#as of last week i went for the first time lol

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

How could you love somebody like me?

Pairing: f!reader x Javier Peña Words count: 3032 Rating: + 18, NSFW, MDNI. Summary: Javi is under protection and has asked you to join him in the hotel room where he is confined. When you discover his secrets and lies, however, that room will become too small. Too small for both of you. Tags/warnings: POV second person, no use of y/n, Javi is still a DEA agent but it's a modern setting so the man has a smartphone. Reader is described having female genitalia and breasts, no other description of her is given, she doesn't blush and her hair is not described. Mention of alcohol, mention of cheating, Javi is a cheater, no happy ending, we will go through the man's phone (you're not supposed to do that but I never said my reader could do no wrong, right?), use of pet names (gatita which means kitten in Spanish, baby, darling), smut, angry sex, unprotected p in v (do better irl), cream pie, of course a little nipple play ‘cause it’s still my fic, toxic relationship, self doubt, mention of Steve, a huge pile of lies, Javi is bad at feelings, some reader’s thoughts marked in italics. I think it's all, let me know if I forgot something and I'll add it right away. A/N: Written for @jolapeno 's "Dear-uary" challenge. This was my prompt, I struggled a little bit at first but I ended up having a blast writing this ❤︎ Heavily inspired by this song (from which the fic also takes its title), I heard it randomly on Spotify one day and I thought "wait, this is perfect for Javi!" and I ended up being obsessed with two more songs by the same artist. LOL Many thanks to: - @aurorawritestoescape , my beta, for her help and advice, she will probably dream of elephants because of me tonight hahaha Kate I own you a big one, thanks baby so much, I love you ❤️ - The person who basically pulled this out of my brain and supported me throughout the process, my precious, my peanut @joelmillerisapunk. 🥰 Love you so much it's ridiculous🥹 - @milla-frenchy for letting me blather about this thing some days ago. Love you, bb ❤︎ English is not my first language, every single mistake is still on me, I deeply apologize if you find any.

Edited - because I forgot to change the most important detail, of course. I’m not myself if I’m not doing a mess. Yay. It’s okay now.

“Why the hell am I here? Was I the only available hole this week?”

“No,” he whispers. 

“So what?” 

Javier came back and found you in the middle of the room.

You were brandishing his phone like a sword in the air, the banner of everything that was wrong.

His face went pale when he saw you like that. 

Eyes wide open. 

Mouth agape. 

He tried to say something but you immediately hit him with a vomit of words.

“I know what you’re doing,” you hiss under your breath, feeling your eyes sting.

Javier is a marble statue in front of you, his lips pressed together, his absent eyes not even looking at you, staring at a spot behind your shoulders, his arms abandoned along his sides. 

He seems anchored to the ground. 

His last words to you still burn on your skin like a fire you cannot extinguish.

A heavy silence between you fills the air of the room and makes it unbreathable. 

“Fuck, Javier, talk to me,” you whisper angrily.

You clutch his phone in your hands, so tightly that your knuckles are white from exertion, as if you were clinging to it to keep yourself from falling off a cliff. 

“You knew I was no good,” he says sternly.

You have been in this room for two days. 

Officially, Javier has to stay here because henchmen of one of the new drug lords in town are set on taking him out. 

Unofficially, he has you infiltrating the room. 

Typical Javier, spending his time under protection fucking someone. 

You foolishly almost believed it was romantic, until this morning. 

“So you’re trying to say that it’s my fault? Is that what you want to say? It’s my fault that as soon as I turn my back you go and stick your cock in someone else's pussy?” You don’t even have the strength to scream right now. Your voice comes out rancorous but low, hoarse, like a blown growl. 

Oh, you’re not going to accept being lectured by him, fuck no.

“No, I’m just saying -” he tries to explain and you glare at him, making the words die in his mouth.  

"What?" 

“Fuck, I'll never change,” he shrugs as if it were a truism that only you can't grasp.

His eyes shift to the ground, dull and absent.

“You don't change because you are convinced that you can't,” you admonish him, feeling anger rising from your chest. 

"That's not true," he murmurs, keeping his gaze on the crimson and gold carpet that lies at your feet.

