and started clearing the scattered items, her movements still shaky but more purposeful now.
“Got it!” Mick exclaimed a few moments later, his voice bright. He pulled the small fidget toy from under the coffee table and held it up triumphantly. “Looks like it decided to hide from you.”
Relief crashed over her like a wave, and she rushed forward, taking the toy from him and holding it close to her chest. “Thank you,” she whispered, fresh tears spilling over—this time out of gratitude.
Mick straightened, his warm hands settling on her shoulders. “You don’t have to thank me. You’ve had a tough day, and that’s okay. I’m just glad you’ve got it back now.”
Y/N nodded, but the guilt lingered. “I’m sorry I freaked out. I should’ve—”
“Hey,” Mick interrupted, his thumbs brushing comfortingly against her shoulders. “Don’t apologize. Everyone has moments like this. You’re allowed to feel overwhelmed, and I’m here to help. Always.”
Her lips quirked into a small, grateful smile. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Mick grinned, pulling her into a warm hug. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.”
As she fidgeted with the toy in one hand, Mick held her close, gently rubbing her back. For the first time all day, the tension in her body melted away, replaced by the soothing comfort of Mick’s presence.
And though the apartment still lay in disarray, nothing else mattered. Mick was here, and that was all she needed.
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kivishipps · 2 days ago
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x OC fics ≠ x reader fics
Okay guys, I’ve given the gentle reminder as many times as I can without seeming passive aggressive, as a result this is your not-so gentle reminder. Stop tagging your x OC works as x reader for the love of all that is divine. This isn’t a threat, it’s not some long article about how you’re a deadbeat or whatever; The simple fact of the matter is the tagging system was created to help readers find EXACTLY what they are looking for with [relative]ease, and that can’t be if YOU are making them sift through content that has fuck all to do with what they are looking for.
Now there are a couple of assumptions I’ve made seeing some of you guys’ posts. Most of them fall under the writer being insecure and thinking their work will not be seen if they don’t use the x reader tag and I am here to tell you that is simply untrue. I know plenty of people who actively seek out x OC works, and while I am not among them as being called by the name of someone I am obviously not in fiction breaks the immersion for me, this should NOT discourage you from being transparent in your posting.
“It’s called block and move on.” No, it’s called be a good human being and stop evading responsibility for a messy system that doesn’t HAVE to be messy, and thus is so only because you’re making it that way. You are not a singular. There are other people JUST like you doing the same thing further perpetuating the convoluted channels.
Overlooking how self serving it is, it’s also very inconsiderate concerning people that simply struggle to find stories in some already dead or dying fandom. You have no reason to tag it as an x reader unless it is, an x reader.
It’s obnoxious, and frankly, rude.
Again, I’ve given a couple of gentle reminders already but some of you are failing to respond so allow me to put it in words geared more for… I don’t know, hardier audiences I suppose. As always thank you for your time and I hope you have an absolutely wonderful rest of your day[genuine].
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finelinevogue · 2 days ago
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, happy endings
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summary - everyone sees you as this weird and crazy ravenclaw. everyone except remus and sirius.
pairing : ravenclaw!reader x wolfstar
word count: +3k
tw: angst | nearly a happy ending | mentions of fight | self deprecation | sirius being sirius | she pronouns used
[part 1] [part 2]
You walked out of Flitwick’s office with your head low.
It caused you anxiety to know anyone could watch you exit your Head of House’s office, because everyone knew the only reason you’d be in there is because you were in trouble.
You accidentally bumped into people on your way out, though, making you stop short.
“I’m so sorry.” You said.
“Y/N? Hey, it’s only us.” Sirius said and you lifted your head to catch sight of him and Sirius before you.
You became anxious over Sirius coming to find you over a moment that you’d shared with Remus in Potions earlier. You knew that it had meant nothing to Remus, even if it had meant something to you. The way Sirius had looked at you afterwards though still made you uncomfortable thinking about.
“Sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
Just as Remus was about to say something, Professor Flitwick came out of his office.
“Ah. Just the two people I need to see.” Flitwick said, causing you to bolt before any other questions could get asked.
“But…” Sirius started, watching you leave without a goodbye.
“C’mon.” Remus tugged Sirius, not wanting to get into any more trouble if they somehow already were.
