#and I’m doing that classic spring break thing

[slav-every-day]

[gothcsz]

West Side | Pornstar!Javier Peña x Fem!Reader | Part 5 of Unscripted Desire | ~15k wc | Series Masterlist | gif cred | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: A lot of firsts with Javi.

Tags: smut, slight angst, nipple play, dry humping, lots of making out, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, jealousy, edging, overstimulation, use of sex toys (vibrator), oral (f receiving), cum eating, unprotected p in v sex (finally), javi is clipped (not mentioned), babe wake up pornstar!javi lore just dropped, no use of y/n, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

A/N: i attempted to make this chapter a little longer, definitely filthier, and above all: satisfying. shoutout to my bestie hermosa @persephone-girl for reading over part of this and quelling all the second thoughts i had in the middle of writing it out 🖤 love you guys, enjoyyyy ✨

You purse your lips at your reflection, tilting your head as if a new angle will make everything click. The phone is wedged between your shoulder and ear, and Connie’s voice crackles over the line, keeping you company. 

“Since when do you care so much about getting dolled up?” she teases, picking up on the way you’re fussing.

You tug the hem of the dress down a bit, “That’s not even the issue here,” you counter, a little more defensively than you meant. “It’s just… what do you even wear on a date with someone like Javier?”

Connie lets out a sly laugh. “Well, if I knew more about him, maybe I’d be able to help you out here.”

You huff, rolling your eyes even though she can’t see it, leaning closer to the mirror as you swipe at the mascara wand. “You’re still on that?”

“It’s not every day that my friend leaves with a man like that at the end of her shift, only to find out he’s some annoyingly hot coworker she didn’t even bother mentioning—”

“There was nothing to mention,” you cut in quickly.

“Nothing to mention?” she repeats, scandalized. “He ate you out in an elevator, you talked an orgasm out of him, and you let him slip the tip of his dick inside—”

“Okay!” You cut her off again, voice a bit higher than intended. “Shouldn’t you be out saving lives or something?”

“Currently on day two, hour nine, of my three-twelves.” Her sigh fills your ear. “I’m exhausted. Let me live through your smokin’ sex life so I don’t tear my hair out.”

“Steve not doing it for you anymore?” you tease, rubbing away a bit of lipstick that smudged onto your teeth.

“Oh, he is, but after three overnight shifts? Even the thought of sex is exhausting,” she admits, a laugh edging her words. 

You get it; distinctively thinking about the last spring break week where you worked non-stop, running from shoots all day to the bar all night on three hours of sleep.

That was definitely the week you aged five years in one go.

“Now, back to you,” she snaps you out of your memories. “What did you finally decide on?”

“The black dress.” You say it like it’s the only logical choice.

She groans, dragging it out for dramatic effect. “No. You wear that thing out all the time.”

“I bought it for a reason. To wear it.”

“Oh, come on. I think you should switch it up a little. Make it more fun.”

“Fun?” you echo, skeptical, glancing over at your closet.

“Fun,” she confirms, “like that mini skirt with the flowy fabric. Makes your ass look so good and shows just enough cheek to leave him hanging,” she says all playfully, “Just throw on a top that shows the girls off and you’ll be set. It’s flirty and hot… exactly like your little boy toy and way fresher than a black dress.”

You snort, feeling a little flutter at the mention of Javier being your boy toy. “A classic date-night outfit is classic for a reason, you know?”

“Mhmm, so classic I’m falling asleep. Go grab the skirt and thank me later,” she presses.

You grumble out a fine, deciding to humor her. Maybe you will like it better than the dress.

Rummaging through your closet is a little difficult with the corded phone in your hand but you manage, finally spotting the garment under the mountain of clothes that you’ve just thrown in here and pretended weren’t your problem.

“Where’s he taking you, anyways?”

“No idea, which makes the getting ready process even more difficult. I’m putting you down,” you warn her, setting down the receiver on your dresser.

You toss aside a few ‘not quite’ options before finding a top cute enough for this flirty and hot vision she’s painting. The deep color of it has your skin glowing, the cut of the neckline making your tits look enticing.

The snug skirt teases just enough at your thighs and you do a half turn, glancing back at the mirror to check your own ass out—and damn if she wasn’t on the money.

“Okay, I’m back.”

“And?”

You pause, smiling as you take in your reflection. “I look hot.”

There’s a sharp, delighted squeal on her end. “See? I told you! That’s what friends are for—giving you advice you don’t listen to until you’re basically forced to.”

Her laugh makes you grin, but then you hear a muffle as she talks to someone else in the background. She comes back, tone rushed but still playful. “Alright, I’m being called back onto the floor. But seriously, have fun. Don’t put out unless you want to, and please, please, don’t wait months to fill me in, okay?”

“I won’t,” you chuckle, her instructions making you feel like you’re back in high school. “Thanks, Con.”

“Go get him, you vixen,” she teases, and the line goes dead, leaving you with your thoughts.

You’ve been doing everything possible not to spiral into overthinking, trying to act normal about this date. Part of you still can’t believe it’s actually happening.

You’ve fought him, resisted him, silently judged others for falling for his charms—yet somehow still managed to give in.

If someone had told you months ago that you’d be in this position, you would’ve straight up laughed in their face.

The whole trajectory of it feels warped. You can’t help but wonder if this is all some elaborate game, a long con to get you in his bed.

But then, the doubts don’t quite hold up, not with how much effort he’s put into just getting your attention. If it were about sex, he wouldn’t need all this—he could walk outside, flash that lazy, dimpled grin, and probably have someone falling for him within seconds.

Hell, he could call one of his co-stars and make it that much easier on himself.

Yet, he keeps choosing you, showing up with this sincerity that’s completely messed with your head, confessing feelings and sticking around like he’s actually serious. He’s taken over your mind, lingering there like a sexy, infuriating ghost.

At least you’ve given yourself an ultimatum: if this goes south, you’ll walk away and he’ll leave you alone.

You still remember how low you felt after things with Frankie, and that was amicably ended. 

With Javier, it would sting worse if he turned out to be the arrogant womanizer you’d pegged him as after all the shit that’s transpired between the two of you.

You finish getting ready and head into the kitchenette, grabbing a shot glass. You pour yourself a quick splash of Fireball, hoping it’ll help you feel a little more mellow, maybe a little less wound-up. You toss it back, letting the burn calm the nerves that won’t stop buzzing as the minutes drag by.

Then, you hear the familiar creak of the stairs, the soft shuffle of footsteps, followed by a knock at the door. Your heart skips a beat.

With a deep breath, you slip on a light jacket and grab your purse before unlocking the door and swinging it open.

The sight that greets you could knock the air right from your lungs.

His typical black leather jacket stretches across his broad shoulders, a flushed blue shirt underneath, his neck on full display while the top of his chest teases you beneath the few undone buttons.

His jeans fit him perfectly, hugging his narrow waist and leading down to a pair of well-worn leather boots. But what really catches your attention is the single peony he holds delicately in his hand.

“Hey,” you greet, trying to keep it casual, as if your heart isn’t pounding just from seeing him stand there. He is so damn handsome, it almost feels unfair.

His gaze roams over you, like he doesn’t know where to look, definitely lingering on your legs then your cleavage before his warm, brown eyes meet yours. “You look good, nena.” He leaves you feeling like he’s undressing you with just that look.

You bite back a smile and raise an eyebrow, opting to tease him. “Thanks, Javi. You look… exactly how you always do.”

He chuckles, a lazy smile spreading across his face, and you catch a little dimple on his cheek. “Damn. And here I thought I put in more effort tonight.” He licks his lips, then holds out the flower. “This is for you. I might’ve mentioned our night out to my neighbor, and she clipped this from her garden. Thought it was less on the nose than a red rose.”

You take it from him, its soft petals brushing against your fingers, and bring it to your nose. The sweet, fresh scent makes you sigh a little.

He’s doing the bare minimum, bringing you a fucking flower, and you’re already feeling all warm and mushy. You’ll just blame the one shot of whisky for that. “Talking me up already?”

He chuckles, his eyes appreciating the way your makeup highlights each feature.

“Let’s just say I bum cigarettes off her in exchange for a little company. You just happened to come up.”

“Well now I have to know what you said.”

“Maybe one day.”

This moment already feels charged for no reason.

“I’m going to hold you to that” you warn him playfully. “Thank her for me. And tell her she’s got good taste in flowers.”

He gives you a nod, eyes softening. “I will. You ready?”

“Mhm,” you hum, stepping out to lock the door behind you.

As you turn, you realize how close he’s standing, and the scent of mint and cologne hits you in an instant, making your head spin. He smells fucking incredible.

“So,” you start, trying to ignore the fact that you can practically feel the heat radiating from his skin. “Where are we going?”

He falls into step beside you as you both head down the stairs. “To the best food truck in the city.”

“Really?” You raise an eyebrow, both amused and a little charmed by the casual choice.

He nods, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “It’s by Lake Hollywood Park, which is convenient ‘cause we’ll end our night around there.”

It seems like he has an actual plan for this date, which surprises you, but then again he’s been full of fucking surprises since the moment you met him. “Sounds like fun. Better not be shit though,” you say, adjusting your bag strap on your shoulder, twirling the flower between your fingers.

“I think I’ve lived in L.A. long enough now to know what’s good and what isn’t.”

So he’s not native to this city, which was kind of obvious with the slight twang some of his words seem to have. You wonder where he’s actually from.

As you reach the sidewalk, Javier surprises you by sliding his hand into yours, smooth and confident. The gesture catches you off guard, and you can feel heat pooling at your cheeks. He’s annoyingly charming, and he knows it.

His hand is so much bigger than yours, rough skin brushing against your softer palm in a way that feels—well, it feels like it fits.

Your mind doesn’t miss a beat, leaping straight to the memory of his fingers pressed inside you, knuckle deep, his tongue flicking at your clit as you unraveled for him.

You bite the inside of your lip, willing yourself to stay cool, but damn, those hands could do a lot of things.

How you even fit two of his fingers remains a mystery, but it’s one you’re more than willing to solve again.

“This okay?” he asks, glancing down with a glint of mischief in his eyes, catching you right in the middle of your little lustful trance.

“Perfectly fine,” you reply, squeezing his hand, that glint pulling you in deeper, and you let it.

“Okay, I think I have a little more faith in your spot now that we’re here.” You settle across from Javier at the picnic table you managed to snag nearby, eyeing the food as he sets it out between you.

He smirks, raising an eyebrow. “You doubted me?”

“Just a little.” You pinch your thumb and finger together with a playful grin, scrunching your nose as you laugh. His lopsided smile makes an appearance, sending your heart into a flutter.

“Then I’ll let the food do the talking. Let that be my ‘I told you so.’”

“Oh, please, I don’t need to hear that twice in one day.”

As you stick your straw into your cup of hibiscus agua fresca, the sweet flavor hits you instantly, and you let out a delighted little hum without even thinking.

His gaze snaps to you, amusement lighting up his eyes. “Someone’s already beaten me to it?”

“Connie,” you confess, dragging your tray of tacos closer and inhaling the smell that makes your stomach practically growl. “She helped me pick this outfit, you know, since someone here was pretty vague on the details.” 

He chuckles, reaching for the salsa verde and giving his tacos a generous drizzle before handing the bottle over. “I told you we’d be outside. I thought that’d be enough.” 

You take it from him, fingers brushing together, and damn if your skin doesn’t actually tingle. “Honestly, I was expecting more of a steakhouse vibe.”

He gives a soft scoff, looking amused. “That’s not really my style. I’d feel like a total fraud…” he pauses, studying your expression, “unless that’s what you wanted. I could do it if that’s what you’re into.”

Your tongue darts over your lower lip as you take in his thoughtfulness. “Nah. This is...perfect, actually.”

A light sparks in his eyes at your word choice. “Perfect, huh?”

You playfully roll your eyes, “Uh huh, don’t get a big head over it.”

“So, I owe Connie for getting you in that skirt?” His voice is smooth, that teasing lilt unmistakable.

Heat climbs up your neck, pooling at your cheeks. “You like it?”

His eyes narrow slightly, that look dark and appreciative. “I think it’s sexy as hell, yeah. But in an effort to be more...gentlemanly—Te ves hermosa. Like always.”

Normally, you’d roll your eyes at him laying it on thick, but right now? You don’t mind it at all.

The attention feels genuine, his words dipping straight between your legs rather than floating on his usual bravado.

“Sweet talk me all you want,” you say, trying to rein yourself in, “but the real test of this date’s success? It all lies in this meal.”

He chuckles, and you’re grateful for the little shift, picking up a taco and clinking it with his, like a toast. The first bite is practically life-changing—the smoky, spicy flavors somehow better than you’d even anticipated.

“Oh wow,” you say, chewing slowly with a hand hovering over your mouth. “Not bad, Peña. This is actually delicious.”

His grin is smug, triumphant, and as he takes another bite, you’re momentarily distracted by the way his jaw flexes, muscles taut as he chews. And damn, if you don’t notice every bit of him in that damn leather jacket, his dark hair slightly tousled and looking as if he were some walking sex deity. 

You mentally curse yourself for already feeling way too into him. 

You chat lightly, going over the usual first-date questions. Somehow, even the simple stuff feels easy and natural with him—there’s something in the way he responds that keeps you drawn in, even if the questions themselves aren’t all that thrilling.

What’s your favorite color? When’s your birthday? Where are you from?

“Texas. And you?” he answers, swiping the napkin over his lips before balling it up, tossing it into his now empty tray.

So he’s a southern boy. That detail definitely adds to his charm. You tell him the name of your hometown, and then, after a beat, add, “Bit far from home, huh? Got family here?”

He shakes his head, reaching into his jacket for a pack of gum. He pulls out two pieces, offering you one.

Okay, another bare minimum act that’s got you all fucking blushy.

“Nah,” he says, chewing his own piece of gum. “It’s just me out here.”

“Your family must be thrilled about what you do…wait, do they know?” you ask, unwrapping the stick and glancing at him.

He sighs, scratching at his jaw. “My pops knows. My mom…” He pauses, a shadow of something crosses his face. “She passed when I was in high school.”

Your heart squeezes, a flicker of guilt making you wince. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t sweat it,” he interrupts gently, waving it off casually. “It gets tiring hearing it. But yeah, my pops and the rest of them…they don’t exactly jump for joy when it comes to my job. Guess it’s a good thing I stopped giving a fuck about what they think.”

The reality of it sinks in as you watch him across the table, his eyes distant for a moment. You’d never really thought about how it all might affect him (or any of the other stars, honestly) outside of sets and studios.

The world sees sex work as some kind of sordid choice, casting assumptions.

Sure, it’s got its problematic aspects just like any other industry, but with the puritan culture that’s plagued society since the beginning of time, really, it’s seen as such a devious thing when in reality; it could be something so beautiful. A celebration of the human body, of the unity between two people.

Whether you’re a woman or a man—you bear the weight of every stereotype, every judgment, and, especially, the stigma that comes with it.

You hesitate, but your curiosity gets the best of you. “Are you close with them?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he absently smooths his mustache with his thumb and forefinger, eyes thoughtful. “Yes and no.”

Something in his tone tells you this isn’t a thread to pull on right now. So, you pivot the conversation, deciding to leave that part of him for another night.

You glance at your tray, grinning. “This might actually be the best meal I’ve had in a long time. And I’m not bullshitting you.”

His eyes light up, that charming, lazy smile sliding back into place. “I’ll refrain from saying I told you so.”

You laugh, throwing a crumpled napkin at him, which he catches without missing a beat.

He leans in, his voice low. “So, now that I’ve won your approval in the food department, I’ve gotta finish on a strong note so I don’t mess it all up, right?”

You feel your pulse quicken “Sure do. Got anything up your sleeve, or is this where the gentlemanly plan ends?”

“I’ve got plans.” His voice dips, his eyes tracing over you, wetting his lips and that thudding begins to thrum faintly between your thighs. “Thought we’d take a walk, keep getting to know each other…” The suggestive way in which he’s speaking definitely gives his words a double meaning, “Then head to my favorite lookout spot. Best view in the city, hands down.Whatever happens to feel right can unfold after that.”

“Sounds like you’re anticipating something unfolding.”

“Can you blame me? You’re walkin’ around lookin’ good enough to eat.”

You feel a thrill dancing up your spine at his bluntness, “Boundaries still stand, Javi. I’m not sleeping with you.”

He chuckles, a low, knowing sound that sends your stomach into a twist. “That’s fine. I think I’ve shown we can have plenty of fun without crossing that line.”

Every electrifying sexual encounter hits you all at once, and as much as you’d hate to admit it, he’s right. 

No one has ever gotten under your skin or tangled your senses like he does. With Javier, the tension builds until it’s all-consuming—whether it’s the way his hands map every inch of your skin or his mouth works you over. It’s maddening, how easily he pulls you apart and leaves you craving more.

“And If I remember correctly, I wasn’t the one begging for more.”

A hot flash sweeps through you. “You’re so fucking annoying.”

He grins, not missing a beat. “Admit it, you like it.”

And as you share an amused glance, you can’t help but think… yeah, maybe you do.

The two of you walk side by side under the soft glow of the street lights lining the park. He flicks open his lighter, cigarette wedged between his lips, and you watch the quick flame as it lights up his face for a second before fading out.

You would usually mind the smoke, but somehow, with him, it’s just… fitting. A small indulgence that somehow suits his edges.

“Favorite music genre?” you ask, breaking the quiet.

“Would it be a cop-out to say a little bit of everything?”

“Oh absolutely.”

Javier pauses, a thoughtful look in his eyes as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. “Alright, alright. Probably rap. Used to be all about rock—my pops had me hooked young. But out here? My taste has gotten a little West Coast.”

“A Texan boy gone Cali,” you say, feigning surprise. “You love to see it.”

He laughs, his eyes crinkling as he glances at you, then flips the question back. “What about you?”

“R&B. Lauryn Hill and Destiny’s Child have provided the soundtracks to some very pivotal moments in my life.”

He nods, and for a while, the conversation flows smoothly from one topic to another—favorite childhood memories, the dumb stuff you did as teenagers, and random things you never imagined you’d share with him.

Javi raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I bet you were a teacher’s pet.”

“Teacher’s pet? No way. I was a bit of a know-it-all, but I had this rebellious streak,” you admit, “Got in trouble more than once for talking back. I just couldn’t help it.”

“Figures. You’ve got that fire.” 

Eventually, he flicks his cigarette to the ground, stamping it out before looking at you with a curious glint in his eye. “I gotta ask you something,” he says, his voice dipping just a bit. “And be honest. Why didn’t you like me?”

It’s not the first time he’s asked you this, but now that you’re seeing him in a different light, the answer comes easily, less defensive. “Okay,” you start, meeting his gaze. “I wasn’t a fan of how you... got around. And the way you’d micromanage every move during shoots, like your way was always best. Or how you’d just use your dick to get whatever you wanted.”

His silence stretches, and he takes out another piece of gum, nodding slowly as he listens. “And when we met, you were already trying to charm your way into my pants like I was one of your groupies,” you add, “Made it feel like you were always angling for something. I guess I just didn’t want to be another name on your list.”

He exhales, scratching at his jaw. “Fair enough,” he declares. “I didn’t always used to be like this. The whole showboating thing, it’s sort of… a front, I guess. When I started, I had to become a different version of myself. This cocky asshole who had his shit together because… fuck, I didn’t know what else to do. After the bullshit back home, I needed the distance. I needed to prove something.”

There’s something in his tone that pulls at you, but you don’t press. You’re surprised he’s even sharing this much.

“The women, the confidence—all of it. Figured that’s who I had to be to make it. And it worked up until you left… when I realized just how fucked things had gotten for me. After walkin’ out on Robbie, I’ve been trying to be more careful with the jobs I take but fuck, it’s hard.”

This man—this smooth, confident guy you thought you had all figured out—carries more than his rugged allure and that killer smile.

Sympathy blossoms, the kind that grows for someone who’s managed to build walls without even meaning to.

The details remain unsaid, and though curiosity simmers, you let the silence hang.

“You’ll figure it out, Javi. Life has a funny way of kicking you when you’re down, but somehow, things start falling into place eventually. Might sound like a bad fortune cookie, but it’s true.”

His gaze intense and warm under the park lights, brown eyes looking softer, shadows dancing across his face. The way he looks at you makes your legs shake.

You can’t help the small, vulnerable smile that plays at your lips as you wonder if maybe, just maybe, this moment is worth disregarding your own rules for.

His eyes flicker down to your mouth almost on instinct, and you’re caught in a breath, almost tempted to close the space and feel those lips on yours.

But instead, you let the moment breathe between you, keeping the tension electric, and he’s the one who finally breaks the silence. “Thanks nena. Here’s to hopin’ I don’t have to make a trip down to the unemployment office.” He jokes with a laugh that pulls one out of you too, “Let’s head back. Got one more thing to show you.”

As you both turn back towards his truck, he reaches for your hand again, his fingers curling around yours, gentle and reassuring. You lean into him, resting your head on his arm as you walk. It feels natural, like you’re both finally seeing each other, piece by piece, without all the defenses.

A gentle breeze passes through as you lean against the hood of Javier’s truck, taking in the iconic view.

The twinkling city lights are sprawled out in front of you, while the Hollywood sign looms large and proud in the background. You’ve avoided tourist traps since you moved to LA. Dealing with the general public and pornstars on sets on a daily basis already felt like a big enough dose of Hollywood.

Tonight, though, there’s some kind of magic in being here and you can see why people find themselves drawn to it. Maybe it has something to do with the handsome man beside you.

“You bring all your dates here?” you ask, teasingly.

Javier rubs his lips together, a quiet smile flickering at the edges. “I don’t go on many dates, believe it or not.” He inches a little closer, draping his arm around your shoulder.

“Oh wow, Peña. So smooth.” You roll your eyes, but you can’t ignore the steady, intoxicating scent of him, the one that’s been teasing you all night, and how it engulfs you entirely.

There’s a warmth that reaches from his body to yours, one you can’t help but lean into as your hand finds his, fingers lacing loosely.

Resting your head just near his chest, you feel the gentle rise and fall of his breath, solid and steady.

“Can’t let this night end without you knowin’ what my intentions are.” He pauses, then adds, “I want to keep seeing you.” His words melt into the night as he dips his head to press a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his face nuzzling softly into your hair.

Your breath catches for just a moment, and he feels it too, the faint hesitation creeping in.

Because the truth is, you’re not sure exactly what you want from this. A relationship? A fling? Could you handle being with someone whose job meant fucking other people—even if emotions are fully detatched?

You draw away slightly, positioning yourself to stand between his legs now as he leans against the truck, watching you, a question in his eyes.

“Tonight was wonderful. Better than a lot of first dates I’ve been on…” you trail off, and he quirks an eyebrow, a hint of concern already flashing in his eyes.

“But…?” he prompts, his voice soft but wary.

“Look, I have the utmost respect for what you do. I know what it takes, if anyone can understand what you actors go through, it’s me and all the other crews out there. I’ve seen shit hit the fan more times than I can count.” You twist your fingers, feeling the tension between wanting him and feeling hesitant. “But dating someone in the industry… I don’t know if I’m cut out for that.”

His shoulders drop a little, and he sighs. “Yeah… I figured.” He lets out a rough laugh, though it’s clear he’s disappointed. “Not the first time this has happened, or the last, probably. I just… I guess I was hopin’ this would be different.”

“It’s not about you, or… or the work. I don’t care that you’re in porn.” you say gently. “It’s just the idea of dating someone who—well, you know.”

He lets out a sigh, a heavy, defeated sound, and his eyes meet yours. “I know, nena, trust me. It’s a lot. I’m not holding it against you.” His hand runs over his face, frustration tightening his jaw. “It’s just…disappointing as fuck, but I get it.”

Before he can sink too deeply into the regret, of thinking he’s wasted a night taking you out, you reach out, catching his wrists and gently pulling his hands down. You’re close enough now to feel his breath brush across your cheek, and you hold his gaze, fierce and a little daring.

You’d be fucking stupid to walk away from all this without knowing what it feels like to kiss him, the man who’s wound you up so tight and left you as breathless as he has conflicted.