“Yes, it is,” you insist, ”and you seem to like to think of yourself as an incurable asshole.”

He still fails to see the real problem, the elephant in the room that lives and thrives among you. 

"Then you tell me, if you think you know me so well,” he asks with defiance. 

“You bet I fucking know you,” you lash out. “You think you're so mysterious and complicated?! Well,  news flash, I've seen plenty like you. You’re just another man. You're not even that, you're a child. A child who's afraid of his own shadow when it comes to relationships.”

“Don’t fucking analyze me,” he hisses, finally setting his eyes back on you. 

Raven, angry and fearful. He knows you can read him like an open book and this unleashes an awareness upon him that crushes him to the ground.

You bitterly laugh, “Truth hurts, huh? I know something about it”. 

The wrinkle between his eyebrows deepens, his nostrils flare, and his mouth tightens into a line so thin you think he’s about to burst. He stays quiet instead, eyes back on the damask carpet decoration. 

_____________

“Yes, Steve, I'm fine. That jerk won't find me here, and anyway it's full of police outside the door.” 

A pause and a sigh. 

”No, no one followed her, they don't know who she is.”

You stood behind the half-closed bathroom door listening. 

You smiled. 

His voice sounded softer when he talked about you. You lulled yourself into that feeling. 

Until you heard something else. 

A booming laugh. 

Water ran in the shower, tiny droplets coated the wall as the mirror fogged up.

“Whatever. Of course I'm still screwing around. At least, I was doing it before that asshole started chasing me,” his voice suddenly lowered so you took a chance and opened the door a little more. You wanted to make sure you heard right. 

Your hand trembled against the doorknob, you grabbed your wrist to hold it steady. 

“You idiot,” he scoffed. “Yeah, we'll be in touch.”

Suspicion. The black wing of a crow that had been wrapped around your heart for a long time.

But then why did it hurt so much? 

You allowed yourself to hide it in a part of your brain where you never looked-that was a mistake. Making the hunch barely a firefly when it was supposed to be a bright neon sign.

He always places the phone with its screen down when you go out to dinner, softly smiling at it when he checks it after a few vibrations, telling you “it’s Steve” when you ask. 

But you know that crooked smile. 

He dodges when you ask him about his day "oh work, you know, just work." 

He tells you he is with Steve but you hear female voices in the background. 

Every time you try to confront him it always ends the same way, him telling you, “you’re paranoid, there’s no one else, just you, baby. You’re the only one I want.”

And then he fucks your doubts into oblivion.

You heard the thud of the phone on the blankets. And then Javier calling you. 

You swallowed the gall rising from the walls of your stomach and just smiled when he joined you in the bathroom and suggested that you shower together.

You wanted some proof before you charged him. 

If there was anything you had learned from being with him, it was that hard evidence was the key. So you played cool. 

He fucked you against the shower wall and you moaned into his neck. 

He licked your pussy like a man starved and you just bit your lips until you felt iron on your tongue.

He kissed you with that liar's mouth, and you let him.

And you fell asleep beside him, on the unmade bed of your uncertainties. 

This morning someone from outside called him into the hallway to report the latest movements of the guy who was looking for him. 

His phone was on the bedside table.

It was like a magnet, pulling your hand to it.

You were almost sure you knew his unlock code ‘cause you had watched the movements of his finger many times. 

You tried twice without success. 

The third time you let out a long sigh, visualized in your mind the movement one more time and unlocked it. 

You were in. 

Your heart was beating wildly in your chest as your fingers swiped and clicked on the screen. 

And there they were.

Dozens and dozens of messages and pics exchanged with 4 different women.

You scrolled through one of the chats with a certain Maria, who regularly sent him pictures of her tits and her legs spread wide, her pussy in the shot.

There was sexting, arranged dates, same promises he gave to you, things you never asked for but he kept repeating like a broken record. Even the same pet name. Gatita. 

Blood simmered in your veins, a jolt in your heart, throat dry. 

Your finger furiously scrolled through the chat, finding tons of messages he had sent her while he was with you.

You switched to another one and you found pretty much the same. And yet another, message after message containing flirting and explicit sex.  

“Oh Javi, you keep getting better and better with that cock of yours”

“My pussy needs you, darling, can you come over?”