“If it’s any consolation, Mr Black, i’d like to talk to you both about Y/N.”
That caught Sirius’ attention and he was more engaged to enter Flitwick’s office then. Remus followed close behind.
Flitwick’s office was small but magical. Literally.
He had pieces of paper filing themselves away everywhere. There were books also putting themselves away on designated shelves.
“Take a seat boys.”
Flitwick went around the side of his desk and sat opposite where Sirius and Remus now sat.
Remus’ fingers started scratching at one another, because the anticipation of knowing what he’d done wrong and how he would be punished was too much. His only saving thoughts were that Sirius was beside him and you were the reason they were here, not him.
Sirius reached over to take Remus’ hand in his, interlocking their fingers to stop Remus from fidgeting.
“Are we in trouble, Professor?” Sirius asked, “‘Cause if we are, I can guarantee it was all me and nothing to do with Remus.”
Remus slightly smiled at how protective Sirius still was even after so long.
“I can assure you that neither one of you are in trouble. I just need to ask something of both of you.”
“Okay.” Sirius said skeptically.
“Darcy Gunther came to see me today, claiming that Y/N provoked Darcy’s cat and this explains the scratches down Miss L/N’s face. Now I have known Y/N since she started at this school and I don’t particularly think they would be so silly to do such a thing—.”
“They wouldn’t.” Sirius quickly chimed in, feeling Remus’ hand tense in Sirius’ due to the rage of hearing Darcy’s story.
“However.” Flitwick clearly didn’t enjoy being interrupted, “Miss L/N came in here and did not defend herself. I asked Y/N what was said to cause such a reaction from Darcy’s cat and all I got was a shrug in return. Miss Gunther explained that it was because Y/N was jealous that you two never give her the time of day? Again, I know Miss L/N and I don’t think this would be a concern of theirs.”
“Definitely.” Remus agreed.
“I don’t need to know what you two think about this. However, I am aware of Miss L/Ns lack of social circle and would like to ask if you two—.”
“Absolutely.”
“Yes, anything!”
Flitwick had to bite back a smile.
“— could make sure Y/N feels included.” He finished his sentence whilst the boys continued to nod. “Good.”
“So that’s it? No… getting into trouble?” Remus asked warily.
“Unless you have a direct link to what happened to Y/Ns face, Mr Lupin, you are free to go.”
“Wow. First time getting called into a teachers office and not getting told off!” Sirius laughed, as he and Remus stood to leave.
They both walked for the door, knowing they were about to burst out in conversation with each other once they’d left.
“Sirius?” Flitwick asked.
Sirius turned, whilst Remus had one hand on the door ready.
“Remember detention at Friday lunch.”
Sirius winked, “You got it.”
Remus rolled his eyes before they walked out the door.
•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•
You were sat at your favourite spot in the library when Sirius and Remus approached you.
The book you were reading was a novel full of adventure, mystery and treasure. You loved reading. The escapism into a world entirely different to your own was second to none. It was freeing and most importantly safe.
“Hey.” Remus said as he approached you.
You were sat at a four person bench table, you in the middle of one bench and - now - Sirus and Remus clambering to sit on the opposite bench.
“Hey.” You smiled.
“What’re you reading?” Remus asked.
You showed him the title and he looked impressed.
They didn’t have any books or notes of their own, so they must’ve either come here to cause trouble or to genuinely just sit and talk with you.
Curious.
“Are you two okay?” You asked.
“Y/N, you got attacked by a cat and you’re asking whether we’re okay?” Sirius asked, staring at your wound with intent.
“Did Flitwick put you up to this? To interrogate the truth out of me?” You frowned.
You had hoped they’d come here to chat with you, but maybe they were here on business to cause trouble after all.
“No.” Remus said.
“Yes.” Sirius said.
You looked at them confused.
“What are you doing?” Sirius asked Remus, flicking his finger on his forehead.
“What are you doing? Exposing us.”
“When have I ever been good at lying, Moony?”
“Uh… That time it turned out you’d been using my toothbrush for a whole term!”
“At least I was keeping my teeth clean!”
You stared at them with utter confusion.
You didn’t know what to feel. First they are here to spy on you and the truth? Then Remus lies to you about it? And now they are bickering over oral hygiene. If you didn’t insanely like them both, a normal person would have left by now.
