#again no pressure if this isn’t your thing

[orphicmusings]

“give me ten minutes and a pillow for his hips”

18+ | MDNI

its not that viktor didn’t want to devour you. take you in the almost impossible positions he’d widen his eyes at reading about when he got bored in the library, attempting to anatomically sketch it out on a napkin to visualize how it would work hastily before anyone came in and caught him flipping through an erotic novel. and he would, through the pain, it would be so worth it— if not for your gentle consideration. the one thing sexier than your dazed face looking up at him, all heated cheeks and hooded eyes, was how perceptive you were— how well you knew him, how well you saw him. you were attuned to him now, an invisible string between you. a phenomenon he could never sit down and wrap his big head around, just how connected the two of you had become that you barely needed words to communicate sometimes. like, for example, an abrupt whine sneakily covered by the clearing of his throat.

you were both excited and apprehensive when he brought up wanting to be on top tonight. you knew he would be putting pressure on his bad leg and of course you brought it up, but the way his voice dipped in velvet and wrapped around you, the lyrical lilt in his accent becoming hushed and deeper as he detailed how he wanted you under him, he wanted to take you, claim you, devour you with no inhibitions. his silver tongue won against your worried left brain, twice technically, until you heard it— the slightest change of rhythm in the strum of your little connective string.

“viktor?” you lifted your head. “what was that?”

he took a deep breath and buried his head in the crook of your neck. “nothing, darling.” he punctuated his assurance was a distracting suckle on your skin. and god, you almost gave in again, almost, but you gently tilted his head up and looked into his darkened eyes. “didn’t sound like nothing.”

damn you and your perceptive skills. he loves them so much.

another deep breath leaves him, and before he could wave it off, you press him. “it’s your leg, isn’t it?” you ask, already knowing the answer, and he can’t lie to you.

“yes.” he breathed in surrender. “i’m sorry, my love i really wanted to-what are you doing?” he frowned, watching you roll out from under him and grab one of the pillows on his bed.

“armchair, now.” you pointed to the chair across the room, with the plush ottoman in front of it that you gifted him. he couldn’t help but let a smirk pull at the corners of his mouth.

“bossy.” yet, he obeyed and made his way over to you. you gave him the pillow, instructing him to put it under his hip as he sat down, making sure his leg was elevated on the ottoman. once you got him all situated, you didn’t even have time to ask if it felt better before he was grabbing the back of your neck and kissing you like a man starved. you melted into his touch, straddling him but careful not to apply too much pressure. “so fucking sweet.” he pants the praise huskily into your mouth. “too good to me.”

his hands traveled down your body to grip your hips, pulling you flush to him. you started grinding slowly, and he guided you, a shaky breath leaving your mouth before you even got to the main event. every noise from your mouth caused a shiver to run down his spine, striking him with irrational need— he didn’t care that the things he wanted to do to you would make him scream in pain, he felt that he would simply die if he couldn’t fuck you the way he pictured it in his head right now.

but then he looks at you, just as dazed and hungry on top of him as you were under him, and a smile creeps up on him. it doesn’t matter if he were to throw you down and ravage you like a love interest in those books, or if you were softly bouncing on his length, burying your little sighs and whimpers into the crook of his neck, he’s still pleasing you. he’s still enough for you. he exhaled a smirk.

“none of that, darling.” he lifted your jaw to meet his eyes. “wanna see you and hear you. can you do that for me?” you nodded, struggling to keep your head up in the throes of pleasure, but having no trouble letting your mouth run wild with curses and praises and whines and whimpers. and it was all music to his ears. “that’s it, sweet girl.” his voice came ragged as he reached his long fingers to press on your clit. you all but screamed, tugging gently on the curls of the nape of his neck. he whined and threw his head back.

“am i hurting you?” you asked hoarsely, your hand hovering over his hair. he shook his head adamantly, taking your head and tangling it back in his hair himself. each thrust would earn a tug, and each tug would earn a pretty noise from him, causing another push to each of your edges.

“love you….” he whispered against the skin of your neck, pressing a kiss against it as you both reached your peaks, breathing heavily against each other. “love you so much.”

[alotofpockets]

That's a lot of blood | Arsenal WFC x Reader

5k celebration prompt: "That's a lot of blood."

Woso masterlist | Words: 1k

-----

The match was intense, the kind where every step, tackle, and shot felt like it could make or break the game. The crowd roared in the background, but you barely heard it, your focus narrowed to the field in front of you.

The opposition broke through your team’s line of defense, the ball sailing over the top. A one-on-one with the keeper was the last thing you wanted in a game like this. You pushed yourself to sprint back, muscles burning, and made the only choice you could: throw your body down for a tackle.

Your timing was perfect. The ball ricocheted off your foot and away from danger. But the striker tripped over you, her cleat catching your thigh as she fell. It all happened so fast that you didn’t process it until the sharp pain hit, like a knife slicing through your leg.

“Jesus.” Katie’s voice broke through your haze as she ran to your side. She dropped to her knees, her hands instantly on your shoulders as you tried to sit up. “Stay down.” Her tone was softer than you were used to from her on the pitch. “Trust me, that is not something you want to see.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?” The panic very present in your voice. Before Katie could answer, Manu’s voice piped up from behind you. “That’s a lot of blood.”

Your eyes widened, and your stomach churned. Blood? That wasn’t a good sign. “Nice going, now she’s scared.” Katie snapped, glaring at the goalkeeper. It was well known within the team that you didn’t handle blood well. Let alone your own blood covering your thigh.

“Right, sorry!” Manu kneeled down beside you. “It’s not that bad. Really.” You shot her a look, “You can’t say that right after you say there is a lot of blood. Those two do not work together!” 

Katie chuckled at your comment, but quickly gathered herself to be there for you. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, the seconds dragging on as you lay there waiting for the medics to arrive.

The pain in your leg throbbed, and you felt the warm fluid in your leg. Your shorts sticking to your leg even more than before.

Then curiosity got the better of you, and you glanced down. A mistake. “Oh god.” Your face turned pale as you saw how much blood was covering your leg. You couldn’t even see the wound anymore. 

A wave of nausea washed over you. Lotte, who had been hovering nearby, quickly knelt by your side. She gently pushed your shoulders back to the ground. “Hey, don’t look at that. You’re going to be okay. It’s not as bad as it seems. Just focus on me, alright?” 

Her calm demeanor steadied you slightly, though your breathing was still shallow. The medics finally arrived, gauze and gloves in hand. You flinched as they applied pressure to the wound, the sting making tears spring to your eyes.

“Just breathe,” Lotte said, her voice soothing as she wiped dirt and grass from your face. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. You’ve got this.”

Katie took your hand in hers, squeezing it tightly. “Don’t make me show you how to breathe,” she teased, a playful glint in her eye despite the situation.

Her joke makes you chuckle. “See, you’re doing just fine.”

One of the medics looked up after inspecting your leg. “Good news, it’s not too deep. You’ll just need a few stitches.”

You sighed in relief, though the idea of stitches made your stomach twist. “A few stitches isn’t so bad.” You said out loud, trying to convince yourself.

Katie’s smirk appeared again. “Yeah, and chicks dig scars. You’ll find a girlfriend in no time now.” With a roll of your eyes you tell her that she’s awful. “If I’m awful, then why are you still holding my hand?” You stared at her deadpan. “Annoying too.”

Lotte shook her head at the two of you, a small smile on her lips. “You’re impossible, both of you.”

The medics wrapped your leg and helped you to your feet, with Katie and Lotte supporting you on either side. The trip to the tunnel was a blur, and before you knew it, you were sitting in the medical room with a couple stitches, a fresh bandage and crutches.

When you finally hobbled out to the bench, the game was nearing its end. The team checked on you, their faces a mix of concern and relief. You assured them you were fine, and that they could stop worrying about you.

The final whistle blew, and you looked up just in time to see Leah running your way with a grin on her face. “Scored that goal for you.” The team on the bench had informed you that Leah had scored off a corner just before you had made your way back.

You shook your head with a chuckle. “You so didn’t.”

She wrapped her arm around your shoulder. “Okay, maybe not.” She admitted, “But I am dedicating it to you. End of story.”

It didn’t take you long to get used to the crutches, so you joined the team on your round around the stadium, taking pictures with fans and signing their jersey’s and signs. 

You noticed that no matter where you went, one of the girls was keeping an eye on you. While you appreciated their support, you were not looking forward to being babysat for the next few weeks while your leg was healing.

-----

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also supporting me by leaving a tip 💗

[milla-frenchy]

I already screamed at you (affectionately 😌) but Odi wtfffffff 🤯🥵🫠

I was already in love with Javi (in case you didn't know already 🤭), you didn't have to do this and make things worse😂🤭 (please do it again 😌😌😌)

Javi is SO confident, so sexy, omg the way he dances, dead LORD

What a HOT fic 🫠🫠🫠

Javier danced his way onto the makeshift stage in front of your bestie, spinning his hat off and tossing it with a flourish into the crowd. Almost causing a fight between a few of the women to break out. His aviators followed, revealing deep, smoldering eyes that locked with yours for a moment too long.

Ok. I'm not proud of it, but maybe I would fight too 🤣🤣🤣

Your face burned as your gaze dipped lower, catching a glimpse of something even more scandalous. The tiny scrap of leopard print couldn’t quite contain him—on the sides, the curve of his balls was slipping free. You swallowed hard, your pulse fluttering as he shifted his weight, the motion only emphasizing how precariously the thong was holding itself together.

Jail, Odi. JAIL

Seriously wtf 🥵🥵🥵

Javier struck a pose, bracing his hands on his hips as he arched his back slightly, flexing for effect. He glanced over his shoulder with a devilish grin, clearly relishing in the chaos he was causing. The lights caught the sheen of sweat on his skin, highlighting every curve and line of muscle, leaving no question as to just how perfect he was from every single angle.

Just so you know: I WAS HYPERVENTILATING READING THIS 🥵⚰️🧟

This man was a problem.

Yes. A big, broad, handsome problem 😂

His smirk widened. “Just great?” He leaned in slightly, the scent of his cologne—something dark and woodsy—mingling with the musky sheen of sweat on his skin. “Because you’ve been staring like you’re enjoying yourself a little more than tha?t.” You nearly choked on your drink. “I—I wasn’t—”

jfc he's such a menace

“Sit,” he commanded, his voice smooth but firm. His dark eyes gleamed with mischief as he waited for you to comply. Against your better judgment, you did.

omg. The tone 😍😍

“Relax,” he murmured as he noticed the way your hands gripped the edge of the chair. “I don’t bite.” He winked. “Not unless you ask nicely.”

Odi you're such a menace too, I hope you know it 😂

You eyed it suspiciously. “You didn’t put anything in this, did you?” He looked genuinely offended, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’m hurt you’d even ask.”

I loved this, so much

You raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. “Curiosity, I guess. Wanted to see if you were as charming one-on-one as you are with a crowd.”   “And?”  You took a deliberate sip of your drink before answering. “Jury’s still out.”   He chuckled, “I’m not worried. I’m good under pressure.”  

I think "menace" is not even enough to describe him, actually lol

“Listen,” he said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge gone. “If this isn’t what you want, just say the word, and I’ll back off. No hard feelings.”   For the first time that night, you saw something unguarded in his expression—genuine sincerity that made your heart stutter.  You hesitated, your walls cracking under the weight of his words. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, or the way his thumb brushed against your knuckles, but something in you shifted.  

HELL YEAH great job reader 😍😍😍 I just love when our seducer falls for someone 🫠

Aaaaaah what a HOT fic!! I love your Javi 😍😍😍

Strangers

Stripper!Javier Pena x f!reader // almost 9k

Time stands still and it's only us, what we feel started way before we ever touched... must be from a different life been here before and it just feels right

summary: you meet a sexy stripper at your bestie's bachelorette party and he tries his absolute hardest to get your number

warnings: mdni, 18+, javi is a stripper, he wears a man thong and gets pretty close to stripping it all off in public, there's cock and balls, unprotected p in v, f!oral receiving, lap dances for days, reader has breasts, a dress, and hair that can fall around her face and is internally conflicted about this man and his leopard thong, javi has a pov in this too

notes: i really don't remember what sparked this but here we are... it's been like a month or more of me working on this. I thought I was done and then I heard a single song and it pushed me to write even more. This was supposed to be just a smutty fic and then got some depth and I was like wtf. Anyway on to the thank yous, thank you to the 5000 people I have screamed to about this, and a massive thank you to @thundermartini for listening to me go on and on about this guy for a long time and then reading it for me love you baby! A special mention to @gothcsz for the thong idea, @evolnoomym, @milla-frenchy and @sawymredfox for being so supportive of this idea to @joelslegalwhre for reading and @syd-djarin for the moodboard

masterlist

The music thumped so loudly it seemed to shake the floor, the kind of bass-heavy track that rumbled through your chest. Your best friend’s bachelorette party was in full swing, and the rented penthouse buzzed with laughter, shrieks, and a significant amount of tequila-fueled chaos. The party planners had spared no expense, from the towering stacks of champagne glasses to the flashy male entertainment just about to take the stage.

And then, he walked in.

You couldn’t ignore the way the room seemed to shift when he entered. The man—Javier, as the MC introduced him—had an undeniable presence. Dressed in a tight police officer uniform complete with aviators, a fake badge, hat, and handcuffs, he adjusted his badge with a grin that screamed trouble. His dark eyes surveyed the room with the kind of confidence that could only come from knowing he was the main event. 

Every woman in the room, including you, took notice.

While your friends ogled and whispered not-so-subtle comments, you tried—and failed—to keep your eyes elsewhere. He was gorgeous, sure, but this wasn’t your scene. Loud parties weren’t really your thing. 

The first performance was for the bride-to-be, of course. When the lights dimmed and the music shifted to something playfully seductive, the room erupted into cheers and Javier made his way to the bachelorette. 

“Ladies,” he announced, his voice smooth and teasing as he pulled a pair of fake handcuffs from his belt. “I hear there's a bride-to-be here who’s guilty of breaking hearts. I’m afraid I’ll have to take her in.”

Your best friend shrieked with laughter as he arrested her, securing one cuff around her wrist and helping her onto a nearby chair. The room buzzed with excitement as he began to dance, every move deliberate and designed to tease. 