Slowly, you place his hands on your waist, leaning in until your lips barely touch his, your breath mingling together. You can practically feel his heart beating against his chest.

“Kiss me, Javi,” you murmur.

There’s no hesitation. His mouth meets yours, warm and certain, sending a spark through every nerve. His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you closer, and you lose yourself in him.

Javier’s mouth moves against yours like he’s savoring every second, his lips plush and gentle, taking his time. 

It’s all so new, so beautifully unhurried.

You meet his pace, moving your lips softly, feeling the slight press and release. When he parts from you slightly, you’re already missing the taste of his mouth, chasing after him.

Then he tilts his head and leans in again, deepening the kiss, his lips fitting against yours with more purpose. He presses closer, his body warm and solid, and you feel his tongue swipe slowly across your lower lip.

A shiver runs through you as you part your lips for him, and the moment his tongue dips into your mouth, a soft moan escapes you, helpless against the sensation.

The sound seems to set something off inside him. Suddenly, the kiss grows hot and urgent, his hands gripping your hips as if he’s afraid to let go, kneading the flesh there while his mouth moves against yours with a new hunger.

Your own hands find their way to his jaw, your fingers sliding up to frame his face, desperate to bring him closer, needing the taste of him to linger.

The feel of his mustache brushes against your sensitive skin adds an edge that only heightens every sensation he’s bestowing on you.

Your tongue meets his, every glide and stroke of it fueling an ache that spreads through you, heat pooling as your teeth clash slightly, both of you pouring months of pent-up desire and frustration into this kiss.

His hold on your waist tightens as your hands slide up to tangle in his hair, tugging at it, and he lets out a low, guttural grunt that gets your bones vibrating.

In one swift movement, Javier maneuvers you, switching positions so that your back is pressed against the hood of his truck.

The cool metal beneath you contrasts with the heat of his body, and one of his hands slides from your waist, strong and possessive, until it grips the plushness of your thigh, hitching it over his hip and pulling your core against his.

The friction, the way his body aligns so perfectly with yours, ignites every nerve in your body.

You gasp against his mouth when his hard length presses against your clothed cunt, right where you need him most. The pressure sends a surge of arousal pooling low in your belly, and you arch into him, craving his intensity.

Your own hands roam, sliding to his jaw, feeling the scratch of his stubble against your palm, then his back, his shoulders, reveling in the feel of him. His mouth moves from your lips to your jaw, tracing a slow, wet line down to your neck, where he leaves a trail of heated kisses that have you gasping for air. 

The burn in your lungs is nothing compared to the ache building between your legs, an ache that only grows sharper every time he ruts his hips against yours.

“Gonna make me cum in my pants kissin’ me like that,” he mumbles against your neck..

He drags his lips back up, brushing his nose against yours, coaxing you into another kiss—this one softer, more controlled, yet no less potent.

You’re breathless when you part again, but it’s as though your body doesn’t care, desperate to keep feeling him against you.

When he reaches the curve of your breasts, he pauses, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses over the swells, grazing the sensitive skin with his teeth just enough to make you shiver.

“Please, Javi,” you murmur, though you’re not even sure what you’re asking for. All you know is that you’re floating in this thick haze of desire, utterly lost in him, the feel of his lips, the intoxicating drag of his teeth against your skin.

His mouth curls into a smirk against your collarbone, and he lifts his head slightly, his hand sliding over the fabric of your top, shifting it down until your breasts are bared to the cool night air.

You gasp, eyes widening, instinctively sitting up straighter, a half-laugh, half-nervous glance flicking around your surroundings, instinctively pulling him closer to shield you.

His dark eyes meet your gaze, a flicker of mischief swirling with the lust there.

“Here? What if someone sees us?” you breathe, heart thudding in your chest as the chill hardens your nipples to sensitive peaks.

“No one’s gonna bother us, nena, te lo prometo.” Before you can respond, his mouth is on your neck, placing a soft, slow kiss there, licking a stripe and tasting your perfume.

His hands find your breasts, fingers curling around the supple skin, his thumbs brushing your nipples in languid circles that have you melting against him, your breath catching with each teasing stroke.

It’s impossible to focus on anything when Javier’s so in tune with every inch of your body, instinctively reading each gasp and shiver.

His hands are so skilled, cupping, squeezing, until one trails along your waist, playing with your pretty skirt with a firm, claiming touch.

It's the perfect push and pull that floods your senses with him, until you’re completely lost.

His scent fills your lungs, his taste lingers on your tongue, feeling his perfect fucking body against you, hearing his subtle grunts, your vision glazed over with tears of pleasure from how he’s making you feel. 

He watches your reactions, eyes dark and filled with a simmering hunger as you lean flat against the hood of the truck, giving him access.

His mouth descends again, and he looks up at you when he’s reached your breasts. “Not gonna fuck you, since I’m bein’ a gentleman and all,” he murmurs, the words hot against your skin, “but I am gonna get you off just by playin’ with your tits.”

The whimper you let out is animalistic, your legs wrapping around his waist, pressing him closer.

Javier’s mouth is unrelenting, lips wrapping around your nipple with a hot, wet pressure that sends electric jolts straight to your cunt.

His tongue swirls over the sensitive peak, teasing it, as his teeth scrape the aching bud ever so lightly, making you gasp. Then he shifts, sinking his mouth lower to nip, to suck harder, his fingers coming up to twist your other nipple roughly, pinching and tugging at it, making you cry and writhe beneath him.

“Oh fuck that feels so good.” You can’t help but be so vocal and he loves it, the sound of your voice doing just as much to get him off in the same way that his mouth doesn’t let up on your tits.

His other hand is no less demanding, gripping your thigh and ass with rough squeezes, the heat of his touch spreading through the thin barrier of your skirt. When he smacks your flesh, the jolt arches your back off the hood of the truck, pulling a breathy moan from your lips that has him smirking against your chest.

You’re soaked, and he can feel it, his cock pressing insistently against the heat of your clothed pussy as your hips grind down onto him, building a rhythm that he matches with his mouth.

His tongue circles, flicks, and finally he pulls at the hard peak with his teeth, sending another shockwave through your body that has you rolling your hips, more wildly against him.

He pulls back just enough, a string of saliva still connecting him to you as he murmurs, “Baby, just with the way you’re movin’ your hips, I can tell you ride cock like a fuckin’ champ.”

His praise lights you up, fueling your need. Your fingers tangle in his hair as you pull him back to your chest. 

He groans, his mouth latching onto your other breast with fervor, tongue flicking over your nipple rapidly before he pulls it into his mouth, the wet sounds of his lips smacking against your flesh, working your sensitive and pert nipples is filthy and obscene in the best way possible.

“So good, Javi… I’m so close,” you manage, the words spilling out unbidden.

He lets out a low groan as he adjusts the angle of your hips, pressing you firmly against his erection. The new angle grinds perfectly against your clit, drawing you deeper into the pleasure until it’s all-consuming, each nerve tuned only to him.

“Oh, god… Javi,” you gasp, feeling the familiar coil of pleasure tighten, your orgasm creeping closer with every pull, every flick, every grind.

Your body is on fire, trembling as you near the edge, your breaths coming in gasps as you hump him, completely lost to the intensity building.

Javier’s mouth alternates between your breasts, each suck and bite tugging moans out of you until you feel like you might lose it.

When his lips finally find yours again, his fingers replace his mouth on your chest, rough and insistent as they pinch and twist your sensitive nipples.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth, deepening the kiss while your body trembles, your jaw slack as you melt into him, moaning his name into his mouth as your orgasm breaks over you in a helpless wave of bliss.

Your body locks up, head canting back and hitting the material beneath you with a gentle thump as you wail his name out into the night. 

“That's right, baby, just like that,” he murmurs, his praise and gentle kisses softening the overstimulation into something even more intoxicating.

His mouth trails over your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, every kiss pressing into your flushed skin while spots of pleasure blur your vision.

As you go limp against the cool hood, Javier’s touch softens on your chest, his fingers now gently kneading the sensitive flesh while he eases you back down, his lips trailing tender kisses over each swell before pulling your top back into place.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his deep inhale followed by warm, nipping kisses, his mustache scratching your skin just enough to bring out a fresh shiver from you.

“Javi,” you whimper, barely catching your breath, utterly wrecked and starstruck, amazed that he brought you so much pleasure by just teasing your breasts and rutting against you.

“Yeah?” His voice is a husky rasp, a hint of satisfaction at his lips.

You giggle, breathless, “I… don’t even know…” You laugh again, and he joins in, that low laugh rumbling in his chest as he cups your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“You enjoy that?” He tilts his head to the side, smugly grinning down at you.

“What do you think?” you tease back, still panting, eyes half-lidded.

You can’t help but admire how sexy he looks with his swollen lips and mussed hair. 

“Wait you didn't finish—” You murmur, beginning to reach down to toy with his belt, but he catches your hand gently.

“Don’t worry about me, nena.” His gravelly voice reassures you. “Seein’ you like this is enough for me.” 

You frown, feeling like you should do something for him, but before you can argue, he’s leaning down to kiss you again, over and over, until you’re both sinking into another slow, heated makeout session under the open sky, everything else fading away.

You’re standing in front of your door, the glow of your porch light casting soft shadows over the two of you. “Thanks for tonight; I had a great time,” you say, though your legs still feel shaky from what happened earlier. 

Javier’s eyes linger on you, “Thank you for letting me take you out,” he says, his tone soft. “Even if… things aren’t ending the way I’d hoped.”

A frown flickers on your face, but you keep your tone light, forcing a gentle laugh.“We can still be friends, you know? That’s one hell of an improvement from where we started.”

But your attempt to ease the tension doesn’t reach him; his expression remains fixed, serious.

“I don’t think I can just be friends with you.”

Then he goes and says something stupid like that. 

“So, what now?” you ask, voice sharper than you meant, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “We just… go our separate ways? Pretend none of this ever happened?”

He looks down, his jaw tense, and the silence that follows is thick, each second feeling like an eternity. His eyes meet yours and he sighs.

“I guess so.”

You release a bitter huff, shaking your head as you turn away, rummaging in your purse for your keys.

Fine. Fine. If that’s the way he wants it, you’ll let it be.

He calls your name, his voice slipping through your defenses like a last-ditch plea, making your shoulders tense. You ignore him, wrestling down the tide of frustration and vulnerability clawing its way back up.

You’d told yourself you didn’t want to get involved with him from the start, and now it feels like you should have stuck to your guns. Would have been easier to just tell him to kiss your ass that day he came into the bar, seducing you in your apartment, then asking you out on a date that ultimately meant nothing.

You find your keys and jam them into the lock, refusing to look back.

The second time he says your name, it’s firmer, and you whirl around to face him.

“Javier, listen—before tonight, I didn’t think there was a chance in hell I’d ever be into you. But I gave you a shot, and turns out, you’re not that bad. You’re actually pretty fucking sweet,” you confess, half-laughing, but it’s tinged with the bitterness that you feel. “And maybe if things were different, I could see us together. But things aren’t different. They’re the same as they always have been, and I won’t make you choose between me and your job.”

“I could quit—”

You let out a laugh, loud and unfiltered. “And do what? You’re damn good at what you do, Javi. I’ve seen it firsthand, and yeah, most of the time it’s some pretty raunchy shit, but there’s something almost… artistic in it, and I’d feel selfish as hell if I was the reason you gave that up.”

He places his hands on his hips, shifting his weight, exasperation written in every taut line of his body. “Do I need to remind you that I’m a grown-ass man who can make his own decisions? I’m starting to hate this job, and I want you.  I don’t care if I have to work a hundred side gigs. If that’s what it takes for you to be mine, I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

The weight of his confession makes your grip on the doorknob tighten, his words sinking deeper than you want them to.

“Javi, please, think this through—”

“You sound like my agent,” he interrupts with a dry laugh, flexing his jaw. “I’ve thought about it. It’s all I can think about. I can’t even keep my cock hard enough to fuck the girls on set anymore, and like I told you before—I’m not taking pills for that shit.”

He steps closer, and you feel a pang in your chest as his hand brushes yours, his gaze desperate, pleading with you to see him the way he sees you.

But it’s messy and it’s hard, and even if it’s everything you didn’t know you wanted, you’re terrified it might be everything you don’t know how to hold onto.

His hands slide up, fingers splaying gently over your cheeks, holding you as if he’s anchoring himself. “Please stop fighting me on this,” he murmurs insistently. “I know what I want, and it’s you.”

The intensity in his eyes roots you in place, brown and warm and so damn certain it’s almost overwhelming. You’re taken aback by the softness in his touch, by how steady his hands feel against your face.

He’s usually much braver in action than in words, and yet here he is, unwavering.

“And you’re sure?” you whisper, not sure you can even trust yourself to hold up your guard.

“Si, nena.” There’s no hesitation, no doubt, just a rock-solid conviction that somehow soothes your racing heart. 

“You’re not gonna regret this down the line? Not even a little?”

“Absolutely not.” His answer is quick and firm, like he’s spent every minute leading up to this one, getting ready to say it.

Oh, fuck. With him looking at you like that, you know you don’t really have any other choice but to give Javier Peña a shot at being your boyfriend.

“Okay… okay, Javi, fine. We’ll see where this goes, but if you start having even one doubt—”

He doesn’t let you finish, cutting you off with his mouth on yours, pulling you close in a kiss that’s somehow even more intense than you were expecting.

It’s deep and consuming, worlds away from anything you’ve ever felt, like he’s pouring everything he has into it, and you can’t help but lose yourself in him like you have been since the moment things shifted in your dynamic.

When you finally come up for air, foreheads resting against each other, you’re both a little breathless, eyes shining with adoration.

“So...we’re doing this?” he asks, a crooked smile on his face that makes him look boyish and so damn pretty.

“I guess we are.”

“Does that mean I can come inside?” And with the way his lips quirk up into a cocky smile, you know exactly what this motherfucker means.

“Nope, we’re taking things slow… and I’m not fucking you until you get tested.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, “Fair enough. I can work with that.”

You kiss again, his mouth soft and so damn inviting that it takes all your willpower to pull yourself back before you’re tempted to give in right here, in the doorway. “Alright, Javi,” you murmur, feeling his breath linger against your lips as he bites playfully at your lower lip before letting you go. “Goodnight.”

He’s grinning, and it’s that smile that has a way of melting everything inside you. “Goodnight, nena. I’ll call you, set up our second date. Soon.”

The giddiness hits you hard—like back when Frankie was all about pursuing you, only it’s different this time and you don’t know why.

‘“I’ll be waiting.”

He quirks a brow. “I won’t make you wait too long.”

One last, lingering kiss and he’s gone, leaving you at the door, flushed, breathless, and completely jumbled in the best way possible.

“It feels weird being on this side of the bar,” you say, settling onto a barstool across from Connie. Javier slides into the stool next to you, immediately pulling you closer, his hand warm and possessive on your thigh.

“If you’re here to flaunt your relationship, you should start charging for it—I know I’d pay to see it,” Connie teases with a wink, already preparing your usual drink and turning to Javier. “And what about you?”

“Whiskey. Neat,” he answers, then leans into you, his voice a murmur by your ear, his hand slipping higher up your thigh, sneaking under the hem of your dress. “She does have a point, though.”

You smirk, pretending to ignore the way his fingers are trailing dangerously close to your panties. “Not sure I’d be any good on camera. Not like you, anyway.”

He chuckles and you can feel the heat between you two, that ever-present hum of lust you’ve been riding since the night he first kissed you.

It’s been blissful a month of dating Javier, and being with him is like no relationship you’ve had before.

You’ve found so much joy in the simplest moments with him—like when he fixes the little issues around your apartment that your landlord could care less about, or, the lively debates you have in the grocery store aisles, passionately debating which brand of coffee is better. 

Sure, you still haven’t officially slept with him, but that hasn’t stopped either of you from exploring each other. He’s kept his promise to make you feel amazing, finding delicious ways to learn your body without actually crossing that line.

It has only made everything feel deeper, sweeter. The way you make out like teenagers, unraveling each other in all the ways that matter, has been more than enough.

It wasn’t until a few days ago that you finally returned the favor, slipping into the shower with him and blowing his mind in every sense of the word, until he was helplessly spilling down your throat. Your jaw’s still a little sore from how eagerly you’d gone down on him, the memory of his breathless groans seared in your mind. 

Tonight, he’d asked you to be his girlfriend, officially. He’d planned this whole evening at a rooftop restaurant, it was a little too fancy, but he looked at you like he couldn’t believe his luck.

The restaurant itself was overpriced and borderline ridiculous, but you two had made a game of it, teasing and laughing over the small portions and the pretentious plating. 

He even surprised you with a beautiful pair of earrings that you immediately put on, and he looked so damn proud when you showed them off.

Now you’re here at Lucky’s, both of you a bit overdressed, not ready to call it a night yet.

You can feel Javier’s gaze on you, intense and unwavering. “Baby, you’d be a fucking sight,” he says, teeth grazing your earlobe before he bites down gently, his warm breath tickling your skin and sending a shiver through you. You can’t help but giggle, feeling breathless and flushed as he plants a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Why are you two all dressed up?” Connie asks, setting your drinks down with a raised brow.

“Went out for dinner at the most overpriced spot I’ve ever set foot in. Easily spent my entire Friday night’s tips, and I’m still hungry.”

“Not only does that sound like a waste of time, but it’s definitely not your style.”

Javier leans back, one arm draped over your barstool. “To clarify: she didn’t spend a damn dime,” he interjects, “I had to take her somewhere special to ask her to be my girl,” he says, voice dripping with smooth confidence as he raises his glass for a sip.

Connie’s eyes light up, and your cheeks flush. “Consistent dick is the ultimate antidepressant. Trust me, I’d know,” she says with a wink.

You laugh at her bluntness, and fall into an easy rhythm of conversation, her giving updates on things with Steve, then gushing over the earrings Javier had gifted you earlier.

Just as you’re leaning in to admire them together, you notice a figure approaching. A woman, older and stunningly beautiful, glides up to the bar—her gaze fixed squarely on Javier.

“Javier, is that you?” Her voice is low, sultry, every word dripping with familiarity as she slides up beside him, her gaze unmistakably hungry. “Dios mío, mira qué guapo te has puesto, mi amor.”

Your head snaps up, conversation with Connie dissolving as Javier stands, greeting her with a hug that makes you do a double take.

You share a look with Connie, her expression mirroring the curious frown you feel. She raises her brows, silently mouthing, Who is that?

I don’t know, you mouth back, jealousy twisting in your stomach as you glance back at them.

They part, but her hands linger a moment too long on his chest, her manicured fingers trailing down. Javier very politely but firmly moves them away, a small frown creeping onto her face.

“Judy, long time no see.” His tone is courteous but distant. “This is my girlfriend,” he says, his voice warm as he makes the introduction, stepping back to your side, positioning you squarely in her line of sight.

You’re about to revel in the term girlfriend rolling so easily off his tongue, but her eyes lock onto you with a chill that runs down your spine. Standing your ground, you straighten, meeting her gaze head-on.

She’s stunning, her hair tastefully graying in elegant streaks against her rich brunette, her makeup precise and expensive. The smile lines around her mouth only enhance her aging beauty and if it weren’t for the absolute diabolical vibes you’re getting from her, you would have complimented how good she looks.

The tailored outfit, chunky gold bracelets, diamond-studded earrings and matching necklace leave no question—she has money.

What she’s doing at a dive bar like Lucky’s is beyond you, but maybe LA has its fill of pretentious types everywhere.

“Encantada,” she purrs, a fake smile flashing across her face before her focus shifts back to Javier. “¿Tienes novia? No lo puedo creer, Javiercito. Nunca me lo imaginé de ti.¿Sigues actuando?”

Her words drip with disbelief, her eyes giving you a nasty once over, and you catch enough Spanish to know she’s making a point to speak only to him. It’s like you’re just a side note, something to size up and dismiss.

Javier shifts, catching the tension in your posture, but she’s unrelenting. He responds curtly, “No, not with others. More solo work now.”

She scoffs, a haughty tsk of disapproval as she tilts her head.“No me digas que tu noviecita no te deja.” A mocking pout twists her lips. “Mija, if you’re going to date a pornstar, you’re going to have to deal with the baggage that comes with it. You don’t just get to benefit from him, from what I taught him.”

A flush of fury burns through you, and you’re on the verge of standing up, ready to beat her ass for her audacity. But Javier senses it and steps in, fingers pressing gently but firmly against your thigh, silently calming you down before you do something that’ll make him have to bail you out.

“It was my choice. Gig isn’t fun anymore,” he says firmly, a hint of irritation finally creeping into his tone. “We’re actually in the middle of a date, so if you wouldn’t mind leaving us to it…”

She glances between the two of you, clearly displeased at being dismissed but not quite willing to push her luck. Her smile turns syrupy, and you roll your eyes, signaling Connie for another drink. She’s failing miserably at pretending like she’s not listening in. 

“Of course,” she says in a sugary tone, eyes lingering on him.“Provecho. Si cambias tu mente, sabes donde encontrarme, Javi. We used to have so much fun together.” Her fingers trace down his arm a little too slowly, and she practically purrs, “Enjoy your date, sweetheart,” as she struts off, hips swinging with exaggerated flair.

But his eyes don’t follow, they turn to you.

Once she’s out of earshot, you raise a brow, waiting for some explanation. “So… who was that?” you ask as he sits back beside you, tossing back the last of his drink.

“An old colleague,” he says flatly.

You feel another surge of jealousy, and the second your drink arrives, you’re downing it in one go.

“Woah, nena, take it easy—”

“Is that normal for you?” you ask, unable to hide the irritation bubbling up. “Having fans… ‘colleagues’ just approach you out of nowhere, all of them ready to fuck?” You know your tone’s more annoyed than you intended, but the image of her hands all over him pisses you off.

He studies you, cautious, as if measuring his words. “Honestly? Yes. I’m very popular, baby,” he says with a crooked smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “I thought you knew that.”

You let out a sigh, guilt creeping in for directing your irritation at him. “I know… I do. There’s just a difference between knowing and actually experiencing it.” You try to keep the bite out of your tone. “It’s not like she was being subtle either. Looked like she was two seconds away from spreading herself out for you right here.”

There’s definitely an adjustment that still needs to be made in terms of dating a pornstar.

“I’ll be better about shutting them down,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Even if you do look hot when you’re jealous.”

You try to suppress a smile, rolling your eyes as he leans closer, brushing his lips along your bare shoulder, then trailing up to your neck, melting your frustration just a bit. He’s too good at this.

“I wasn’t jealous,” you lie, glancing sideways at him. “Also didn’t peg you as an ‘older women’ guy. I’ve only ever seen you with the younger girls.” Saying it even makes you cringe.

As if on cue, Connie, ever the observant bartender, swoops in with replacement drinks, eyebrows raised knowingly. “Everything good over here? I don’t need to call an ambulance or anything, right?”

You snort out a laugh, shaking your head. “No, Con, we’re fine.”

“Even though I wouldn’t mind seeing her kick some ass.” Javier teases.

She laughs, nodding at you. “Oh, you want to see her fight? Be here during a major sports event. Last year during March Madness, she gave this guy a black eye ‘cause he called her a cunt when she accidentally changed the channel, then ended up going toe-to-toe with his girlfriend.”

Javier raises his brows at you. “Seriously?”

You shrug, unfazed. “They asked for it.”

As Connie gets pulled away by some patrons at the other end of the bar, Javier turns to you, his expression shadowed and a bit more serious than before.

“When I first started, my confidence was shot. I’m talkin’ nonexistent,” he admits, his voice low.

You arch a brow, struggling to picture a less-than-assured Javier Peña. “Really? I’m having a hard time imagining that.”

“Yeah, well…” He lets out a rough sigh, “When your fiancée gets knocked up and leaves you at the altar for the guy she’s been cheating on you with, that tends to happen.”

You choke on your drink, and your hand flies to your chest, eyes wide. He glances at you, his concern slipping past his own discomfort for a second. You wave him off as you try to get it together, the words still rattling around in your mind.

“Sorry—what?” you finally manage, hardly believing what you just heard.

“Didn’t mean to dump it on you like that,” he says, leaning on the bar, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat on the counter, his gaze cast downward.