“This is ridiculous. We’re talking about this later.” Remus muttered, annoyed with his boyfriend.
Sirius turned to you grinning and Remus tried his best to smile.
It took you all of three seconds to start chuckling to yourself. You could feel the corners of your eyes crease and the dimple on your face pop out to say hello.
Your giggles filled the space around you and you had to out a hand over your mouth in hopes of keeping them muffled.
“Ssh!” Some senior prefect glared at you.
“Oi! Don’t tell her to shush,” Sirius barked and then quietly muttered, “Prick.”
“No it’s okay. It’s a library, I should be quiet.” You stopped laughing, but not smiling.
“Not when you’re laughing like that, you shouldn’t.” Remus said.
His comment made you blush and you had to dip your head before Sirius could see.
You were worried if Sirius caught you being affected by Remus’ kindness - again - he would probably have to confront you, and you weren’t too excited for that.
There was just something about Sirius and Remus that made your heart feel right. Like they were a reminder that even through all the tough moments, there was still sunshine in the form of them.
Remus had his level-headed, introverted-ness, about him and Sirius was all hot-headed and cool. Both of them together just made sense.
You wished you had someone that would complete you into being made sense of.
It was hard though when, well for one no one in the school ever talked to you, and the only people who do speak to you are already in an established relationship.
“Y/N, are you single?” Sirius asked, breaking the silence.
Remus’ jaw dropped and looked at Sirius like he just killed his grandma.
Why was Sirius asking whether you were single when his boyfriend was sat next to him?
“What is this?” You nervously chuckled, “An interrogation over my love life?”
“Sirius…” Remus tried to stop him before he could start, but there was just no point.
“Have you ever been in a relationship?” Sirius asked.
“No.” You said quietly, embarrassed.
“Do you ever want to be?”
“Sirius!” Remus cursed.
“I-I don’t know what game you’re playing, Sirius, but it’s not funny. I get that I’m the joke of Ravenclaw and possibly even the school, but I’m not going to sit around and have you of all people embarrass me.” You spoke firmly, gathering your book in your hand.
“What do you mean ‘of all people’?” Sirius pushed.
“Sirius stop.” Remus gripped his boyfriends arm.
“W-we shouldn’t even be having this conversation.”
“What conversation, Y/N? I’m just talking.”
“You’re being a dick.” You muttered.
“A dick?”
“Yes. You know damn well that no one in this school likes me and it’s really cruel of you to make such a big deal of it.” Your eyes started to well with water.
“Y/N… That’s not…” Sirius started.
You stood up from your chair at the bench, “Look, I know what people say about me okay? I’d just rather not hear it from you today.”
And with that you were gone.
Sirius and Remus both watched you leave in a hurry, clearly not wanting to hang around for a single second longer than needed.
Remus whacked Sirius around the head with his hand.
“Ow- What the…?” Sirius whined.
Remus just glared at him.
“I screwed up.”
“Yeah, you screwed up.” Remus nodded in agreement. “What were you even trying to attempt?”
“Ask her on a date.”
“With who?”
“Us.” Sirius looked at Remus now like he’d not been present for the past five years.
“Oh yeah, ‘cause asking a girl who has never been in a relationship before on a date with, not one but, two guys is a great starting point.” Remus sarcastically answered.
“Ah…”
“Christ alive, how did you ever win me over?” Remus mumbled as he got up from the bench.
“Heyyy…” Sirius whined. “Wait, where are you going?”
“To fix your bloody mess.”
“Shall I….?”
“You stay here.” Remus ordered, hugging Sirius from behind with his arms dangling over his shoulders.
“And do what?”
“Read a book.”
“Read? A book?” Sirius pretended to gag.
“Love you.” Remus kissed Sirius’ cheek, before reluctantly unravelling himself from him.
“I love you, but you are causing me much pain by forcing me to read.” Sirius banged his head on the table, hoping his sat force would cause Remus to change his mind.
But no.
Remus was gone and Sirius would have to go and find a book.
•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-•
You were sitting on the floor of a dark corridor by yourself.
No one ever came down here because they were too scared of the Ravenclaw ghosts - that you had befriended over the years.