You watched the scene unfold, biting your lip to stifle your laughter. He was undeniably good at what he did. But you couldn’t focus on the theatrics as much as everyone else seemed to. Your attention had zeroed in on him—his broad shoulders, the way his shirt clung to his chest, and the effortless way he commanded every inch of the massive penthouse, the man was sex on legs. As he began to set up for the big finale, you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

Javier danced his way onto the makeshift stage in front of your bestie, spinning his hat off and tossing it with a flourish into the crowd. Almost causing a fight between a few of the women to break out.

His aviators followed, revealing deep, smoldering eyes that locked with yours for a moment too long. He’s just playing to the crowd, he has to look at all the women right?

The bassline shifted to a slower, dirtier rhythm, and he rolled his shoulders back, his body falling into perfect sync with the beat.

Then came the shirt.

He gripped the edges, peeling it off slowly, revealing inch by inch of sun-kissed skin stretched over a perfectly sculpted chest and arms. When he finally tossed the shirt aside, the room erupted in cheers and whistles.

And yet, all you could do was stare and clench your thighs together. Why was this affecting you so much? It’s just a party. It’s just a guy. Get a grip. But no amount of inner scolding could make you look away. Something about this man pulled you in.

His chest glistened under the soft glow of the light, each bead of sweat tracing a slow, tantalizing path over the chiseled contours of his body. Your breath hitched, captivated by the sheer allure of him—the way every ridge of muscle stood out, accentuated as his hand drifted slowly down his torso. He moved with deliberate ease, fully aware of the spell he was weaving, and the teasing smirk playing at the corner of his lips made it clear that he was savoring every second of all the attention he was receiving.

But it was when his fingers moved to rip off his belt that the real show began.

The collective energy in the room surged as Javier teasingly ran his hands down his sides, and in one swift, practiced motion, he reached for his waistband and yanked.

The rip-away pants came apart with a sharp, satisfying sound, sending the crowd into a frenzy. The noise, a mix of gasps, shrieks, and raucous laughter, echoed through the penthouse. But none of that registered as you stared at what had been revealed.

Javier stood unabashed and grinning in a leopard-print thong that left very little to the imagination. Every inch of his sculpted body was on display—toned legs, powerful thighs, and that tiny scrap of fabric barely holding itself together. The cut of the thong framed his hips perfectly, the deep lines of his V cutting down, drawing your eyes exactly where he wanted them to go. The thin fabric of the thong clung tightly to him, leaving the unmistakable outline of his cock on display, straining the limits of the material. Javier seemed completely unbothered by how much was on show.

Your face burned as your gaze dipped lower, catching a glimpse of something even more scandalous. The tiny scrap of leopard print couldn’t quite contain him—on the sides, the curve of his balls was slipping free. You swallowed hard, your pulse fluttering as he shifted his weight, the motion only emphasizing how precariously the thong was holding itself together.

The room exploded excitedly, women fanning themselves, throwing bills, and shouting over one another. But you could barely breathe.

And then, just when you thought the spectacle couldn’t get any more outrageous, Javier turned around with a deliberate, teasing spin, giving the room an uninterrupted view of his backside.

The thong was practically nonexistent, the thin fabric disappearing completely between the firm, sculpted curves of his ass. His glistening, muscular cheeks were on full display, round and perfectly defined, drawing another deafening eruption of cheers and whistles from the crowd.

Javier struck a pose, bracing his hands on his hips as he arched his back slightly, flexing for effect. He glanced over his shoulder with a devilish grin, clearly relishing in the chaos he was causing. The lights caught the sheen of sweat on his skin, highlighting every curve and line of muscle, leaving no question as to just how perfect he was from every single angle.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away. Your breath hitched and your pulse pounded so loudly in your ears it almost drowned out the music. Heat flushed through your body as your gaze lingered shamelessly on his backside, every inch of him a deliberate invitation.

After what felt like a torturous eternity, Javier turned back toward the crowd, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest as he surveyed everyone's reactions.

He strutted forward, running his hands up his torso and tossing a playful wink to the bride-to-be, who was practically falling out of her chair from laughter and shock. But his gaze kept flicking to you.

Your cheeks burned as he moved closer, spinning on his heel to give the audience another view. His movements were fluid and sensual, every roll of his hips and flex of his body perfectly in time with the music. When he leaned down to grab the bride’s hands to feel up his torso, his back arched in a way that emphasized the curve of his ass, and you bit your lip without thinking.

This man was a problem.

When he finally ended the dance with a flourish—dropping to his knees in front of the bride-to-be before flawlessly almost jumping back up to a standing position—the applause was deafening.

Javier laughed, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. He took a playful bow, blowing a kiss to the bride-to-be before gathering his discarded pants and shirt. His bare torso glistened under the soft glow of the party lights, and the lingering smirk on his lips suggested he knew he had the entire room wrapped around his finger.

The girls were still cheering and clapping, their voices a mix of exhilaration and tipsy enthusiasm. But while the others were caught up in the wild energy of the moment, you felt a strange tightness in your chest, like the room had closed in around you.

You weren’t used to reacting this way to someone, and it unnerved you. The heat creeping up your neck was impossible to ignore, and no amount of pretending to be distracted by your drink could hide the fact that your eyes kept darting back to him.

And he noticed—like a magnet—his eyes locked onto yours.

Your stomach flipped.

For a split second, everything else faded; the noise, the laughter, even your own internal protests to look away. It was just him, standing there, looking at you with that maddening confidence.

Then he moved.

Javier began to dance again, hips rolling in slow, hypnotic circles to the bass-heavy beat. The fabric of the thong strained with every motion, but he didn’t shy away. If anything, he seemed to lean into it—one hand trailing down his torso to brush along the waistband, teasing as if he might remove it completely.

Your pulse fluttered wildly as he worked the crowd, making his way closer, dancing toward you.

Your breath caught as you tried to focus on literally anything else—your drink, the flickering candles on the table, the way your best friend was still howling with laughter. But there was no escaping the fact that Javier was now standing right in front of you, every inch of him radiating heat and presence.

“Having fun?” he asked.

You blinked up at him, your mouth suddenly dry. “Uh… yeah. It’s been… something.” Your voice wavered, betraying how flustered you felt. Something? Really? That was the best you could come up with? You scrambled for words, your brain short-circuiting. “I mean—great. It’s been great.”

Smooth.

His smirk widened. “Just great?” He leaned in slightly, the scent of his cologne—something dark and woodsy—mingling with the musky sheen of sweat on his skin. “Because you’ve been staring like you’re enjoying yourself a little more than tha?t.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “I—I wasn’t—”

“Relax,” he teased, his grin softening into something warmer, more inviting. “I’m just messing with you. Now come on, sweetheart,” he encouraged. “Let me make your night.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you replied, though your cheeks burned with the effort of maintaining composure. You crossed your arms to emphasize your refusal, but Javier didn’t look the least bit discouraged.

“Oh, I don’t think you’re good. Not yet, anyway.” He leaned closer, his voice just for you now. “But I’m more than happy to change that.”

Despite your best efforts, the laughter bubbling up from your chest betrayed you. He grinned, clearly enjoying your reaction. But when you refused—again—he didn’t press. Instead, he winked, gave an exaggerated shrug, and moved on to another guest, leaving you strangely disappointed.

————

Later, after the performances ended and the room was quieter, you found yourself sitting on a chair in the back corner of the room scrolling idly on your phone, trying to drown out your lingering thoughts about him. A few drinks had loosened your resolve. You noticed a stack of glossy business cards on the table where he had tossed his hat earlier. Curiosity got the better of you, and you picked one up.

The card was sleek, black with gold lettering. At the top, in bold, elegant lettering, it read:

Elite Heat’s Javier Peña

To the left, there was a neatly organized list; a phone number, a Facebook link, which you immediately ignored, and a website address. But it was the bottom that made your breath hitch.

On top of a gold banner, the words Elite Heat: “The Best Sex Therapy” were printed in bold, confident lettering. 

To the right was a photo of Javier himself.

It wasn’t a professional headshot - far from it. It was one of those casual yet devastatingly attractive pictures that looked effortless but likely required perfect lighting and timing. He wore a grey long-sleeve shirt that framed his broad chest perfectly, the top buttons undone just enough to tease without giving away too much. His hand, however, made it impossible not to stare—casually slipping beneath the fabric, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his defined abs. The way the light hit his skin added a subtle sheen, making the whole image feel like a deliberate invitation.

For a moment, you just stared at the card. The combination of professional polish and brazen confidence made your stomach twist in a way that annoyed you.

“The best sex therapy, huh?” you muttered to yourself, raising an eyebrow at the audacity.

Curiosity got the better of you. You grabbed your phone and typed “Javier Peña” into Instagram. After scrolling through a few accounts that clearly weren’t him, you found the right one.

The profile itself was… an experience.

Picture after picture of Javier dominated the feed—some in his infamous uniform, others in casual attire, and far too many shirtless to be accidental. Every post was a masterclass in confident allure, and his captions were just as bold.

The comments were what really got to you, though. Endless lines of hearts, fire emojis, and thirsty declarations filled each post.

“Find something you like?”

His voice startled you so much that you almost dropped your phone. You looked up to see Javier standing in front of you, his shirt slung casually over his shoulder and he was wearing his uniform pants again. How long had he been there?

“I was just…” You trailed off, trying to think of a plausible excuse for stalking him online. His smirk told you he wasn’t buying it.

“Don’t worry,” he said, leaning in closer than necessary. “You can follow me. Might even follow you back.”

“I’m not interested,” you replied, though the conviction in your voice wavered as he placed a hand on the back of your chair, caging you in.

“You sure about that?” he asked, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. Your heart raced as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “I’ll make you a deal sweetheart, one dance. If you hate it, I’ll leave you alone. But if you like it… well, you can give me your number when it’s over.”

You swallowed hard, your resolve crumbling faster than you wanted to admit. After all, what was the harm in one dance?

Javier’s confidence was infuriatingly contagious, and your curiosity was louder than the protests in your head. You nodded if only to prove to yourself that he wouldn’t get under your skin. A small, victorious smile curved his lips as he straightened, offering his hand. “Good choice.”

He didn’t give you much time to second-guess as he guided you to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the penthouse. Some of your friends hooted and hollered, clearly thrilled to see you in the spotlight. You, however, were hyper-aware of every step as Javier led you to a chair he had conveniently placed in the center of the room.

“Sit,” he commanded, his voice smooth but firm. His dark eyes gleamed with mischief as he waited for you to comply. Against your better judgment, you did.

The music shifted to something slower and sultrier. Javier grabbed his shirt from his shoulder, tossing it onto the floor. The movement was casual, but there was nothing casual about the way his toned chest and large arms drew every pair of eyes in the room. Including yours.

He stalked closer, and suddenly it felt like the room had disappeared. Just you, the chair, and the dangerously attractive man who seemed to thrive on the tension hanging in the air.

“Relax,” he murmured as he noticed the way your hands gripped the edge of the chair. “I don’t bite.” He winked. “Not unless you ask nicely.”

Before you could reply, he began to move.

It wasn’t the kind of dance you expected. Yes, it was provocative—every roll of his hips and glide of his body was designed to tease—but there was something more deliberate about it. He kept his gaze locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion on your face. His hands didn’t touch you—not yet. Instead, they skimmed close enough to make you ache for the contact, only for him to pull away at the last moment.

He straddled the chair, his thighs framing yours as he dipped low, his chest hovering just inches from your face. His scent filled your senses, and your pulse quickened as he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re even more beautiful up close,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched, and you hated how easily he could see the effect he had on you.

Javier straightened, his hands gripping the chair on either side of you as he moved his hips in a way that felt borderline illegal. He was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him, but he still didn’t touch. The lack of contact was maddening, and the glint in his eye told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

The song ended too quickly, and he stepped back, leaving you feeling both relieved and oddly bereft. Your friends erupted into cheers and applause, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were fixed on Javier as he extended a hand, helping you out of the chair.

“Enjoy yourself?” he asked.

You swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how much he’d gotten to you. “It was… okay.”

He laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent another shiver through you. “Just okay, huh? I’ll have to work on that.”

Before you could respond, he winked and disappeared back into the crowd.

——

An hour later, the party was winding down. The penthouse was quieter, and most of your friends had migrated to the couches or left altogether. You were nursing your last drink of the night when Javier appeared again, a shot glass in each hand.

“For you,” he said, offering one with an easy smile.

You eyed it suspiciously. “You didn’t put anything in this, did you?”

He looked genuinely offended, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’m hurt you’d even ask.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine,” he admitted, leaning in closer. “I did put something in it.”

You froze, and he smirked, finishing his sentence with a devilish twinkle in his eye. “It’s called tequila.”

Your laugh surprised even you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously charming,” he corrected, clinking his glass against yours. “Now drink up.”

Against your better judgment, you downed the shot, the burn of the tequila grounding you for a moment.

“Good girl,” he said. “Now, how about that number?”

Javier’s smile didn’t waver as he set his empty shot glass on the table. “Still hesitant, huh?” he asked, watching you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

You shrugged, trying to appear unaffected. “I don’t make it a habit to give my number to strangers, especially ones who…” You gestured vaguely to his naked chest and the police hat perched crookedly on his head. “...do what you do.”

“Fair enough,” he said, the teasing edge in his voice softening. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, holding it out to you. “At least let me follow you on Instagram..”

You stared at the phone, then at him. The sincerity in his tone threw you off balance, and the way his dark eyes searched yours made it hard to hold onto your skepticism. Against your better judgment—again—you took the phone and followed your account.

“Here,” you said, handing it back after following him.

Javier glanced at the screen, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he promised, slipping his phone into his pocket. “Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

And just like that, he was gone, disappearing into the night with the same confidence that had drawn every eye in the room earlier.

Javi 

Javier leaned against the balcony railing outside the penthouse lighting a cigarette, the cool night air doing little to temper the heat still coursing through him. The party was still going inside, but his thoughts had drifted elsewhere—to you. He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head at himself. He’d performed for hundreds of women, charmed his way through countless parties, but tonight felt… different.  

You’d thrown him off balance in a way he wasn’t used to.  

Sure, you’d laughed at his jokes and taken the shot he offered, but there was something in your eyes—an intoxicating mix of curiosity and resistance—that had him hooked. He wasn’t sure what it was about you. Maybe it was the way you tried to keep your guard up even as he chipped away at it. Maybe it was the way you watched him when you thought he wasn’t looking, like you couldn’t quite help yourself.  

