#i feel like i should apologize for this in advance

[wh3atley-personality-core]

Hello, it's me, good old Wheatley! I tought that maybe I should speak to other people, it gets pretty lonely up here after all, and what better place to do it than the always safe and reliable internet! Surprisingly there's connection up here, so if you have any asks or rockets to send PLEASE do :-) //Wheatley RP ask blog run by a Weatley fictionkin! Main blog: @shr00mie-rat

//Notes, Rules and Text keys below

//Notes: -First let me get something clear; I'M NOT BRITISH, I know nothing of british culture and such, so I'll take advantage of the fact that Wheatley rarely uses British slang and that he was practically raised by Americans (even though I'm not American either) to use American terminology -along with the previous note, english is not my first language so apologize if I write something incorrectly -if your ask takes too much time to answer or just doesn't get answered it's because I'm busy with something irl, even though I'm starting this blog while I have some free time, i fear of getting busy some time soon, so my apologies in advance -along with the previous note, I might also take time to answer due to lack of motivation, ideas for responses, I simply didn't felt like responding it for any reason or merely just forgot about it -most of the responses will include a drawing either because it fits or because I feel like it -Most of this blog will be core and post game Wheatley and try to stay as canon as I can, but any other moment of the timeline (pre-post portal 1/pre portal 2) are ok -along with the previous note, there'll be some head cannons scattered here and there but they won't affect much of the canon -I haven't roleplayed in a really long time //Rules: -No NSFW, please, just don't, keep in mind that the mun is a minor -Keep ships at minimum, as much as I love shipping, I don't think the canon universe could fit many of them -OC friendly, as long as it makes sense in universe -if you're asking/rp as another character please make clear who you are unless your acc gives it away -if anything I do is not of your liking, either in a mun or muse response, don't send hate or report the blog, just block -basic rp rules like: No godmodding, no powerplay, no metagaming, no retconning -Sometimes (but I hope never) my emotions might win over me and will probably proyect my feelings over my muse //Text key: //OOC Narration "Speech" (Thoughts) 'Writing' //If you have any doubts, you can always DM me on my main blog :D

[senditcolton]

So Tragic and Rare

"It's Not Your Fault" (pt. 16)

a/n: hello! sorry for the slight delay but I will let you all know that this is another double drop day! there will be a few of these now (simply because i want to complete this series by December). so here is the next installment!

word count: 6.3k warnings: smut! [cocky possessive Andrei, oral (m + f receiving), unprotected penetration, thigh fucking] and angst, which i apologize for in advance masterlist

There was absolutely no physical reason for Andrei to be white-knuckling the steering wheel. He knew this.

The roads were decent: April had warmed enough to melt any lingering snow off the asphalt and the skies were a little overcast but the forecast stated only a small chance of precipitation. And although both the road he was on and the rental car he was driving were unfamiliar, it was nothing that he couldn’t handle.

There was no physical reason for him to be clinging onto the steering wheel like his life depended on it. But when the loud voice of the Massachusetts sports radio broadcaster filters through the speakers, Andrei is cruelly reminded why his body was wound so tight.

“With their win last night, the Boston Bruins are ready to face the Carolina Hurricanes in the first round of the playoffs. Brooks, how do you feel about their chances against the number one team in the East?”

“Listen, it’s been a tough road for the Bruins. But something should be said about them even making it to the playoffs as a wildcard team – no one expected that at the beginning of this year. But in order to hold their own against a team like Carolina, The Bruins are going to have to step up their game, particularly their defensive game, Cotton. The Hurricanes have been firing on all cylinders since the start of the season: multiple players with 60 points, strong forechecking, and a lethal powerplay. Boston needs to find a way to stunt their offensive momentum and give Jeremy Swayman some support.”

“Agree completely. Swayman has been strong between the pipes all season and I don’t see that faltering now. He’s got something to prove after that contract signing and last years playoffs. Plus, we might even see another level to his play when the first round comes to Boston for Game 3, considering that there has been a rumor that rockstar Keely Halloran will be in the audience.”