You wiped your tears from your cheeks a with your sweater as you heard footsteps approaching.
It was slightly sad, no definitely sad - the lame kind - to be sitting on the floor crying over two guys that you never thought would’ve given you the time of day, but here you were.
Remus and Sirius occupied too much of your brain space.
They made you happy, even if they didn’t know it.
You imagined what it would be like being happy with them.
Then, perhaps, you imagined a little too hard because the next thing you see is Remus walking down the corridor towards you.
You briefly catch him slip a piece of parchment into his back pocket, before wiping the rest of your tears away.
“Hi.” He nervously smiled.
You curled your knees up into your chest as your back pressed against the cold stone. Your eyes slowly watched Remus walk beside you, only to slink down against the wall and sit next to you.
“I don’t want to talk.” You said quietly, even though there was no one around to hear but him.
“That’s okay. If all you want to do is sit in this hallway in silence, then I’m happy to do it with you.”
Your heart swooned over his words.
You’d never had someone so insistent on being around you. A day ago, Remus and Sirius probably had never had you on their mind and yet today you had already seen them 3 times. 4 if you included this time with Remus.
Remus kept his word and remained silent next to you, until five minutes later your thoughts were too loud to keep them in your head.
“How did you know where to find me?” You asked.
“Oh, uh, I guessed.”
“Lucky guess.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think I should apologise to Sirius?”
“What?” Remus laughed, “No absolutely not. He was being a dick and he knew it. I love him, but he has no boundaries.”
You chuckled at that, because you could only imagine.
You scooted closer to Remus, needing to feel a little extra warmth in this cold corridor. The stone floor wasn’t exactly ideal for sitting on, but it had grounded you when you felt like you were slipping away. Now that Remus was here you felt like you had another way - a better way - of grounding yourself.
Plus, for some reason, Remus was exhorting a lot of heat.
“I feel like I need to apologise to Sirius anyways.” You admitted.
“How come?” Remus didn’t make any jokes. He just gave you the space to talk.
“I… It’s.. Gosh I don’t know how to say any of this.”
You shook your head, burrowing it down to your knees as if not being able to see the world would mean you’d entirely removed yourself from the situation.
How on Earth were you supposed to explain to Remus that you needed to apologise to his boyfriend because he’s caught you ogling Remus one too many times now? How do you admit a crush like this? And then not just on one, but two people? At once?
It was insufferable being inside your head currently.
It was like a giant wave of guilt and shame constantly crashing its way down on you, weighing you down until you felt like you couldn’t breathe any more.
“I.. I think there’s something wrong with me.” You let the tears fall then, feeling safe enough next to Remus to cry.
“Y/N…”
Your head shot up from your knees, needing to get this out, “I have never been loved before, Remus. I know I’m the butt of the joke. That I’m deemed unworthy and a bit pathetic. I get it, I do. But it fucking sucks that people see me like this when I still have a heart underneath, just like anyone else. It’s full of love and joy and happiness, but sometimes I forget it’s all there because of how small people make me feel. I’ve never felt like I fit in. I don’t fit in. And I certainly wouldn’t fit into a relationship with the likes of you or Sirius. So I need to apologise to Sirius and I need to apologise to you for ever believing that I could worm myself into your relationship - like I’ve wanted to for the past sodding half my life.”
You felt out of breath as you finished speaking, letting your chest heave off the anger.
You felt lighter for letting it all out, but also terrified at the boy you adored staring blankly in front of you and what his answer would be.
The silence lasted for two seconds too long before you decided that you’ve ruined everything.
“I’m sorry Remus. God, I’m so so sorry.”
You made tracks to stand up, but Remus stood up with you just as quickly - ignoring the resulting cracks from his bones.
He made his quickly into the space between you both and cupped your cheeks carefully.
“No. No, stop that. Don’t be sorry, not for that.”
You pouted your lips and your eyes watered.
“I never meant to hurt anyone.”
“What are you talking about, sweetheart? You’ve not hurt anyone,” Remus delicately traced his finger down the cat-scratch wound on your face, “Except only yourself.”
“I-I’m so.. s-sorry.” You hiccuped, tears falling down your face. Remus raced to catch them all as if it was a game, urging them to stop falling.
“Sshh. You’re okay.”