“Hold up. You were engaged?” You can’t help but lean in, your curiosity clawing to the surface. “And she left you?” You’re struggling to piece it all together, mind spinning through images of the man sitting next to you, younger and heartbroken.

“Yeah,” his jaw twitches. “Her name was Lorraine. We were high school sweethearts—whole ‘marry your first love’ thing.” There’s a hard edge in his voice now, his fingers gripping the glass a bit tighter. “Thought I’d have the life, fill a house with kids, do the whole all-American family bullshit.” His words are bitter, the resentment so clear you almost feel it yourself. 

He takes a breath, rubbing the back of his neck before continuing. “Wedding day comes around and she’s gone. Left some half-assed note saying she ‘couldn’t do it,’ and her sister finally broke down and told me what was really going on. She’d been screwing her boss. He got her pregnant.”

There’s a crash behind the bar as a glass shatters. You glance over to see Connie, her face red, scrambling to clean it up with an embarrassed apology. You can’t blame her for listening in—you’re feeling a similar gut punch. 

You knew there was something that happened that made him jump the gun and move to California, now, you know what it is. An ain’t shit ex.

“Javi, that’s fucked. I can’t even begin to imagine how much that must have hurt.”

He gives a small nod, lifting his glass and taking a slow sip.

From where you’re sitting, you can see his profile in the low light—his strong nose, the gentle curve of his cheekbones, those lips that naturally form a pout when he’s deep in thought.

"I tried to keep it together, but that town became… suffocating. The looks I got…” Javier’s voice trails off as he shakes his head. “So I packed my shit, said goodbye to my pops, and just started driving. Stopped in all sorts of places, did some sightseeing, trying to figure things out.” A hint of a smile plays on his lips. “Ended up here, and Steve was the first friend I made. That asshole’s the one who got me into porn.”

Your brows shoot up, surprised yet again by his story’s unexpected turns. “Steve? Oh god, don’t tell me he used to do it too.”

Javier smirks, amusement dancing in his eyes. “He did a few flicks. Nothing groundbreaking like me.” He says all cheekily, and you can’t help but nudge him. “So, yeah, I started out for a few bucks. Wasn’t so hot in the beginning—and then I met Judy.”

At the mention of her, your face twists involuntarily, and he notices but ignores your reaction. 

“She taught me most of what I know, and we shot a lot of projects together. People liked what they saw, and after a while, I started getting paired with older co-stars. That kinda became my thing. MILFs and cougars,” he says, his gaze tracing your features to gauge your response. 

You’re still reeling from everything he’s told you so far, marveling at the many lives this man has lived before finding his way to you. “That explains a lot, actually,” you say, your thoughts slipping out with your words.

It now makes sense why he’s so damn good at foreplay. Skills like his? They’re honed under women who know exactly what the fuck they’re talking about, who aren’t shy to take what they need.

Suddenly, your own insecurities begin to simmer and you wonder if you’ll ever amount to the women before you.

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Yeah? Like what?”

You glance up, unflinching. “Like the fact that you can fuck.” Your bluntness pulls a laugh out of both of you—his full of mischief, yours tinged with nerves.

“Not a problem, is it?” he asks, that signature smirk softened, yet curious.

It’s a loaded question, so you take a sip, buying a little time before answering. “What, that you can fuck?”

He laughs again, more genuine this time, a sound that melts some of the tension inside you.

“No, nena,” he replies, still grinning. “Everything else.”

The laughter fades, and for a moment, you sit in the quiet, watching tiny droplets slide down the condensation on your glass.

You take a deep breath, bracing yourself for honesty. “It’s not a problem, Javi. But… if I’m being real with you, I don’t feel up to par with what you’re used to.”

You can tell from the way his face falls into a scowl that he doesn’t like how you’ve phrased it. “What I have with you is different, cariño. Not something scripted for a camera.” 

“I know that, but still. You’re used to professionals—people who know exactly what to do, how to look, how to please. Me?” You let out a shaky laugh, grimacing at your self deprecation, and your gaze falls to the drink in your hand. “You’re lucky if I even get on top.”

As the last word falls, your cheeks flush with embarrassment, feeling raw and exposed at a fucking dive bar.

Before you can turn further away, Javier leans in close, gently catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His expression is nothing but tender, his dark eyes soft.

“Hey, stop that,” he murmurs, his voice so gentle it’s almost a whisper. “You’re more than enough. Trust me.” His fingers stroke softly along your jaw, lingering. “I wasn’t looking for a waxed-up, camera-ready professional. I wanted something real and I found you.”

Your heart stirs at the depth in his voice. He lets out a small breath, his thumb brushing the curve of your cheek. “I know you’ve got your hang-ups, and I get it. I’ve been there. It’s… hard to feel like you’re enough when you’re constantly comparing yourself to people who don’t even matter. But I’m tellin’ you, baby, it shouldn’t be like that with us.”

He shifts a little closer, his gaze earnest. “I’ll help you feel more confident the way someone once did for me. But the difference? I’m givin’ you everything. Not just sex, not just some half-hearted attempt. I’m here—all in.”

You swallow the mix of emotions he’s just poured into you—gratitude, desire, and a newfound trust that fills the spaces where your insecurities had settled.

Your eyes search his, words catching in your throat as you try to express everything you’re feeling. But instead of speaking, you reach for the hand at your face, your stare steady as you quietly murmur, “Let’s go upstairs.”

You stumble through the door, bodies pressed close as you and Javier crash into the walls of your apartment, lips never parting for more than a heartbeat.

Your hands roam each other’s bodies, his fingers tracing down your spine, your own tugging eagerly at his shirt, popping buttons until it falls open, greedily feeling up on his warm and toned chest.

His belt follows, clinking to the floor, and as you kick off your heels, you barely register the sound of them hitting the ground—lost in the heavy rhythm of your pulse, the taste of his mouth, the roughness of his scruff.

He sinks down onto the edge of your bed, and you move to straddle him, but he catches you just in time, leaning back a bit with a smirk. “Take your dress off…” he orders, his voice gravelly as his eyes travel hungrily over you, biting his lower lip.

Your heart races as you take a few steps back, antsy fingers reaching for the zipper at your side.

“Slowly,” he adds, and you slow down, teasing him as you draw the zipper down until your dress is loose against your skin.

Holding it to your chest with one hand, you turn around, letting it slip and fall in a gentle whisper to the floor, leaving you standing in just your underwear.

His satisfied hum makes you shiver, and you feel his gaze burn down your back, over the curve of your hips, your thighs.

Looking over your shoulder with a flirty smile, you catch his eye, and he grins in return.

“Turn around, baby, let me see you.”

You turn to face him, nerves quieted by the way he’s looking at you—as if he’s seeing you naked for the first time.

He lets out a soft, almost reverent groan, then extends his hands, urging you closer. You step forward, your hands finding his shoulders as you finally straddle his lap, his warmth searing through you. 

His mouth captures yours, rough hands sliding up to cup your breasts, teasing your nipples until you’re trembling, gasping against his lips as you remember what happened the last time he toyed with you like this.

“Javi…” you whisper his name, your voice barely a breath as you pull away just enough to speak, eyes meeting his. “I want you. All of you.” You lean in to kiss him again, fervent, moving to trail your lips along his jaw, nipping lightly.

“I want you to fuck me.” You say it firmly, leaving no room for doubt, wanting him to understand exactly what you need.

He groans deeply, his hands dropping to grip your ass and pull you closer. “Are you sure?” his nose brushes along your neck, his breath hot against your skin as you continue kissing along his jaw.

“Yes, Javi,” you breathe out, voice thick with need, “I need you so bad.”

With practiced ease, Javier shifts you onto your back, stretching out beneath him as he hovers close, his touch claiming every inch of exposed skin. His hands trail over you, hot and lingering, and you feel like you’re melting beneath him, completely under his control.

When he finally pulls away to slip out of his remaining clothes, you see his gaze wander, fixated on something by your bedside table.

Following his line of sight, you realize he’s locked onto the purple vibrator you’d left out after using it the other night when he wasn’t around, leaving you to fend for yourself.

A sly smile tugs at his lips as he reaches over, picking it up and turning it over in his hand. “This little thing gets you off?” he teases, holding it up as though he’s sizing up the competition.

You roll your eyes, wrapping your legs around him to pull him closer, but he resists, firmly planted just out of reach.“When I’m in a pinch, yes. Haven’t exactly needed it much lately, thanks to you.”

A thoughtful hum escapes him as he glances between you and the toy, as if weighing his options. Then, moving back over you, he kneels between your thighs, one hand gripping your hip possessively, teasing the band of your panties, while the other holds the vibrator with a wicked gleam. “I think we could put this to good use tonight.”

The spark of excitement floods through you, making your thighs tense instinctively, hips lifting slightly in response. Javier notices, his smirk widening as he lets the band of your panties snap back against your skin, making you gasp.

His eyes darken as he watches you writhe, clearly savoring your every little movement.

“Oh, yeah?” you manage to ask, your voice breathy with anticipation. “How?”

Instead of answering, he switches the toy on, and the low, steady hum fills the room. His eyes never leave you as he drags it lightly over your pelvis, nowhere close to where you ache for him, but enough to make your breath hitch, a soft moan slipping out as you arch into his touch.

His grip on your hip tightens. “Stay still,” he commands, using that sexy bedroom voice of his that’s even more gravelly and deeper than his usual cadence.

Obediently, you settle back, watching him with bated breath. He keeps the toy hovering just above your soaked panties, tantalizingly close to where you need him most.

When he finally presses it down on your clothed pussy, just enough to tease, you let out a low, pleading whimper, your hands gripping the sheets as he works you over in slow, cruel strokes.

His stare holds yours, a silent promise that tonight, he’s going to take his time, making sure you feel every single second of it.

Your breaths come out heavy and uneven, your whole body tensing as you fight the urge to grind up against it, trying to maintain some composure while he has you pinned down beneath that slow, teasing rhythm.

Javier moves the toy in tight, deliberate circles, dragging it excruciatingly slow over your needy clit, the first setting absolute torture.

He’s in no hurry, watching with intense focus as you tremble, his eyes tracing every twitch, every bead of arousal that weeps from your cunt, dampening the thin fabric even more.

He keeps that maddening pace, and as the vibrations ripple through you, you feel the familiar tightening in your belly, an orgasm coiling dangerously tight, ready to snap.

Your nails dig into the duvet, a strangled moan spilling from your lips. “Oh, fuck, Javi—I’m… I’m gonna come—”

But just as you reach that edge, he pulls the toy away and turns it off, leaving you gasping, the sensation dissipating as quickly as it built. Your eyes snap open and you sit up slightly, desperate and hazy, locking onto him. “What the fuck?”

“Shh,” he hushes you, though there’s no denying the look of satisfaction on his face. Javi brushes his lips over the corner of your mouth, calming you with a soft, feather-light kiss. “Just trust me, okay? You know I always take care of you.”

You do know. This man has pulled so many orgasms right out of your body without even fucking you with his dick. That reassurance melts away your frustration from being pulled back from the precipice. You nod, swallowing hard. “Okay.”

Your lips meet in a kiss that’s so intoxicating, tongues sliding against each other, his hand skipping down your side to the band of your panties.

Slowly, he drags the fabric down, his fingers gliding over your skin, leaving a blazing trail as they go.

When he finally discards your underwear, you’re left bare beneath him, exposed and aching, while he still wears that unbuttoned dress shirt, his slacks riding low on his hips, half undone.

It’s annoying how good he looks—just dressed enough to drive you wild with impatience.

He taps your knee, urging you to spread wider, his gaze fixed on you with unrestrained desire. And the way he looks at you—like you’re all he’s ever wanted—banishes every flicker of self-doubt, every whisper of insecurity.

You let yourself open up to him completely, your sticky, swollen pussy on full display, pulsing in anticipation, needing him more than words can say.

His eyes rake over you with reverence, dark and smoldering as he drinks in every inch of yourself that you’re offering to him, his chest rising and falling a little heavier. 

“Always so fuckin’ pretty,” he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss to your knee before settling back between your legs.

The vibrator flicks on again, and he traces it up your inner thighs, letting you tremble beneath his touch. You bite down hard on your lip, trying to hold back the urge to shout at him to stop playing around, to just give it to you.

Javier trails the toy along your slick lips, his gaze dark and hungry as your arousal drips out of your cunt, every inch of your body clenching with need. When he finally presses the vibrator to your clit, a shudder ripples through you, your back arching off the bed.

He groans low and deep, clearly savoring your reaction.

“Javi,” you moan, hips already grinding against the pressure as he keeps the vibrator in place, turning up the intensity to make you gasp, your body moving to meet it, demanding more.

“Feel good, baby?” he murmurs, his voice like smoke.

“Uh-huh,” you manage to get out, nodding feverishly, your eyes squeezed shut as you let the pleasure wash over you, helplessly rocking against him.

But just as you’re about to tip over the edge, he pulls it away.

Over and over, he teases, edging you with that relentless, maddening rhythm, each denial more tortuous than the last.

He alternates between fucking the toy inside you, pressing it against the fleshy cleft of your clit, and peppering soft, almost loving kisses down your body: your neck, your jaw, the valley between your breasts. His tongue traces your nipple in slow circles, flicking it just enough to drive you wild, until you’re a trembling, teary mess beneath him, desperate for release.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” he coos, stroking your cheek as he sets the vibrator to its highest setting, plunging it inside you. The wet, obscene sounds of your pussy crying around it only fuel his hunger as he watches your face.

You feel his fingers cup your jaw, firm and unyielding, his eyes blazing into yours as you cling to his touch, mascara running down your cheeks, feeling so utterly wrecked.

“Please, Javi… please let me come,” you beg, your voice ragged. But he just tightens his hold, fingers digging into the skin of your cheeks, pressing the toy in deep as his thumb circles your clit, leaving you breathless. 

“Just when you think you can let go… it’s snatched from you,” he whispers, ignoring your pleas, dragging you to the brink only to pull the vibrator away once again, leaving you a shaking, furious mess.

A strangled sound escapes your throat, torn between anger and need, barely feeling like yourself.

Javier chuckles, bending down to nip at your chin, his teeth grazing your skin before his tongue traces a line up your jaw. “That’s how you’ve been making me feel for months now, nena,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “Driving me fuckin’ crazy. It’s only fair that I make you feel even a fraction of it.”

“Y-You’re an asshole,” you try to retort, but your voice comes out barely above a whisper, your tone more a helpless whine than any real protest.

He grins, mocking your pout with one of his own, voice dripping with feigned sympathy. “Don’t say that, baby. You’re breakin’ my heart.” He brushes one last kiss against your lips, pulling back just as you lean into him, already aching to feel him close again, his warmth a cruel tease.

He undresses fully, and your mouth literally waters as your gaze traces the sculpted lines of his stomach, following the trail of hair that leads down to his thick, throbbing cock.

The head is swollen and red, already dripping with precome, and you can’t help the moan that slips from your lips, your hips shifting instinctively, every nerve ending primed and desperate for him. You’ve been dreaming about this moment for so long, craving it with every fiber of your being. 

You need to fuck this man.

As he climbs back over you, his hands reach to pull you closer, your legs wrapping around his waist as if they belong there, your hands clutching at the solid warmth of his shoulders.

You pull him down to you, your bare breasts pressed to the hard plane of his chest, as he balances himself with both hands planted beside your head, his eyes burning into yours. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice soft, and you nod, kissing the corner of his mouth before tangling your fingers in the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Mhm,” you breathe, staring up at him, completely wrecked and totally ready. “I’m just ready to take you, Javi. Need it so bad.”

He groans, the heat in his eyes darkening as he adjusts his hips, hovering right there, just out of reach. “Go ahead, baby, take it. Put it in.”

His words are like gasoline to a fire, and a shiver runs through you at the sheer, visceral need in his command.

Reaching down, your fingers wrap around his length, both of you gasping as you feel the heat and hardness of him pulsing in your hand. You squeeze gently, stroking him slowly, and he hisses, rolling his hips into your grip.

You swirl your thumb over the head, spreading the bead of precome across his skin, the silky-slick texture making you dizzy with anticipation.

Drunk on him, on everything he evokes in you, you guide the head of his cock to your soaked, swollen entrance, rubbing it slowly against your aching slit.

The sensation has you trembling, but when he finally pushes forward, easing himself into you, you let out a loud, breathless whine. The stretch of him is so perfect, so utterly fulfilling that your back arches, your toes curling as your head falls back into the sheets. 

“Oh, fuck—Javier, you feel so good,” you gasp, your walls clenching around him, holding him deep as your body adjusts to every thick, pulsing inch. It’s even better than you ever imagined.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and uneven as he thrusts forward, filling you to the hilt. “Nena,” he grunts, voice ragged, “I’m not gonna last—shit.” He sounds as wrecked as you feel, his hips pressing flush against yours as he sinks in deep, your inner walls gripping him as if you’ll never let him go.

“Please,” you whimper, grinding your hips up to meet him, urging him on. He sinks his teeth into the delicate skin of your neck, sucking until he’s left a mark, his mouth hot and relentless as he peppers kisses and bites along your throat.

He’s holding himself back, giving you a second to catch up, but every inch of you craves him.

“Give me, fuck, gimme a second,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your collarbone. He starts to move, his thrusts slow and controlled, his mouth capturing yours in a heated kiss, your bodies locked together as he builds a rhythm, deeper and more intense with every movement.

Your fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in as he grinds just right, the coarse hairs of his cock rubbing against your swollen clit, making you babble helplessly against his parted lips, your own pleasure climbing higher with each thrust. “Right there, Javi, right there—I’m so close, please…”

He speeds up, his strokes hard and unrestrained, driving you to the edge. But even as he tries to keep his control, you feel him faltering, his body tensing as the pleasure becomes too much.

“Fuck—puta madre, nenita—you feel so good—” His voice breaks, and he gives one, two, three hard thrusts, burying himself deep as his release finally takes over, his warm, pulsing release spilling into you as he groans loudly, hips grinding as he rides out the last waves of his orgasm.

Your chest heaves with every breath, your body still humming with tension. As much as you’re flattered by his performance, you’re left tingling, unfinished, after all the edging and teasing he put you through.

“Javi…” You murmur softly, your hands sliding from his tousled hair down his shoulders, the heat radiating off his skin. 

He responds with a low grunt, still draped over you, his weight grounding you.

“Javier,” you say again, a bit more insistently this time, and he lifts his head, eyes heavy and glazed, looking at you as if you’ve just broken him in the best way possible.

You’ve never seen him look this wrecked, his breath still uneven and his face flushed—all because of you. Fighting the urge to smirk, you can’t help but revel in the sight of him.

Men can be sensitive about finishing quickly, but he looks nothing but smug.

“Pussy’s too damn good, baby. Fuckin’ Christ,” he groans, a grin tugging at his lips, his words breathy and awed.

Now you let yourself smirk, feeling the flush of satisfaction. He nuzzles his nose against yours, murmuring, “Gotta make up for that.”

You raise a brow, intrigued. And then he’s moving, slowly pulling out of you, making you hum as the absence of him sends a small flutter through your sensitive cunt, his warm, milky cum trickling out and coating your thighs. 

With determination in his gaze, he begins his descent, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your sternum, his breath a delicious tease against your skin until he’s nestled between your legs.

His broad shoulders press your thighs open, and then he throws them over his shoulders, eyes locked on yours, his look nothing short of ravenous.

Javi nips and kisses along your inner thighs, each bite and lick sending sparks straight to your core. When he finally reaches your swollen, aching pussy, his thumbs slide over your folds, parting them to reveal the slick mess he left behind.

Then, you feel the first swipe of his tongue, warm and slow, tasting you both. His groan is deep and low, the sound vibrating against you as he begins to devour you, licking and slurping at your mixed arousal with a hunger that’s overwhelming. 

You can’t hold back—you’re too wound up, too sensitive, and you grab at his hair, your fingers twisting and tugging as your release crashes through you, every wave building on all the ones denied before. 

You’re left gasping, body arched and taut, thighs clamping around his head as you scream his name, mindlessly babbling through the pleasure.

“Javi! Fuck—fuck, yes, oh god—” 

He growls against you, mouth working as he drinks in every pulse, his tongue relentless as he wrings every last aftershock from your shaking body.

It’s beyond anything you’ve felt before, overwhelming and intense, leaving you utterly spent as you finally start to come down, your body melting beneath him, weak and utterly satisfied.

As he finishes devouring you between your thighs, you barely have a moment to catch your breath before he’s thrusting into you again, harder and deeper this time, with a fierce intensity that rips a loud, shameless cry from you.

Right, he’s got that pornstar stamina.

His hands grip your hips, pulling you up with him as he sits up, his brows knitted in concentration, his tongue peeking out as he watches you completely unravel around him.

“That’s right, baby,” he growls, “Gonna give me one more on my cock, show me how bad you wanted it.”

You used to roll your eyes at the exaggerated moans you’d hear on set, doubting anyone could actually be that good.

But he is that good. Beyond that good. He’s better.

Now here you are, body trembling, head thrown back, moaning his name so loudly it might echo through the whole building. Every hard thrust feels like it’s driving into the core of you, filling you so perfectly that the room spins. 

His grip tightens, hands splayed across your hips as he finds a rhythm that sends shocks of pleasure coursing through you. The thick drag of his cock hits every spot, and he knows just how to read every gasp, every shudder, adjusting his pace and angle to push you higher and higher. 

He pulls your legs up, folding them against your chest, his hips angled to grind against that one perfect spot that has stars dancing across your vision. You’re lost to him, mimicking those moans you used to scoff at, now higher and even more desperate as he laughs, deep and husky.

“Got you singin’ like a fuckin’ bird, nenita,” he teases, his laugh tapering off into a low groan. “And to think you didn’t want this. Now look at you—all fucked out and creamin’ on my cock”

Your bed creaks with every hard thrust, the scent of sex thick in the air, but all you can focus on is him—his rough hands, the way he looks down at you, utterly in control.

He’s all you can feel, all you can breathe, and as he digs his nails into the plush skin of your thighs, you know you’re on the edge, your pussy clenching tightly around him. 

Your gaze meets his, and somehow you manage a blissful, shaky smile, a small act of defiance just before he pushes you over.

“There she is,” he murmurs, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Come on, baby—let me feel it.”

“Javi… oh my fuck, I’m coming!” The words are a gasp, strangled and desperate, as your body locks around him, your orgasm crashing through you in waves that leave you breathless, gushing around his cock as every muscle in your body clenches tight.

It feels like you’ve drifted to the heavens, like he’s drawn out every last ounce of strength from you. 

You’re dazed, floating, but he’s still there, whispering to you, “Good girl, that’s it. I’ve got you,” his voice a warm balm as he slows his movements, matching the rhythm of your aftershocks, soothing you with each gentle thrust as he holds you close.

Your body shudders, tiny jolts of overstimulation sparking through you as he stays with you, coaxing you back down from the edge, until you’re nothing but a soft, sated mess in his arms.

He gently eases your legs down, pulling out of you with a slow, tender touch before settling by your side. 

His arms wrap around you, drawing you in close as you both lie there, utterly spent, skin warm and sticky from sweat and the lingering traces of your wild fucking.

His lips press a soft kiss to your forehead, and you let out a contented sigh, burrowing into his chest. You crave the solid weight of his body, the grounding warmth of him as you slowly come back to reality.

“You’re not real,” you mumble into his chest, your voice muffled but laced with awe. His chuckle vibrates against your cheek, a low, comforting sound that makes you smile even wider.

“I’m very real, and very yours, nena,” Javi replies, his hand drifting lazily up and down your back in gentle strokes that make you melt even further. The warmth of his words seeps into you, and your heart flutters.

You lift your head, resting your chin on his chest, and take a moment to really admire him: the deep brown of his eyes, the dark sweep of his lashes, the fullness of his mustache, and that defined jaw you love tracing your fingers along.

Your hands wander, tracing faint shapes on his shoulders, running over the hard lines of his triceps, relishing the feel of him beneath your fingers.

“I need a shower. And to change these sheets,” you murmur, glancing around at the disheveled bed.

“Yeah, someone made quite the mess,” he teases, pinching your ass, which makes you yelp and swat his chest with a playful smack.

“Asshole,” you grumble, but he just laughs, leaning down to capture your lips in a kiss that’s softer, and you melt into him all over again.