“I can’t stop thinking about your huge cock dripping on me”

And the more you scrolled, the more a question formed in your brain, rumbling through your temples like a deafening drum. 

Was he ever sincere with you?

________

When he looks up at you again, you see it. A veil of fragility in the dense blackness of his gaze.

He looks almost helpless. “I know you tried,” he admits, ”You tried harder than anyone else.”

“Apparently it was no use,” you chastise him.

He doesn’t reply. 

Instead he comes closer and closer. 

You pull back, responding to his every step forward with a backward one. 

“Please,” he whispers. 

“No.” 

“Don't do that.”

“You have no right to tell me what to do,” you bark.

”I know...” 

“Fuck off, Javier, leave me alone.”

You pull back until you hit the wall behind you. 

Javier approaches, bending slightly to reach your mouth, his mustache brushes against your cupid’s bow and you don't even have the strength to turn your face away anymore. 

When your lips collide you let it happen. 

It’s like when you drink too much Tequila. 

It burns on your tongue, leaving you almost anesthetized as soon as you down it, and then an aromatic taste wafts into your mouth; it is lysergic, unusual, unmistakable.

You love it, so you keep doing it.

Javier is the same. 

He's sharp, stiff at the edges, burns like fire, but he has an aura that you won’t mistake for anything and he hypnotizes you. He’s not like anyone else, despite what you told him. There is an underlying despair in him, a cry dying in his throat, “How can you love someone like me?” 

He says it only with his eyes but you hear it clearly.

He is a time bomb that explodes in your heart every time he touches you. So you keep doing it.

“Fuck,” you whisper against his lips. 

“Yeah…I know. I’m not worthy.”

And yet, you’re still here.

You let him peel off your every layer of clothing, to leave you naked and vulnerable in front of him. 

You do nothing when he undresses too. Hastily taking off his shirt, fumbling with the button of his jeans, nervous hands and short breaths.

It is like some mind fuck game, intoxicating, dangerous, capable of leaving permanent marks.

He lowers his jeans just enough to free his cock, no boxers. Always ready.

His hands run over your hips and you groan. 

His tongue slides over your neck, his eyes closed, his breath heavy and warm on your skin. 

He makes you cry, but you don't say no.

His lips latch onto your nipple and adrenaline rushes through your veins up into your head, hitting hard like a jackhammer.

You don’t pull back anymore, you push your tit into his mouth so eagerly you feel his teeth closing on your bud and you whine in pleasure. 

His growing erection leaks against your center. You are trapped. Not so much because you are between him and the wall but because you no longer know how to get him out of your head. 

Right now it doesn't matter how much it hurts. 

He slides his hands down your thighs and you know what he wants, without needing to speak. You wrap your legs around his waist. He kneels on the bed with you still clinging to him, you lie back on the soft blankets that smell of you both, arch your back and press against his cock. You folds splayed and dripping for him.

His fingers go up your rib cage, stop under your breasts and grasp there, he draws you back to him and your mouths collide again.

You let his tongue enter. You let the fleeting pleasure of this instant take over all the no's you know you have to say.

There’s no right kind of love here, this room is drowned in angry sex.

Angry at how you can never say no to him, angry at how he makes you feel, angry because you know that no one has ever fucked you the way he did, invading your body with a pleasure so addictive that it makes you sick. Angry because maybe he's right, he can't change. 

You break the kiss and bite on his shoulder, a small act of revenge that really does no harm compared to your bleeding heart. 

Your hands grasp on the golden skin of his back, leaving marks with your nails digging into it, your miserable attempt to leave marks on him in return.

You moan convulsively under his touch, your mouth wide open against his, your tongue desperately seeking him out. 

His hands tighten on your ass, lifting you slightly, his cock slides over your wet opening, a guttural sound comes out of the back of your throat without you being able to hold it back. 

You want him inside you. 

You need him inside you.

And it’s wrong, and desperate. It’s masochistic.

You don’t even care for his jeans’s zip scraping your skin.

The thin line between pain and pleasure is so blurred now.

It’s a pathetic shit show of need and urgency. 

You’d walk away from any other guy but Javier is the person you can never have just for yourself and at the same time he is the only one you want. 