“I’m ru-ining everything.” You tried to drop your head but Remus kept you facing him.
“Never. You’re not, I promise. You haven’t ruined anything. You’re too good to ruin anything. Too sweet.”
You started sobbing then and Remus let you drop your head against his chest. He cupped the back of your head protectively and wrapped the other around your back to keep you close to him. His body shook as yours did and he felt every bit of devastation that you did.
You hurting, hurt Remus just the same. Just as Remus knew Sirius also felt.
Sirius soon appeared down the corridor, almost running when he realised it was you that was shaking heavily in Remus’ arms.
“Moony, what happened? Who did this? I swear when I find out who—.”
“Sirius will you calm down. She’s not hurt - well, not physically.” Remus explained, trying to calm down his boyfriend whilst also consoling you.
After hearing Sirius’ voice you reluctantly pulled away from Remus’ embrace. You nervously looked over at Sirius, your eyes no doubt swollen and puffy and your hair frayed from all the nuzzling into Remus chest.
“Y/N…” Sirius said your name so softly you would have smiled had it not been for the heartbroken tone he used.
“I’m so sorry for interfering with you and your boyfriend.” You apologised to Sirius.
Your fingers started scratching at each other with nerves.
You expected Sirius to lash out and agree with you, but instead he looked devastated - not with you, but himself. There was a look of remorse and guilt on his face, one you knew all too well.
“Is that how you’ve felt? How i’ve made you feel?” He asked.
You didn’t answer because it was clear he already knew the answer and you didn’t feel cruel enough to say it out loud.
“Moony… I’m sorry. I’ve ruined everything.” Sirius started to become upset now.
It only was moments before that you’d been upset over the same thing.
“Hey, listen to me. You’ve not ruined anything. You’re as perfect as you always are. But Y/N has something to say, okay?” Remus wrapped his arm around Sirius waist and turned him to face you.
As they both looked at you with starry and tearful eyes you couldn’t help but believe that you’d caused so much unnecessary pain and hurt to the two people you’d vowed never to upset.
It was clear that there was no room for you to fit in beside them, regardless of how badly you wanted to.
That was okay. It was something that would hurt but it would be something you’d learn to grow from in time.
“Sirius…” You started, before not really knowing where to go from there. You wanted to apologise, but you didn’t know quite how.
Sirius moved away from Remus and in front of you, wiping away some loose hair from your face. He was so close to you, you almost couldn’t breathe.
“I always felt unworthy…”
“Sirius…”
“No just hear me out. I always felt unworthy, until I met Remus. He showed me that I was able to be loved and treated with kindness. Then I came to realise that I could also love and treat people with kindness, and that realisation came when I met you. In fact, it was before I met you. It was the first time I saw you standing on the Platform, waiting to leave for Hogwarts. I saw you and I instantly believed I could be capable of loving someone else. My heart let in Moony, of course it did, but it never felt quite whole. Like there was a piece of the puzzle missing.”
You quickly glanced from Sirius to Remus, to make sure this was an okay conversation to be having - despite how much you never wanted the moment to end.
Remus gave you an encouraging nod.
“I felt it too.”
“All this time we’d been reeling over what that little bit of emptiness was caused by, until we realised that it was because we were missing you.”
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chaos-in-deepspace · 10 hours ago
Text
LADS Xavier: Stardust | SFW Angst
So anyway, did y'all see the um...story branch trailer for Xavier that was posted an hour ago? Well. Here we go. 1.2k with angst and comfort.
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Pairings: Xavier x Reader Warnings: Angst but with Comfort Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.
Blog Information | Masterlist
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Xavier
“Xavier,” your voice cracked as you saw him clutching his chest. He collapsed onto the ground as you rushed over to him, grabbing his hand, “Xavier!” you said it more forcefully. How were you supposed to know this would happen? One moment, you were fighting wanderers, trying to find clues on a possible Aethercore, and the next…how did this happen? You don’t even remember how you got here; the only thing on your mind is Xavier right now.
“I-I’m,” his voice cracked, and it almost sounded like a death rattle as you heard the sharp intake of air. It was almost like his lungs refused to allow anything inside of them right now. YOu couldn’t even register the wetness on your cheeks as you tried cupping his cheeks.