Or maybe it was the way he couldn’t stop replaying that moment on the dance floor in his head. The way your breath hitched when he leaned in. The way your lips parted, as though you were holding back words—or something else entirely.  

The music from the party shifted the song echoing in the distance. Javier’s mind wandered as the melody pulled him into his own thoughts. It wasn’t just lust that gnawed at him—though, hell, that was definitely part of it. No, this was something deeper, something that felt unsettlingly like longing.  

He ran a hand through his hair, the grin he’d worn all night slipping away. He’d never been one for complications, especially when it came to women. His job was to entertain, to tease, to flirt—but he’d never felt this kind of pull before. It was like a spark had ignited when he locked eyes with you, and now it wouldn’t go out.  

For the first time in a long while, Javier wasn’t sure if he was in control.  

The lyrics to the song playing in the penthouse hit him square in the chest.  

Must be from a different life, been here before, and it just feels right. No, this ain't the first time for you and I, we ain't strangers.

The words struck a chord, leaving him standing there, staring out at the city lights, wondering how a single dance, a single moment, could unravel him so completely.  

It's like it's driving me closer to you, every step back pulls me right back to you…

Maybe you wouldn’t give him your number. Maybe this would end here, tonight, like all the other nights before. But as he grabbed his phone from his pocket and opened Instagram, his thumb hovering over your profile, he couldn’t help but think—this didn’t feel like an ending.  

It felt like the beginning of something he wasn’t ready to let go of.  

———

Back in your hotel room, you flopped onto the plush bed with a groan. The events of the evening replayed in your mind, Javier’s smirk and the heat of his gaze lingering longer than you cared to admit.

��This is ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself, reaching for your phone. A quick check of Instagram confirmed what you suspected—he’d already followed and sent you a message.

Javier: See? Now we’re not strangers anymore.

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. His confidence was irritatingly endearing.

You: I don’t think Instagram follows count as a formal introduction.

His reply was almost instant.

Javier: What would count? Because I’m pretty sure that dance was more personal than most first dates.

You bit your lip, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. He wasn’t wrong, but you weren’t about to admit that.

You: Is this your usual routine? Flirt with everyone at the party, then slide into DMs?

Javier: Nope. Just you.

You stared at the screen, your stomach doing an annoying little flip at his words.

You: Why me?

The typing indicator blinked for a moment before his reply came through.

Javier: Because you didn’t throw yourself at me like everyone else. And because you’re cute when you’re pretending not to be interested.

Your cheeks burned as you read the message, but you couldn’t help smiling.

You: I’m not pretending.

Javier: So you are interested?

You: I didn’t say that.

Javier: But you didn’t deny it, either.

You sighed, realizing this conversation wasn’t going to end anytime soon.

You: Don’t you have better things to do than bother me?

Javier: Nope. Not tonight.

Before you could come up with a snarky reply, another message popped up.

Javier: You could come over, you know. Save us both the trouble of texting all night.

Your heart raced at the suggestion, and you hesitated, typing and deleting a dozen responses before settling on one.

You: Not happening.

Javier: Why not?

You: Because it’s late, and I’m not that kind of girl.

Javier: What kind of girl is that?

You: The kind that sneaks into a stranger’s room after one tequila shot and a few texts.

Javier: I’m not exactly a stranger anymore.

You stared at his message, your lips twitching at the boldness. Before you could type out another response, your phone buzzed with a notification. It was a photo. From Javier.

You hesitated, your thumb hovering over the image preview before finally opening it. The picture was simple yet devastatingly effective: Javier, shirtless, sprawled on a hotel bed, the faint light casting shadows that only emphasized his toned chest. His dark eyes smoldered into the camera, and his messy hair added to the whole “devil-may-care” aesthetic he wore so well.

Javier: Feeling really lonely over here. Could use some company.

Heat pooled low in your belly and you groaned, tossing your phone onto the bed as if distance could break the spell he seemed to have on you. But of course, curiosity won out, and you grabbed it again, typing out a response before you could second-guess yourself.

You: Flattery and thirst traps won’t work on me.

Javier: Who said it was flattery? Just being honest.

You: Still not happening.

Javier: Okay, how about a compromise?

You: What kind of compromise?

Javier: Drinks. Just the two of us. Down at the hotel bar. Public place, no pressure.

You bit your lip, weighing your options. Saying yes felt like walking into a trap, but a part of you was curious—and maybe, just maybe, a little tempted. The idea of sitting across from him, away from the crowd, felt… different. Safer. Almost.

You: Fine. One drink.

Javier: I’ll take it. Meet you there in ten?

You: Fifteen. I need to change.

Javier: You don’t have to change for me, sweetheart. You already look perfect.

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile tugged at your lips as you tossed your phone onto the bed and rifled through your suitcase. Fifteen minutes later, you stepped into the elevator, your heart pounding with anticipation and nerves as you descended to the hotel bar.

The bar was dimly lit, with warm amber hues reflecting off the polished surfaces. The low hum of conversation mingled with the clinking of glasses, creating an atmosphere both intimate and unassuming. You spotted Javier immediately.  

He sat at a corner table, leaning back in his chair. He’d changed into a simple black button-down that clung to his frame in a way that was almost unfair. His gaze locked onto you the moment you entered.  

“Right on time,” he said, standing as you reached the table. He pulled out a chair for you, a small but unexpected gesture that caught you off guard.  

“Don’t get used to it,” you replied, settling into the seat.  

“Noted.” His smile widened as he slid into the chair opposite you.  

The server appeared almost instantly, and Javier gestured for you to order first. You requested a simple cocktail, while he opted for whiskey on the rocks. As the server walked away, his attention returned to you and it wasn’t long before they returned with them.

“So,” he began, leaning forward slightly. “What convinced you to come down here?”  

You raised an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. “Curiosity, I guess. Wanted to see if you were as charming one-on-one as you are with a crowd.”  

“And?” 

You took a deliberate sip of your drink before answering. “Jury’s still out.”  

He chuckled, “I’m not worried. I’m good under pressure.”  

The banter came easily, the conversation flowing in a way that surprised you. He was quick-witted, teasing without being overbearing, and as much as you hated to admit it, he was easy to talk to, it felt like knew him without knowing him. The more you spoke, the more you caught glimpses of the man behind the cocky facade—sharp, observant, and surprisingly thoughtful.  

Still, you made him work for it.  

Whenever his compliments grew too bold, you deflected with a teasing remark. When he leaned in a little too close, you leaned back, though you couldn’t ignore the thrill that ran through you each time he tested your resolve.  

“I like this game you’re playing,” he said after a while, his whiskey glass nearly empty.  

“What game?” you asked innocently.  

“The one where you pretend you’re not interested.” His gaze was unwavering, the heat in his eyes unmistakable.  

“I’m not pretending,” you replied, though the words sounded less convincing than you’d hoped.  

He tilted his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “No? Then why are you still here?”  

You opened your mouth to respond, but the truth caught in your throat. Why were you still here?  

Before you could come up with an excuse, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing yours. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it sent a jolt of electricity up your arm.  

“Listen,” he said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge gone. “If this isn’t what you want, just say the word, and I’ll back off. No hard feelings.”  

For the first time that night, you saw something unguarded in his expression—genuine sincerity that made your heart stutter.  You hesitated, your walls cracking under the weight of his words. Maybe it was the way he looked at you, or the way his thumb brushed against your knuckles, but something in you shifted.  

“Okay,” you said quietly.  

His brow lifted. “Okay, what?”  

“Okay… you’re not completely unbearable.”  

He laughed, the sound genuine and warm. “High praise.”  

“You know, I didn’t say I wasn’t interested,” you admitted finally, your voice quieter than you intended. “I just don’t know if this is a good idea.”

His smirk softened into something gentler, his fingers still lightly brushing yours on the table. “Not everything has to be a good idea to be worth it, sweetheart,” he said.

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Is that your life philosophy, or just your way of convincing women to give you their number?”

“Both,” he said with a shrug, his grin returning. “And it’s worked out pretty well so far.”

You rolled your eyes, but the tension between you eased slightly. The conversation shifted after that, the teasing banter giving way to something more genuine. He asked about your life, your work, your dreams—and for every question he asked, he shared something about himself, too. 

“I wasn’t always this guy,” he admitted at one point, swirling the remnants of his whiskey in his glass. “I used to be a cop. A real one. Back in Colombia.”

You blinked, surprised. “A cop? Really?”

He nodded. “Yeah. DEA, actually.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? What made you leave?”

His expression darkened briefly, a shadow crossing his features. “Let’s just say… the job took its toll. And I realized I wanted something different. Something lighter.” He glanced at you then, a hint of humor returning to his voice. “Though I’m not sure stripping is what my father had in mind when I told him I was switching careers.”

The two of you laughed, and the conversation continued to flow. By the time your drinks were empty, you realized you were leaning forward, hanging onto his every word.

Javier glanced at the time on his phone and then back at you. “I hate to say it, but the bar’s closing soon.”

You nodded, a strange mix of disappointment and relief settling over you. “Guess I should head back to my room.”

“Yeah.” He hesitated, as if weighing his next words carefully. “Can I walk you to your door?”

Your pulse quickened at the question, but you nodded. “Okay.”

The two of you rode the elevator in silence, the charged tension between you filling the small space. When you reached your floor, he stepped out with you, his presence at your side was both comforting and exhilarating.

When you finally stopped outside your door, you turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Well… this is me.”

“Home sweet hotel,” he said, his tone light but his gaze intense.

You fiddled with your key card, unsure of what to say. He didn’t push, didn’t try to move closer. Instead, he simply smiled.

“I had a good time tonight,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “Thank you for giving me a chance.”

You swallowed hard, his words sending a warmth through you that had nothing to do with the tequila. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was thick with unspoken possibilities, each one more tempting than the last. Then, before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned in and kissed him.

It was soft, hesitant at first—a test to see if this was really what you wanted. But the moment his lips moved against yours, everything else fell away. His hand cupped your cheek, his touch warm and steady as he deepened the kiss. 

When you finally pulled back, breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out,” you replied.

His smile was slow, almost lazy. “Careful, sweetheart. I just might take you up on that.” 

As Javier lingered, you found yourself hesitating. The way he kissed you had ignited something within you—something raw.

You opened your door but didn’t step inside, glancing back at him. "Well, you coming?”

He arched a brow, that teasing smirk returning. “You sure?”

You laughed softly. “I think I’ll take my chances.”

Javier followed you inside. The dim light of the room cast shadows across his face, softening the sharp lines of his features. He shut the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment as he studied you.

“So,” he drawled, his tone playful but low. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

You swallowed, heat rising to your cheeks. “I think you know Javier.”

He chuckled, shaking his head as he shrugged off his jacket, draping it over the back of a chair. “You’re something else, you know that?”

Before you could respond, he stepped closer, his fingers lightly grabbing your wrist. He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed and his voice dropped an octave. “If we’re doing this, I’m in control, ¿entiendes?”

You nodded, and it must have been obvious how nervous you were.

“Relax,” he murmured, his hands brushing your knees as he stepped between them. “This is supposed to be fun.”

You exhaled a shaky breath, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control. He leaned closer, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Do me a favor,” he whispered. “Touch yourself. Just a little.”

Your eyes widened, your pulse skyrocketing. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said. “I want to watch you.”

When you hesitated, his hand trailed up your thigh, his touch light but maddening. “Go on beautiful,” he urged. “Show me how you make yourself feel good.”

Your breath hitched, heat rushing to your cheeks and pooling low in your belly. Javier leaned back slightly, giving you space but never breaking eye contact. His gaze was dark, commanding, and utterly unapologetic. He wanted this. Wanted you vulnerable, open, and completely at his mercy. 

You hesitated, your heart pounding like a drum, but the way his fingers skimmed over your thigh made it impossible to think straight. “Don’t be shy,” he murmured, his voice coaxing yet dripping with authority. “I want to see every bit of you, mi amor.”

Your hand trembled as it moved to the hem of your dress. Slowly, you slid it higher, exposing more of your thighs to his burning gaze. He walked back and pulled up a chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest, but his eyes never wavered from you. The way he looked at you—as if you were the only thing that mattered in the world—was both thrilling and terrifying.

“Good girl,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. The praise sent a shiver through your body. You could feel your arousal building, the tension crackling between you like a live wire.  

Your breath shuddered as your fingers brushed the fabric of your panties, the dampness betraying just how much his presence, his words, his command, had affected you. You glanced at him, unsure, but his gaze was steady, his jaw tight, his dark eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse race. 

Slowly, you slipped your hand beneath the fabric, the first tentative touch drawing a quiet gasp from your lips. Javier's expression darkened with hunger, his composure unraveling ever so slightly as he leaned forward. 

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Let me see how beautiful you are when you can’t hold back.”

Your fingers began to move in slow circles, your body responding to your touch almost instinctively. The heat between your thighs grew, and your hips shifted slightly, seeking more pressure. The room seemed to shrink, the air heavy with the sound of your breathing and the faint rustle of your movements. 

Javier's eyes never left you. His own restraint was evident in the way his fists clenched, the way his chest rose and fell a little too fast. “I want to hear you. Don’t hold back from me.”

You whimpered, your movements becoming more confident, more insistent as you lost yourself in the moment. Every sound you made, every twitch of your body, seemed to light a fire in him. His control was slipping, and it was intoxicating to know that you were the one unraveling him. 

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered, his voice thick with desire. “Keep going, just like that.”

Javier’s gaze burned into you, the tension in his jaw betraying how tightly he was holding himself back. But then, he shifted, his hands moving to undo the buttons of his shirt, one by one, exposing the golden skin of his chest. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if daring you to keep watching even as your own hand continued its rhythm. 

“Don’t stop,” he murmured, his voice dark and commanding, the sound vibrating through you. His shirt slid off his shoulders, and he let it fall to the floor. Then, his hands moved to his belt, the metallic clink making your breath hitch. He undid it in a single, fluid motion, the sound of the zipper following shortly after. 

Your fingers faltered for a moment, your breath catching as your focus shifted entirely to him. He stood before you, stripped of all pretense, his movements deliberate and sure. When he pushed his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, your gaze locked onto him, and your thoughts scattered.