“I’ll go start the shower for you, then change the sheets while you’re in there.”

“Catering to my every whim already? I just became your girlfriend,” you tease.

“Yeah, and I’m trying to keep it that way for the foreseeable future,” he says, brushing a quick, sweet kiss on the tip of your nose before slipping away from you.

You can’t help the little pout that forms as he sits up, rolling his shoulders back, his muscles jolting, which makes you weak in the knees.

You watch him as he moves throughout your room then into your bathroom, your eyes trailing over every muscle, every line of his body, unable to resist biting your lip.

He really is gorgeous—so damn hot—and he’s all yours.

🏷️ : @almostempty . @magneticecstasy . @thundermartini . @auteurdelabre . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @dontlookatme121 . @cherrysugarx . @half-moon16 . @dinanabuu . @sunshinefive . @angiewatson .

@pasc4lfuzz . @sjc7542 . @almostfoxglove . @shy-taylorsversion . @theredvelvetbitch . @xxbadchoicexx . @lumpatto . @haylee-e . @guelyury . @doblasftcisco . @ashhlsstuff . @kluvspedro . @goodvibesonly421 . @maladptivedaydreaming .

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Stolen Goods 3

Warnings: noncon and other dark elements. As usual, be mindful of your content consumption.

Ft. Lloyd Hansen, petite!pregnant reader

I also beg of you to leave me some tuppence in the form of a comment and/or reblog. You are cherished!

Enjoy, my loverlies.

You hit the back of the trunk with your fist, the tires put to the limit as the man drives without caution. He's honked several times and screeched to many jarring halts. You're trapped in more than just that compartment, bouncing around with the groceries, you're enshrined in a fervour of fear and despair. 

Why is this happening to you? Who is this man? What is he going to do to you? 

Well, what has he already done? 

“Please, sir, I won't tell anyone,” you beg through the back seat, "please. Just take me back--" 

"Do you like classic rock? Jazz?" He asks as the car swerves and he switches lanes. Holy shoot, is he on the highway?  

"What? Please, I promise--" 

"You're distracting me, sweet stuff, you're gonna get us both pancaked by a sixteen-wheeler," he clucks, "just calm down and enjoy the music." 

He flips on the stereo and the local pop station plays. He hums along for a moment, "Ariana, nice." He turns up the familiar top ten and you whimper. 

This is surreal. You really can't believe it. It all happened so quickly. The way he touched you, the way you just stood there and let it happen, then how he just locked you in here! Who does that? Who lets someone do that? Who doesn't raise her voice and tell him to stop? Or ignore him and get in the car and drive away? 

You. You're stupid. You should have been patient and waited for Jake. You should have done so much differently.  

Your tears spring as easily as ever. Your hormones have you always ready to overflow and now seems as suiting as that cat food commercial. You crumble completely, giving up on begging, and bawl. You're going to die, your baby too. 

Maybe that's your fault too. You were so scared when you saw the positive. When you realised the condom broke. There was that split second you wished it wasn't true. When you hoped that it might undo itself. Then you wanted it. You still do. Your baby. Things aren't perfect but you can make them better. 

You jostle with the paper bags, wallowing in your resignation and dread. Time throttles you until it feels like the whole world is on your chest. You hug your belly and apologise to your child. You're supposed to take care of them. 

When the car stops, the sudden dearth of sound slaps you in the face. You sniffle and listen with breath bated. The driver's side opens and dips. He stands and his footfalls stride undaunted towards the trunk. 

You brace yourself. You can't give up yet. The lock clicks and the lid lifts. You push it up before he can open it all the way but he has his hand on your neck before you can leap out. 

"Oh, baby cakes," he squeezes and you cough, "you don't think I'm that stupid, do you?" 

The dimming sky shrouds his figure and he puts cold metal to your cheek, "you don't wanna get yourself hurt. Or the kid, huh?" He presses the metal barrel firmly to your temple, "I don't wanna hurt you either but you gotta give a little." 

"S-sorry," you choke out and latch onto his thick wrist, teetering on your knees as the rest against the edge of the trunk, "I---I--" 

"I know, baby. You're scared. Change is terrifying but I heard you talking to the deadbeat," he pulls the gun away and holsters it. He eases you forward and helps you put your feet to the ground. He keeps a strong hold on you, "you can do better." He smirks, "hi, I'm better, but you can call me Lloyd." 

You gape at him. Is that a joke? 

“And you are...” he enunciates your name. “Sorry about your purse, I tossed it some ditch, but I got the important shit out of it.” 

“Huh?” You blink at him dumbly. 

“Phone’s wiped too. So, I’ll probably just break that down for parts--” 

“Wait, what? Why—please, why are you doing this?” 

“I’m not too sure myself, shortcake, but we’ll figure it out.”  

He slips his hand down to your wrist and pulls you away from the car. He shuts the trunk and the noise echoes off the high ceiling. You look up at the interior of the garage. Several cars are parked in the space. What kind of place is this? 

“Come on, you don’t wanna hang out in here,” he snorts and tugs you to follow him. 

All you can do is let him guide you. You keep your free hand on your stomach as your eyes burn. You can’t give up. You have to keep going for your baby. 

He takes you up a short set of steps and into a house just as colossal as the garage. He looks down at your feet as you stand on the mat. He tuts. Your slides were lost somewhere in your struggle. Your feet are cold and dirty. 

“Hm, well... what now?” He asks. 

“What now?” You squeak. “What do you--” 

“Look, honey buns, I’m not asking you,” he turns and keeps his hand around your wrist, walking you forward as if you’re on a leash. 

You’re confused. What does he mean? He doesn’t even know what he’s doing. What kind of man just does this spontaneously? 

“Erm, Lloyd,” you say softly, “it’s... not too late to take me back.” 

“Ah, but you’re wrong, sweet stuff. It’s way too late,” he snickers. “I scrubbed the traffic cams and the surveillance at the grocery store. It’s all gone. You’re gone.” He stops you in a bright foyer and faces you, “I don’t give my toys back.” 

[thecapricunt1616]

Thinking about College Lip again, genuinely ever since @mouseymilkovich came on the scene I’ve been once again shameless obsessed (Thank you mouse🐁 we say in unison)

TLDR: Once again I haven’t been able to watch shameless in a moment - this is all from my memory & tik tok clips & edits I’ve been obsessively watching that I think lip acts. If it’s not perfectly canon, I’m sorry! Feedback is always greatly appreciated but try to keep it kindly constructive as I’m just a girl in the world already having a hard time and writing is my outlet so - I love feedback and constructive criticism but don’t just say something like “wow that part made me cringe” without adding how I should make it better or something. Sorry for rambling & thank you for listening if you did.

But I’m thinking how pissed he would be if you were good friends/fuck buddies, and he found out that a professor was being creepy with you

(Warnings for BTC: Creepy teachers (power imbalance), Mentions of sexual harassment, Angry!Lip, Drunk Lip )

Okay so I imagine you’re sitting in his dorm one day, talking about the weirdest things that have happened in college. Lip had told you he had fucked one of his professors but called it off, and you laughed -

“No fucking way!!! Professor Simmons literally held me back after class one day and told me if I wanted a better grade on my last essay I could suck his dick!” Shaking your head at the stupid memory and taking a swig of lukewarm beer he had given you hours ago.

“Wait- huh?” He asked, tone now much more serious. You just shrugged, smile fading a bit. Suddenly you felt almost…judged? By the way his lips curled into a bit of a frown when you said that, his brows knitting together in that classic Lip way, ever angry. You’d teased him that he reminded you of the ‘Anger Emotion’ from inside out that you’d taken him to see with Liam over spring break.

“I- I didn’t do it - like- ew!” You laughed nervously, eyes flicking to your lap, cheeks feeling suddenly hot, and your mouth feeling dry. “Hes…so gross- you thought I would like- do that?!” You asked defensively.

“No- what the fuck? Why the fuck would I be questioning you?! That motherfucker is- is married, Tink! And old as fuckin’ dirt!” His voice raises slightly to drive his point home. The use of that nickname, Tink, short for Tinkerbell. He had started calling you it after you wore a dark green mini skirt and brown turtleneck to class one day, the name was quite perfect for you considering your small stature and affinity for short skirts like the cartoon fairy.

You shrugged, picking at your nails and nibbling on the inside of your lip. “I didn’t let ‘em touch me- only you do that. “ you muttered, feeling embarrassed and small now that you felt as if you’d made him worry after you, like he didn’t think you could take care of yourself. He grabbed your chin, making you look at him - his glazed over eyes told you he’d already finished his 7th beer without even having to look at the nightstand.

“Good- cause if he did?” He said softly “I’d fuckin kill em” he assured you, brushing his thumb over your cheek, before pulling you to his chest and wrapping his arms around you, kissing the top of your head.

You sighed softly, nuzzling your face in his neck and inhaling the scent of his spicy cologne, and the stale smell of Marlboro cigarettes that stuck to his skin and clothes permanently. “M’sorry- didn’t mean to make you upset” you said gently, wrapping your leg around his frame and gently kissing his tanned skin, even though he was staunchly Irish - summer did the gallaghers well, maybe not Ian, or Debbie- or, Frannie… but the rest of them, sure.

“What did I say about the sorrys, kid?” He squeezes your ass firmly, before giving you a light spank that caused you to giggle a bit.

“Ok! Ok I’m not sorry, s-“ you stop yourself and he looks down at you with a smirk to which you scrunch your nose and smile big “soooooo not sorry “ you correct yourself and he chuckled, shaking his head and grabbing his beer, finishing it off.

The next time you heard from Lip was the following night, at 4 am. On an unknown number. You woke up in your dorm to your phone ringing and didn’t even bother looking at the name before sliding it to answer, knowing no one in their right mind that didn’t know you would call you so late. “Yeah?” You said groggily into the phone.

“Heyyyyy, Tinker” Lip said into the phone and that woke you up fully.

“Lip- what’s wrong?” You said concerned, knowing he would never be calling you so late unless he was in some kind of trouble.

“I uhhh” he slurred, obviously drunk. “I think I got myself expelled? Dunno…can you pick me up? Just go to my house- tell Fiona I’m locked up. I need 800- she’s gonna give it to you. Make sure you take Ian with you I don’t want you gettin robbed- tell er’ T’take it from the squirrel fund- been stockin’ it f’this shit just in case. ” he explained, of course breaking to hiccup drunkenly.

You quickly stood, pulling sweatpants over your spandex shorts and pulling a hoodie on. “What did you do?! Lip! What the hell how will I survive Trig without you!” You said worriedly, putting on your messenger bag quickly and holding tour pepper spray in one hand ready to pull as you rushed out the door.

“I dunno!! I’ll tutor you, Tink! Just come get me. M’stuck with this guy that smells like a fuckin sewer.” He groaned.

“Of course I’m coming! I’ll see you soon - don’t get yourself shanked!” You hung up, frustratedly beginning your walk to the L

You were shivering by the time you were pounding on the Gallaghers door, finally Fiona opens the door “WHAT?! WHAT WHAT WHAT!!!” She screamed on her way down the stairs, and when she opened the door to see you shivering there in a hoodie and sweatpants in the 30 degree fall weather her expression softened.

“What’s wrong with Lip?” She asked, pulling you inside and grabbing a blanket “Jesus- Tink! Your lips are nearly fuckin blue!” She wrapped you up, taking your trembling hands and pulling them to her lips, warming your icy fingers with her warm breath.

“He- he’s in jail? I think? He said s-something about a fund, squirrel fund? Bail is 800 and he said to- to take Ian so I don’t get robbed for it.” You stuttered due to your teeth chattering, and being catcalled and followed for 2 blocks on your walk to their house.

“Okay- yeah. Fuck. What did he say he did?” She tugs you to the kitchen, pulling an old Twinkie box from under the sink and pulling out a huge wad of cash, beginning to count out $800. Your eyes widened, shrugging and mouth dropping as she shoves it into an old IRS ‘OPEN IMMEDIATELY’ envelope before folding it in half and shoving it in her bra and screaming

“IANNNNNNNNN! IAN! GET UP!! YOUR BROTHER IS IN JAIL!”

You flinched a bit at her sudden outburst, and there is pounding footsteps down the stairs “what did he do?” The redhead asks and Fiona shrugs

“What the fuck did he do, Tink?!” Fiona asks again and you shrugged quickly, shaking your head confused

“He- he said he was gonna be expelled?! I don’t know- I- he just- he called and said to come here and that Ian could protect me- and- and he gets really angry I don’t want him to be angry if you come with us-“

She cuts you off and holds her hand up

“He’s not gonna take it out on you he fuckin knows me. Ian go tell Debbie to watch Liam. I need to find fucking pants” she muttered heading over to the large laundry pile on the kitchen floor and digging through it as Ian raced back upstairs to do what he had been instructed.

Fiona thankfully drove you 3 to the police station, thankful for a warm car instead of taking the late night train. When you got inside the station, she thankfully took over.

“Gallagher? Phillip- Lip- Lip Gallagher- here-“ she drops the envelope in the little box that went behind the window. The woman looks at the three of us, then the envelope, then the computer.

“Phillip?” She repeated, unenthused and Fiona nodded quickly. “That’ll be 800, I’m assuming -“ she picked up the crinkled, (slightly sweat damp envelope) that Fiona had tossed into the box “this-“ she holds it up by her bright red acrylic nails like it was diseased

“S’all there!” Fiona nods and smiles kindly, likely hoping her kind demeanor would cause the woman to take pity on us.

“Let me just- count this” the woman opened her drawer, pulling out a pair of black latex gloves and snapping them over her hands before pulling the envelope open and counting out the cash, popping it in the drawer and printing a ticket. “RON!!!” She screeched.

An overweight, brunette man is startled awake behind her sitting in a rolling chair and jumping slightly when he was called. “Huh?! I’m awake!” He barked defensively. Ian and I look at eachother, with a ‘are they fucking kidding?!’ Look

“Gallagher! Paid bail. Cut ‘em” she said and went back to scrolling on Facebook.

You followed the large man when he beckoned you all, back to a cell where Lip was curled up to himself on the bench, arms crossed over his tummy and head to his knees protectively while he dozed.

“GALLAGHER!” The man barks, causing Lip to jump with a startled snore. When he saw you his expression softened, jumping up and rushing to the bars, reaching for you. You gave him a hug as the oaf got the cell unlocked.

“Quit scarin’ me like this, Lip” you mumbled into his greasy cigarette stale curls.

You got Lip back to the Gallagher house, helping him up the stairs to his room and setting him on the bed. He was utterly exhausted, nearly so drunk he was passed out. So you went down to the kitchen, and made him a double pack of beef ramen and came back upstairs, giving it to him to eat and distract him while you tended to his wounds.

He nearly burnt a hole in his throat wolfing it down, hissing and trying to swat your hands away when you cleaned the beer bottle glass from the gash In his forehead. Through mumbles and coaxing kisses you’d found that he hunted down the same Professor Simmons that beckoned you for a blowie in turn for a better grade - and nearly beat him to death.

After he’d told his wife what he did- she begged him that if they didn’t press charges- she wouldn’t go to the police for the assault and Lip agreed. As awful as it was to have your somewhat situationship bleeding in front of you - it made your clit throb slightly that he went out of his way and nearly ruined his life in your honor. Like some kind of fucking knight in shining Armour.

The next morning, lip woke up to yet another throbbing headache, atop of a dislocated nose, and a nearly bitten through tongue that made him wince when he barely even swallowed. “Open” you beckon gently, already having been awake for hours, changing his bandages and ever-so carefully tending to his wounds.

He doesn’t even try to open his bruised black eye, not even caring to know what happened to him and weakly opens his mouth.

“You gotta learn when to call it quits, Gallagher” you said gently as you placed 3 extra strength Tylenol on his tongue and gave him a mouthful of water to swallow it down.

A/N P2: I know this isn’t my usual MO? I am sorry haha. I wanted to try writing something sweet and angsty. Sorry I just wanted to try something new! LMK if you liked it, xoxo- Capri ❤️

[babyseraphim]

1910's music: Edwin Payne style

Hi ya’ll! Friendly music teacher/opera singer here to answer a question that pretty much no one has asked (except me): what music would Edwin have listened to/enjoyed when he was alive?

I’ve separated this into three different genres (classical, jazz, and pop), so the entire thing is pretty long. I've also tried to give references for any additional information provided, but most of it is coming straight from my brain after years of music history classes, so feel free to correct me if I get anything wrong.

Classical Music

So, the first thing to know about me is that I’m a big pianist!Edwin truther, and I'm going to be talking about it a lot in this post. It was extremely common for families (especially wealthy families) to have their children train in some sort of instrument from an early age back then, so learning music was something that Edwin likely would have been forced to do.

There are some classical pieces that I have already heard mention of amongst the fandom, so I will stick them in the 'honorable mentions' section, but I want to feature some music that I haven't seen mentioned in conjunction with Edwin's character yet. 1. Erik Satie's Trios Gnosiennes (1893)

So, I've always associated the first three Gnosiennes with Edwin not only because they're so hauntingly beautiful, but also because they're rhythmically very different than a lot of other classical music of his time. The Gnosiennes are largely played in 'free time' (with no time signatures or bar lines), which is a bit unusual for the genre (though modern classical music has a lot more of it). Satie's music really pulled away from a lot of musical customs, spurning traditional forms and tonal structures in favor of more creative options, and I think Edwin would have really enjoyed it.

Edwin's possible interest in breaking musical customs will come back a lot throughout this post, but given that he is often characterized as going against the social grain (whether he was trying to or not), I think he really would have enjoyed Satie's works as a whole. However, Trios Gnosiennes just really speak to me for his character.

2. Igor Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring (premiered in 1913)

The Rite of Spring was a Russian ballet that Stravinsky was commissioned to write for the Ballet Russes company. The work was known for its dissonance and barbarity, and the dancing was described as 'jerky' and 'hedonistic'.

Now, do I think that Edwin would have particularly enjoyed the sound of the the Rite of Spring? Maybe not, but I imagine he likely would have respected its departure from the musical decorum of his time (the piece later went on to be considered one of the the earliest examples of modernism in music). The first public showing of The Rite of Spring caused the theater to break out into a riot partially due to the fact that they thought the music/dancing was a work of blasphemy, and I just think Edwin would have found that hilarious.

3. Gaetano Donizetti's Lucia di Lammermoor (1835), particularly Spargi d'amaro pianto (the famous 'mad scene' aria)

I don't think Edwin would have been a fan of opera as a whole, but I do think that this work's entertaining twists, literary origins, and technically challenging composition might have caught his eye (I even went so far as to sing through this aria a few nights ago because I was curious, and yeah, its really fucking hard).

Lucia di Lammermoor is a tragic opera based on the 1819 novel The Bride of Lammermoor by Walter Scott, which was based on the real life story of a woman named Janet Dalrymple. Lucia was performed at the Met nearly every season from 1903-1972, and I imagine that if it was doing well in America, it must have been doing numbers in Europe.

Honorable Mentions - Claude Debussy's Clair de Lune and Deux Arabesques - Frédéric Chopin's Noctures (particularly Op. 9, No. 1) and Études (particularly Op. 25, No. 11) - Erik Satie's Trios Gymonepdies

Jazz Music

So, this is where my pianist!Edwin headcanon starts to diverge from the pretty much all of the other music-related headcanons I've seen.

Technically speaking, 'jazz' as we know it didn't really exist when Edwin was alive; he died literally one the cusp of the the Golden Age of Jazz, which is a huge fucking bummer. Jass (as it would've have been referred to in the 1910's) mostly consisted of ragtime and early blues, and was considered to be a 'fringe' style of music (pretty much entirely due to racism). As far as acceptability went, being a teenager with a love for 'jass' in the 1910's would have been the social equivalent of being a teenager with a love for ska or punk music in the 80's (the parallels!!!)

I think its pretty well argued within the fandom that Edwin is a bit rebellious when it come to authority and societal standards, and even though I think he was probably less of a little shit while he was alive, there's no way he was just totally fine with living inside the lines. I posit that, as a rebellion, he would have spurned classical music and became a ragtime pianist (which was one of the main precursors to jazz as we know it today). I actually wrote a fic about this way back when I first joined the fandom, for anyone who's interested!

1. Scott Joplin's Sugar Cane Rag (1908), Fig Leaf Rag (1908), and Paragon Rag (1909)

Scott Joplin (the King of Ragtime) was the most famous ragtime pianist of all time, and one of the driving forces behind creating the jazz genre as we know it. I guarantee that you guys have heard his most famous song, The Entertainer, at least once, and have probably heard his Maple Leaf Rag as well. If Edwin was into ragtime, then its a sure thing that he would have been a big fan of Scott Joplin's rags. I picked the three that I thought suited him best.

2. James Scott's Frog Legs Rag (1906) and Sunburst Rag (1909)

James Scott was also a famous American ragtime composer, and both of the listed songs would have been released when Edwin was pretty young. He probably wouldn't have been old enough to play them for a few years, depending on his training, but thinking of a little 12 year old Edwin learning to play these (as well as Scott Joplin's rags) in his free time just fucking tickles me. I love it so much.

3. Davy Peyton and Spencer Williams' I Ain't Got Nobody, recorded by Marion Harris in 1916

I Ain't Got Nobody was an early jazz standard from 1915 that eventually developed into a multi-genre standard (meaning that it was considered a standard for multiple genres, ranging from jazz to pop to country). I don't have a lot of reasoning for this one other that I think that Edwin would have just really liked Marion Harris' voice.

Honorable Mentions - Euday L. Bowman's Twelfth Street Rag (aka the Spongebob song) - Artie Matthews' Weary Blues

Pop Music

So, a disclaimer here. My music degree required me to take jazz and classical music history classes, which did not cover pop music of the 1910's, so I have fewer historical insights to offer about this genre. However, whenever I think about these songs, I always picture Edwin listening to them through a phonograph while doing homework on his bed, like a teenage girl listening to Sabrina Carpenter or Chappell Roan while studying (I know that's silly, but I think its just such a fun visual). 1. Leo Friedman's Let Me Call You Sweetheart, recorded by the Arthur Clough in 1910

Let Me Call You Sweetheart was one of the highest charting songs throughout the early 1910's, and the most popular version was recorded by a group called the Peerless Quartet. Edwin doesn't really strike me as a quartet enjoyer, though, and this version by Arthur Clough was released the same year. I think he would have enjoyed the tonal quality of Clough's voice much more.

2. Grace Le Boy's The Good Ship Mary Anne, recorded by Nora Bayes in 1914

Nora Bayes was a very famous vaudeville performer of the 1920's, and lot of her biggest hits were recorded shortly after Edwin died (like, literally 1917-1925). I wrote a snippet for a fic that got left on the cutting room floor a while back about the song itself providing a positive association with the term 'Mary Anne', and I still stick by that. In this song, the name 'Mary Anne' only refers to a ship.

3. Irving Berlin's Alexander's Ragtime Band, recorded by Arthur Collins and Byron G. Harlan in 1911

So, this song could technically go under the jazz section, but I'm going to put it here, and I'll explain why. Jazz is an art from that was created and popularized by black musicians, which is why it was seen as such an undesirable art form for such a long time. People liked the music, but they didn't like that it was made by black artists. Alexander's Ragtime Band originated in Tin Pan Alley and was one of the top charting songs for much of 1911 (first in America, then overseas), but it was created by a white artist that was simply 'jumping a trend'. Strictly speaking, genre-wise, its not even a ragtime song—it's a march. It's just about ragtime.

I honestly don't really even like this song that much, and I'm not sure Edwin would have very strong feelings about it either. However, it was an extremely pivotal song for the time period, and likely would have been inescapable (or as inescapable as music could be back in the 1910's, given that music required either records or live performances). Think of it as the equivalent of a pop song that you could really do without, but its so popular that it keeps winning awards and playing in every Forever 21 and H&M within a ten mile radius.