He was so pale, so cold. How did this happen? How did this happen to him? Your heart beat erratically as you looked at him, his eyes already glazed over. You could see the shine of whatever collar was around his neck. You know you had seen it before, and he never told you why it was there, but now it was so much clearer. Another shaky intake of air, this time almost wet like his lungs were filling up with water.
“What can I do?” you said, trying to help him. Why was he glowing now? His body seemed brighter, almost like the light of his evol. It was unnatural as you looked at him. His temperature hadn’t changed; he was still cold as ice, and his skin was now clammy. “Xavier, please tell me there’s something I can do.” You cried out.
Then you saw it, the paleness of his face as he looked up at you; those brilliant blue eyes now lacked the normal luster they always held. They were almost hollowed, ghosts of their former self, and completely unfocused as he tried looking directly at you, “It’ll be okay?” he said, “I promise, it’ll all be alright.” He tried to assure you, but his voice was so quiet and almost distant. It was like he was speaking so far away, his words echoing through a tunnel, and you realized now that it was because there was too much blood rushing in your ears. You were panicking; you were losing him.
“Please, Xavier, don’t…” you said, choking out a sob, “You can’t leave me, not like this. There’s still so much we have to do.” You cried out, holding onto him for dear life. Even as you held him, though, you could feel it. His body slowly became nothing, turning into the brilliant light that was normally a comfort to you. Now, it was mocking your naivety, thinking that things could stay the same as they always had. Thinking that in this lifetime you could find happiness with him.
This…lifetime.
“I promise, just look into the sky,” Xavier said, and through tears, you tried looking up, but it was overcast, “My light, I promise, it’ll always shine on you. Guide you. It’ll never be far.” He said, letting out a small cough. Then he was gone, and in an instant, your entire world crumbled. Your nails dug into the ground as you wailed into the night sky; the only thing left of Xavier was a singular star-shaped charm that you so often saw on his light blade.
He was gone, and you felt…so hollow. It was nothing like when Granny died or Caleb died. It was like a part of your soul was ripped out of your chest, and you could only stare at the ground, sobbing and letting your tears wet the dirt underneath you.
Then, there was a startled gasp from your throat. Your eyes snapping open to reveal nothing but darkness around you. As your eyes adjusted and you came to, you felt something warm around you, the brush of something soft on your wet cheeks and a voice that was so familiar and grounding it made you sob again.
Your eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, and you could finally hear it, “It’s okay, shhhh it’s alright,” Xavier’s voice was trying to get you out of whatever nightmare you had been having. You turned in his arms and wrapped your own around his torso, pressing your face into his chest. You couldn’t help the sobs that escaped you, little hiccups leaving your throat as you cried into his chest. His hands never left you, one of them playing with your hair, the other rubbing along your upper back.
His words were soothing, letting you know he was there, he was with you, he’d protect you. But you couldn’t protect him. It sent you spiraling again as you hugged him closer, and you felt his lips on your forehead now, his hand rubbing away some of your tears as he forced you to look at him.
“Hey, come on, look at my little star,” he murmured, his voice calm despite your hysterics. You could hear his breathing for once, forcing your own to even out with his own as you felt your heart slowing down a bit, your body no longer in a complete panic despite how your mind still told you that you let him die.
“Xavier,” you finally said, your voice wrecked and broken as you cupped his cheek. It was warm under your palm, soothing; his skin wasn’t clammy, and he felt alive. His blue eyes shined down on you, and you realized then that he had used his evol to make speckles of yellow light engulf the entire room, creating a starry night scene around you.
“Yes, I’m here, it’s okay.” He said, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles, “I’m not going anywhere, so you can breathe.” He was soothing you, and you were melting into him. It was a nightmare, a bad dream, but it had felt so goddamn real.
“You’re really not going to leave me…” you began, biting your lower lip as you tried not to cry again, “You won’t turn to stardust, right? You won’t die on me, right? You’re gonna stay right here by my side.” You could see the way his eyes widened at your statement before taking on a more solemn look.
“I have never, and will never have any intention of leaving you,” he finally said, “My place is by your side, and I’ll do everything I can to remain by it, to make sure you’re okay.” He promised you, and you nodded.