He is the knife and the wound at the same time.  

When he asks “Whose pussy is this?” in his deep groaning voice that fucks directly with your brain, you can only reply “yours.”

Digging your nails deeper, biting more, wailing louder but just pleading with him.

You take his shaft in your hand and rub it against you in blind desperation, wetting it with your juices. 

He groans into your ears while his hand reaches for your nipple and his big strong arm holds you close.

You are sitting on his thighs, your legs crossed behind his back.

His fingers pinch your nipple as you don't stop stroking his big throbbing cock.

Just put it in there. You think. I just need to feel your flesh against mine, inside me, claiming me like the rag doll that I am now. 

Stupid bitch trying to have you when you’re damaged like a shattered glass, when you can bring nothing than heat to my body and freezing ice to my heart. 

“Fuck me,” you groan. 

He pushes against your core, entering you with one deep thrust.

Your pussy is weeping so much it doesn’t even hurt.

You clench on him with all the strength you have, chocking his cock with your walls.

“Fuck,” he growls. “You’re gripping me so hard, baby. There’s nothing you want more than this, huh? Me fucking you raw?” 

“Shut up,” you hiss. 

He starts moving, pumping into you as his hand reaches for your clit, brushing it in circles.

You whine, clinging onto his back, your face hidden in the crook of his neck.

You can’t look him in the eye, you can’t face your own shameful reflection in his pupils, you can’t think of anything else than this pleasure firing your body, your limbs, your mind.

Your pussy never gets the memo when it comes to him. She just clenches, and cries and asks for more.

At the verge of your brink, when you’re so utterly overwhelmed you could swear, you’re about to jump out of your skin, you hear it.

It’s the softest whisper on your skin, so low you barely catch the words, “I love you” 

You cry a single tear that slides down the column of his neck, it could be mistaken for a bead of sweat so easily and Javier doesn’t notice it. But it’s there. You’re crying again.

You come, weeping.

Grasping to him like your last shred of hope.

But there’s no hope anymore.

You know you can’t go on like that.

You cried before. You argued before. It’s all useless.

A devastating orgasm shoots through you, leaving you without defense.

It’s the last thing you want but you need to get it over with. 

You lie on the bed, feeling his last twitches inside you, his cum dripping onto your walls, his cock pressing against that spot that belongs only to him.

He lies down on you, gently crushing you with his weight, his sweaty skin against yours, the smell of your orgasm filling your nostrils.

You’re hopeless and breathless. 

He's still inside you, like he doesn't want to leave. 

You know you have to. 

Eventually he shifts, lying on the other side of the bed muttering, “god, you really are something else.” He takes the pack of cigarettes from the nightstand and lights one, taking a long drag.

“I'm not enough,” you want to scream looking at him through the cloud of smoke enveloping him. “Or maybe you're not, for me.”

When he is about to fall asleep, you get up. You pick up your clothes off the floor and put them on silently.

“Where are you going, gatita?” he grunts. 

Does he think he has solved it? Does he think you will forgive him as you did the other times? 

You don’t reply.

"You only ever tell me the truth when you think I won't hear it,” you type on your phone and send it to him, before coming out of the door without turning your back.

You leave him there, wondering, lost as he makes you feel.

There will be two broken hearts. 

You know he loves you and you love him.

He is convinced that he doesn’t deserve you and pushes you away every time you get close to his soul. 

He knows that you see him clearly; that scares him.

You are tired of fighting for the both of you.

You push the elevator button under the gaze of an unsuspecting policeman who urges, “Where are you going, miss?”

“I'm leaving.”

“Do you need someone to accompany you?” 

“No, thank you.”

“Someone could follow you,” he counters.

“No one knows me, you don't have to worry.”

You wait for the elevator, still hoping to see his ruffled raven hair poking out the door, his voice calling to you, his hand tightening on your wrist. 

None of this happens.

The only ones who will follow you are your ghosts.