The mention of Keely being in TD Garden, watching him play, would normally make Andrei’s heart skip a beat. But now, it just makes his fingers tighten even more – especially since it was mentioned in the same breath of someone who was not him.

“Oh, yeah, he’ll definitely be looking to impress her,” the co-host laughs, his needling words soaked with innuendo pricking at Andrei’s ears.

With a sharp jab of his finger, he silences the radio and returns his focus to the road.

He knew this was just a side-effect of being with Keely. She was a high-caliber celebrity. Everyone wanted to know about her and her life, including her relationship status. And when that information wasn’t freely given, people started rumors.

He also knew it wasn’t Keely’s fault that the tabloids took a hold of the concept of her and the goaltender of her hometown hockey team and ran – and he did mean ran – with it. But the constant headlines, mentions, and even the Bruins media themselves using the rumor for their own gain, it started getting to him.

Andrei was the one with Keely’s number in his phone. Andrei was the one who had seen the inside of her New York recording studio. Andrei knew the address of her Beacon Hill brownstone. He was the one that chose to rent a car shortly after the conclusion of the Carolina v. Montreal afternoon game and was now driving down to Boston to see her.

Him – not Jeremy Swayman.

Highway 89 stretched out in front of him; a long dark trail leading him to Keely. Andrei tries to keep his mind clear, thinking only about the next turn, the correct exit, trying to let the voice of his GPS be the only voice in his head. But while he could silence the radio, there was no silencing the knowledge that no matter what happened, people would still talk. And there was next to nothing he could do about it.

Except…

Him and Keely could go public with their relationship.

They had been seeing each other for around three months – if you count the All-Star game. That was plenty of time, right? And imagine what news it would be if she showed up to the Boston playoff game in red and white instead of black and gold.

That was the solution. That would make all this noise stop.

Andrei smirks to himself, his energy shifted to a new goal. All he had to do was get Keely onboard. He’s sure she would be fine with it. It was clear that she liked him and he liked her back. What could go wrong?

They would show the world that she belonged to him.

Andrei drives the last few miles, taking the exit to Boston and weaving through the city’s myriad of one-way streets. He eventually turns down the alley behind Keely’s brownstone, parking the car and walking along the ivy-covered fence towards the entrance to her garden. He stops at the wooden door and fishes his phone out from his pocket.

[Andrei] Are you home? [Keely] Yeah. Why? [Andrei] Just couldn’t stop thinking about you. Had to see you. [Keely] What? [Andrei] Back gate.

That text message is the only explanation he gives before returning his phone to his pocket, his eyes moving to look up at the illuminated windows of her place. He sees a curtain move, a flash of her silhouette before its gone and Andrei waits, patiently, his ears trained for any sound.

Eventually, he hears her backdoor creak open, the soft yet quick padding of her footsteps over the cobblestones, before the sound of her unlocking the garden door hits his ears. He stands still, watching the door creak open before her eyes connect to his.

Andrei can’t stop the grin that tugs at his lips at the sight of her joyful bewilderment.

Keely doesn’t say anything, just huffs out a surprised laugh as she pushes the door open further, allowing Andrei to slip inside. He doesn’t wait an instant longer before cupping her face in his hands and pulling her lips to his in a passionate kiss. He can feel body go lax in his hold, enjoying the sensation of her smile against his lips.

Andrei doesn’t stop kissing her, tugging her body even closer to his, the kisses becoming desperate. Seeing her face during a video call, hearing her voice through his phone speakers was nothing compared to being in her presence. They had only been able to meet up a few times since New York and it was never enough for Andrei. He always wanted more of her.

His lips trail down to press along her jawline, following the slope of it down her neck. His hands tighten around her when he hears a soft moan leave her lips, her hands twisting in the fabric of his dress shirt.

“Wait, Andrei,” Keely says, her voice a breathless sigh. “I have to make sure the gate locked.”