He was breathtaking. The sharp angles of his hips, the sculpted planes of his abdomen, the sheer strength of his frame—it was as if he had been carved just for you. Heat coiled low in your belly, a visceral reaction to the undeniable evidence of his desire for you.

Your eyes traveled over him, lingering shamelessly, drinking in every inch of him. His dark eyes burned into yours, filled with a heat that left you both vulnerable and electrified.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze despite still being partially clothed. The way he looked at you—like you were the only thing he could see—made your pulse race and your chest tighten with need.

The air between you crackled with an unspoken hunger, and you couldn’t look away, couldn’t hide how deeply he affected you.

His hand wrapped around his shaft, a groan slipping from his lips as he began to stroke slowly, matching the rhythm you’d set for yourself. “Look at me,” he said. “Don’t hide from me, nena.”

The sight of him, so confident, so completely at ease with his own pleasure, made your own need intensify. Your movements quickened, your body arching slightly as the tension in your core built. His gaze flickered over you, drinking in every shiver, every gasp, every movement of your hand.

“Dios mío,” he murmured, his strokes becoming faster as he watched you. “You’re so beautiful like this. I could watch you forever.” 

Javier’s hand stilled suddenly, and you watched as he got up, his body exuding confidence and unrelenting command. He stepped closer, towering over you where you sat, his dark eyes still heavy with desire. He leaned down, his fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his voice a seductive rasp as he said, “Come here.”

You hesitated, your heart racing, unsure of what he was asking. But he took your hand, pulling you gently to your feet, and his lips brushed your ear. “I want you to dance for me. Just for me.”

“I—I don’t know if I can,” you stammered, your cheeks burning. The idea made your pulse race, the vulnerability and intimacy of it all was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

His hands moved to your waist, steadying you. “Yes, you can, you’re perfect.”

His words wrapped around you, melting your hesitation. Slowly, you began to sway, your movements tentative at first, but his gaze never wavered, filled with encouragement and raw need. 

Your fingers found the hem of your dress, and you began to lift it, inch by inch, exposing your skin. His eyes tracked every motion, his breaths deep and heavy, fueling your confidence. The dress fell to the floor, leaving you in your underwear. You turned away from him, your fingers trembling as you unclasped your bra, letting it slide off your shoulders before finally slipping out of your panties. 

“Fuck, you are so beautfiul.”

You felt the power in his words, the way they stoked your courage and your desire. With each slow sway of your hips, you inched closer to him, the magnetic pull between you was impossible to resist. His heated gaze anchored you, igniting a fire that coursed through your veins.

You ran your hands down your body, over your curves, letting him watch as you closed the distance. His chest heaved as you straddled him and the tip of his cock brushed against your core, you froze, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. 

“You’re doing so good,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your collarbone. “Just like that. Take your time, baby. Feel every second of it.

“Javi,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I don’t know if I—”

“Yes, you do,” he interrupted, his hands sliding up your thighs to rest on your hips. His touch was firm, guiding but never forcing. “You’ve got this, baby. Dance for me—on me. Take your time.”

The raw hunger in his voice undid you. He guided your movements as you began to grind against him, slow and sensual. Your body aligned with his as you slid against him, teasing him with every slow grind. His head fell back against the chair, his jaw clenched as he groaned your name. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, his hands tightening their grip, encouraging your movements. “Just like that. Feel me, nena. Let me feel all of you.”

Slowly, deliberately, you adjusted, letting your slick pussy tease the length of him. The anticipation was maddening, and you could feel him trembling beneath you, his restraint barely holding. Then, with a deep breath, you angled yourself just right and began to lower yourself onto his length.

The sensation stole your breath as you took him inch by inch, your body adjusting to his size. His growl of pleasure rumbled through you, his hands guiding you down until you were completely seated. The stretch, the fullness—it was overwhelming and it felt so good.

“Now move, baby,” he urged, his voice strained. “Show me how good you can make us feel.”

You began to roll your hips, your movements slow and deliberate as you rode him, your bodies perfectly in sync. The connection between you felt electric, every thrust and grind drawing you closer together. His hands explored your body, his lips tracing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck and collarbone as you moved, his murmured praises driving you to the brink.

Each undulation of your hips sent a new wave of pleasure crashing through you, and as you rode him, the world melted away, leaving only the two of you tangled in passion and ecstasy.

The sensation made you both gasp, his hands tightening on your hips as you began to move. “That’s it,” he groaned. “Ride me. Just like that.” 

The tension coiled tighter with every roll of your hips, the friction building to a fever pitch as Javier groaned your name like a prayer. His hands gripped your waist firmly, guiding your movements, his thumbs pressing bruising circles into your skin as if to anchor himself. The entire time his gaze stayed locked on yours, dark and intense, as if he wanted to memorize the way you looked in this moment—completely undone above him.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasped. “You feel so damn good.”

The words lit you up, your pace quickening as you chased the edge, that blinding release that teased just out of reach. Your breaths mingled with his, sharp and ragged, the room heavy with the sound of skin meeting skin and the delicious symphony of your pleasure.

“Javi,” you gasped.

“I know, baby,” he murmured, his hands sliding up your back to cradle your face. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

Something in his voice broke you, the sincerity laced with desire, the unshakable promise that he wouldn’t let you fall. Your body tensed, your movements stuttering as the first shockwaves of pleasure crashed through you, and you cried out his name as you shattered around him.

Javier didn’t falter. He held you steady, his grip firm as he ground his hips up to meet yours, pulling you through the aftershocks until you were trembling in his arms. The intensity of it left you breathless, and you slumped forward, resting your forehead against his as you tried to gather yourself.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice still thick with need, though his concern for you was evident.

You nodded, chest heaving as you caught your breath. “Yeah,” you whispered. 

“Your turn to relax. I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you could respond, he scooped you up effortlessly, cradling you against his chest as he stood. A soft squeak escaped you, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carried you across the room.

��Javi, I can walk,” you protested weakly, though you made no effort to pull away.

“I know you can,” he teased, “but I like having you right where you are.”

The bed was cool against your back when he laid you down, but his body quickly chased away the chill. Javier followed you down, his weight settling between your thighs.

“Now,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from your face as his gaze softened. “Where were we?”

Javier’s lips captured yours in a kiss, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world, savoring every second, and you couldn’t help but melt into him.

His lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of heat as he paused to suck and nip at the sensitive skin. His hands explored you, tracing the curve of your waist and the swell of your hips before sliding lower. Every touch sent shivers through you, and you couldn’t hold back the soft gasps escaping your lips.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured against your skin. “Every inch of you.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you arched into him, your body aching for more. “Javi, please,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He chuckled softly. “Patience, sweetheart. You just taste so good.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders, your body arching involuntarily. “Javier, I need… I need you.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re so beautiful like this. All mine.”

As his lips moved lower, he pressed kisses to the sensitive skin of your thighs, his hands spreading you gently. The anticipation made your body tremble, your legs parting instinctively as you felt him pause, his breath hot against your core.

“Perfect,” he whispered, almost to himself, before he leaned in.

The first touch of his tongue made you cry out, your fingers clutching at the sheets as he worked you with slow movements. Javier groaned softly, his grip firm on your thighs as he held you open, the sound vibrating through you and heightening the pleasure.

Your hips bucked against him, and you gasped, “Javi, please, I’m so close.”

He lifted his head slightly, his lips glistening as he smirked at you. “I love hearing you beg for me, come on let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

His tongue and suddenly his fingers moved together in perfect rhythm, lapping, sucking and moving just right. The tension in your belly coiled tighter until it snapped, pleasure crashing over you in waves that left you trembling. Javier didn’t stop until your body softened beneath his touch, his movements slowing as he kissed your thighs and worked his way back up your body.

By the time he reached your lips, you were breathless, your body buzzing with aftershocks. He kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips.

“How was that beautiful?” he murmured, brushing his nose against yours.

“Incredible,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the strong lines of his jaw.

Javier groaned softly at your touch, his restraint visibly fraying. He kissed you harder, his body pressing into yours as his arousal became impossible to ignore. “You sure you’re ready for more?” 

You answered by rolling your hips against him, earning a sharp inhale as he gritted his teeth. “I need you, Javi. Please fuck me.”

That was all it took. He positioned himself, his gaze locked on yours as he pushed into you in one slow, steady motion. The stretch was intense, and you gasped, clinging to him as your body adjusted.

“Jesus,” he groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder. “You feel so fucking good, so damn tight.”

“Move..please,” you urged softly, your lips brushing his ear.

He obeyed, pulling back before thrusting in again, setting a rhythm that was slow but deep. Every movement drew you closer until you couldn’t tell where he ended and you began.

His hand slid between you, his thumb finding your most sensitive spot, teasing it in time with his thrusts. “You’re taking me so well.”

Your nails raked down his back, the pleasure building impossibly fast. “Javier,” you whimpered, your body tightening around him as the tension reached its breaking point.

“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, his pace quickening as he chased his own release. “Come for me, give me one more.”

His words were your undoing. You shattered around him, your cries filling the room as pleasure consumed you. Javier followed moments later, his movements faltering as he buried himself deep, a guttural groan escaping him as he found his release.

For a while, neither of you moved, the room quiet except for the sound of your ragged breaths. Eventually, Javier rolled to the side, pulling you close against his chest. He pressed a kiss to your temple, his lips soft and tender.

He chuckled, his chest rumbling beneath your cheek. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You laughed softly, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “You’re not so innocent yourself, Javier.”

His smirk returned. “Get some rest, baby,” he murmured, pulling the blanket over you both. “You’ll need it for round two.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Minds 3

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson

Summary: You start a new job after being fired as a programmer and it’s more than you could have anticipated. (maid AU)

Note: I should stop.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Loki!” The booming voice saves you just before you succumb to your fate. 

The man, or god, atop you cringes and stiffens, well, more than he’s already... stiff. You give a sheepish smile as Thor calls again. 

“Brother,” his thunderous timbre rolls in. Your saviour. 

Loki rolls his eyes and waves his hand toward the door. The door swings shut and you squeak. Oh no. You forgot he’s got magic or something. You slap his chest. 

“He’ll hear that,” you say. “So you better let me up.” 

“It isn’t his concern what I do in the privacy of me chamber,” he slithers. “You can be quiet, can’t you, darling?” 

He touches your lips and your voice evaporates at the bottom of your throat. You try to speak but nothing comes out as the tickly weight persists. You bat your lashes and slap his chest. You kick your feet on the mattress as you shakily push him. 

Your fingertips press to his firm chest, the muscles corded nicely under his flesh. Focus. That’s not what you should be thinking of. He’s a god, of course he’s fit. 

“Loki,” Thor hollers again, his footsteps thumping closer and closer.  

The Asgardian atop you snarls and shakes his head. His eyes rove down your body and he gives a quick squeeze to your chest before he gets off. A green flash and his nakedness is covered. A green satin robe to conceal his shamelessness. 

The door opens as you remain on the bed, stunned. 

“Brother,” Loki catches the door, “could you knock?” 

“You weren’t answering me--” Thor quiets as you sit up and fix your shirt. “Ah, I see why. But you do recall, I still have first rights, brother, and I’ve not yet sampled the lady maid.” 

“Sampled--” you mother then panic swells in your chest. You touch your throat and wiggle. 

“Oh, brother, take the charm off her,” Thor tuts. 

Loki wiggles his fingers and the pressure releases. You sigh. You stand up and look between the brothers. Those towering walls of muscle. Between you and the door. 

“Sampled? You don’t sample a maid. I clean your house,” you insist. 

“Cleaning. Boring,” Thor says. “Lady maid, we are princes. It is an honour--” 

“Yes, he said the same thing and I still think that’s... weird,” you stammer. “So, please, I’m going to go finish the kitchen--” 

You move forward but they don’t retreat. They stay as they are. You gulp and take a step back. 

“I get it, you know? Where you’re from you have a different sense of humour and this is one of his tricks,” you point at Loki. He swats your finger away. 

“You don’t point a prince.” 

“Nor deny them,” Thor adds. 

“Hnghh,” the noise strangles you. “Um, this... wasn’t in my contract. I'm a maid. Just a maid. Here, on Earth, where we are now, there are things called worker’s rights--” 

“Yes, but we have prince’s rights. First rights,” Thor insists. 

Why is he taking Loki’s side? Isn’t he the good one? Didn’t you read somewhere that he ripped an oxen’s head off? Well, those are only myth’s, right? 

“I didn’t finish cleaning though--” you argue. 

“Loki,” Thor looks at his brother. The dark-haired Asgardian sweeps his hand in the air. Another flash and a whisper of coolness across your skin. 

You squeal as you look down at your naked body. You try to hide yourself, hunching awkwardly behind your arms. You search around for your clothes but there’s nothing. 

“This can’t-- I quit. Okay. I’m no longer your maid,” you say. “So just, bring back my clothes and I’ll be on my way--” 

“You needn’t be a maid to join,” Thor snickers as he unclasps the shoulder of his cloak. 

“Huh? Oh, boy, I--” 

You spin helplessly, looking for an escape. Even if you had one, you’re naked! You back away as the walls and the gods close in on you. 

Thor tosses away his cloak and works at his armour. Loki’s hand rests on the belt of his robe and he laughs as he inches closer and closer. You stutter and turn again, scrambling across the bed. You’re not thinking, you’re just scared. 

As you reach the other side, catch yourself against the barrier that suddenly appears there. Loki, again. You reel back and catch yourself on the heels of your hand. You kick away from him and a pair of thick arms hook under yours and Thor fondles your chest.  

You back presses to his torso as you writhe, kicking at Loki as he climbs up on the other side of the bed. Your disbelief burns away beneath the singe of reality. This is happening. 

“Please,” you grab onto Thor’s thick fingers. “I don’t think I can handle, er, both--” 

“We’ll take turns. Brother, by right--” 

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, it wouldn’t be the first time we partook of the same helping,” Loki’s hands creep up your legs and push your thighs apart. “Just a taste before you claim your right, hm?” 

You squeal and push your legs against his hands. You quiver as he stares down at your exposed cunt and licks his lips. Thor’s hand comes up to your neck as he lifts you higher, still groping your chest with his other hand. He kisses your hair and growls. 

“Fine,” he agrees reluctantly, “be calm, little one. You should be thankful to lay with the gods. It is a rare privilege.” 