Honorable Mentions - Gus Edwards' By the Light of the Silvery Moon, recorded by Ada Jones - Percy Wenrich's Moonlight Bay, recorded by Dolly Connolly

~~~~

I hope you guys enjoyed this! I also made a playlist, if you'd like to take a look (I couldn't find all the songs, and not all of them are time period accurate, but I tried my best).

If ya'll liked this, I might make one for Charles and dive into ska and Rude Boy culture a little bit. Feel free to send me any questions or ideas you have about all this stuff, too! I love talking about it.

For the people who asked to be tagged: @likemmmcookies @edwinspaynes @asnottoldbyginger @rexrevri

@l-nightmare @ricebees @aroacespacerock @haledamage

(plus i'm tagging you, @laiqualaurelote, because I feel you would appreciate this)

[absolutebl]

TOP 10 BL Trends of 2023

This is just me with my analysis hat on. 

1. 2023 = the year EVERYONE went outside their lanes

Everything went topsy-turvy this year in BL. 

For example, Korea gave us agonized yearning and outright queerness (The 8th Sense, The New Employee) while Japan served up soft office workers and tender family (Our Dining Table). 

The BL world went askew for a while, especially in the spring of 2023. 

Not that we still didn’t still get Korea’s soft angsty bubbles or Japan’s “what are you doing and why does it hurt?” kink-fests. But there were quite a few BLs that made us chronic watchers sit up in confusion and wonder if Korea was dabbling in Taiwan’s territory or Japan in Thailand’s. Then they fudged the kisses and we were like... okay, back in familiar territory. 

In contrast, Thailand stayed course-correcting for the damage they’ve done in the past with tropes (2022) and self referential meta criticism (2021), but also almost aggressively returned to their BL roots after last year’s series of shockers. Certainly, they are reexamining those roots, transplanting some, aerating others. But they really went back to classic Thai university and high school BL and pulps in a big way in 2023. 

Taiwan is always difficult to gage because they produce so few but they seem to have stuck with what they do best with no deviation while producing more this year than they have in ages. I’m happy for that, why change a good thing? But there is a tiny part of me that really wants them to hit it out of the part with a quality piece soon. For me, We Best Love still reigns supreme, but I would really like the HIStory franchise to give us that level but longer - like a happy version of Your Name Engraved Herein. I think Taiwan has the chops to give us something as good as The 8th Sense or Old Fashion Cupcake but in their style, and I would like to see them exercise their talent for good rather than just profit. 

I know, what a very odd thing for me to say. But if any BL is going to break into the mainstream American market, I genuinely think it’s most likely come from Taiwan. 

Vietnam and the Philippines are falling behind, in general. They just didn’t bring out very many shows in 2023, and what the brought out tended to fub the endings. This is forgivable in Japan (because of their style and quality) but not what watchers want in the lower production value propositions. In other words, if you do a pulp, you can’t mess up the ending (by romance standards). that doesn’t look to be changing anytime soon. 

2. The Office Romance Dominated

After years of Thailand serving us an endless (and slightly bland) buffet of university (and a few high school) BLs, this year Korea was basically like...

Ofiice. We like the Office. It’s cheap to film we can use grown up actors, acting (mostly) their actual age. 

And yeah... it totally worked. 

To be fair, Japan has always given us office live action yaoi from the beginning (they had the source material) but this year everyone else, including Thailand, seriously started playing in this setting. 

3. Boys Danced with Boys

The darling @heretherebedork​ was a big fan of this one, and I rather like it myself. Prior to this boys dancing together was very very rare in BL, but this year we got way more than our fair share. It was lovely. 

Never Let me Go

My School President 

Bed Friend 

The Day I Loved You 

Step by Step

Be Mine Superstar

Tie the Not 

Dangerous Romance

I think there were a few more. These are the ones I remembered to write down. 

4. Getting (even more) Meta With Tropes 

BL has been getting more and more meta over the past few years but this year they really focused in on tropes specifically. Calling out their own biggest and most favorite tropes in a massive way, especially Thailand and especially GMMTV. 

Like they tunneled in on damaging tropes with Bad Buddy and the like over the past 2 years, and now they are just having fun with us. 

I mean they just started the dancing trope and already they are calling it out? That’s like rapid-fire regurgitated meta there, GMMTV. 

5. Cameos are the norm now 

Taiwan has always loved cameos but in the past the other countries have been show and steady with only one or two a year. (Unless Japan does a parody.) 

This year Korea got in on the game.

Korea rarely starts trends but they do adopt smaller and lesser known existing ones and make them super popular. 

This year they did that with cameo couple appearances, even borrowing a few of Thailand’s pairs (TutorYim and MaxNat traveled north). They did it so much I stopped tracking. Love Class 2, Why R U?, and Jun & Jun were the heaviest hitters. 

Taiwan, of course, came back swinging. Kiseki was the gum-ball machine of pair cameos. (In Taiwan mafia = gay.) 

6. We are entering the cross pollination age

The number of remakes picked up or started this year was startling, not just countries revisiting their own content (Thailand, Japan) but countries revisiting OTHER countries stuff.

Lemme explain...

Korea has started remaking Thai content (Why R U?) alongside cameo'ing Thai pairs.

Thailand is doing Korean IP (My Dear Gagster Oppa) and has 2 Chinese ones slated for next year. 

GMMTV acquired a lot of Japanese IP (Cherry Magic, Ossen, and My Love Mix Up) - and then had problems distributing it. 

This is probably the most surprising trend for me. Especially the Japanese stuff. I would have thought these properties well outside of Thailand's price range (even GMMTV's) not to mention Japan’s legendary IP issues (I swear I typed this pout before the pulled TayNew’s excellent Cherry Magic). 

Also why not option some of the older popular manga instead? Bet that's much cheeper. (I did see a NEW Thai translation of Finder into Thai, which is 90s yaoi, so I have my fingers crossed on that front.)

I shouldn't be too surprised. 

Thailand is running out of y-novel content. Their publication industry is just not robust enough (I was just talking to a friend about this at length recently). But I didn't think they had the funds to option, especially from Japan. 

Perhaps the option deals are for peanuts?

7. Korea got cheeky

I’m not sure quite how else to put this. 

After finally figuring out boys can kiss, Korea started to do not just higher heat but playful higher heat, with more aggressive word play and linguistic innuendo, like they are entering their racy rom-com teenage years (Why R U? Love Class 2 and Jun & Jun in particular.) 

I guess: Welcome to your BL teens, Korea? 

It’s cute of them. I am very much enjoying it. 

And now that comedy is warming them up, we get to see them play with actual queer burgeoning physicality in shows like The 8th Sense. 

It’s nice. I like seeing Korea stretch its wings. They still stick to their bubble, but that bubble seems to be expanding. 

8. The Amnesia Trope is back

And I, for one, would prefer to forget about it. 

9. BL got trendy 

I’m not quite sure how to articulate this category but basically we started seeing a lot of “modern” romance trends out of the west (like a/b/o) show up in our BL. Not a ton and sometimes quite small, but there has a been a steady rise of things like: no seme/uke, femme gay, out gay, condom use, messy gay. 

We also got an increasing range of sub genre frameworks (like mafia, office setting) that’s moved BL pretty firmly (even in Thailand) out of school and into the workplace, whether actual working is involved or not. 

It’s not to the point where it feels like we get more non-school BL than school BL (if I include all countries in this assessment).

Japan, in classic Japanese fashion, quietly started moving in the opposite direction. It’s what they do. 

10. The Vampires are coming 

This is an announcement trend, which I don’t usually report on but it’s so CLEAR. 

So last year we had a spate of announcements of possible Omegaverse (2 from China, 1 from Japan, 1 from Thailand - the only one that’s happened). 

This year we got 5 Vampire (or vampire-esk) Thai BLs announced including one from GMMTV. 

Whether all 5 will actually get made is unlikely, but having had (basically) none prior to this (Kissable Lips), I’m pretty confident that we will get at least 2 of them. And I wouldn’t be surprised if at least one other country made one as well. (Side eyes Taiwan with interest.) 

Final thoughts

It feels like we are also seeing a decline in BL (both by quantity and quality) from Vietnam and the Philippines. As you all know, I don’t track or really watch either of these two very closely. But it feels like, now, no one else is either. 

I think we have likely seen the BL heyday already in both places and their industries are now on the decline. 

We might be witnessing a thinning in the players in the BL field. 

FYI we had approximately 

136 BLs in 2023

Previous Years

2022: 117

2021: 95

2020: 62

2019: 40

2018: 30 

2017: 44 (China’s last gasp)

2016: 27

2015: 17 (50% micro)

2014: 17 (50% micro)

And that’s it! Let me know in the comments if you’ve spotted any additional trends you want to call out.

Last year, 2022′s trend report

2021′s Trend report

Last Year’s Stats & Predictions

(source) 

[cityofmeliora]

Terzo + being old 👴

PAPA EMERITUS III: Well… I’m not perfect when it comes to remembering lyrics, as you’ve noticed. I’m sorry about that. It’s an age thing, y'know? But I’m sure some of you know the lyrics for this song. The last song. But you know, for an old guy, I’m not very different. My hearing is really, really bad. So I need you to sing really loud if you know the lyrics. Silver Spring, Maryland, USA (September 22, 2015)

PAPA EMERITUS III: So where are you going afterwards? The night is young. Hm? Alright. My hearing is not what it used to be, sorry. I see you moving, and I hear shit, but… Anyways! Orlando, Florida, USA (October 10, 2015)

PAPA EMERITUS III: I am not as young as I look. But I can still tango. But y'know, after a quick, tasty start like this– I mean, we did quite good to start with, right? But you need to know, if I'm gonna stand up for one and a half hours and then... lay down... for even longer, I need to– I need a little break. So now we're gonna do a slow song for you. Malmö, Sweden (February 25, 2016)

PAPA EMERITUS III: Right now, I'm just babbling so the other ones can have a little break. That's the thing– we're not as young as we look. Detroit, Michigan, USA (October 3, 2016)

last quote is hidden because Terzo says a slur. (yes, i also was shocked he said this)

TW: ableism, R slur

PAPA EMERITUS III: Good evening, Los Angeles. The classic Wiltern, eh? So nice to see so many of you here tonight. This is getting a little bit of a nice habit, seeing each other like this, huh? I, for one, like it. How do you like this? Fabulous. Alright. I'm uh. I'm not talking this slow because I'm retarded, but because I'm not really as young as you think I am. Los Angeles, California, USA (October 20, 2016)

[zepskies]

If You Want It To Be - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: When your car breaks down after a hunt, Sam and Dean tow you back to the bunker for Christmas. This time of year gives you and Dean a little courage to be honest about what you both want. And what you want, is for him to see you. (18+)

AN: Here’s one of my entries for @deanwinchesterswitch's TGWRC: Christmas in July event! ❄️ Hope you enjoy Part 1 of 3. (I will release one chapter per week! Possibly sooner. 😉)

Themes: Mistletoe (a classic), eggnog, Christmas dinner

Word Count: 3,900 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Bickering, fluff, jealousy, angst, friends to lovers, (eventual) smut.

Part 1: December 23

“I never thought I’d miss my own bed as much as I do right now,” you mutter. 

Though your body’s weary, you manage to heft your duffel bag onto your shoulder. Soon enough, you’ll be out of this craptastic motel.

More specifically, away from the cot that nearly broke your back while you weren’t sleeping on it. Who could sleep on a bed of rusty-ass springs?

But while Sam is already loading weapons and his things into the Impala, Dean seems to be taking his sweet time, fiddling with something by the solitary nightstand in between the two queen beds. Your extra cot is laid out in the corner (may it rot in hell). 

Dean glances up at you at your remark. 

“That’s the first thing we’ve agreed on all week,” he quips. And he smirks when you send him a mock warning look. 

“Don’t mess with me right now. Haven’t gotten my beauty sleep in three days.” You have to adjust your duffel on your shoulder. “What’re you doing?”

Dean’s smirk fades the longer he concentrates on trying to put on his watch. 

“Trying to…damn it, think this strap is done.” 

Sighing, you set down your bag on the bed and sit down next to him on the edge of it. You peer over his shoulder and see that the leather band is indeed broken. 

“Aw, that sucks. I can replace it for you if you want, since I’m the one who wrangled you guys out here,” you say with a frown. 

You called them for backup when you discovered the coven of witches. If you’ve learned anything about hunting over the years, it just isn’t safe to go after a group of those demon-worshipping assholes without help. And it gave you a reason to get back in touch with Sam and Dean…

If you’re honest, it gave you an excuse to see Dean. 

You haven’t seen him in months, but he and Sam came when you called. The three of you managed to take out all four of those bitches, after having to track them down across the plains of Indiana. 

At least it only came at the cost of Dean’s watch. 

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” Dean says. He tries to wave you off, but you shake your head stubbornly.

“Really, I mean it,” you say. “I’ll buy you a new one. Consider it an early Christmas gift.” 

Christmas Eve is tomorrow, and while you love this time of year (and your own bed), part of you isn’t looking forward to going home to an empty apartment. 

Dean looks up at you with a rueful smile. “Really, it’s okay. This one was my dad’s.”

At that, your guilt intensifies. “Oh…guess there’s no replacing that. I’m sorry.”

“This’s just what I get for hauling my ass out here, pulling yours out of the fire,” he remarks. Some humor creeps back into his smile. “As usual.”

“Hey, if anything, I saved your ass,” you tease back, even though you still feel guilty. “That he-witch was about to grate you into Swiss cheese.” 

And then you shot him between the eyes. 

“Oh, yeah?” Dean raises his brows at you. “And when Barbie girl locked you in her cellar, that was what, you taking a nap?” 

Your lips purse in response. You enjoyed seeing that platinum blonde bitch go down hard—with an iron chain wrapped around her neck. Dean held her down while Sam finished her off with two shots to the chest.

Trust Dean to try and take credit for the whole thing. You get up to your feet with a roll of your eyes, collecting your bag. You feel his presence burning behind you as you both head out of the motel.

“I would’ve figured it out eventually,” you say. 

“Right. Where have I heard that before?” Dean says dryly. He follows you to your car and watches you throw your duffel into the backseat. Maybe he admires the curve of your ass in those jeans for a bit too long while you’re bent over.

But his eyes snap back up to yours when you straighten, turning back to him with a wry look. For years, this is how things have always been between you. Playful, sniping, not entirely flirting, but not quite not either.  

Sam then comes around the Impala to give you a friendly hug goodbye. 

“Don’t be a stranger,” he says with a smile. You return it, giving his plaid-covered chest a light punch. 

“You two are the ones with the packed dance cards. I’m lucky I got you guys to even answer my call,” you quip. “I’m down to goddamn smoke signals here.”

Dean shakes his head and pulls you into his arms next. “If we’re screening anyone’s calls, it ain’t you, sweetheart.”

You huff at that, but your smile is more genuine when you hug him back. For a brief moment, you let yourself revel in his warmth, his spicy aftershave, the solid feel of him wrapped around your whole body like a perfect man glove. 

It’s so familiar to you, but bittersweet. Because all too soon, you have to let go. 

“It was good to see you,” you say, a little softer than you meant to. Dean’s lips quirk at a warmer smile. There’s something in his eyes you can’t name when he releases you. 

But with a sigh, you turn and get into your car—an old Ford Focus. 

“You’re really still rockin’ that rusted out piece of shit, huh?” Dean asks, watching you with crossed arms as you climb in. The door creaks loudly when you shut yourself in. You flash him a wan smile and lower the window (with the embarrassing hand crank).

“Since 2003. Good old Hubert hasn’t failed me yet,” you reply. And then you turn the ignition.

It splutters, but doesn’t start the car. 

What the fuck?

Frowning, you try it again. And again. And again.

Nothing. 

The brothers Winchester still stand between your car and the Impala in the parking lot. Sam shares a glance with Dean, who brushes a hand over his mouth as he watches.

Finally, you look up at them with a grimace when your car just dies. Kaput. There’s the sound of pressure releasing, along with your high hopes of making it home tonight.  

“Goddamn it, Hubert.”

That’s how you find yourself a guest of Le Bunker a few hours later, after Dean tows your car all the way to Lawrence, Kansas. 

“You’re welcome to stay for the holidays,” Sam tells you once the three of you make it inside. He leads the way down the winding staircase. Dean follows behind you. 

“That’s right! Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve,” you reply with a smile. 

Your family loves Christmas, but it’s just you this year. Your father is on an extended cruise with his new wife, technically your stepmother. When your dad asked you how you felt about them going on this trip, they seemed so excited about it that you didn’t feel like you could say no. 

So between watching Halmark movies by yourself all day and hanging out here with your friends, there’s really no decision to make. You agree to stay. 

Sam nods back at you and continues into the bunker. He goes on to greet Castiel and Jack in the living room. 

When you reach the ground floor, Dean lays a hand on your shoulder, prompting you to turn around.

“I’ll take a look at your car, see if we can’t get it running in a couple days,” he says.

“By Christmas? That’s a tall order,” you reply with a grin. “Even for Dean Winchester, Un-Certified Mechanic.” 

Dean smirks back at you, crossing his arms. “That a challenge, sweetheart?”

You pull out your best Charlie’s Angels narrator voice. “I guess it is. Your mission, should you choose to accept it.”

His gaze is warm with playful scrutiny, from your dirty sneakers to your jeans and black V-neck top, to the messy ponytail keeping your hair together. But you can’t help but blush at the lazy, damn near flirtatious way he does it. 

“All right. Challenge accepted,” he says, crossing his arms. “What do I get if I win?”

A smirk tugs at your lips. “My undying respect.”

He just hums and leans against the iron guardrail of the stairs, hands sliding into his pockets. 

“Not enough for you?” you ask.

He shrugs, unimpressed, like he can take it or leave it. You step up on one of the stairs and fold your arms on the guardrail, so you can be level with Dean’s eyes. 

“Okay. If you manage to miraculously get my car running by Christmas, you get one consequence-free request,” you offer. He raises a brow at that.

“Anything I want?” he asks. 

“Within reason,” you amend, though you’re starting to blush. It curves his lips.

“No questions asked?” he hedges. 

You think about it for a moment…

“None,” you shake your head. “We got a deal?”

Dean smirks back at you and crosses his arms. 

“Deal.”

Maybe the little bet is silly. You know very well Dean can fix your car in two days. Just as you know you need to keep a tighter lid on your feelings…

Now that you’re here in the Bunker, unable to escape him, there’s too much potential for spillage—of things you’ve long kept hidden.

It just never seemed like he was seriously interested. Even if he ever is, you also know very well that Dean’s not the dating type. And you…you just don’t think you can handle being another “hit and run” for him. 

Or a “sometimes” girl. 

Or even worse, a “when it’s convenient” girl.

If you think too long about it, that would just about rip your heart out.

So you ignore the thought of Dean again for a while. After you shower and change into some pajama pants and a loose top, you pad barefoot into the kitchen. Castiel is there to greet you, staring into a glass of orange juice. You raise a brow at him.

“You okay, Cas?” you ask.

“Pulp or no pulp, that is the question,” he muses. 

“Um…pulp?” you reply. 

He nods and takes a sip. “Pulp is good. Increased levels of Vitamin C. But I’m thinking no pulp is best. It eliminates the possible choking hazard.”

You don’t know quite what to say to that, so you nod. “Yeah, fair enough.”

You pause in your quest for a snack to look around the bare furnishings of the bunker. 

“What the hell’s going on here?” you ask. “It’s literally Christmas Eve. Where’re all the decorations?”

Jack comes in the kitchen, pausing from watching reruns of Judge Judy to join you and Castiel. He doesn’t know you very well, but he’s just as curious about you as you’re curious (and maybe a little wary) about him. 

You know Dean hasn’t totally warmed up to the Nephilim, but he seems kind, and you find his honest, natural inquisitiveness endearing.  

“I know about Christmas,” he says, smiling like he’s proud of that fact. “It celebrates the day of Jesus’s birth. Even though December 25 itself is not historically accurate, society has made up for that fact by intertwining pagan traditions and overbearing commercialism.”

“A very good way of putting it,” you say after a moment, chuckling. “Well done.” 

Jack grins at the praise. Castiel shares an amused smile with you, but his is more fond. 

“I don’t believe Sam and Dean are big on celebrating Christmas,” Castiel says, finally answering your question. 

You cluck your tongue and level both angelic beings with a determined look. 

“Well, that’s just not gonna cut it, guys. If I’m spending Christmas here, we’re doing it right,” you say. 

And with a growing smile, “Buckle up. We’re going to Walmart.”

As it turns out, “doing it right” takes pretty much all night. But you’re impressed with how everything came out. 

There’s now a large tree in the living room (a real one, bought in the Walmart lot of Christmas trees), decorated with three packs of lights, ornaments, and a nice star on the top, with a lacy red ribbon that overlays down the front. 

You worked your hardest on the tree, but you also directed Castiel and Jack with a new tablecloth for the war room table. Red candles in “fancy plastic” gold holders, tinsel and ornaments and several other Christmasy things that now brighten up the entire place with festive wonder. 

And all on the cheap. Though your wallet is going to smart a bit, considering you might’ve gone a bit overboard. Not just on decorations, but on some groceries, a few gifts, and maybe a couple of things for yourself…

You just don’t anticipate later falling asleep on the long table in the war room, with a roll of ribbon curled around your hand and tinsel in your hair. 

You wake up to a hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake. You groan, squinting against the twinkling lights, no matter how pretty they are in all their multi-colored glory.

“You okay there, sweetheart?”

“Huh…?”

“You’re drooling on the table. I’m guessing that’s a new tablecloth.”

“Whathefu…” You manage to open your eyes and raise your head, finding Dean smirking down at you. You blink up at him sleepily. 

“Aw shit,” you utter.

“That’s one way to greet somebody,” he intones. 

You just grin with exasperation, but you accept his help in sitting up with a groan. Every muscle in your body aches in protest from having slept on a slab of hard wood. 

His hand doesn’t leave your back until your bare feet are firm on the ground, though you lean on his arm for a minute while you rub sleep out of your eyes.

“Damn, I wanted to see your faces when everything was put up,” you say ruefully. Sam comes in with a smile and two mugs of coffee, one of which he hands to you. 

“It’s incredible! How’d you do all this?” he asks. “And thank you. You know you didn’t have to.”

You waved him off. “I wanted to. Plus, I had a little help.” 

You raise your mug to Castiel as he walks by with an iPad and a multigrain bar. It’s such a far cry from the angel you had met years ago—socially ignorant of human ways—that you have to smile. He returns it. 

“Jack’s still putting the finishing touches on the Christmas village,” Cas says. 

“Village?” Dean frowns. 

“We had him set it up in his room,” you tell him. “He was fascinated by the train part. And the fake snow. And all the little people…”

“Great, another nerd,” Dean remarks. 

“Be nice,” you chide. He shoots you a certain smirk.

“What do you mean? I’m Mr. fucking Nice Guy.”

“More like Scrooge,” you counter. 

“All right, Sweeney Todd. Might wanna fix the nest you’ve got going on there,” he retorts, gesturing at the wild state of your hair. You’re still picking out tinsel. 

You narrow your gaze at him. “Big talk from the guy wearing fuzzy slippers.”

Dean frowns, glancing down and shuffling his slippered feet. In his defense, the floor is cold.

“All right, I’ll just get started on breakfast then,” Sam says, cutting through the familiar bickering with a resigned grin. After a parting amused look at you, Dean follows him into the kitchen. 

“Wait, wait. You don’t know how the hell to make eggs. Let me get in there.”

Rolling your eyes, you share a conspiratorial look with Castiel, who smiles before taking his iPad into the living room. You take the opportunity to shower, brush your damn hair, and fix yourself into an actual human again. 

Suddenly inspired to put some effort in, you pick out a dress for once. It’s not the new one you might’ve splurged on for Christmas dinner tomorrow, but it’s a “just in case” dress you always take in your bag…just in case. 

It’s a black, comfortable fabric with simple long sleeves and a skirt that drapes above the knee. It’s just casual enough to wear around the bunker. But it can also be dressed up with some heels if you need to. This is not one of those times, thank God. 

You even take pains to do your makeup, light on the eyes but popping with a bit of red lipstick that you typically save for going out. Tis the fucking season. 

And maybe you want to wipe away that asinine smirk from Dean’s face. 

When you return to the kitchen, all four men are sitting at the kitchen table, eating breakfast, talking, and drinking coffee. That all pauses when they see you. 

“Morning, again,” you greet them. And you hum to yourself as you grab another cup of coffee. But you stop in your tracks when you realize they’re all looking at you. 

The ones who have tact (Sam and Dean) manage to return to their phone and iPad, respectively. But the angels are a little slow to look away.

“You look different today,” Jack says. 

Your lips twitch at a smile. “A good different?”

“Yeah,” he says, though the way he looks at you makes you wonder if he’s sure. You share a glance with Dean, whose face strains with an awkward I don’t know what to tell you smile. 

You don’t know it, but Dean’s gaze follows you as you putter about the kitchen. The sight of your smooth and shapely legs are enticing, especially the way the skirt of your dress keeps swishing along your thighs. 

Sam clears his throat, catching his brother’s gaze with amusement. Dean’s lips purse at being caught in the act of checking you out, but he swiftly ignores his brother to glance back down at his iPad.  