Tag list: @baronessvonglitter , @almostempty , @probablyreadinsmut , @thundermartini , @gothcsz , @cas-readsandwrites , @harriedandharassed

Archive tag: @pedrostories

If you want to be added or removed just let me know! Thank you very much for reading❤︎

[okkotsuus]

crawlin' back to you (rensuke k.) !

features: rensuke k.

contents: established relationship. spoilers (second selection). a smidge of comfort. cliff hanger because i hate you <3

notes: hey lol, kinda bad because i have to get back into my flow state iykyk

The Blue Lock program: a selection meant to hone 300 high school kids down to 1 legendary striker.

When you sent off Rensuke with a kiss and soft murmurs of your certainty of his success, you never thought that it would end you up here. Sitting on your couch, doing some calculus homework while watching the U-20 v. Blue Lock exhibition match.

It stirred a strange feeling in you when you didn't see that familiar head of tousled orange hair even once on the plasma screen in front of you.

Maybe he was just sick? Or he was temporarily injured, so he couldn't play.

Surely.

But, even then...

Wouldn't he have at least been on the bench?

It sent a wave of unease through you, at the thought that something could have happened to divert his lifelong dream. But thinking that way wouldn't solve anything, that was something Rensuke taught you himself: positivity is key.

So, you blindly cheered for Blue Lock, even running laps around the kitchen when they ended up pulling off a win. Those boys were talented, so knowing that Ren was chosen to be with them made you all the more sure of his success.

The program went nearly radio silent for a two week period following the match.

Still no sign of your ginger striker.

Days were long, all your classes felt so much more droning without him sitting at your side. It was beginning to wear on you.

Then, it came as a sudden announcement. The 'Blue Lock: Neo-Egoist League' would be premiering tonight at 3pm JST. All plans were canceled, you were firmly planted on the couch, shooing away your siblings as you clicked onto the waiting screen.

It started with a click, showing all the players gathering into a room with the former Japanese U-20 Team. No Rensuke.

They featured different players as they explained the different stratum they could choose. The five European leagues that dominated the modern soccer world: France, Spain, England, Italy, and Germany.

Watching all the players debate where they wanted to be, the uncertainty of the U-20 Match prodigy: Yoichi Isagi. You were forced on the edge of your seat, knee bouncing idly as you hoped and prayed desperately to see the face of the boy you really needed to see.

Even as they all went their separate ways, still nothing. You were beginning to lose hope. Slowly, your focus began to fade away, half-way actually watching the broadcast.

"Now enter! The lone survivor of the Wild Card program..." Now that, that had your attention. "The last dark horse..."

It couldn't be...

"Rensuke Kunigami!"

There. That's him.

Even under that ruffled, grown-out, carrot top. Even with those darkened, hollow amber eyes. Even with a change in his physique, his gait. You would recognize him in any and every form.

Your Ren, in the flesh.

Tears welled in your eyes as your ears rang, unable to hear anything as you watched his mouth move a few times back and forth with Isagi. Then, they cut to a training exercise.

Something happened to die out the light in his eyes. And guessing by the way Ego introduced him, he was probably intended to have lost and left the program; but he won his way back.

No wonder you hadn't seen him in the exhibition match.

He was suffering trying to claw his way back to his dream, while you were just sitting here moping. Pathetic.

It lit a spark in you. You had to see him, as soon as possible.

Great minds think alike, ego attracts ego; even if it is at the subconscious level.

It took a lot of calls, letters, and video chats. But, within ten days, you were permitted to enter Blue Lock to observe a match between Bastard Munchen and FC Barcha: the first game of the League, under the guise of enhancing Kunigami's morale.

Ego agreed to this deal on the main term that you would not be able to watch the match, nor take any sort of electronic device on your person past the facility doors. Likely, to prevent copyright infringement.

You didn't have to think before agreeing.

In a cold room, surrounded by metal walls, you waited. The game lasted nearly 70 minutes, with which you had nothing to occupy yourself with other than your own mind.

It was another 20 before the doors slid open, the familiar figure of a face you'd come to know as Anri Teieri leading an even more striking form. "In here, Kunigami-san. You have as much time as you need."

You were on your feet in an instant, it was actually him. God, he reeked of sweat and spice. That damned door clicked behind the JFU associate, amber eyes staring stone cold down at you.

"Rensuke, congratulations on your victory." The words spilled from your lips. Yes, you knew him well, that look in his eyes, it was not forlorn in the way you knew he felt after a loss.