Loki trails his hands down your legs and pulls your knees over his shoulders as he lowers himself to his stomach. You squeak again and grab onto Thor’s thick thigh, reaching down to push away Loki’s head. Your arm is too short, you fingers merely stroke his dark strands. 

“I can’t-- you can’t--” you yelp as Loki pushes his nose against your pelvis and his breath seeps into your trimmed hair. “Oh!” 

“Be easy, little maid,” Thor rolls his thumb around your nipple. “You will enjoy it well.” 

[cum-a-calla]

Roman shotgunning smoke into your mouth when you’re already way too high and greening the fuck out

The room doesn’t spin, it just… it’s not really the same. But it’s not really the room. It’s more your place in it, your physical presence inside of it. Both too small and too much. An invisible halo of fuzz and pressure seems to crown your head, and you laugh a little. It isn’t funny, not really - your heart beats hard, and if you closed your eyes, you could swear that the sound of it rushes in your ears. You could track those tiny little blood cells surging through your veins, follow one all the way through all those channels.

“What’s funny?”

Roman inhales next to you, and reality slams uncomfortably back into focus. He’s taken you up into some VIP lounge area in a club, bass thumping outside (and inside, and everywhere). Neon lights wash him in an alien shade of purple, of blue.

“Nothing,” you say, pulse racing. In the back of your mind, you wonder if you’re going to have a heart attack. You waver a little in your seat, watching him, everything in excruciatingly clear detail and fuzzy all at once. It’s like vibrating between two dimensions, or something; there’s a heaviness in your limbs that should feel comfortable, not suffocating.

Roman scoffs and takes another hit off his joint. It’s some intense shit, all wrapped in fancy papers and flecked with gold leaf. It was only a short while ago that he unwrapped it and lit up, and you’d laughed at how stupid it looked, how needlessly edgy it is to sprinkle gold leaf anywhere near a fucking joint. Now? Now you can barely keep a train of thought going, mind wandering everywhere, nowhere, all at once.

“Well, you laughed, so… something must have. You know. Tickled you a little.” Roman smirks and lifts his eyebrows suggestively, offering you the joint. You shake your head immediately, forcing a little smile. God, you’re fucking high. “Aw, come on - don’t pussy out on me now.”

“I don’t mean to,” you laugh, waving it away. “I just… I’m fucking… blasted right now. I - I’m barely holding it together, honestly.”

“Yeah?” His voice dips a little, regarding you for a moment as he leans back in the seat, a cushiony booth that lines the wall. He gestures to himself, rubbing his thigh invitingly. Settling in. “C’mon. Hop on.”

When you laugh uncomfortably in response, he blows a stream of smoke gently into your face, smirking again, eyes hooded.

“I’m not gunna fuckin’… just - stop being so fuckin’ lame. Get in here. Sit on Daddy’s lap.”

You’re aware enough to roll your eyes, but reluctantly, you follow his suggestion. You carefully straddle his thighs, his eyes burning into you the entire time, hands settling familiar and heavy on your thighs. The joint sits between two of his outstretched fingers, the tip smoldering. It’s the only thing in the room not washed in purples and blues, a bright, angry red. Roman takes your chin and brings your attention back to him, holding your gaze.

“I’m just…” You stare at him, studying his face. He’s so utterly gorgeous - the line of his nose, his eyes glinting an unreal green in the room. Is that something with the lights? Are they always so vivid and bright? They dance off the sharp, high cheekbones, the hollows underneath them. You visually trace those curves, and it’s almost like caressing them. You can practically feel his stubble against your lips, if you focus hard enough, the curve of his jaw. The lines etched in his brow, around his eyes when he smiles, the lines around his mouth. The tender little curve of his cupid’s bow. His lips… God, his lips are so -

“You’re just…?” Roman interrupts, lifting his eyebrows. He smiles in a way that makes you feel stupid, and you flush, hiding your face behind your hands. Closing your eyes makes it worse - the world disappears, no visual cues to keep you tethered. It feels like floating, the only real solid contact being Roman’s thighs, the warm length in his slacks. Roman laughs and pulls your wrists tenderly apart, grip forgiving but firm. “Hey - come on. What? What’s up?”

“I’m just… way too high,” you admit with a barely-there laugh. Roman’s smirk melts into a smile, but it’s not one that reaches his eyes. His eyes go dark, little shadows dancing somewhere back there.

“Oh yeah?” He asks softly. Tenderly. He pulls deep from his joint, shifting and jostling you as he sits up a little straighter. He takes your jaw and looks at your mouth, holding his breath. “Open.”

You shake your head, but his fingers dig in tighter, nodding at you, urging you. When you still won’t comply, he trails that hand firmly to the back of your neck, pulling you in. His lips feel even better than they look - warm, soft, his tongue against yours, and then - and then he’s knotting his fingers in your hair, forcing smoke steadily into your lungs. You press your hands to his shoulders but he’s got an iron grip, releasing only once you’ve taken a lungful of his breath into yours, and you cough on the exhale. Smoke comes out in a light little cloud, but you harsh out all the same. Panic pumps icily into your veins and there it is again, your loud, horrifyingly strong heartbeat, everywhere, making you dizzy. Roman’s lips curve into a lopsided, cruel smile, satisfied. He rolls his hips just slightly, just enough to grind his cock against you.

You’re fucked.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he soothes, rubbing his hands up your thigh, thumb tracing lines of fire just on the inside. He takes another deep, impossible drag from the joint, killing it. He ashes it on the fabric of your jeans, over your thigh, until it burns a hole there and has you crying out in pain - he holds you down against him, forcing you to take it as he holds his breath. He flicks the butt across the room and lifts his head once more, making you look at him. He nods, pulling you close. “Again,” he murmurs.

[demigod-shenanigans]

I originally mostly made this post based on silly thoughts, but you made me think about the concept again so here’s my thoughts on some of your questions:

The claiming is a very good question. Reyna would obviously have her tattoo, but would any of the Greek demigods even recognize it? Also, Annabeth and Reyna don‘t have showy, obvious powers the way Percy and Jason do.

Barely anyone at Camp Jupiter even knows what Reyna’s powers are. Her being unclaimed would be an interesting issue, since that’s not been a thing since the Titan war. Leo and Piper got claimed immediately, and everyone assumes so will Reyna, but then she’s not, and people have a lot of feelings about it. Does she go in the Hermes cabin like kids used to? Maybe Hestia, assuming she got a symbolic cabin like Hera? Percy was already fuming but he’s even madder now. Obviously something is weird about this particular demigod but that the gods aren’t claiming this girl is a really bad omen.

Because Minerva doesn’t have kids but Annabeth is such a good battle strategist, I feel like she’s probably presumed to be a child of Mars or Bellona, but since claiming isn’t as important at Camp Jupiter (at least not for placement like at CHB), it’s probably not a huge issue. She carried Juno across the Little Tiber, so they know she’s important, and who exactly her godly parent is isn’t that much of a focus. People definitely react strangely when she insists her mom is Athena.

The Octavian situation would be interesting because as mentioned above I’m not sure Jason would have handled the whole solo praetor thing nearly as well as Reyna did. Thank the gods for Annabeth honestly. She can and will go over every single one of New Rome’s legal texts in a few days so she can find the most strategically sound way to wipe the floor with him.

Hazel adores Annabeth. There’s also immediate kinship between them based on them both having difficult relationships with their mortal parent and partially raising themselves.

Also I love the concept of Reyna finding familiarities in Thalia and Annabeth finding ones in Jason. Excellent thought, 10/10. Reyna obviously wouldn’t remember Thalia like Jason does because that makes no sense whatsoever, and Hylla isn’t relevant to the lost hero quest like Thalia is, so if she remembers anyone, it’s probably Jason. (Not sure Jason ever mentioned Thalia, but the child of Zeus combined with the Grace last name doesn’t exactly make it very hard to figure that one out)

This means the wolf encounter with Reyna might be how Thalia finds out her brother is alive. She’s terrified to let herself hope, but also even more motivated to find the roman camp now that she knows both of her little siblings might be there.

Percy probably keeps the curse of Achilles in this scenario also, which is super interesting to me.

Reyna getting her memories back would be very messy for a bunch of pretty traumatic reasons. Her remembering her childhood and Bellona’s prophecy would probably not go over great. She was raised to believe the future of New Rome was on her shoulders, and now she a) cannot even remember where New Rome is and b) the prophecy of the seven definitely isn’t helping

And she feels incredibly guilty about how much of a relief it is to be at CHB and free of all that responsibility, at least for a little while. For all the issues she has with how disorganized and chaotic CHB is, the amount of pressure on her shoulders is different. And these are just a bunch of kids, especially during the winter when only the year rounders are there. There isn’t a whole vast city looking to her for guidance.

And dealing with Aphrodite’s prophecy on top of that, trying to figure out if she meant Reyna wouldn’t find love with Jason or that the feelings she’s starting to develop for Piper are doomed to end in a failed relationship… yeah, it’s messy. She’s sort of convinced there’s something fundamentally broken about the way she loves because it seems so different from how it works for everyone else (pushing my demiromantic ace Reyna agenda here too because I can)

Piper really wishes her mom would stop meddling in her love life for five seconds. (Meeting Aphrodite again in Charlestown when that was where Reyna originally got that prophecy would be super messy, too)

Reyna misses her dogs like hell. Jason is probably dog-sitting and hanging out with them whenever he misses her. I wonder how he’d deal with Reyna being changed by her experience at the other camp? Because he doesn’t have romantic feelings for her the way she did for him, so I don’t think he’d be bothered by Reyna dating Piper, but I do think he’d be hurt by the fact that she abandoned him for other people. It’s not her fault she doesn’t fully remember everything (assuming Jason not fully remembering everything would also be true for Reyna), but seeing that she’s apparently happier with Piper and Leo than she ever was with him? That still stings.

Thinking about a concept where Juno swaps Annabeth and Reyna instead.

Annabeth and Reyna are fine, because they’ve always been able to handle just about anything the gods threw at them. Piper accidentally has her gay awakening via fake memories of a relationship with Reyna and is really confused why her girlfriend is acting so weird. Reyna and Leo bicker non-stop because even without her memories Reyna knows what she’s doing and she’s very used to getting people to listen to her but Leo will not be serious for even one second.

Percy would start fist fighting the gods in the first week. Jason has never been more stressed in his life because he never even wanted to be praetor but it was manageable while he was doing it with Reyna and now he’s alone. What the hell is he supposed to do.

By the time Annabeth shows up at Camp Jupiter, Jason is so relieved someone knows what they’re doing that he immediately asks her to be praetor, now if she’ll excuse him he needs to go have an anxiety meltdown in a corner somewhere

[electricneonvalkyrie]

Let’s get one thing straight: Abby Anderson’s physique in The Last of Us Part II isn’t a plot hole or some impossible fantasy. It’s a testament to grit, determination, and the human ability to adapt under extreme circumstances.

First, to those claiming Abby is “too muscular” for a post-apocalyptic world—do you even hear yourselves? The woman lives in an organized militia with access to resources, gyms, and regular meals. You think the WLF, a faction built on military principles and discipline, wouldn’t have a fitness regimen? They’re literally preparing for war. Fighting for their lives every day. Abby didn’t just stumble into her strength by the magic of imagination; she built it day after grueling day over the course of years because she was intensely driven and needed to survive.

Just because you can't do it, even in our modern world, doesn't mean what she accomplished is impossible. This is the type of thinking our society desperately needs to do away with.

Second, let’s talk motivation. Abby isn’t lifting weights for the Instagram clout or brand sponsorships. She’s fueled by raw trauma—the kind that makes you get up at 4 a.m. to hit the gym even when you’re running on fumes. Losing her father didn’t just hurt—it left a hole so deep that she filled it with a number of difficult things, including an iron will to never be helpless again. Trauma doesn’t just motivate you; it rewires you, driving you to do things others might not understand at first glance.

And this is where the criticism truly misses the mark. If you’re scoffing at her physique, it’s clear you’ve never lived with PTSD. You don’t understand what it’s like to carry the weight of grief and fear every single day, to wake up with nightmares that never truly go away. For Abby, working on her body wasn’t just about survival—it was about control and escapism in a world where everything else was stolen from her.

Let’s also address the tired “she’s too masculine” argument. Muscles don’t have a gender. Abby is a woman who took control of her body and reshaped it into a weapon—because that’s what her reality demanded. That's the only way she felt she could exert control over her situation. If you think that’s “unrealistic,” maybe it’s time to reevaluate your understanding of human resilience and perhaps, of women altogether.

Abby’s physique tells a story—a story of loss, determination, and the refusal to break under unimaginable pressure. A physical manifestation of trauma and perhaps even addiction. Criticizing this aspect of her character only highlights a lack of empathy and an inability to grasp what it means to live with trauma.

Also, let's be honest here, it's just a weak argument. Weaker than your fragile ass ego. Reducing her to her physical appearance? That’s the easiest, most surface-level shit imaginable.

At the end of the day, Abby’s strength—physical, mental, and emotional—isn’t just believable; it’s iconic. So instead of tearing her down, maybe take a moment to reflect on how her story shines a light on what humans are truly capable of, even in the darkest of times.

Personally, I'm stoked to see how they encapsulate this aspect of her character in the TV show. I pray they do. You won’t encounter a character like Abby Anderson in most other forms of media, and her grit—both physical and emotional—is, in my opinion, one of the most underrated and defining aspects of her.

You don’t have to love Abby. You’re free to hate her for her choices, her story, or even her personality. But the sheer number of men fixating on her physique as the primary issue is a painfully sad reminder of what it’s like to be a woman in any universe—scrutinized, judged, and diminished for daring to exist outside their expectations.

[velvetchrry]

━━━━ REMNANTS

pairing: simon “ghost” riley x f!reader

3.1k. the world falls into chaos and you find a savior in the brute locked in a cage. contains dark themes - read at your own risk.

Wheezing. The sound prickles along the fine hairs of your inner ear. You swallow, thick and mucousy; it’s all you can hear. Wheeze, wheeze, swallow. Wheeze, wheeze, swallow. Your lungs are scratchy. The pressure builds.

What you wouldn’t give for a full breath of air.

But you can’t stop now. No. They’re close — hot on your trail. Peals of laughter behind you send bile up your throat. You don’t have time to vomit so you keep running. Wheeze, wheeze, swallow.