Shaking his head, Sam gets up after he finishes his breakfast and brings his plate to the kitchen sink.

“You going out or something?” he asks you. “There’s some eggs for you in the pan, by the way.”

You nod at that, grabbing yourself a plate from the cupboard. You’re starting to reacquaint yourself with where everything is in the bunker. 

“No, but it’s funny how you guys seem to think I live in my hunter gear all the time.” You arch a brow at Sam. “In case you haven’t noticed, I am a woman. Capable of wielding lipstick.”

Sam grins, raising up his hands in surrender. “By all means, wield away. You look nice.”

“Thank you,” you say dramatically. He snorts in response and moves to get around you. But that’s when Jack pipes up.

“Oh, look,” he says, pointing to a spot above you and Sam. “You guys are under the mistletoe.”

Your eyes widen. You glance up at said sprig, which hangs from a long string stapled into the ceiling, then at Sam as a blush starts to warm your face. He looks similarly caught off guard. 

“Who put that there?” you ask, cutting your gaze over to Jack in suspicion. His boyish grin is pleased, while Castiel fights a smile of amused embarrassment for you. 

Dean is oddly quiet though. His expression hides behind the hand he’s leaning his chin on, while his elbow rests on the table. You meet his eyes for just a moment, before you crane your head up to look back at Sam.  

You shrug with a grin and beckon to him with your hands. “All right, come ‘ere.” 

Sam’s face is a bit crunched with an awkward smile, but he obliges you by wrapping you up in a friendly embrace. 

You take his face with both hands and plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. You feel his prickly stubble against your lips, but you don’t mind.

“Merry Christmas,” you say with a giggle. He chuckles in response and rubs your back warmly. 

“Merry Christmas,” he echoes, pressing a hand to your cheek. You’re one of those friends he counts as his family, and he’s truly grateful that you’re here with them for the holidays. 

You have similar warm feelings for the gentle giant as you pull out of his embrace. When you glance over at Dean, you don’t know what to expect to find. By the mild grin he’s sporting, he just seems amused by the whole thing. 

You inwardly shake your head at yourself, wondering if you should’ve just kissed Sam. Maybe then you’d figure out where you stand with Dean. 

And once you know for sure he doesn’t see you in any kind of way, then you can try to actually move on from Dean Winchester. 

You’re forced to sit across from him after you heat up your eggs and make some toast. He’s just scrolling through his iPad without a care in the world. 

But in reality, you couldn’t know that Dean is fighting not to look at you. Because the truth is, he didn’t like what he just saw…the obvious warmth between you and his brother. 

“We need stockings,” Jack notes, before he turns to you. “Wasn’t that on your list?”

“Ooh, you’re right. I think I forgot,” you reply. “To be fair, trolling around Walmart on three days of no sleep is ill-advised at the best of times, let alone at 12:00 a.m. on Christmas Eve.”

Sam chuckles at that. While Dean gives a slight smile, he’s still quieter than usual.

“Want to go grab some at the store?” Jack asks. You rub your chin in thought. 

“Well, I wanted to get started on baking some cookies for later.”

“I can take him,” Sam offers. Jack nods along with the idea.

“Okay, great,” you reply.

“Need anything else while we’re out?” Sam asks. 

“Hmm, nope! Nothing that I can think of,” you reply. Sam nods, and soon after, he and Jack leave for the store. 

You turn to Dean, intending to ask if he’d like to help you in the kitchen. Realistically, you know he’s not going to do much but stand there while you do most of the work, but it’s a chance to hang out, just you and him.

You’ve almost worked up your nerve to ask when Dean gets up from the table with his iPad. He says nothing to you before he starts toward the garage, making you frown. 

“Hey, Dean,” you call to him. 

He hesitates, turning back to you with an expectant brow. You want to ask him to stay but…ultimately, you lose your nerve. 

“Gonna work on my car?” you ask instead. He flashes you a smile that doesn’t completely reach his eyes. 

“Un-certified mechanic, at your service,” he dryly quips with a lazy salute. 

You quirk a smile as he continues on his way, but somehow, you feel unsettled. You turn to Castiel, and you remember the rest of your plan for today. 

“Hey, Cas.”

“Yes?” His head raises from his book.  

You give him a conspiring smile. 

“I have a special mission for you.”

AN: The stage is set, folks! Let me know what you thought of Part 1. 😘

Next Time:

Jack’s sprig of mistletoe once again lies above your head. Your heart trips up a bit faster as Dean looks down at you again, with a smirk. 

“My turn,” he remarks. His eyes are flirtatious, but they hold a hint of something deeper. Something you can’t name. 

“Are you gonna go for my cheek like I’m your cousin?” he says.

His raised brow is a challenge, and it makes you bite the inside of your lip. He can be so annoying, but you suppose he wouldn’t be Dean if he didn’t make things more difficult for you.

Keep Reading: PART 2

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[arachpool]

University AU where the mauraders are dorm mates in Uni with maybe one class between the four of them so they don’t see each other for most of the day during or between classes, but always hang out with each other on their free days or spend hours after they’re home together just talking.

One day James stops talking about this pretty red head from his Organic Chemistry class (which is his second time taking the class, Remus is on his first and James asks Remus for help all the time, the both of them are nearly failing it), and starts talking about this moody, black haired freshman in his Classical Lit class, and the other guys are severely lost, but they don’t question it much.

Up until Sirius puts it all together. It’s spring break and he, begrudgingly, goes home for a few days upon request from his nagging mother. Due to Regulus being a freshman and sans vehicle, Sirius takes him home with him. The first hour and a half of the ride is silent.

“So. Anything new going on?” Sirius asked awkwardly, obviously bothered by the elongated silence. Regulus merely spared Sirius a walled off glance, showing zero indication of openness to conversation. Sirius sucked a knowing breath, leaning back in his seat in boredom as he watched trees pass them by on the nearly empty highway.

“Not much,” Regulus finally answered, and Sirius perked up like a dog.

“Any new friends?” Sirius grinned, turning to look at Regulus for a moment. Regulus suppressed a snort at his brother’s dorkiness before shrugging.

“Not really. I’m talking to this guy in my lit class.”

“Oooh what’s he like?”

“Loud.” Sirius glanced at Regulus. “Kind of like you honestly, he talks a lot. He’s always dropping his glasses and he makes a big deal out of it every time and acts like he’s Velma from-”

“OH.” Regulus jumped at the sudden shout, squinting at Sirius.

“Sirius. What the hell.”

“Oh my god!”

“What!!”

“You’re talking to James!” Regulus blinked a few times in secession before sighing and leaning back in his seat, digging the butts of his palms into his eyes.

“Oh, of course you two know each other, you’re practically replicas of each other,” Regulus groaned, and the awkward silence started up again. Sirius massaged at his steering wheel as he thought over the information in his mind, still processing that his best mate and his little brother were talking to each other, and were obviously interested in each other.

Once entirely processing that this boy the group have been calling Moody Boy has been his little brother for the whole two months James has been going on about him, Sirius cleared his throat.

“So you like James?”

“I thought that was obvious based on the fact I said we were talking,” Regulus returned, a guarded tone to his voice. Sirius spared him a quick glance before focusing back on the off ramp.

“He talks about you all the time, it’s honestly starting to get tiring,” Sirius said with nonchalant amusement, noting how Regulus perked up a little in his peripheral.

“He does? I mean-”

“All the time. He thinks your hand writing his pretty too, which is such an odd thing to pick up.” Regulus snorted a little, rubbing at his knuckles. Sirius smiled a bit, glancing to see Regulus smiling like a dork.

“So you don’t care? That I’m talking to one of your friends?”

“Eh, not really. I trust him, I don’t have a doubt in my mind that he’ll treat you right.” Regulus stared at Sirius for a moment before smiling, sinking into his seat and gazing on the window at the slowly dissipating trees.

“How are You and that Welsh boy?” Regulus asked teasingly after a long stretch of silence.

“Remus, and we are amazing, thank you,” Sirius returned with a snort.

They arrive home within the next hour, which was occupied by sporadic conversation about a range of topics, neither boy really wanting it to be quiet but not truly understanding how to talk to the other.

Sirius allowed Regulus to do the talking to their mother as he stepped out of the house merely seconds after entering, ringing James.

“What’s up. Need a knight in shining armor to come save you?” James teased, and Sirius leaned against the hood of his car.

“You’re talking to my little brother,” Sirius instantly accused, and James sputtered, causing Sirius to burst into laughter.

“Reggie is- oh my god!”

“Reggie? Mm, cute little nickname,” Sirius teased, grinning as he stared at the dark paint of his hood.

“Okay, ‘my moon’,” James shot back, resulting in Sirius to flush a bright red. “Or or or, ‘my star’,” James added, and Sirius hid his face into his palm.

“I actually hate you.”

“Uh huh.”

[sleekervae]

Wicked Games ❅ 20

Masterlist

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x socialite!fem!reader

Summary: Poisoned Wine

Warnings: poison, death, descriptions of pain, angst and public chaos

Word Count: 5,095

As Sable stood in front of the mirror, the vibrant red gown hugged her curves perfectly, shimmering like fresh blood under the soft light of her bedroom. She turned slightly, admiring the way the fabric flowed around her legs, the deep neckline and delicate lace sleeves framing her shoulders beautifully. The transformation was striking—she felt powerful, almost regal. But beneath the surface of elegance, her heart raced with the weight of her secret, the vial of poison nestled discreetly up under her dress, hidden from view but never far from her thoughts.

Behind her, Seline fussed with her own dress, a soft, pastel-colored number that suited her perfectly. The room was filled with the familiar scent of perfume, the rustle of fabric, and the quiet sounds of preparation as the two sisters shared this rare moment together. It reminded Sable of simpler times—before all of this, before politics and plots.

Seline hummed softly as she pinned her hair back, her eyes catching Sable’s in the reflection of the mirror. “You look beautiful, you know that?” she said with a small smile. “I still can’t believe how grown up we are. Sometimes, I swear it feels like we were just kids, sneaking out to the streets at night.”

Sable’s lips curled into a soft smile, the memory of those carefree moments flickering in her mind. “I know,” she replied, her voice gentle, touched with nostalgia. “Those nights feel like a lifetime ago.”

Seline nodded, her expression softening. “I miss them. Things were so much simpler then. Now everything’s about politics and weddings and… well, life, I guess.”

There was a brief pause, a comfortable silence that settled between them as they continued getting ready. For a moment, Sable could almost forget the vial hidden beneath her dress, the weight of the plan looming over the evening. Almost.

Seline let out a small sigh, breaking the quiet. “Speaking of weddings,” she said, her tone lightening, “I’m thinking about going with a spring ceremony. Maybe late April. The flowers will be perfect then. What do you think?”

Sable turned, offering her sister a warm smile. “That sounds beautiful. You’ve always wanted a spring wedding.”

Seline beamed, her excitement clear as she continued talking about flower arrangements and venues, her voice bubbling with the happiness of someone who had her whole future laid out before her. She had no idea what Sable was carrying with her tonight. No idea how drastically Sable’s future could change in just a few hours.

“Have you thought about the dress?” Sable asked, steering the conversation forward, hoping to keep the focus on something innocent, something far away from the dark thoughts swirling in her own mind.

“Oh, I’ve thought about the dress,” Seline laughed. “I just haven’t found it yet. But it’s going to be something classic, you know? Timeless.”

Sable nodded, her fingers absently brushing over the fabric of her gown. “Timeless sounds perfect for you.”

Seline smiled, tilting her head as she studied Sable for a moment. “You seem quiet tonight,” she remarked softly. “Nervous about the gala?”

Sable hesitated, her heart quickening just for a moment before she forced a calm smile. “A little,” she admitted. “I'm worried about Coriolanus...”

Seline, blissfully unaware of the true gravity of those words, nodded in understanding. “Hey -- whatever happens will happen. You will be just fine, always are. Besides, we’re all going to be there. It’ll be like old times—our whole family together.”

Sable nodded, her stomach twisting at the thought. Family. Together. The irony of it all struck her, knowing what she was planning, what she was carrying with her tonight. But she couldn’t let that show. Not now.

“Yeah,” she said softly, offering her sister another smile. “Like old times.”

As Sable helped Seline with the final touches of her hair, a restlessness stirred within her, an antsy energy she couldn’t shake. She brushed it off as nerves for the gala, but deep down, she knew the truth. Her thoughts drifted to Coriolanus, and a knot tightened in her stomach.

What if their plan didn’t go as smoothly as they hoped? What if the antidote didn’t take effect fast enough, or worse—what if something terrible happened to him? The idea of losing him, of their scheme unraveling, filled her with a sense of dread that threatened to overwhelm her.

She glanced at Seline, whose carefree chatter floated in the air like a soothing balm. In this moment, everything felt so delicate—like a spider’s web, beautiful but easily broken. She realized how deeply she had tied herself to Coriolanus, more than she ever would have allowed before. It was no longer just about the election or power; it was about him. About them. She couldn't stand the idea of losing him.

Sable took a deep breath, steadying herself as she focused on Seline. “You’re gonna' make a beautiful bride,” she assured her sister, forcing a smile despite the tumultuous thoughts swirling in her mind.

But as Seline beamed back at her, Sable couldn’t shake the feeling that they were both teetering on the edge of something dangerous—an abyss they couldn’t fully comprehend. And for the first time, she questioned whether she had the strength to follow through with the darkness that awaited them.

Coriolanus stood outside the Hanover residence, the evening air thick with anticipation and the scent of freshly cut grass. He shifted slightly, his gaze scanning the elegant façade of the house, where the sconce lights shimmered like stars against the twilight. Beside him, Garrison paced like a caged animal, his frustration palpable.

“This is a waste of time, Coriolanus,” Garrison muttered, running a hand through his hair, a gesture of exasperation. “We may as well be attending a circus. The moment we walk in there -- I suspect the lot of them are gonna' laugh us out of there.”

Coriolanus, however, remained unnervingly calm, a flicker of hope igniting within him. He had spent too long buried in despair and self-doubt; tonight felt different. The promise of a future—one where he could emerge as president, where his connection with Sable could solidify—hung tantalizingly in the air. He glanced at Garrison, whose anxious energy contrasted sharply with his own newfound resolve.

“You worry too much, Garrison,” Coriolanus replied, his tone steady, masking the undercurrents of excitement that thrummed beneath his calm exterior. “We just have to keep our chins up. Stranger things could happen,”

Garrison shot him a skeptical look, but Coriolanus met it with a determined gaze. The stakes were high, and for the first time in a long while, he felt a flicker of control over his destiny. He imagined the gala unfolding, the chaos that would ensue, and the way he would step into the light as the victor. More than that, he pictured Sable by his side, their connection a powerful force against the world that sought to tear them apart.

As the minutes ticked by, anticipation coursed through him, mingling with the adrenaline of their plan. He felt ready to face whatever awaited them, even as Garrison’s impatience gnawed at the edges of their moment. Tonight, everything would change.

The front doors of the Hanover residence swung open and Sable stepped out, and the world around Coriolanus seemed to fade away. She was adorned in a long, fitted red satin gown that hugged her figure flawlessly, the fabric shimmering like liquid fire under the glow of the gala lights. The gown cascaded into a slight train, and a large bow sat elegantly at the back, a striking accent that added a touch of old Hollywood glamour to her already radiant presence.

Coriolanus felt his breath hitch in his throat, his heart racing at the sight of her. She was the epitome of class and sophistication, a vision that seemed almost ethereal against the backdrop of the evening. Every inch of her exuded confidence and allure, and he struggled to compose himself, forcing his jaw to remain closed as he stared in awe.

Sable's short, tousled curls added a playful touch to her pixie cut, and her makeup was flawless, accentuating her eyes and highlighting her smile. In that moment, she looked like a winner, a force of nature capable of capturing any room's attention—and she had captured his completely.

Garrison's impatient voice broke through his reverie, but Coriolanus barely registered it. All he could focus on was Sable as she glided toward them, her expression a blend of determination and excitement. He could feel the electricity crackling between them, the shared knowledge of their plans lending an intensity to the moment.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Sable said, a playful smile tugging at her lips as she reached them.

Coriolanus finally found his voice, a low murmur escaping him, “You look stunning.”

She paused for a brief moment, her eyes meeting his with a fierce intensity. In that moment, he felt a inexplicable pull towards her, as if their souls were entwined in a mutual understanding of the challenges that lay ahead. He couldn't tear his gaze away from hers, drawn to the depths of emotion and determination he saw within them.

“Are we ready?” Garrison cut in, his tone disgruntled and grumbling as always. “To add insult to injury—we're already late,” he pointed out, his voice tinged with exasperation as he adjusted his cufflinks, clearly irritated by the time wasted.

Coriolanus turned to Garrison, a smile pulling at his lips. “If it's all the same to you, Garrison, I'd actually like to enjoy my evening,” he replied, his voice steady, betraying none of the tension that danced just beneath the surface. “Besides, 'fashionably late' has never been a crime”

Garrison rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a slight smirk at Coriolanus's confidence. “Just don’t let your charm get us into more trouble than we’re already in,” he warned, crossing his arms as he stomped towards the car.

Sable, caught in the moment between the two men, felt a thrill run through her. She met Coriolanus’s gaze, a shared understanding passing between them—this night held more than just political stakes; it was the culmination of everything they had fought for, together. The tension of their scheme lay heavy in the air, but so did the promise of their future together.

Coriolanus extended his arm to Sable, a subtle gesture filled with warmth and protection. She took it with a smile, her fingers curling around his elbow as they walked toward the sleek town car waiting at the curb. The evening air was cool, but it felt charged with potential, the excitement of the gala pulsing just beneath the surface.

As the car glided through the streets toward the gala, Coriolanus leaned in slightly, whispering to Sable, “No matter what happens tonight, we’re in this together.” Her heart raced as she felt his fingers lock with hers, a silent assurance amidst the chaos.

She nodded, a fire igniting in her eyes. “Together.”

The gala hall was immaculate, draped in opulent gold and deep crimson, the lavish decorations reflecting the grandeur of the occasion. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting a warm glow over the elegantly dressed guests as they mingled, laughter and music intertwining in the air. The soft strains of a string quartet floated through the room, inviting couples to the dance floor where the rhythm of the evening unfolded.

At the head table, the candidates sat in a line, flanked by their plus ones, exchanging pleasantries and well-wishes. It was a carefully orchestrated affair, where smiles masked the underlying tension, particularly for Sable and Coriolanus. As they settled into their seats, the weight of their plan loomed between them, a shared secret that thrummed beneath the surface of their smiles.

Sable’s heart raced, not just from the grandeur surrounding her, but from the anxiety that curled in her stomach. She fidgeted with the hem of her gown, her mind racing as she calculated the perfect moment to execute their plan. Coriolanus, sensing her unease, leaned closer, his voice low and reassuring. “Sable, breathe. We’ll find our moment.”

She nodded, trying to focus on the warmth of his presence rather than the growing crowd. “I'm alright,” she assured, her gaze flickering over the other candidates, their false camaraderie a stark contrast to the reality of their intentions.

Coriolanus studied her for a moment, then offered a gentle smile. “Let’s take a moment for ourselves,” he said, extending his hand toward her. “Dance with me?”

Sable hesitated, her mind still tangled in their scheme. But as she looked into his eyes, she saw a flicker of confidence—a reminder of the bond they shared. Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand in his, feeling the warmth spread through her as he led her to the dance floor.

As they swayed to the music, the world around them faded slightly. Coriolanus held her close, guiding her with a practiced ease. “You look breathtaking tonight,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear, and Sable felt her heart flutter despite the heaviness of their plan.

“Thank you,” she replied, her voice barely above the music.

Sable felt the weight of their unspoken agreement—their lives intertwined not just by their ambitions but by the choices they were about to make. With each turn, she felt her nerves settle slightly, the rhythm of the dance grounding her in the moment. She could feel Coriolanus’s confidence seep into her, and for a brief moment, the chaos outside melted away.

As they danced, she instinctively tightened her grip on Coriolanus, her fingers entwining in the fabric of his suit as if anchoring herself to him amidst the swirling chaos of the gala. He could feel the tremor in her hold, the way her body betrayed her with a slight tremble, and it struck him as curious—this was her plan, the very scheme they had concocted together. Yet, in that moment, he could sense the weight of her worry pressing down on her, illuminating the depths of her adoration. Her eyes flickered with an intensity that spoke of both fear and affection, revealing how deeply she cared for him, as if she were trying to shield him from the very fate they were orchestrating for others. The realization sent a rush of warmth through him; even as they plotted a path drenched in darkness, the light of her concern wrapped around him, anchoring him amidst the impending storm.

But as the music swelled, Sable knew that their window was closing. They would need to act soon. As they spun under the shimmering lights, she felt the tension of their mission blending with the electric thrill of their connection, her heart pounding not only for what lay ahead but for the man who held her close.

Eldridge Barbery stood at the edge of the grand ballroom, his gaze fixated on the dancing couple, an unsettling grin tugging at the corners of his lips. The opulence of the gala faded into the background as he observed Coriolanus and Sable, their intimacy betraying the weight of the impending disaster. There was something predatory in his demeanor, a hawk surveying its prey. Barbery reveled in the thrill of the moment, the delicious satisfaction of having humiliated Coriolanus in the debate that still echoed through the minds of the guests. He could almost taste victory, the polls tilting in his favor like a pendulum swinging with the certainty of fate. The glint in his eye spoke volumes—he believed the election was already his, and he would enjoy watching Coriolanus squirm as he held the fate of his rival in his hands. The gala, a final act of desperation for Coriolanus, only solidified Barbery's conviction that he had the upper hand, and he couldn't wait to bask in the glory of his impending triumph.

As Sable scanned the room, her heart raced when she spotted the perfect moment—the candidates were momentarily distracted by laughter and animated conversation, the wine bottles within reach. She felt a surge of adrenaline, but it was quickly overshadowed by an unsettling anxiety that twisted in her stomach. Coriolanus, ever attuned to her emotions, noticed her tension and leaned closer, his voice a soothing murmur amid the clinking glasses and soft music.

“Sable,” he said, his gaze steady and reassuring, “if you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to,"

She met his gaze, almost surprised at his offer, "What?" 

He took a deep breath, "I... How I feel for you won’t change. This is a heavy burden to bear.”

His words lingered in the air, grounding her for a fleeting moment. She met his eyes, searching for reassurance, and felt the weight of the decision pressing down on her. What they were about to do was irreversible, a line drawn in the sand that once crossed would alter the course of their lives forever. For a heartbeat, she considered stepping back, but the image of their enemies looming over them, of all their plans unraveling, flickered in her mind. They had come too far to turn back now.

Taking a deep breath, she nodded, resolve hardening in her chest. “No. We’ve committed to this, Corio. We're too close, now.” 

Coriolanus watched Sable's eyes, a mix of determination and doubt swirling within them. He reached out to gently clasp her hand, his touch grounding her amidst the chaos of the room. The weight of their mission bore down on them, the significance of their actions palpable in the charged air between them.

“I’m here, Sable,” Coriolanus murmured, his voice unwavering. “Nobody is watching, nobody will know,”

Sable felt her worry surge, his unwavering support giving her the strengthening yet furthering her unease. She squeezed his hand in return.

“I'm not worried about anyone else,” she declared softly, her voice carrying a steely resolve that belied the uncertainty still lingering in her heart. “We will see this through together, come what may.”

With a final shared glance that spoke volumes, she moved toward the wine bottles, determination fueling her actions as she prepared to set their plan into motion.

With her heart pounding in her chest, Sable discreetly retrieved the vial of poison from the hidden fold of her dress. The sleek glass glinted under the opulent chandeliers, but she kept her movements fluid, her expression calm. She carefully positioned herself next to the wine bottles, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she uncapped the vial.

One by one, she poured a measured amount of the viscous liquid into each bottle, her mind racing with the gravity of what she was doing. The thick poison swirled and blended with the ruby-red wine, a sinister contrast that seemed to mock her resolve. She left no room for error, ensuring that each bottle contained the deadly concoction, knowing that this was their one shot at securing a future free from their enemies.