"Why are you here."

His words were flat, but it was all a facade. No one in this word knew Rensuke Kunigami quite like you, and no one ever would. "I'm so incredibly proud of you, my hero."

And just this once, for the first time since he walked into that Wild Card door, those broad shoulders of his relaxed.

"Yeah... Yeah, I know you are, sunshine."

© okkotsuus 24 – do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate any of my works to any other platforms.

[literalliterature]

[ID: Two photos showing distant aerial views of the Biltmore Estate, a massive mansion on extensive, lush grounds styled after a luxurious French chateau. End ID.]

Biltmore Estate, Asheville, NC, USA

[welcometogrouchland]

(ID in alt) I literally said I was gonna post this month's ago and then never had the wherewithal to describe it and so I didn't Lmao (said with pain). But since I'm thinking of opening my commissions I figured I should remind ppl that I. Yknow. Can draw.

Lots of Steph here (I had major art block making all of these and my brain worms for her kept me going) + some sprinkles of stephcass for Cass nation to enjoy!

[slamrink]

Nothing to see here just steph stealing glances of klay like he’s afraid he’s going to get caught 😃😃 (via namxsj on twitter )

[lynzishell]

So here we are

...again

[orcelito]

Hey I'm graduating college in may and I just kinda realized that I'll be Done Done with school after that. Not fake-done like I was graduating high school, where I'd have to go to college at the start of the fall. And not fake-done like I was in any of my semesters I took off.

Done Done. As in I accomplished my degree, and I won't ever have to go back to school if I don't want to. What a beautiful, beautiful thought.

[shadyhouse]

.

[mchiti]

tw loss

I recently had a convo with a friend of mine who never got to meet her dad because he passed away two months before she was born. And because we do talk about loss a lot, and because I always feel embarrassed to share my grief with her as she had it worse than me in that sense, I always stay in silence when she speaks. She does speak a lot on the importance of grieving and how it teaches you to find a balance and to know your place in this world and I'm not as good as her in this bc I don't know to what extent I agree - to me every pain is unnecessary, a crime, an obscenity, and I know this is also not what my religion has taught me and it does question a lot of my relationship with it as well, not gonna lie here.

Either way, she said to me today that she was almost glad that she never got to meet her dad because if she did, letting him go would have been much worse and that she feels sad for me. And I was at loss because it sounded very painful to me and I wanted to tell her that I actually feel the opposite - that I'm glad that I got to spend my life with my mum for 21 years and I can't imagine how painful would have been if I never knew her. We both felt we were one luckier than the other and that really hit me. I still think her pain is worse than mine but it made me think that maybe she's right, grief does enable us to see the light somehow, to understand things in a way, to feel empathic towards others, to balance out sadness and love. I don't know how to explain but maybe I will tell her next time.

[snzluv3r]

plot twist update on my gf catching my cold: turns out i caught her cold, and it’s definitely something a little worse than a cold but maybe not quite as severe as the flu

[tchaikovskym]

My 2023 was wild, not in a way that anyone would use the term "wild" except me

[bangcakes]

.

[katandsquad]

.

[pigeonwhumps]

Questions

BBU Community Days: Day 2

@bbu-on-the-side

So one aspect about the BBU I've thought about a bit but would love some other opinions on is second languages. Specifically for pets.

So like, would they be conditioned into forgetting they can speak it, somehow? Certainly reading/writing it I imagine working the same way conditioning does to stop them reading/writing their first language, but what about speaking? What if, as in my OC Lea's case, the handlers don't know they speak another language? Do they forget they can, but are still able to? Alternatively, do they forget the language entirely, or do they know they can speak it? Or do WRU (or other companies) use those pets, train pets that offer translation services?

I think they'd want to replace people sign languages with a simpler sign language designed for pets, as well as definitely keeping lip-reading to make things easier, but for other languages... how would it work? I mean, I can't imagine a lot of owners liking their pet speaking a language they can't, right? What if their pet insults them *gasp*? Can't have the... uh... good name of WRU being damaged, now, can we?

So, yeah. Second languages! Languages in general! How would they work for pets?

[lesbiancharliedalton]

-

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

I was actually having a pretty good day until just now :/