An outpost. You’re so close now. Only a few hundred feet more. You might be able to lose them inside. Might be able to hide. Find some food and shelter for the night. Find a weapon to fight back.

Wheeze, wheeze, swallow.

The doors are locked but you see an open window into the compound that you can climb to. It’s cracked just enough that by the time you use up the final remnants of your energy to reach it, you fall hard onto the floor below, breath rushing from your lungs. You’re already all banged up, what’s a few more bruises?

Once you’ve given yourself a moment to catch your breath, you look around the room you landed in. Some sort of security room. Monitors line one wall, lockers the opposite. You pick through the ones that are unlocked and shove what you think you might need in your bag. There’s a footlocker that’s locked up tight at the end of the row.

Cameras monitor every aspect of the compound ��� inside and out. Relief floods your veins upon seeing your pursuers run past, likely assuming you couldn’t make your way in. You thank whoever might be listening that you finally have some time. Formulate a plan. Rest. Eat. You take your first full breath in days.

The place has clearly been abandoned — you assume not long ago, considering the power is still up and running. With the way things were strewn about in the room, you are left to wonder if the people here left in a bigger hurry than they would have liked.

Motion on one of the screens catches your eye. The monitor says ‘LVL 0’ — basement floor maybe? You know you’re currently on LVL 1 based on the signage in the room. The pads of your fingers heat up as you wipe the smudges off the screen.

It’s a man. He’s fully nude, walking around a cell-like enclosure. Who is he? Why did they leave him here when he left? More importantly — can you leave him here to starve to death once you eventually leave?

There’s a talk button. Here goes nothing.

“Hello?” your voice cracks from underuse. You clear your throat before depressing the button again. “I’ll find a way to open the door.”

No response, but he does stop walking so you assume he heard you. Maybe the camera’s audio doesn’t work anymore.

You don’t have to look for long before you find a big red button labeled ‘door release’. A harsh buzzing rings and you scrunch your face at the sound. You look quickly back to the monitor to see if that opened the door for your friend.

He isn’t there.

He’s gone? But the door still looks closed. Did you imagine him? Was there even a man in there? You rub your eyes until you see stars. Focus.

Fine you’ll just… go check it out. Just to make sure. You will not let yourself turn into one of them. You still have a heart, still have a soul.

The elevator button still glows with power but you don’t feel like taking the chance when there’s a perfectly good set of stairs next to it. Your heart thunders in your throat as you descend to the lower level. It’s… strange down here. The air is stale, suffocating. Nausea creeps up from your gut and you swallow the accompanying bile.

The cage was clearly built into the design of the building, which makes you stop and wonder for a split second exactly what this place was. You pad lightly to the cage, unable to speak. Your teeth stick to the inside of your lips with every breath you suck in.

The door makes a high pitched squeak that damn near has your ears ringing when you open it gingerly from your spot just outside the cell.

“H… hello?” you chance again, a little quieter.

Nothing. The cell looks empty.

Your brow furrows. You were so certain you saw a man in here — but can be easily filed away as a hallucination with the lack of sleep and stress you’ve experienced over the past few days. Your feet move on their own accord as you step further into the cell, inspecting. Dried blood splatter coats the floor and wall, massive bloody footprints leading around the cell.

A noise from behind causes you to turn around at a speed you didn’t know you possessed. Your scream is choked off by the hulking hallucination from the monitor. There’s a wild look in his eye as he slams you against the wall, his massive paw gripped around your throat and cutting off your airway. You claw desperately at his hand, surely drawing blood as you struggle to take a breath.

Kicking and scratching and struggling. The man — who is not only completely naked but covered in dried blood, eye black smeared across his face — tilts his head slightly at you, something like recognition flooding his system as he releases your neck just enough for you to gasp in a raggedy half-breath.

You still completely at the sight behind him.

“Drop the girl, now!”

It’s them. They found you.

Too late. For them and you.

At least they won’t be the ones to take you.

At least you can finally rest. Sleep.

Yes. A dreamless sleep. Sounds kind of nice.

The brute drops you and you slide down the wall, landing so hard on your ass you’re sure your tailbone is bruised. The yelp that escapes from your lips is strange sounding, likely due to your cutoff airway.

It happens in slow motion and yet all at once. Your attacker — or maybe now your savior, you’re not entirely sure — throws the large rock you hadn’t noticed he’d been palming in his free hand and hits the one who spoke directly in the eye. You wince as the sound of gunfire erupts around the room and curl in on yourself. It’ll be over soon anyways, no need to watch.

A hand grips under your elbow and tugs you upward, almost ripping your arm out of its socket as you scramble to your feet. The sound of your raspy breath is all that fills the room as you're pulled up by the very man who almost just choked you to death. He towers over you, looking at you like he just asked a question and was waiting on your answer. He tilts his head slightly and begins to walk out of the cell. You do the same on wobbly legs and observe the carnage around you.

They’re all dead. Every last one. Other than the one with a massive eye wound, all seem to be killed in the same manner, gunshots to the head and chest.

He looks at you from the bottom of the stairs, waiting.

Your legs shake as you walk to where he stands. He starts walking up the stairs when you get closer, and you follow behind. Every step ignites your tailbone in fiery pain that threatens to take what little breath fills your lungs. Somehow, you manage to make it up the first flight.

You watch from the landing as he enters the security room, rummaging around in there. You can’t quite see what he’s doing with the door half closed but you can hear him opening the metal doors to the lockers. A loud, metallic clatter has your heart plummeting straight into your throat.

After a minute he comes out with a large duffel in his meaty grip. You blink up at him as he holds out your backpack to you in the other. You're not even sure when it fell off but you take it in your hands, comically small next to his as they brush against him. He starts to walk to the front door and forces it open.

When you don’t immediately follow, he turns to look at you.

You limp over to where he is, the pain in your tailbone growing with every second that passes. He walks to a pond just outside the compound, dropping his duffel and diving in expertly. What, this guy’s a serial killer and an olympian?

You're dumbstruck as he cleans himself off, large hands rubbing at the black around his eyes and the blood coating him. He walks out of the pond and you hastily find somewhere else to look besides his large, perfectly toned frame. The water must be cold.

The sound of a zipper hits your ears as you see him bend over in your periphery. He dresses quickly, efficiently. You may have only met ten minutes ago but you’re pretty sure everything he does is efficient.

His thick accent takes you more off guard than the fact that he deigned to speak to you. (To be fair, you did assume he was mute.)

“Why’d ya let me out, bird?”

You wonder what you look like to him as you glance up in confusion. He’s dressed now, black pants and shirt. Now that he’s not covered in dirt, grime and blood you can see he’s quite good looking. Rugged, menacing… but handsome in his own way.

“I… couldn’t leave you to starve in there,” you answer honestly, voice still strained.

You flinch as he pulls out a pistol and checks the magazine before putting it securely in the waistband of his pants. He slings a larger weapon around his arm.

“Why’re those men chasin’ ya?”

A gust of fall wind sweeps through and you shiver.

“How long have you been in that cage?” you finally inquire.

He grunts. “Not sure. A while.”

You swallow thickly. How do you tell him that in the matter of just a few weeks, the government was overthrown. Riots broke out. Militias took power.

“It may be a different place out here than when you went in.”

Another guttural noise leaves his throat. “Then we ‘ave failed our mission.”

Mission? What mission?

“Anarchy, is it?” he looks at you with those piercing brown eyes.

You nod.

He sighs and the rigidity in his posture softens a bit. He folds up the now empty duffel bag more neatly than you thought he could and hands it into you. You pinch your brows together but take it anyway, holding it between your hands.

He starts walking along the side of the road. Alert, eyes up and focused on the world around him. He stops suddenly, turning around to face you where your feet are still planted.

“You comin’ or wha?”

Shaking yourself out of your stupor, you trail after him as quickly as you’re able to. The more you walk, the easier it is to deal with the pain. He continues forward, always scanning the area around him.

He stops suddenly and you do too, tensing up. He grabs the duffel bag out of your hands and walks behind you, unzipping the backpack around you to place it in there.

You’re too stunned to speak as you start to follow him when he walks again.

The sun hits the horizon in an hour, and you’re still wandering along the road with your strange, large man. He hasn’t spoken since before you started walking but you don’t mind the silence. Your breathing is finally almost back to normal, though you can feel the tenderness of the hand-shaped souvenir you're left with along your neck.

There’s an overturned UHaul on the road ahead. You startle when he pulls the pistol out of his waistband and ensures there's a bullet in the chamber as he walks more purposefully toward it. You trail behind him as he walks around it. Clearly whoever was pulling it left in a hurry, as there’s nobody in the cab up front. Glass crunches under your shoes.

Your giant walks to the rear and smacks the side of the UHaul with such a force that you yelp and jump at the bang that follows. You flash him an apologetic look when you cover your mouth and he listens.

After a minute of silence, he opens the back. Things are strewn everywhere — boxes, a couch, and other home items. You watch mesmerized as he enters with the pistol ready to fire, making sure it’s clear.

He grips you around your waist and drags you in after reholstering his weapon. He points to a box labeled “BEDDING” and begins to pile the cushions of the couch that are scattered about. You slowly tear off the tape and open the box, pulling out some blankets.

Boxes are being piled around the entrance swiftly by him. He works silently, effortlessly. Then, he carries the cushions to the back wall and lines them up on the floor — really the wall, since the vehicle is tipped.

You stumble over with a large pile of blankets and he helps you spread them out. He turns on a flashlight when you’re done, pointing it up at the ceiling and leaning it against the wall before he walks over to the door and closes it.

A shiver trails down your spine when he walks back towards you. He’s crouched down, leaving the bottom blanket over the cushions but crawling under the rest.

“C’mon pet,” he orders.

You drag your feet to him and he grips your ankle, holding your foot in the air and taking off your shoe in one smooth motion, which he tosses next to where he lays. Once he leads your foot back on the ground he does the same with the other.

“In,” he demands, motioning to the empty spot next to him where he lays.

You stumble in, wincing slightly. The pain in your tailbone has subsided from what it was, but it lingers when you move too quickly. He pulls your back to his chest when you finally make your way under the covers, giving you a thick bicep to rest your head against in place of a pillow. You shiver in his grasp, his body heat surrounding you. He reaches out to click off the flashlight and darkness blankets the vehicle.

A large arm wraps around your midsection when you shiver again. Your neck warms from his hot breath. He pulls you in even closer and you feel something rigid against your back. Your giant trails his hand up, cupping your breast through your shirt. The shudder that comes is no longer from the cold.

A small moan escapes you and you press your thighs together.

Who are you right now? You don’t even know his name, and he nearly killed you earlier. Yet you trailed him like a lost puppy and are letting him touch you.

His hand slips under your shirt and his calloused hand roughly palms your breast. He drives his hips against you, groaning when his thick length presses into your back. You can’t help yourself when you push your ass back against him.

He did save you, after all. And he kept you safe after.

The waistband of your pants is pulled away as he now slides his hand down, trailing under your panties and to your sensitive bud below. Can he feel how positively soaked you already are? You assume the answer is yes when he chuffs and drags a wide finger across your slit.

This is what he deserves, right? Saving a pretty little thing like you.

You gasp when that wide finger enters you. He humps your backside as he drags it in and out, drawing soft pants from you. The two of you continue this for a while, assuming that this is all he desires until you realize he had an ulterior motive for warming you up.

He roughly tugs your pants down and off and does the same with his, lining himself up with your entrance. The arm you were laying on wraps around your collarbone and holds you firmly in place as he pushes in, the stretch almost unbearable.

There’s no way he’s more than a fraction of the way in and yet you’re not sure you can handle anymore. You struggle to find oxygen and he pets your head gently. More gentle than you thought he could be.

“Breathe, pet.”

You breathe and after a moment he brings two fingers to your lips. You open on pure instinct and he sticks them in, scraping along your tongue.

He rubs you with those coarse, wet fingers as he forces himself even further inside, arm still pressing down on your collarbone to keep you in place. You fight to fill your lungs as he fills you, a mewl escaping between your lips.

He’s slow at first, giving you time to adjust before he decides enough is enough and begins pounding into you. He covers your screams but leaves your nostrils open so you can still breathe, his grunts of pleasure all you can hear over the joining of your bodies.

He’s not gentle. It’s not his nature. He takes what he wants. That’s how it always has been for him. Since the beginning. You want it? You take it. You make it yours.

Your tailbone screams in pain with each thrust and tears track down your cheeks and wet his hand covering your mouth. You bite the inside of his palm to quell the ache and he praises you between thrusts.

“Good fuckin’ girl.”

You clench around him and his movements sputter for a moment before he resumes. More than anything you wish he was face to face with you but you recognize what he is. He is not a man that whispers sweet nothings in your ear and kisses you softly while you make love. He’s a man who helps himself to what he wants.

He groans low in his throat at your reaction to his praise and he knows. It falls into place in his mind. You won’t run from him in the morning. His soft, pretty little prize. Sweet girl that will follow him around. That will let him bully his cock into you whenever he wants just for keeping you safe.

When you find your release, you bite down hard enough on his palm that you taste metal. He grunts, pushing into you harder and faster than you thought possible as he finds his — his hot spend coating your cunt. Finally he uncovers your mouth and you gasp for oxygen, wet breaths filling the air.

He pets your hair with a sticky hand and covers you back up with the blankets that had been displaced.

“Sleep, pet,” he instructs as he again pulls you into his chest.

You sleep for the first time in a week.

[wendyyyyyyyy]

"I Like It"

This is an imagine based on the song "I Like It" by Stray Kids.

Pairing : Changbin x reader

Warning : None.

Enjoy!

-------

The room was dimly lit, the golden hues of the city’s lights pouring through the large glass windows. You sat cross-legged on the couch, sipping a drink while Changbin leaned back in the armchair across from you, one hand lazily twirling his phone while the other rested on his knee. There was a casual ease to your nights together—no pressure, no expectations, just the quiet buzz of being near each other.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said, breaking the silence, his lips curved into a small smile, but his eyes stayed sharp, observing you in the way only he could.

You shrugged, leaning back and letting the cushion sink against you. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” He asked, leaning forward slightly, his curiosity piqued.

It was moments like these that threw you off—Changbin had a way of making you feel seen and unseen all at once, of pulling you in just close enough to leave you craving more, yet never stepping past an invisible line you couldn’t quite define.