As she worked, her eyes flicked toward Coriolanus, who remained engaged in conversation with a fellow candidate, his charm and charisma on full display. It reassured her, even as the reality of their plan settled heavily on her shoulders. This was it—the moment they had prepared for. With a final glance around to ensure no one was watching, Sable slipped the empty vial back into the folds of her dress, a sense of urgency propelling her back toward Coriolanus. She needed him by her side, to share in the weight of their actions as they moved forward into the chaos they had orchestrated.

The guests found their seats, laughter and chatter filling the air, but beneath the surface, a current of unease rippled through the candidates and their supporters.

Coriolanus took his place at the head table, flanked by Sable, the weight of the evening resting heavily on his shoulders. He glanced around, spotting Eldridge Barbery seated just a few chairs down, his presence as smug as ever. To Coriolanus’s dismay, the seating arrangement had paired him directly next to his rival, an unexpected turn that set his teeth on edge.

As the head judge from the Supreme Court rose to address the crowd, a hush fell over the room. The judge’s voice resonated with authority, exuding confidence as he raised his glass high. “Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed candidates, and distinguished guests,” he began, his tone steady and commanding. “Tonight, we gather not just to celebrate your accomplishments but to honor the democratic process that binds us. May this election bring forth leaders who will serve our community with integrity and vision.”

With every word, Coriolanus felt the tension rise within him, his thoughts racing. He could feel Barbery’s gaze lingering on him, a predatory gleam in his eyes as if he savored the opportunity to gloat. The judge continued, “Let us toast to your success in the upcoming election—may it be fair, just, and a true reflection of the will of the people.” Glasses clinked throughout the room, the sound mingling with murmurs of support and whispered calculations.

Coriolanus raised his glass, but his thoughts were not on the toast; they were on the deadly wine that had already been poured, their plan spiraling closer to fruition with each passing moment. As he turned slightly, he caught Barbery’s gaze, and an unspoken challenge passed between them, igniting the competitive spirit that had fueled their rivalry from the very beginning. 

"May the odds be ever in your favour, Mr. Snow," Eldridge grinned smugly.

"As with you, Mr. Barbery," Coriolanus replied with a tight smile, his mind already racing with the weight of their plan. He paused, glancing at Sable out of the corner of his eye. Her demeanor was deceptively calm, an impeccable mask hiding the storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface. She seemed focused, her eyes steady on him, yet he could sense the tension threading through her.

Under the table, their hands intertwined, a small gesture that tethered him to her amidst the growing uncertainty. The warmth of her grip grounded him, reminding him of their bond, the dark path they had chosen together. He inhaled deeply, drawing in the rich scents of the gala—fine wines, blooming flowers, and a hint of something more foreboding.

With one final breath, he raised the glass to his lips, the polished surface glinting under the soft candlelight. Time seemed to stretch as he brought the glass closer, his heart pounding in his chest. The moment felt monumental, a crossing of thresholds that would alter the course of their lives. He met Sable's gaze one last time, seeking reassurance in her eyes, and then drank.

The wine slid down smoothly, the taste rich and dark. For a heartbeat, nothing felt different. But as he set the glass down, a slight chill crept through him, a whisper of foreboding that something had shifted irrevocably. He could feel the tension in Sable’s grip tightening as if they were both holding their breath, bracing for the inevitable storm to break.

For a moment, everything was quiet...

And then...

Senator Hawthorne gagged and heaved, and the air in the room thickened with shock and horror. His face twisted in disbelief as he clutched his throat, staggering backward before collapsing to the ground. Gasps erupted from the guests, confusion rippling through the crowd like a shockwave. Coriolanus's heart raced, a primal instinct urging him to jump to his feet, but his body betrayed him with a sudden wave of nausea.

Around him, the other candidates began to crumble. One by one, they fell, their bodies twitching and convulsing as if the very essence of life was being siphoned away. The opulent gala transformed into a scene of chaos, music grinding to a halt as people scrambled for safety, their screams puncturing the once-celebratory atmosphere.

Coriolanus felt a tightening in his chest, the cold fingers of panic wrapping around his heart. He swayed slightly, the world tilting as the symptoms surged through him—dizziness, a burning in his throat, the creeping sensation of helplessness. He turned his head slightly, locking eyes with Sable, and the concern in her gaze struck him like a jolt of electricity.

Her fear was palpable, genuine, cutting through the haze of chaos. Her face a mask of distress, and he could see the flicker of distress behind her eyes. For a moment, it was as if time slowed; he was acutely aware of the chaos surrounding them, the frantic energy of the gala guests who rushed to help the fallen candidates or flee in terror. But all he could focus on was Sable.

“Coriolanus!” she cried, her voice cracking as she reached for him.

A tremor rippled through him as he struggled to maintain his composure. “I’m—” he began, but the words fell away as another wave of nausea crashed over him, and he felt himself begin to falter. The world spun, and he could hear the distant echoes of shouting, but it all felt muffled, as if he were submerged in water.

He stumbled, leaning against the table for support, and he could see Barbery’s lifeless body slumped in his chair, the smug grin wiped from his face forever before Coriolanus crumpled to the floor. Panic ignited in the room, people scrambling and shouting, and Coriolanus realized the true weight of their plan—the darkness had not only enveloped their enemies but threatened to consume him as well.

“Stay with me,” Sable urged, her hand gripping his tightly, anchoring him in the chaos. “Stay with me."

Panic surged through Sable as she fumbled with the antidote tucked into her dress. Her hands trembled, the vial slipping from her grasp and rolling away across the polished floor, a small, glimmering promise of salvation in a sea of chaos. Time seemed to stretch as she watched it skitter away, her heart pounding in her chest like a drum echoing the frantic cries of the guests around her.

“Shit!” she hissed, her voice breaking as she lunged forward, desperate to retrieve it. Just as it rolled under the table, she dove for it, snatching it up just in time. Relief flooded through her, but it was quickly overshadowed by the urgency of the moment. Medical personnel were rushing in, the air thick with tension and confusion, but she couldn’t wait for help.

She rushed back to Coriolanus, who was struggling to stay upright, his face pale and drenched in sweat. “Open your mouth!” she commanded, her heart racing as she forced his lips apart, desperation clawing at her insides.

With shaking hands, she tipped the vial, pouring the antidote into his mouth. “Swallow!” she urged, her voice fierce with determination, even as tears of fear threatened to spill from her eyes. She watched as he struggled for breath, the life in his gaze flickering like a candle in the wind.

Coriolanus coughed, the bitter liquid spilling over his lips, but she pressed on, encouraging him to swallow every drop. “Please, you have to fight,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she cradled his face in her hands, their eyes locked in an intense battle against the encroaching darkness.

Around them, the gala was chaos, but in that moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. She could feel the warmth of his skin under her fingers, the strength that still lingered beneath the surface, and she held onto that hope as tightly as she could.

As he swallowed the last of the antidote, a faint spark ignited in his eyes, and she breathed a shaky sigh of relief. “Just hold on, Corio. You’re going to be okay,” she vowed, the conviction in her voice stronger than the fear that threatened to engulf them both.

Garrison fought his way through the throng, the press of bodies and rising panic creating an almost suffocating barrier. Each step felt like wading through thick mud, but adrenaline propelled him forward, desperation fueling his movements. As he broke free from the crowd, his heart dropped at the sight that met him.

Coriolanus lay sprawled on the floor, his pallor stark against the gleaming marble, and Sable knelt beside him, her hands trembling as they cradled his head. Garrison’s breath caught in his throat, beads of sweat trickling down his brow as horror coursed through him like ice. The night had spiraled into chaos, a sickening twist of fate that had turned what should have been a triumphant evening into a scene of despair.

He stood over them, feeling the weight of the moment press down on his chest. The echoes of laughter and music from earlier felt like distant ghosts, haunting reminders of a celebration now transformed into a nightmare. Garrison's eyes flickered between Sable's anguished expression and Coriolanus's still form, a wave of disbelief crashing over him.

As the chaos of the gala erupted around them, Philip, Eleanor, and Seline rushed through the crowd, propelled by a mix of urgency and dread. The festive atmosphere had turned into a scene of panic, with guests shouting and scrambling for help. Their hearts raced as they pushed past the clusters of stunned attendees, guided by the instinctive need to find the youngest Hanover.

When they finally reached her, the sight that greeted them was nothing short of heart-wrenching. Sable knelt beside Coriolanus, cradling his head in her lap, her fingers trembling as they brushed through his hair, desperate to anchor him to her. Tears streamed down her cheeks, glistening like shards of glass against the opulence of the gala. The once vibrant red of her gown was now marred by the gravity of the moment, a stark contrast to the jubilation that had filled the room only moments before.

Philip’s breath hitched at the sight, his instincts screaming at him to protect his daughter, while Eleanor’s expression morphed from shock to profound concern, the weight of the situation pressing down on her chest. Seline’s heart raced, recognizing the telltale signs of Sable’s despair etched into her sister’s features. The way Sable’s shoulders shook, the way her gaze flickered from Coriolanus to the world around them, it was clear that she was adrift in a sea of anguish.

Each heartbeat felt like an eternity as Seline stepped closer, the frantic noise of the gala fading into a distant murmur. She could feel the heaviness in the air, a palpable tension that told her all was not well. The look in Sable’s eyes—haunted and glassy—spoke volumes of a turmoil that neither Philip nor Eleanor could comprehend. In that moment, as the trio stood frozen, they became mere shadows to Sable’s anguish, uncertain of what had transpired, but fully aware that something had irrevocably changed.

[machveil]

Will we be seeing Konig in fluffy sweaters or scarves or hats as the seasons get colder? Also may we have a peak at the WIP list? -🐸

so… I may or may not have ~24 drafts right now - that said, I want to say, like, five are done and waiting to be posted/reread. my inbox is also stuffed thank you thank you thank you. I actually have eight of yours all in various stages of being written - Johnny snooping on Simon’s ‘housekeeper’ is the one closest to being posted!

otherwise, I have a wide variety: I have a Neighbor!König ask (🍄), a couple König x M!Reader asks, König having a bus stop crush (🐰), more Loser!König asks thank you sobbing over him, and a couple CoD Headcanons amongst a lot of other things

uuh even though it sounds like I’m drowning in asks please keep sending them in haha, I don’t mind and it’s never a bother. I usually answer random, miscellaneous asks a little quicker (unless it explodes my brain, then it becomes a big fic). Tumblr’s been good about not eating asks so just assume it’s in the works and it will be see the light of day at some point

König, first of all, despises being sick. everything sucks - he gets watery eyes, a stuffy nose - usually results in him breathing through his mouth, and he feels like death. so, when König notices the air getting a little colder he breaks out all his winter clothes. he keeps them in a box in his closest, they only appear for the autumn and winter

König’s mama definitely bundled him up as a child. a big, warm scarf and gloves she made herself, a massive, thick jacket that swallowed him - if König wanted to go outside and it was cold out he had to wear layers. it’s sort of been ingrained in his head, as an adult he has the same mentality. he’s already a big, broad man, but come autumn? his massive, puffy jacket looks ridiculous makes him look even bulkier

König does appreciate the colder seasons though - he genuinely likes wearing sweaters, but he can only do it when it’s in season. he tries to wear thick, comfortable sweaters at home in late spring and summer but he gets too hot, even with the AC blasting. he can maybe get away with wearing a sweater if he’s somewhere naturally cooler, but even then he might start sweating a lot

König doesn’t skimp on warm comfort food during the colder seasons. a classic chicken soup, snacking on *erdäpfelknödel and having them as a side with some hot stew. König associates soups with the colder seasons, he’ll bundle up in a warm sweater and call his mama while he cooks her recipes. his mama never writes down her recipes because she knows them (duh, König) so he always has to consult her. he tried writing a recipe down once… she found out and refused to cook his favorite food when he visited home. he had to record himself tearing up the paper he wrote on before she would cook his favorite food again - his siblings constantly bring it up whenever she cooks for him

*I Googled Austrian comfort foods and, god, those look good?? love a good potato dumpling

[hannahssimblr]

As the evening draws in, others arrive at the house. It’s been nice, just Evie and I, for the hour alone that we had, once my family left and I finally showered the smell of grass from my body.

We laughed together while preparing the oven snacks that are now laid out on plates on the table, being picked at by people whose surnames I’ve already begun forgetting. It was sad too, in a way, being happy with Evie, and living out some kind of domestic fantasy where she burns the spring rolls and I tell her it’s okay, because I’m a dustbin of a man and I’ll truly eat anything, and maybe later, before going to bed we would brush our teeth together and flash each other frothy smiles in the mirror. 

I considered kissing a flake of pastry off her lip, too, in a temporary burst of madness, before remembering it would be among the worst ideas I ever had. It was just as well I didn’t, because the doorbell was ringing, and four people from school were waiting outside. 

Now, in the light of the golden sunset, we’re apart, as I, on the lawn, listen to a group of guys talk about the college offers pushed through their letter boxes this morning, and Evie sits with Tara Neary and her gang at the patio table and does her best to include herself. I hope they don’t tell her about the weird stuff I did at school, but chances are, they’ve already been through the highlight reel. 

They all turn to look as the patio door swings open and Michelle comes out and down the steps towards me. To my great surprise, she greets me with a hug. 

“Sorry, we’re a bit late,” she says. “Jen had a thing about her hair.”

“Ah, classic Jen,” I glance over her shoulder, and spot that signature flash of red in the kitchen. I’m uneasy, knowing I’ll have to have a grim conversation with her later, but later is later, and now, Michelle is smiling in a way I’m almost sure she never has, surveying the little crowd that has gathered in the garden.

“A good few showed up after all, didn’t they?”

“I think they wanted to see what the inside of my house looked like, to be honest.”

“Don’t be like that! They wanted to give you a proper sendoff, to wish you well on your big adventure.”

“Oh, yeah. That whole thing.”

“Are you nervous?”

I smirk. “Yeah, it’s my first time on a plane. I’m shitting it.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know I’m not talking about the flight.”

“I’m trying not to think about it, to be honest,” and my eyes, once again, find Evie through the crowd. “I’ll just get on the plane, and I’ll let it all sink in when I’m there.”

“Makes sense, in some sort of way, I suppose.”

“The whole thing is surreal,” I admit. “Like, tomorrow, before midday, I’ll be there. Like, I’ll live there. It seems like too much change all at the same time.”

“It’s what you wanted,” she reminds me. “And if you don’t like it, just come home.”

“I doubt I’ll come home. I think that’d be, like, the biggest failure of my life.”

“Worse than losing me?” She says, and I baulk, before she cracks a grin, “God, I was joking.”

I break into a laugh. “Nah, actually you know what was worse than that? Losing Goose.”

“Oh God,” she covers her mouth with her hands, “the Goose of it all. How could I forget about him? Do you have a theory about what happened?”

I grimace. “I want to be realistic, but that also means I don’t really want to speculate, because, I mean… Most likely…”

“Fucking hell, you know, I’ll never forget that…” 

As we talk, and catch up and laugh with one another in ways that we haven’t for a decade, I lose track of time, and don’t pay attention to the sun that dips below the horizon. The evening moths vanish from the garden, and the stars rise and the summer dies, and my last day in Ireland ends without me even noticing.

Beginning // Prev // Next

Corresponding LG Chapter

[majestyeverlasting]

I'd Follow You Anywhere

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Summary: Even when the world is falling a apart, it's not all bad all the time. Sometimes you stumble upon those lightening-in-a-bottle nights that make everything seem like it's going to be okay. Even with monumental changes looming on the horizon.

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: TLOU has my heart right now, and I just really wanted to write something. I hope you guys enjoy! There's soft smut towards the end.

This piece contains 18+ content.

He should be asleep. All three of you should be. But he can’t remember the last time he’s felt this awake. The moon had long come out to brave the sky, a glowing beacon miles above a fallen world. Tonight, you’d managed to slip into one of those rare pockets in time where everything seemed less fractured and more whole.  

The classic rock song emitting from the record player has him tapping the beat onto his thigh like a man well practiced. Ellie watches his hand as her head rests on his shoulder, bruised knuckles and all. Another yawn creeps up on her and she stiffles it into his shirt. 

They’re sitting on the couch waiting for you. 

In the middle of trying to coax him up to dance, you remembered he hadn’t seen you in your new dress. Since he arrived home earlier that evening, the three of you had been caught up eating, laughing, and talking about other things that the dress had slipped your mind. Ms. Wright from across the hall had sewn it for you at a thank you.

She’d been living alone since her husband passed, and you always made a point to check in on her. Sometimes Ellie tagged along too, and enjoyed every second of eating soft mints and listening to the two of you share stories about better days. 

“Alright, I’m about to come out,” you announce. 

Joel startles when Ellie springs up off the couch and goes to stand behind it so she can cover his eyes. When you walk into the living room to the sight, he’s fighting a smile and losing. Ellie looks beyond proud of herself, and you can’t help but let out a laugh infused with nothing but fondness.  

“We’ve gotta do a reveal countdown,” she insists. 

Joel has no qualms with that. Your laughter is close and hers is even closer. It’s all he ever wanted these days. 

“Take it away.” You motion to her. 

“Okay. Three…two…one!” 

She keeps her hands over his eyes, however. Joel huffs in feigned annoyance.  

Having the one up on him was a luxury only the two of you got to experience. 

“You’re really missing out,” you tease. 

A squeak escapes Ellie when he gently grabs onto her wrists. “Okay, okay! Don’t break me.” 

Next thing he knows, he can see. It takes a couple blinks for his eyes to readjust. 

Heat blooms beneath his skin as he tries to determine where to settle his gaze. First it’s your chest and the way the fabric hugs it, then it’s the skin of your legs that remains uncovered beyond the flowy lower half that falls at your knees. 

But it’s your smile that does him in. He clears his throat and sits up a little straighter.  

“You’ve gotta give us a spin now,” Ellie insists.

Joel catches the shy way you wrinkle your nose, as if suddenly registering all the attention on you. 

“Just one, baby.” His drawl makes you give in. 

Upon making it back around, there’s an intensity to his gaze that wasn’t there before. 

“So?” You smooth your hands down the front. 

Pushing himself up, he saunters towards you with his broad shoulders moving in an all too familiar sway. His warm hands find your waist and run down the curve of your hips to admire your shape. He no later dips his head to give you a chaste kiss that leaves you looking up at him through your lashes. So little things made sense anymore, but your love for one another was among them. 

Ellie could see it. Feel it. The excess overflowed and was the very thing sustaining her. You two were her home, her light in formidable darkness. 

As she watches the two of you, an unfamiliar degree of gratefulness weighs down on her and tears gather at her waterline.

She quickly wipes her eyes, and slips out of the living room in case more threaten to spill over. In the hallway, she presses her back to the wall and sniffles quietly enough to assume no one heard. But you do. There’s a Polaroid photo of the three of you taped to the parallel wall. You’re all sitting on the back of the truck bed, and Joel’s in the middle looking famously unimpressed. The beginnings of a smile start on her face. 

An unspoken sense of understanding haloes the room when she walks back in. Joel extends an arm towards her as an invitation to come join your embrace. She accepts it as easy as breathing, nuzzling her face into his chest. 

With both of you in his arms and music still droning low, Joel closes his eyes through a brief exhale. This is everything he was ever afraid of. Not only having one person he’d lay down his life for, but two. It was the type of fear that ached and consumed, but pushed him through every waking second to fight against the odds and endure, survive. 

The type of fear that only existed in the presence of love. 

“I’ve got you two,” he promises. “Always will.”  

Two abrupt gunshots sound from outside. 

Faint apologies arise a heartbeat later, only to be met by someone barking to get back indoors. 

Those had been warning shots.

“Curfew breakers,” you murmur. 

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence, but Joel had grown uncharacteristically stiff. In fact, he’d been on edge all week when it came to patrol officers. 

Yesterday, a young officer approached you to compliment your contribution to the newest mural in the children’s center, and Joel had pulled you closer to his side without so much as thinking. It was as if he was anticipating punishment to befall the two of you for a reason unbeknownst to you. 

You hadn’t asked any questions then, but now your curiosity has been renewed. 

Rather than commenting on anything in front of Ellie, you settle on scratching his lower back in that comforting way he likes. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything. 

Instead, she glances towards the clock. “I didn’t realize it was almost midnight.” 

“Tired?” you ask. 

“A little. But I’m not gonna be the weak link by turning in first.”

“You’re already the weak link,” Joel says with no bite. 

Ellie’s mouth falls open as she pulls away in feigned offense. “I could be the strongest one here but we just don’t know it yet.” 

He can’t help but admire that spark within her. “You might be, kid.” He means it. 

She disappears to her room after a chorus of goodnights, leaving the two alone. 

Joel’s hands return to your waist, this time with a more charged sense of need. He leans in to kiss you, but you cup his cheeks to stop him, beard rough against your palms. 

“Hey,” you say. “Is everything okay? 

Something flickers across his expression, but disappears like a vapor. 

“Mhm.” A distracting buzz of electricity courses through you when he reaches around and gives your backside a firm knead. 

His voice is gruff when he speaks next. “So goddamn gorgeous.”

You try to muster the strength to ask if his previous answer was truthful, but his lips finally find yours and all you can think about is his scent, his warmth, the feel of him. He’s a walking incantation that has settled beneath your skin and taken your judgment captive. 

In a calculated motion, he breaks from the kiss and sweeps you up bridal style. The butterflies in your stomach grow in number as he carries you to your bedroom, shutting the door with his foot behind you. 

With your back flush against the mattress and legs hanging over the edge, you look up at him in a way that’s past innocent, face glowing in the dim light. Your smile is sweet as anything, and your dress has ridden high on your thighs. Joel studies you with a degree of restraint that makes him burn. 

His muscles stretch and ripple as he pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside. He’s battered, bruised, hairy, and everything you want.

As if at an altar, he drops to his knees between your legs. It’s clear he’s not in the mood for chit-chat considering the immediate way he turns his face to kiss along the skin of your inner thighs. With a calloused hand, he pushes the dress up for more access and his index finger finds the cotton of your panties. 

He traces over the fabric, making note of every squirm and breath hitch. There’s nothing rushed about his movements and that makes you all the more sensitive. When you lift your hips, he understands you’re asking him to take off the one article keeping him from where you need him. 

The air of the room initially feels cool against your heat, but the warmth returns when he circles your clit and runs his fingers through your folds in a way that makes your thighs jump. 

He’s caught off guard when you reach down to push his hand away. 

“Can we fast forward?” you breathe. The sincerity of your tone makes him flush as stands back up to his full height. 

It felt good to be wanted. 

Before he has the chance to do it himself, you sit up and begin working on his belt, freeing it from the loops and letting it fall to the floor with a dull clink. Joel pulls his jeans and boxers down in one go, and you hurry to pull your dress over your head, repositioning yourself on the bed. The mattress dips as he crawls overtop of you, and he takes a moment to palm your breasts before aligning himself at your slick entrance. 

You reach up to smooth the furrow between his brows. “And you’re sure everything’s okay?” you ask. 

Rather than offering a proper answer, he eases himself into your warmth and you’re forced to welcome him with fluttering lashes and a heavy sigh of pleasure. He feels halfway guilty for deflecting yet again, but you feel so good around him that he’s able to get lost in you instead. His thrusts remain steady and deep so he feels every little detail there is to be felt. You hook your legs around the back of his thighs and grip his biceps so he has no choice but to stay close—as if there was anywhere else he was planning to go. When he feels you clench around him, he picks up the pace. 