“And what about you?” your voice sounded so tired, “You’ll make sure we’re both okay, right?” you asked, needing to hear it. Something flashed in his eyes as he took in a shaky breath, then he nodded.
“I’ll do everything I can to make sure we’re both okay.” He settled on. He was sitting up now, dragging you with him as he pulled you onto his lap and pressed his forehead against your own, “I’d never want to see you sad.”
“Then you have to stay alive, no matter what.” You spoke, knowing what you wanted, “Because without you…I…” he could see the tears welling up in your eyes again.
“I know, shhh, I know.” He was rocking you in his arms, “I’ll do my best not to die, okay?” they weren’t the words you needed to hear, but it was a little nice to hear his honesty. At least he’d put in the effort to stay alive for you.
“Okay,” you finally said, the word was barely a murmur as you closed your eyes, “Okay…”
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freaky-deaky-cookies · 2 days ago
Note
Can I request headcanons for Dark Urge, Geraldus, Wyll, Halsin, Gale, and Astarion reacting to shy GN s/o who always asks for permission even just to hold hands or a kiss on the cheek please?
Dark Urge, Geraldus, Wyll, Halsin, Gale, and Astarion (Sep) reacting to shy Tav who always asks for permission even just to hold hands or a kiss on the cheek
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Dark Urge (redeeming)
Towards the beginning of the relationship they do not really understand why Tav asks for permission
Would initially think that Tav is afraid they would hurt them
For the Dark Urge their whole life was to take anything and everything they wanted
As time goes on and Dark Urge starts to learn from / heal from their past trauma they find Tav asking for permission to be extremely sweet and understanding
Dark Urge has never truly got to experience someone who truly loves them for who they are 
Tav’s requests for permission and their shyness would be a constant reminder that love and affection don’t have to come from a place of control or dominance
“Thank you Tav, you have shown me more love and understanding than any other soul that exists.”
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Geraldus
Not sure how Tav and Geraldus even got themselves in a relationship
Geraldus, himself is on the shy side
However, when he is not blushing and mumbling out his own request for affection, his mind is fired listening to Tav ask for it
Geraldus would never say no to Tav
To him Tav is higher than the Gods, they are perfection
“Why would you ask me such a thing dear… I cannot get enough of you”
“Do you think I would ever turn down a kiss from you?”
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Wyll
Total sweetheart about it
Wyll finds this to be among the most endearing things about his Tav
At heart Wyll is a true, traditional romantic, and what is more than romantic than the love of their life looking at you and asking for your love and affection
Wyll is another one to hardly ever deny Tav’s request
“You never have to ask, my dear. But I understand that you want to feel comfortable—let me know how I can make this easier for you.”
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Halsin (!Halsin Backstory Spoilers!)
Halsin’s eyes are so full of love anytime he hears Tavs sweet voice ask for him
While is was long ago, Halsin appreciate Tav asking permission before they jump him with kisses and cuddles
From time to time Halsin gets in his head about that time he was used as a pleasure servant
As wild as Halsin is, he is still a mortal with a mortal mind
If Tav hesitated, he’d hold out his hand gently or give Tav a soft kiss on the forehead
“My heart, you are true perfection”
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Gale
EATS THIS UP
Gale wants to be wanted, especially by Tav
Gale, who is intelligent and often a bit formal in his mannerisms, would understand Tav’s need for permission but wants nothing more than to hold Tav
He believes in the power of trust and would reassure Tav that there’s nothing to fear from him
“Ah, my dear, I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but there’s no need for permission in matters of the heart.” (Sush Gale we all know you want them to keep asking because you love it so much)
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Astarion
Astarion would be the most conflicted in terms of his reaction. On one hand, he would deeply appreciate that Tav’s respect boundaries and asks for permission, as he is someone who has a very sensitive relationship with consent. 
However, because of his own traumatic past, his reaction might come across as more self-deprecating or sarcastic at first.
He’d try to tease Tav about it, making light of the situation with his usual charm and wit, but underneath his sarcasm, there’s a genuine desire to make you feel comfortable. 
He would be keen to show you that he’d never force anything on you and might even go out of his way to be overly considerate, so you know that you are always in control of the situation.
“You don’t need to ask, darling... but I suppose I do enjoy the thought of you wanting to be sure.”
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