“About us,” you admitted softly, unsure if you were brave or foolish to bring it up.

His brow furrowed slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Us, huh? That’s a loaded word.”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling despite yourself. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” he teased, setting his phone down and locked eyes with you. “Look, we don’t need to figure this out. Isn’t it enough that we like what this is?”

There it was again—the push and pull. A rhythm you’d both fallen into so naturally, a dance of being close but not too close, of wanting and hesitating. It was intoxicating, but also maddening.

“I just…” You trailed off, the words catching in your throat. “I don’t know. Sometimes I think—shouldn’t we figure this out? I mean, isn’t that what people do?”

Changbin furrowed his brows again, and let out a quiet sigh. “Do you think we need to figure this out? Right now?”

His words mirrored the unspoken rules of your dynamic. You didn’t define what you had because definitions brought expectations, and expectations led to heartbreak. It was easier this way—simpler. You liked the feeling, the way he made your heart race without suffocating it.

“But what if—” you started, but he cut you off gently.

“Don’t do that.” His voice was calm, almost soothing. “Don’t ruin a good thing by trying to make it something it doesn’t have to be.”

Your mind raced. If you were to step up further, would that ruin everything? You weren’t sure. You liked him—God, you liked him more than you wanted to admit. But there was something terrifying about stepping beyond the boundaries of what you had.

“What if this isn’t enough?” you whispered, almost afraid to say the words aloud.

Changbin didn’t answer immediately. His gaze never wavered and you met his eyes, soft yet resolute. “This thing we have… it’s good. It’s really good. Why mess with it?”

“Because…” You hesitated, biting your lip as you searched for the right words. “Because sometimes it feels like I want more, but I don’t want to lose what we have now. And it’s confusing.”

He looked at you with a knowing smile, the weight of his attention grounding you as he replied quietly. “I get that, I really do. And it’s not because I don’t care, I just… I like this. I like you. And I don’t want to mess it up by making it more complicated than it has to be.”

His honesty settled in between you both, not heavy but grounding. But, could you let things stay as they were? Could you live with the ambiguity, the what-ifs?

“I don’t know what I want,” you admitted, the words feeling lighter than you expected. “But, I know I like this.”

Changbin leaned back again, his smirk returning as if to diffuse the tension. “Then let’s not decide anything. Let’s just… enjoy this. Just you and me, as we are. Now, stop overthinking and enjoy the moment with me.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head at him. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is easy,” he said with a playful shrug. “You just have to trust me.”

And maybe you did. The way your heart fluttered told you that may be trusting him was enough for now.

----



[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Unspoken Melody p.7

Hi guys, here's a new part of the story, if you've missed part 6 here it is :) If you want to read more of my stories, here's my masterlist.

Two drivers, one unforgettable concert, and a chance encounter with a pop sensation that leaves Oscar questioning everything he thought about music—and maybe even himself.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the unfamiliar softness of the bed and the faint smell of something comforting—laundry detergent and a hint of vanilla. You blinked against the morning light, trying to piece together where you were.

Before panic could set in, a soft knock at the door drew your attention. It opened slightly, and Oscar peeked in, his expression a mix of concern and hesitation.

“Hey,” he said gently. “You’re awake.”

You sat up, the blanket sliding down to your lap. “Wait… where am I?”

“This is my room,” he said, stepping inside. “You fell asleep in the motorhome after, well, everything. I didn’t want to wake you, and it was getting late, so I brought you back here. I hope that’s okay.”

Your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness of his gesture. “Oscar, you didn’t have to do that. But… thank you. Really.”

He waved it off, sitting in the chair by the window. “You don’t have to thank me. I just didn’t want you to wake up alone after… everything.”

The memories of the previous day rushed back, sharp and painful. Mark’s betrayal, the headlines, the whispers in the paddock—it all came flooding in, and you felt the sting of tears threatening to fall again.

Oscar seemed to sense it immediately. “Hey,” he said softly, leaning forward. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. None of it is fair.”

A bitter laugh escaped you. “You’re apologizing? You didn’t do anything wrong. Mark… he’s the one who should be apologizing.”

Oscar’s jaw tightened. “You’re right, but I can’t help feeling bad for you. You deserve so much better. Honestly, it makes me furious that he could treat you like this.”

The raw honesty in his voice caught you off guard. “I feel like such a fool,” you admitted quietly. “I should’ve seen it coming. Maybe if I wasn’t so busy with work, or—”

“No,” he interrupted firmly, his gaze locking onto yours. “Don’t do that to yourself. This isn’t your fault. You trusted him, and he’s the one who broke that trust. That’s on him, not you.” His voice softened as he added, “If anything, he’s the fool for not seeing what he had. Anyone who loses you… he’s the one who’s lost something incredible.”

The way he said it—so earnest and sincere—made your breath catch. For a moment, you just looked at him, your heart aching with gratitude.

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You glanced at the screen: it was your manager.

“Sorry,” you muttered, picking it up.

“It’s okay,” Oscar said, sitting back to give you some space.

Your manager’s voice was calm but carried a sense of urgency. “I saw the news. It’s already everywhere. For now, lay low. Don’t post anything, and don’t make any public appearances unless absolutely necessary. We’ll handle the fallout later.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you. “Understood.”

When the call ended, you sighed and looked back at Oscar. “I should go back to my room. You’ve already done so much for me, and you need to rest. You’ve got a race tomorrow.”

Oscar shook his head. “I’m not worried about that right now. What matters is that you’re okay. Are you sure you want to be alone?”

You hesitated, your exhaustion warring with the fear of being left alone with your thoughts. “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping much tonight. Maybe I’ll order some food and watch a movie or something.”

His eyes softened. “You don’t have to do that alone. If you want, we could stay here. I’ll order pizza, and we can watch something together. No pressure, though.”

The kindness in his offer made your chest tighten. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he said, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. “I don’t mind at all.”

So you stayed.

The two of you argued playfully over pizza toppings before settling on a large half-and-half. When it arrived, you curled up on the couch beside Oscar, the awkwardness between you replaced by an easy camaraderie.

As the comedy played, you found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks. Oscar’s quiet chuckles were contagious, and every now and then, he’d glance at you to make sure you were still smiling.

“Thank you,” you said softly during a quieter moment in the movie.

“For what?” he asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

“For being here. For… everything.”

He shrugged, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed how much he cared. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad I could help.”

And as the night wore on, sharing pizza and laughter, you felt a flicker of hope in the warmth of his presence—a reminder that even in the midst of heartbreak, kindness could still find its way to you.

@justaf1girl

[thatguygeorge]

Been a while y’all but I’m still the same dude that loves smoking weed, listening to death metal and of course those snapchat filters 😂 needed a distraction so I figured I’d make a video and tag some people I’d love to see get baked! No worries if it’s not your thing!

@godshideouscreation @indica-illusions @foll0wing-dreams @fizzyfox24 @cateyedcutie @shelovesplants @fairyganjmotherr @glittangrease @battyyy @haterblocker @forever-lost-in-the-stars @highhoneypiee @everystonerhasafuture @sailor-emerald @strawberrysesh @thc-daydreams @mary-janeand-i @ghoullnextdoor @adriennexo @grungixfungi @kawaii-st0ner @em-0wl @suicidal-blasphemy

And anyone else who sees this feel free to take a hit and tag me if ya want!

[ssreeder]

Hi, I sent an ask like 5 minutes ago but I'm not sure if it went through for certain reasons so if it did just ignore that,

I love your fic so much. One of my favourite things is the authors note, I love hearing your rambles and thought processes behind certain scenes,

And JEE💖💖

The jee lovers in the fandom are small but dedicated, I love that man.

Any situation of an older man reluctantly and unknowingly adopting a child they hate and growing soft for them I love, I could ramble on for hours about certain headcanons I have regarding jee and zuko for hours, I need more of them (AND HIM AND BATO (please don't kill them i need AT LEAST 1 queer couple to be happy in this fic🙏🙏))

Also another thing, I do fanart and I really want to do art for this fic but I have no idea which scene to do, is there any specific ones you would want art of?

HI HI HI HI HIIII!!

I didn’t get your five minute ago ask but I got this one!! ahhhhhh my shameful authors notes haha I am very unhinged in there, I think I black out and rub my face in the keyboard honestly.

JEE LOVERS UNITED WE STAND!!!! I adore his dislike of both zuko & sokka in the beginning and now he’s falling hard for sokkas uncle and has pretty much said if anything happens to these kids I’ll burn this bitch to the ground. Unfortunately, Jees situation is going to get a bit more complicated he just doesn’t realize it yet haha.

THERE IS A HAPPY QUEER COUPLE! *gestures at liab zuko* I mean they’re happy like…. some of the time haha. Ok ok I see your point but no promises because you know when I start blowing shit up in liab I can get a little crazy :D mwahahaha.

FAN ART FOR ME?!1?27,771!37/&/ YOU KNOW HOW TO MAKE ME FERAL!!! ahhhhh honestly idk how to pick scenes im so bad at it i dont know what to choose but if you did wanna draw any scenes maybe any from ITF? Your fave or ones scenes you liked idk that’s my suggestion lol.

thanks for this amazing ask you’re a beautiful human thank you!

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

people need to realise tone policing and respectability politics are literally not at all related to people not listening to you because you're being hurtful. there’s a difference between being angry and loud and aggressive towards people who are causing you harm and just downright cruelty, and even if you’re making the best points in the world no one will listen to you if you do so in a cruel and demeaning manner because they will not trust you’re acting in good faith! and that is not their fault! if you’re not trustworthy and you're throwing innocent people under the bus, how can an uneducated layman know if you’re talking about an actual problem in an extremely unhelpful way or if you’re trying to justify that cruelty? especially since On This Website we have had frequent examples of terfs using bullshit concern trolling about ace people or bisexual people or nonbinary people to try and groom vulnerable queer people into their ideology. people aren’t naive and if you act like one of those people aren’t going to risk you being another wave of them. this is not to say people who act like this are inherently evil or terfy a lot of the times i see people doing this i agree with their central point.

like, for example, there’s been a lot of posts in this nature about transphobia i 100% agree with but also i cannot engage with bc they are deliberately and repeatedly misgendering me and other nonbinary people by reducing us down to our genitals and mocking us for not fitting into the transmasc transfem mould they automatically decided was inclusive when it really isn’t at all in the slightest then forcing us into it anyway. i am not going to reblog posts calling me slurs, even if i think they’re factually correct, because that’s cruel and bigoted. but that’s just one example. one i see brought up and thankfully avoided a lot recently is misogyny towards white women being used in discussions about white women and privilege. white women do have white privilege obviously and that is worthy of discussion. but it is Not okay to mock abuse or spread literal incel rhetoric about the dog pill (like, that is Literal incel forum shit, and they use it against women of colour too why are you normalising it) that’s just violent misogyny. or a lot of self proclaimed “leftists” who can critique capitalism super well but can’t stop throwing around the r slur and spreading eugenicist rhetoric. and the list goes on and on. people will not listen to you if you are racist or homophobic or misogynistic or whatever even if you are totally 100% correct bc people aren’t going to be reading to the end of your post to see that if you sound like blaire white they’ll just block you immediately and even if they do people who don’t know enough on that topic- so, presumably the people you’re trying to reach while doing activism????- will genuinely have no way of knowing if you’re fucking with them or not bc that Has happened and people who do know enough haven’t learnt anything and have just spent the last half hour being called slurs which means you’ve just been an asshole for no reason.

there’s a difference between righteous anger and impoliteness (very fair and understandable) to downright being a cruel bigot to people (which makes you look like a shit stirrer at best) and that needs to be noted. being angry is fine. but being a rude asshole to people bc they’re a minority- even if you are one yourself, even if you’re “more oppressed” (which is really fucking hard to quantify anyway bc believe it or not different things are discriminated against to different degrees based on a wild number of topics especially since america is in fact not the only place with bigotry and bigotry like everything culturally upheld can vary wildly in expression even if it’s the same bullshit deep down)- makes you literally completely indistinguishable from some edgelord troll to people who are trying to learn and just insults people who know enough to deduce you’re correct.

[fishyartist]

(Adding an extra image, Source+more info about this specific chart https://bdsmovement.net/Act-Now-Against-These-Companies-Profiting-From-Genocide <click that)

McDonald's is giving out free fries.

Disney is giving out Disney100 cards.

Starbucks is giving out buy one get one frees.

Why? Because their stock prices are falling.

They are losing money because of the boycotts because we are not giving them more money to fund and support the genocide of Palestine.

They're scared.

So they're gonna do whatever they can to get that money.

Keep it up.

Make them cry.

We may not be able to get them all, but the ones we get oh they are gonna suffer.

[satorena]

✧.* BUT I LASTED TEN ROUNDS LIKE A FREAK !?

featuring. g. satoru, f. toji, n. kento, g. suguru, k. choso

warnings. explicit content, foul language, lots of unrealistic expectations (note. title itself), overstimulation (m+f), dickdrunk!reader, dumbification, usage of toys, squirting, spanking, very light spit play, anal, 69 position, breeding kink, unprotected sex, toji’s kinda mean and choso can’t tell the difference between pussy and an asshole. if i forgot anything else my bad !

rena’s note. BUT I LASTED TEN ROUNDS LIKE A FREAK !!! LIKE A G !!!

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔.

“fuh—fuck, oh shit, hah fuck— ‘ts so fuckin’ good!”

you bounced up and down his cock, surface of your palms pressed at the planes of his chest. you enveloped his length entirely, every single inch, in your pulsating pussy, driving the both of you to madness.

it’d been hours, and for whatever was in the air tonight, you both fucked like wild animals. your thighs burned from over-exhaustion, but you were relentless. you were desperate for another orgasm, the slide up and down his inches effortless due to your juices soaking his thighs and his cum from having nutted inside you multiple times prior.

gojo’s firm hands grabbed at your ass, fingers gripping tightly into your soft flesh, grounding you in position so you wouldn’t run. as if you would anyway, tongue lolled out and drool leaking from your rosy tongue and dribbling down his bottom lip.