“Oh, God, yes,” you breathe, closing your eyes. “Just like that.”

Pleasure swells within him like a wave awaiting the moment it can crash onto the shore. He bites back the groans that want to crawl up his throat because he can’t afford being too loud with paper thin walls. The way you look beneath him, all dazed and dreamy, makes it nearly impossible. He’s never met another person who makes him feel this turned on, this desired, this needed. 

You were as good as they came. Kind, and principled, and unbelievably selfless. Things were only getting worse in the QZ, and the thought of you—and Ellie, for that matter—falling victim to the immorality of a broken system was something he refused to see manifest. That’s why he had to get the two of you out of here. He already had it all planned out, but had yet to tell the two of you.  

That’s why he’d been so on edge.

“Joel,” you quietly praise, breath fanning over his lips. 

He hadn’t even realized he’d touched his forehead to yours. 

With immeasurable tenderness, he kisses you and reaches between your bodies to thumb at your clit just the way you like. 

You shudder beneath him and dig your nails into his skin, leaving behind crescent indents. A few breaths later, the world is fading in and out as you let go, pulsing around his length in strong waves. It takes so much out of you that your muscles have gone limp by the end. Joel finds his own release in the midst of it all and can’t stifle his low grunts in time. But he feels so high and out of his body that he doesn’t care. 

When his breathing begins to grow even, he pulls himself out of you and you whimper at the loss. The mattress squeaks as he falls onto the bed alongside you, your gazes remaining on each other. You blink dreamily while he barely blinks at all, afraid he’ll miss something. But you’re being more studious of him than he assumes. 

“Now will you talk?” You run a gentle hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp until he shivers. “There’s nowhere else to hide.” 

So he tells you about his plans, praying to God that you meant the words you’d spoken to him all those months ago. 

I’d follow you anywhere.

-

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated—I promise I see them all.

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[accio-victuuri]

there are a lot bits and pieces still going around and being discussed about the hengdian clownery. personally, the most interesting is the fact that where wyb is supposed to be is 15 minutes away to where xz is staying in hengdian — and the timeline we are now piecing together. 🧩

where wyb was supposed to be is not actually inside “hengdian world studios” but as good as. to those who are confused because what people are posting is that douyin has him located in “dongyang” last 2/18 and allegedly last 2/2. well, this information below may explain why:

XZ is staying at Radisson Hotel which is where WYB also stayed when he did LOF and Luoyang. XZ used it too when he was filming YGY and this filming time was when an AUX appliance ( endorsed by WYB ) was found sent to the hotel. So you can say that they are familiar with this place so if there is somewhere to meet then this is their best bet. I’m pretty sure this place is discreet and employees may be given NDAs by companies that have their talents staying there. In this case, a VIP client like Xiao Zhan will not be there and continue to do so without specific arrangements done for him.

there is also a comment from someone who is familiar with Hengdian, that this hotel is close to the expressway, like 3-5 mins away. so it is convenient if you need to move around. we don’t really know anything about WYB’s movie or whatever project he is doing, but seeing this, it’s most likely in Zhejiang. this makes sense cause when the news about the location was out, others tested it and wyb was no longer 7km away but 30km. meaning he has left the hotel and posted on douyin on his way back to work. this is a classic meeting up on their part when their locations are close.

2/2 - WYB’s douyin IP is turned off. This only means his IP will not be visible in his profile, but his location can still be tracked when he posts something ( allegedly ). So it could be because he went to HD or they have plans of meeting up so it’s best to be safe.

2/5 - XZ went to Hangzhou to film his performance for BRTV spring festival gala. XZS shared a behind the scenes of that and one thing cpfs noticed was a particular suitcase. the comment was hilarious actually cause the fan was asking why the suitcase was so old and beat up 😂😂😂

turns out, this looks really similar to a suitcase wyb used back in 2016. it makes sense that it’s beat up and covered in different things now. i know that wyb is not the only person who can have this suitcase but this is just how cpns go. 🤷🏻‍♀️

my clown mind also likes the idea of wyb being there. it’s not as notorious as hengdian world studios with all the paparazzi. the place xz shot this at is pretty lowkey, so wyb can blend in if he visits.

2/9 - GG posted a selfie which has it’s variety of cpn speculations on it’s own. however, looking at it with what we have now — this makes more sense now:

the second photo shared by xz is really a clue. the ybo art was also so focused on how the ornament was placed. maybe yibo was the one who placed that? and it’s why xz was so fixated. ☺️

and so they were both quiet for the duration of the holidays. xz breaking that with the 5th day for the god of wealth — which is a stock video. i don’t fault him for that tho, he is free to relax.

2/13 - WYB has added some love songs to his qq playlist and the subjects of it : “accompanying is the longest love confession” and being happy despite of a cloudy day? It could be he is missing XZ, especially that Valentines Day is the next day. Maybe he traveled to closer to XZ on 2/14. Take note that XZ is continuously working on the drama, he only had a few days completely off.

2/17 - XZS posted a series of photos that some of his solo fans said is different from what was shared last year. It can be they couldn’t do any new materials because XZ was busy with work + WYB is there. Who knows when they will be able to spend this time together again. I like the idea of their staff respecting their time alone together. They both deserve it 🤎

WHICH LEADS US TO 2/18 when the whole wyb in hengdian issue came up. ⭕️

This may be expanded once we get more clues but this is what we have so far.

-END.

[frightfield]

HI i love to see a hf blog... CAN U DO RUTH HEADCANONS SHE'S MY EVERYTHING

Absolutely! Ruth is one of my favorite characters, so there’s a lot of them.

Ruth Fleming Headcanons

General

- A very well known headcanon is that Ruth has a lot of acne because of her greasy skin. I have the idea that she does and she’s very prone to acne breaking out, but she tries really hard with skincare anyways as a way to try to get people to note she has at least one part that she’s hygienic about. Almost as a way to distract from the fact that she will inevitably smell bad due to not being able to wear deodorant. The skincare doesn’t work too well though and even on the days where her face is clearer than normal (only a few patches of acne) no one really notices since they’re too distracted by her headgear.

- Auditions whenever they have a musical in her school and she never even gets to be ensemble. It gets to a point where she doesn’t even want to audition anymore since it makes her feel bad every time she doesn’t see herself on the cast list. On the opposite side, Pete gets really good roles very easily despite not even wanting to do theater for some time (he didn’t want the attention of being known as a theater kid.) So she is usually happy for him even if she isn’t able to play a part.

- Her clothes are primarily warmer colors and she’s a big fan of nature themed stuff. She has a few occasional fancy clothes that she only wears during important events. A lot of her t-shirts have really corny jokes on them. Definitely owns a shirt with a mushroom on it that says “I’m a fun-guy!”

- Very desensitized around brutal situations since I like to think she’s a horror movie fan. Has some of the craziest “hear me outs” about the characters in a few of the ones she watches.

- Her favorite musical is Rocky Horror Picture Show. She likes a lot of classic musicals as well such as Sondheim ones which is why they have such an influence in her song Just For Once. For recent musicals I’d say she does like the base ones everyone in 2021 was a fan of (Heathers, Spring Awakening, BMC, RTC) but I’m unsure if she’d want more or less highschool content with how much stress she has in it. I think she’d also like Funny Girl a lot for it’s whole thing of dreaming of success. She hates the musicals that she’s had bad experiences with so most of the common highschool chosen musicals would fall into this category like the Wizard of Oz.

Media

- She can’t draw whatsoever and this is a good thing since if she could she’d be self-shipping with so many characters.

- Since this is set in 2021 I think she was definitely on WLWtok (me too, Ruth... me too...). Unfortunately I think it’s safe to assume she’d be a big fan of the thirst traps on there. She’d either have the TikTok app directly or watch those YouTube compilations of them.

- Owns a few Squishmallows but only the ones that everyone finds ugly.

- Prefers Minecraft over Roblox. The few times she’s played Roblox her avatar has gotten made fun of and when she tries to insult back she always gets a warning. Richie plays it though and has been trying to get her to try it again (she doesn’t know that he’s going to spam kill her so he can level up in his anime game.)

- Played Club Penguin as a kid and always wanted an orange puffle but she didn’t have membership. She settled on getting a red one.

- Also watched Sanders Sides and Dan & Phil when she was younger.

Headcanon Minis

- Favorite season is autumn.

- Has had a lot of crushes on her teachers before.

- Likes dogs more than cats but is a fan of them both.

- Has a preference for women.

- Favorite condiment is unfortunately mustard.

-

Bonus

- Favorite horror movie is any of the Scream ones since I know how those fans are about Ghostface. (Her favorite is most likely Scream 3, since it’s the goofiest one.)

- Always gets Pete and Richie to go into haunted houses just to see their (especially Pete’s) reactions. Got her skeleton inspiration from taking note of the scare actors in those.

- You’d think that she’d get kicked out of the haunted houses for flirting with the scare actors, but she’s not that direct about her attraction, usually getting flustered and only telling her friends after in way worse detail than whatever she’d say to the actor themself.

- That being said, do NOT let her into a haunted house where the scare actors get to touch the guests. 

This page is prone to have more headcanons added or removed. (And for you Ruth fans, there is an x reader fic in the works coming soon so watch out for that one.)

[jq37]

The Report Card – Fantasy High Junior Year Ep 1

We're SO Back

School is back in session y’all!!!!

Fantasy High has returned to us after a long break and I am thrilled to come out of my recapping hiatus to bring back the Report Card for Junior Year! You know I could let my favorite chaotic high schoolers go un-analyzed! 

This episode wastes no time in getting started so neither will I. Brennan makes what I think is a very strong narrative choice by starting us in media res at the end of a classic Bad Kids adventure. It is the summer between Sophomore and Junior Year and the party has spent the last four months hot on the trail of the dreaded Night Yorb.

We catch up to our Intrepid Heroes in the Red Waste and they’re trying to catch up to the Night Yorb which is a big, eldritch, manta ray like monster who threatens to plunge the entire world into darkness, creating a very slow (but still effective!) apocalypse! The Night Yorb is flanked by its groupies, made up of members of the many cults dedicated to it (collectively known as “Yorbies”).

As I said, the Bad Kids are hot on its trail, in (and on) the Hangvan. Gorgug (who has been leaning more into his Artificer vibes lately) has outfitted the top of the Hangvan with a solar lasso that can be used to capture and reel in the Night Yorb so that Fig and Adaine can defeat it with a magical sigil. I’m gonna quickly run down where everyone is and what they’re doing:

Adaine and Fig are both standing on top of the Hangvan in order to spring the sigil when the time comes. Adaine is also joined by Boggy and a new addition, Moggy the Doggy (aka, Mordekainen’s Faithful Hound), which is a very round, very cute, very invisible Pomeranian looking dog. 

Gorgug is also up top with them because he’s manning the solar lasso. 

Fabian is inside the Hangvan along with Baby (aka Wretchrot, aka Fig’s screeching blood imp who has no mechanical benefit unless she takes another level of Warlock as Brenan keeping reminding us) and Ecaf, a mirror with a sultry voice that Fabian is *heavily* flirting with, much to everyone’s discomfort. It’s tres Narcissus. (Also, ha, Face backwards. I see you Brennan).

Kristen is in the back with Fabian and Riz is driving, even though he is WAY too small to effectively be driving a Gorgug sized van. 

The Hangman–Fabian’s trusty motorcycle/hellhound–is out in front of the Hangvan.

Also Squeem is on the roof with the others! Beloved, fan favorite Squeem!

Yeah, so this episode does a thing of pretending like we’re jumping into the last episode of an arc that we’ve seen every episode of and introducing characters in a very Sam Reich, “He’s been there this whole time” way even though it’s their first appearance. I think it’s very funny and it reminds me of that Community episode where they’re all flashing back to episodes that never aired. But anyway, I mention this so that if I mention a name and you’re like “Whomst?” it’s probably just a bit, you’re not forgetting a major character.

Anyway, we’re joining this chase already in progress which means our kids are hurt and down spell slots but their opponents are as well. The distribution is pretty uneven–Adaine is way less hurt than Fabian and Kristen for instance, which honestly checks out (curious how they decided on that though). 

Because this episode is just one big battle sequence for the most part, I’m going to follow the precedent I set in the recaps for The Seven and just give the highlights in bullets and then do an analysis on where all the Bad Kids are right now at the end:

Murph comes in hot, using his first action of the new season to shoot his gun and doing 30 points of damage with a 27 to hit. New year, new Murph! 

Siobhan invokes the corn cuties debacle from fight one and all the falling off the tables that happened. Clearly, a bit of Adaine’s oracle energy is rubbing off on her because the next thing that happens in that Fabian decides to jump on top of the Hangvan to cast Faerie Fire on the Night Yorb (which has shrouded itself in magical darkness), rolls the first Nat 1 of the season, absolutely eats it, and gets run over by Riz–narrowly avoiding going down. He’s ultimately fine–The Hangman comes and picks him up–but it’s not a very auspicious star from Master Fabian. 

Emily and Murph have a cute moment of womping Brennan back to back by using Silvery Barbs to make him reroll two attacks on the Hangvan–one of which is a crit–and then giving each other the advantage on the next roll.

Kristen is a real pillar in this encounter–holding up the Circle of Power spell that allows her friends to ignore big chunks of damage that absolutely would have dropped them. But throughout the entire fight, her patron goddess, Cassandra, keeps trying to talk to her and Kristen keeps leaving her on read–we’ll get more into that in a bit. 

Adaine comes in clutch with a Nat 1 portent roll to stop the NIght Yorb from resisting Gorgug’s attempt to reel it in further. Truly, the best time to roll a Nat 1 in this game. Divination Wizards are awesome!

We learn that “Don’t Speak of the Night Yorb” is more than just a silly bit when Fig realizes that saying its name makes it heal up which isn’t great because they’ve been *very* cavalier about invoking its name. 

Squeem gets a big emotional goodbye with Gorgug on top of the Hangvan, heroically leaps off to fend off some Yorbies…and then rolls a 2 and totally faceplants. No! Squeem! Beloved fan favorite Squeem! They already had to revivify you once! 

On the Night Yorb’s turn, Brennan does an attack and shakes so many dice that it sounds like maracas. It’s 61 points of damage and squishy wizard Adaine goes down, but everyone else stays up–large in part due to Kristen’s aforementioned Circle of Power. (Siobhan, describing how bad her saving rolls were zings two separate friends saying, “It was Fabian level nasty. I fucking Murph’d it.”)

Luckily, Fig and Gorgug are up on the roof with Adaine so she does not go sliding off the van when she goes down. They catch her before she can fall. 

At this point the Van has sustained a lot of damage so Murph reminds the teacher that they have homework/Brennan that they have to roll for a mishap. That turns out to be the breaks blowing out. Now, all the Van can do is accelerate! It’s just like the movie Speed!

Two more characters who we totally know and have been here this whole time show up to help–Balthazar and Duggan McCann! A cool grizzled veteran and a centaur cowboy. Riz immediately starts doing cool guy banter with them because he’s somehow convinced them that he’s cool (which he is for the record, just in a completely different way lol). Unfortch, Baz almost right away gets eaten by the NIght Yorb. Who’s gonna take care of his litter (?) of parrots?????

 At this point in the fight, everyone gets a ping on their crystals, reminding them that school starts in three days. This stresses everyone out more than the fight that they’re currently in. 

Fig brings up Adaine with a Healing Word but she immediately has to do Wis save with the rest of the party. She and Fabian fail, but once again Fabian is saved by fear negating effects of his dad’s eyepatch. So Adaine starts to have a panic attack about the fact that she’s fighting the Night Yorb while standing on the roof of a moving vehicle which, real talk, very normal and valid reaction. In fact, probably concerning that she’s reached a point in her life where that *isn’t* the default reaction. 

The Hangvan is coming up on a jump it’ll have to make to continue following the Night Yorb (and it can’t even try to stop because the brakes are cut). Riz fails the roll which means that the van is probably going to fall on its side. Adding insult to injury, a pillar of rock falls and is going to crash into the van, doing even more major damage. 

Fig watches this, and almost dissociates, feeling the weight of the entire summer taken from them to do this quest. Feeling so so tired. Feeling the fact that even if they win, they’re just gonna have to go back to school and adventure some more. A piece of magic she’s been holding inside of for a long time flickers and she hears an enticing voice whisper in her ears. “If you would take me, you know what you would save.” She smells a sour, curdled scent and she knows that if she says yes, she can save her friends. Maybe there’s another way, but she just wants this to be over. “I’m yours,” Fig says. 

There’s a flash of “lemony, yellow, creamy” light (hmmmm) and the rock stops falling. The Hangvan starts righting itself.

And then there’s a sick gurgle from Fig’s stomach. 

Uh-oh, gang. 

For those of you who are new to these recaps, every week, I give one PC Detention and put one on the Honor Roll for their in-game actions. We’re starting off hot this semester with:

Detention 

Kristen Applebees for Being a BAD Friend to Cassandra 

Like, OK. Faith is complicated. Kristen’s relationship with religion is complicated. Being a cleric is complicated. But notice that I didn’t say being a bad *cleric*. I said being a bad *friend*. To be clear, she’s also being a bad cleric, and I’ll talk about that later. But having understandably conflicted views on religion doesn’t make sliding in your Fantasy Airpods while the being who is essentially a lonely teen girl and who is keeping you and all your friends alive tries to talk to you NOT seem like a giant dick move. Come on girl, get it together. 

Honor Roll

Brennan Lee Mulligan for Being a Great DM!

I realized as I was writing this that I’ve given Brennan Detention but never Honor Roll so he’s getting it today. It feels so good to have him back in the dome with the kids and he drew me back into the world, right away. I’m so psyched that we have a full season of this ahead of us! 

CHARACTER CHECK-INS

Like I said earlier, because this is the first episode back, I want to really quickly check in with all of the Bad Kids and where they are, character-wise. I’m going to do this roughly from least concerning to me to most concerning to me. 

-Adaine: Adaine seems like she’s living her best life. She has her frog! She has her dog! Her character art is so much more chill and she’s coming into her own. This season, I’m hoping we get to see more of her relationship with her sister (yes, I’m a predictable bitch. Sue me) and with Zayn (who is also living at Mordred in her tower) who I think has a lot of potential to be an interesting supporting character with more spotlight. But yeah, go Adaine! 

-Gorgug: Gorgug is making his parents proud (not that they ever weren’t) by taking another artificer level. He’s not a 7/3 Barb/Art split. I love that he’s gone from calling himself dumb to taking on this very technical skill. He also apparently has a homunculus? Fascinated to see what that looks like. 

-Riz: Now that his big investigation is over and he knows his dad is a cool secret agent, Riz has switched his subclass from Inquisitor to Arcane Trickster which means he’s got tons of gadgets and that he’s a ring guy now. Love that for him. He’s very much not a chill person though so I’m very curious to know what the next thing he’ll latch onto is. He the kind of guy who always need something going on, you know? 

-Fabian: Fabian is a fancy, dance boy now (6/4 Fighter/Bard)! But that doesn’t mean he’s any less athletic. I mean, have you ever seen a male ballerina? He still is, however, a total disaster. And I mean that affectionately. I mean, his current love interest (?) is a mirror that is showing a fuzzy reflection of his own face. My guy, what are you doing? Although I will say, idk if that’s more or less toxic than him dating Aelwyn. 

-Kristen: Kristen. GIRL. 

OK, so first of all. There is nothing inherently wrong with getting super jacked and like, respect. But in this context it feels like a red flag. Like the kind of thing you do because you’re on the rocks with your girlfriend or if you’ve recently broken up. I will be *very* interested to know what Tracker is up to as she’d not mentioned in this episode. Last we heard, she was out doing cleric stuff for the Moon Goddess, right? Long distance can be hell on a relationship. (Also, idk how seriously we’re supposed to take this but Ally mentioned the one shot it happened in in this episode so Kristen was also totally trying to flirt with a college girl in that college visit oneshot. Brennan shut it down pretty quick, but it very much did happen). 

Also, speaking of cleric stuff, Cass. I feel SO bad for Cass. Like, a god isn’t owed followers, but Kristen chose that role. She CHOSE it. This isn’t like a Helio situation. Cass wasn’t pushy. She specifically says in this episode that she doesn’t want to be pushy. Hell, she says in the episode where she’s introduced that if people don’t want her around she’ll go away. But Kristen chose to be her follower, knowing what the implications of being the sole follower of a goddess is. Cass is made in her image. That’s how deeply entwined they are. Her goddess is made in her image. In The Seven, we learn that Ost’s god hasn’t talked to anyone in years. Kristen has Cass coming in like a mom offering snacks mid battle and Kristen is leaving her on read! It’s honestly kinda hard to watch her be so blithely dismissive of someone so dependent on her even though it’s played off as kind of a joke. I felt like I was watching a loyal puppy get kicked every time they interacted. 

And like, I said this before, Cassandra is made in Kristen’s image. But specifically, she looks like Sophomore year Kristen. Still all skinny and still in her tie-die shirt and shorts. There is a definite vibe of almost wanting to kill the part of yourself that embarasses you, you know? It feels like she's being mean to Cass but also to herself. 

Also, mechanically speaking, it’s wild to be just ignoring the person you’re getting your powers from like this. Like, this is real Wizard behavior. You don’t have to answer to anyone if you studied for your magic but you absolutely do as a cleric. Does Kristen even want to be a cleric? It honestly doesn’t seem like it. She’s shown a pattern of behavior of chafing at every god put in her path, even the ones she literally made up. I thought Cass might be the end of her searching, but we’re right back on the Merry Go Round. The party absolutely needs a healer though so idk how she deals with that. 

I saw the snipped clip of Ally’s interview about Kristen’s arc this season involving what happens when chaos stops being cute, and I can def see seeds being planted. Fascinated to see how they explore that because this feels like a real ticking time bomb of a situation. 

Oh also, her Dex went DOWN????? GIRL!

Fig: I had a lot more to say about Kristen but Fig has to be last on the list for making a deal with a literal devil lol. Like, classic Fig though, right? This WOULD happen. Emily talked about potentially retiring Fig and getting reeled in by some enticing plot hook from Brennan and it feels like we might be about to find out what that is. I won’t speculate on it too much right now because we’re presumably about to find out but there were a LOT of yogurt themed adjectives when that magic activated which has me very split on whether this is about to be deeply concerning or deeply silly. Or both! It could be both! 

Random Thoughts

I LOVE that we have a proper theme song now. It feels so fitting and I love the opening art and it’s all so cool. The show’s so profesh now!

Also, shout out to @caitmayart for making the new art! It has the quality of a professional and the extra love of a fan. It’s my fave D20 official art so far. 

I don’t know when this feature was added but I love that there is a full transcript you can pull up and search and jump to that time in the video now. That’s gonna be SO useful for me. 

One of my favorite things about Adaine is that she’s generally polite but occasionally she’ll just absolutely verbally decimate someone so casually and this episode she said to the Solesian Yorbie they encountered, “What movie theater were you assistant managing before you decided to become a Yorbie?” Brutal. 

Also love how vehement she was about the fact that Brennan couldn’t touch Moggy, even when she went down. You are absolutely NOT gonna kill that dog Brennan.  

“Object interaction, touch Gorgug’s foot.”

Fig asks Gorgug how they can heal a van and he says, “Take it to a shop for 3-4 days.” Zac, underrated comic genius. 

I really can’t overstate how funny it is that Fabian spends most of this episode flirting with his own reflection. I’ve said this many times but something I love about Lou is that he’s not afraid to make Fabian deeply uncool, even though Fabian’s whole thing is being as cool as possible. 

Kristen says she needs to have an intense conversation with Cassandra when the fight is over and what does that mean? Like a breakup conversation? Which I guess would kill her because then she’d have no followers again? I am, como se dice, concerned. 

Also, just looking ahead, Tracker is also a cleric. A pretty faithful one from what I can tell. I have to wonder what her take on Kristen completely neglecting her goddess and church is. 

I think it’s so funny that Emily was thinking about retiring Fig so she could just ride off into the sunset with her cool rockstar life and awesome girlfriend because Riz’s big thing last year was being worried all his friend would pair up and leave him so for him to accept it and then have his fears validated right away would be like, welp. 

At a certain point, Murph has to roll damage and he rolls 45 out of a possible 50 damage. That’s crazy. Let’s see how long that luck holds.