“that’s it,” he encourages you, a faint smirk at his lips as he guides you down his length. the fucked out look on your face, your dazed eyes crossing to the centre of your face serves a huge ego boost. “my pretty girl—fuckin’ ride this dick baby, ‘s all yours—mmh,”

the sinful sound of your pussy squelching, folds latching at the tip of his dick before ramming yourself down, the lustful melody of your skin slapping against him in addition to the firm spanks of encouragement on your ass, with your high pitched mewls and squealing sounded like divine music to gojo’s ears.

you rocked your hips back and forth, grinding down, went back to bouncing up and down, made circles and figure eight shapes on his length, mindlessly dragging your hips wherever felt fit. you were so far past a point of euphoria you weren’t even sure if liquids could come out of you for the rest of the night.

“eyes here princess,” gojo brings a hand to cup your jaw, forcing your head back down to face him. “pretty pussy’s griping me so tight—fuck,”

your sweaty foreheads press together, and you clock that he knew you were on the brink of yet again another orgasm. cerulean orbs peered deeply into yours, his hips jerking up and meeting your bounces, aiming to bring you to that high as quickly as he can.

“sa—satoru!” you find is the only thing that comes up in your mushed out brain, the new angle of the position having his dick puncture your cervix. you felt so fucking full of him, so drunk on the pleasure that you failed to notice the coiling in your stomach snapping.

he squeezes at your ass cheeks as hard as he can, the painful pleasure obliging you to sit and take his ramming. he fucks into you with intensity, each drag of his cock at your walls sending you into a temporary state of immobility. your muscles tense as you feel yourself wash with yet again another white-blinding orgasm.

your jaw drops and your eyes roll back, throat exhausted while nothing yet everything is said. satoru pumps his creamy cum back into your womb, praising you for taking him in so well, for having a perfect pussy that’ll surely carry his children, all snug and warm for him.

“perfect fuckin’ pussy—mine, all mine, gonna fuck her full of my nut and have you carrying my babies, yeah? ‘s what you want, isn’t it? atta. fuckin’. girl.”

𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈.

“whew, would’ya look at that?” toji whistles, barking out a chuckle as he slows his pace, watching your uncontrollably clenching pussy squirt out your juices like a leaking faucet.

the pressure of your squirting is fucking intense, it has your entire body shaking, thighs quaked and the arch that was once on your back rounded. toji can’t help but laugh as tears stream down your damp cheeks, absolutely in love with how greedy your pussy clamped down on his cock.

“daddyyy—fuck!” your nails claw at the damp sheets on the bed, letting your nth orgasm rake throughout your body.

you feel a firm blow at your ass cheeks, the sound echoing in the room and you whine loudly at the stinging pleasure. you feel two big hands grab at your hips, stabilizing your limp body before a hand rises up and pushes your back into that curve.

“nah uh doll,” toji tuts, hips angling at a new position, one that draws a broken mewl from your sore throat. he picks his pace back up, never fully bottoming out, though you wouldn’t even notice with how many inches he packed.

“what’d i tell you?” he reminds you, and you’re too fucked out to answer him as you mumble his name over and over, helplessly taking the stretch of his dick at your gaping cunt.

he slaps your ass harshly again and you cry, fingernails scratching and clawing at the silk material beneath you. your scalp soon stings as he grabs a handful and effortlessly brings you upper body up to meet him.

“answer me when i ask you somethin’ baby,” toji frowns, hot breath fanning the shell of your ear, sending chills of nerves down your spine. “basic fuckin’ manners.”

“suh—sorry, ‘m sorry toji!” you apologize feverishly, and moan in satisfaction when his tongue laps up your drool and tears streaking your ruined yet pretty face.

“tsk, should have you do the work yourself,” toji teases you, releasing the deathly grip on your hair, causing your limp body to flop back to the mattress. as if proof to avoid calling his bluff, he releases his hold on you, opting to cross his arms above his head instead.

“n-no! toji, no, please, said i was sorry—‘m so fucking sorry!” you whine and ramble when you feel the lack of contact on your body, and your gaping cunt suddenly emptying.

you slither your hand between your thighs, grabbing at his girthy cock, pumping it a few times before slipping it with ease back into your welcoming warmth. you moan wantonly, clawing at your sheets as you fuck yourself on his dick, pushing yourself back and forth.

“greedy fuckin’ pussy,” he comments with a chuckle, spitting a glob of saliva down to your cunt, watching it dissipate into the creamy pearly veil of your essence around the base of his shaft.

he collects your slick with his thumb, before slipping his fingertip into your puckering hole, your body jolting at the sudden intrusion.

“trappin’ me inside—shit, want me to fuck you full of my cum, yeah? leave you swollen and leakin’, dontcha, pretty baby?”

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎.

“‘s too much ken—no more, hah, no more kento!”

you whined and begged, fists clenching as your muscles tensed, back arching off the mattress and toes curling while digging your heel at his shoulder blades. the sound of buzzing filled your hearing, the toy vibrating against your swollen clit ruthlessly while nanami fucked your cunt open with two thick fingers.

“mmh, safe word princess, or else i can’t hear you.” he reminds you, the words ghosting off his lips and sinking into your supple flesh, his lips trailing soft and gentle kisses at your inner thighs.

here he was, giving you an out, and despite claiming enough was enough, you didn’t want it to end just there. with your senses heightened, both your sight and touch restrained, the pleasure emitting from in between your thighs buzzed blissfully and tenfolds through your nervous system.

you released the clench of your hands and opted to scratch at the wood of the headboard you were tied to, projecting your want to touch your boyfriend through the clawing.

“i can keep—hnng—going!” you tell him, legs closing in on the sides of his head. you hear him tut disapprovingly, and you immediately fault your mistake, forcing your legs back open.

“there’s my good girl,” his honeyed voice rings through your ear drums, and it admittedly has you dripping even more on his fingers that curled at your insides. “just need one more from you—can you do that for me?”

you nod your head, bottom lip tucked between your teeth, “mmh, yes—yes i can kento!” you can feel your blood circulation cutting off at the areas were you’re bind, the shortage of blood messing with your already weak body.

the toy playing at your bundle of nerves is painful, having overstepped the boundary of comfortableness and stepping into a new territory of foreign, and you had failed to notice when nanami added in a third finger. you were sure with how much you came just on his hands alone, his watch was drenched in your juices.

those big fingers fuck you open, knuckles pressing into your spongy walls and triggering all sorts of pleasurable feelings throughout you, your stomach tightening into a familiar hot feeling, and you know you’re close again.

“kento, baby i—‘m gonna—fuckkk!” you want to card your fingers through his soft hair, tug and pull and release your pleasure onto his scalp.

“let go for me sweetheart, wanna taste your sweet essence,” nanami swaps the toy for his tongue and flicks at your clit. you feel the dam in your gut release at the sudden warmth exhibiting, and you spray him in pathetic squirts of your juices.

your body trembles as it contracts and gives nanami everything you have left to offer. you squeeze his head in your thighs, moaning wildly as his pace with his fingers never falters, urging you to stay in the state of euphoria a bit longer.

he swaps his tongue out for the toy again, and you wail out a broken cry, body at its limit, still stuck between coming down from your orgasm and greedily wanting another one.

he strokes your slit, collecting all your essence as he licks his lips eagerly.

“good job princess. taste so heavenly, i’ve never had anything like it before. i’ve gotta have another sip, will you let me have another taste, my love?”

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔.

“c’mon, focus sweetheart. do that f’me, yeah?”

you nod your head, mouth too full of dick as you opt to bob up and down. your jaw aches, feeling as though it’s being ripped apart. you force your aching wrist to work up and down geto’s cock, stimulating what you fail to get down your throat.

it would’ve been a simple task for you to focus on, had suguru not been feasting on your pussy like a starved man. he spreads your folds open, tonguing at your insides as if he dug for gold, grabbing both your cheeks in his big hands and spreading you open. he never half assed anything, much less pussy eating.

his skin was soaked in your squirt, orgasms came rolling in and out of you as did the occasional pumps of two fingers into your cunt while he ate you out. you would moan in pleasurable pain, the sounds vibrating on his shaft, which would induce him to moan into you, causing you to moan back on him, the cycle this repeating.

you were greedy—you could complain about how it was too much all you wanted, at the end of the day, you would pause on his cock to grind your hips back and forth on his face, the slip from your slick on his cheeks and nose making the grinding easier.

his nose would bump into your clit and you’d shiver from head to toe, the oversensitivity catching up to you. the free hand at your ass cheek would graze at your puckering hole but never dared to slip inside. all these mixes of stimulations had your eyes crossing, mouth gaping wide which made fucking your throat much easier for geto.

“sweetest cunt i’ve ever had,” he groans in between your thighs, bringing his hand to spank at your wet folds, and your arch your back at the stinging pleasure, your toes curling as your body shook.

the slap at your pussy made flicks of your juices land on his face, and so he landed a few more blows while simultaneously jerking his hips up into your mouth, forcing you down on his cock.

it was all too much— it hurt so good, the strikes at your cunt, his tongue lapping your liquids as he scissored your insides for additional pleasure. how was he expecting you to get him to finish for a second time when he was driving you to the brink of yet again another countless orgasm?

“wanna soak in your juices mama,” he speaks, mouth full of cunt, but you still grasp the message. you subconsciously push your hips back into his face, wanting to abide to his request.

“‘m so fuckin thirsty—don’t you dare be selfish with me. cum in my mouth. be the good girl i know you are and share yourself with me—need it, pretty girl.”

𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎.

“y’feel so good, fuck—sucking me in, oh shit baby, never wanna stop fucking you! please, need your pussy always!”

he’d finally gotten a feel of sex for the first time, and he was already hooked. his locks matted to his forehead from sweat trickling down his nose and plopping down onto you.

“wait—slow d-down cho’—hngg!” you moan, nails clawing at his back, scraping and marking the pale skin. you felt your body recoil entirely with each sharp thrust he pounded into your worn out pussy, dragging each and every inch of his length in and out.

your knees were bent at your ears, feet dangling by his head as his hips slammed into the back of your thighs, marking the skin red from the brash contact. the springs from your bed resonated loudly in the room, as did the creaking of your headboard, but nothing topped choso’s loud whimpers.

he’s too lost in his own pleasure, he starts to mistaken to stinging and achy feeling in his gut and loins for a sign to keep going, “never wanna stop—shittt, need to fuck this pretty pussy every. fucking. day.”

you’ve given up on convincing him otherwise, focusing instead on the rise and fall of his hips digging into yours, stretching your pussy open to fit him inside. you creamed around his dick, your essence resting at the hairs on his pubic area, giving him easy access to slide in and out of you.

his arms wrapped around you tightly, refusing to let you out of his grip, one arm beneath your back and holding you from there and the other wrapping around your shoulders. you were stuck in his embrace, bodies moulding into one as you were split open by a fucked out first timer.

in his excitement, he slips out and wastes no time to grab his base and shove it back into a warm tightness, failing to acknowledge your sudden gasp. his mind is clouded with sex, and if he didn’t know better, you were suddenly much fucking tighter, and shit that drove him on edge.

your arms tighten behind his back as you adapt to the sudden intrusion from an area you hadn’t yet explored. “cho—baby wait—mmhm, fuck, that’s my—!”

“‘m gonna cum—fuck y/n, tell me you’re close too. shit, need to fill you up with my cum, please!” the man seals his lips onto yours, panting and begging for this next orgasm, shifting all of his body weight into the hole that keeps greedily latching onto him.

your eyes water as they stream tears down your cheeks. it’s a new and painful sensation, but simultaneously a pleasurable one, and your body granted you the opportunity of yet again another orgasm from the different stimulation. “hah—gonna cum!—make me cum, choso!”

you spray yourself all over, your pussy clenching around absolutely nothing as your ass gets rammed into and fucked like a pro. choso groans and whines against your lips, brows furrowed at the centre of his forehead as he empties himself into your warmth.

“fuck yes—take it all baby, ‘s all yours—need you to milk me and take it all in—your pussy’s the best, i swear to everythin’, shit!”

i am SO tired.

[quarterlifekitty]

How they’re getting you back

Aka what they’re like as exes that just can’t get over you.

cw: unhealthy relationships, manipulative behavior

Gaz is the guy your parents just won’t stop bringing up. Why’d you break up with him? He’s so kind, and so handsome, and he’s got a steady job— so what if he was a little jealous? He keeps hanging out with your family even after you break up. Like pull up to thanksgiving and he’s there because your mom invited him! And he’s betting you’ll give into the pressure soon and just take him back. They want grandkids, babe, why keep them waiting?

Soap loved forcing himself into your personal space when you were together, and that hasn’t stopped. He knows all of your usual haunts, and he’s using that knowledge to stay close. Your favorite coffee shop, your favorite pub, where you like to stop on your lunch break. It’s just such a big coincidence that you keep running into each other! Great minds, right, bonnie? Oh, he forgot you asked him to stop calling you that. How can he help it? You’re still just as pretty as you were when you were together. And weren’t those good times, hen? Why’d they have to end?

Ghost is leaving you scary fucking voicemails. Telling you that you’re never really gonna be rid of him, so you may as well just take him back, yeah? And yeah, you can hear the slick sound of him jerking his cock in the background, what about it? You know you’ll never get it as good as he gave it to you, birdie. Just answer the door next time he comes knocking, and he’ll remind you of how good you were together. And if you won’t be mature about this, he has his ways of getting in.

Price is this looming presence that you can’t shake. Flowers at your door, unsigned, but you know. Bills paid before you get the chance to pay them yourself. He was the perfect man when you broke it off— you said no contact, he complied. You moved out, he helped you box it all up and drove you to your new place without any complaints. You catch more flies with honey than vinegar. The truth was, he was calm when you told him it was over because he knew he just needed to put in the work, and things would be better than they were before.

König is perhaps handling it the worst. Like, this man is buying love spells off of Etsy witches to bring you back together. The gifts he sends are extravagant and pathetic. It might be a little more sweet and sad if he wasn’t huge and capable of killing you with his bare hands. It gets to the point where your friends feel badly— maybe you should just give him another chance?

Nikolai is, more than anyone else, completely sabotaging your efforts at finding someone new. Threatening any potential dates, bribing some, making others disappear. All with a knowing smile as he sits at a table on the other side of the restaurant, enjoying the nasty look you send his way when you’re stood up again. He wouldn’t keep doing this if you’d just go after a man who deserved you. A man who wasn’t so pathetically easy to drive off. But there’s only one man so crazy about you that nothing would get in his way when it comes to seeing you again, isn’t there? This could be easy if you’d come back. But he’s happy to keep playing games for as long as you like, malýshka.