With a soft groan and no shortage of willpower, Andrei manages to pull himself away from her skin, letting her leave the grasp of his arms as she darts behind him. He waits, listening to rattle of the wooden door on its hinges before she appears in front of him again, a grin on her face. Andrei says nothing, just holds out his hand to her which she happily takes, pulling him across her backyard and into her house.

As soon as they cross the threshold, the door firmly shut behind them, Andrei doesn’t hesitate before pulling her back into his arms, kissing her once again; a kiss that Keely returns tenfold.

“How are you here?” she asks, breaking away to stare up at him with those electric blue eyes. “Didn’t you have a game? Don’t you have to go back to Carolina?”

“It’s only a five-hour drive from Montreal. Plus, Coach gave us a day before playoffs,” Andrei explained. “I chose to see you. I’ll fly back tomorrow.”

“You drove from Canada after an early game for me?” Keely clarifies, her voice almost as bewildered as the expression painting her face.

“Like I said, I had to see you,” he whispers, leaning his face in closer as if to kiss her again. But he stops just centimeters from her lips, his breath fanning her cheekbones. “Had to see my girl.”

This time, it is Keely that moves the barest of millimeters to press their lips together, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. He willingly lets himself get pulled into her, breathing in the subtle scent of the perfume still lingering on her skin. Andrei walks forward, using his body to push Keely deeper into her house, desperate to get her horizontal on whatever surface was closest.

Their blind momentum is stopped by Keely’s back hitting the drywall, a huff of breath escaping them as they tear away. Andrei lifts his head, orienting himself to her brownstone. He had only managed visit here twice before but when he realizes they are on bottom floor, he relaxes. His eyes locate her bedroom door, still slightly ajar and through it, spies her patterned bedsheets, a grin appearing on his face.

Andrei turns his attention back to Keely who had clearly followed his gaze and looks up at him with a grin of her own, one eyebrow jumping in challenge.

He leans in to kiss her again, their tongues pressing together as his hands run down her body, coming to grip her thigh and pulling it up to wrap around his leg. With the adrenaline now running through his body, Andrei lifts her off the ground, Keely’s gasp of surprise is quickly swallowed as her other leg instinctively wraps around his hip, ankles locking together. Andrei’s hold on her body is firm, kissing her deeply once more before he tears his lips away, his eyes focusing back on his destination.

Keely doesn’t seem to mind the loss of his lips on her skin, content instead to pepper kisses against Andrei’s jawline, each press of her plush lips making his steps falter.

“Don’t you dare drop me, Svechnikov,” she mutters into the juncture of his neck, her breath warm against him.

Andrei refocuses, nudging her bedroom door open the rest of the way. He walks to the king-sized bed until his legs hit the soft plushness of the mattress. A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips and without hesitation, his hold falls from Keely, gravity taking over as her body falls from his. Andrei can hear the soft gasp that is forced from her as her back hits the bedsheets, her eyes wide in shock.

“Whoops,” he says, standing over her, the word emphasized by a shrug of his shoulders. He watches as Keely’s face turns to reflect the mischief clearly displayed on his own.

In an instant, Andrei is taken off-guard as Keely – using the strength of her legs still wrapped around his hips – pulls him down to hover over her, her hands tangling into his hair. It’s easy for Andrei to recover, moving to kiss her again. One of his hands holds his weight as to not crush Keely while the other traces down her body, gently pulling her legs away from him.

When he is free of her grasp, he stands up, his body towering over her, and takes in the sight before him.

She is beautiful. It was something that he thought frequently but there was nothing as beautiful as the sight of her laying against the rumpled bedsheets, wearing nothing but a black lace bralette and grey sweats, looking up at him with a dark desire in her eyes.

A desire that was directed to him – no one else.

Andrei’s hands move, fingers slowly unbuttoning the white dress shirt. Each unfastening exposes more of his skin, Keely’s hungry gaze still fixed on him. Eventually, every button is undone and Andrei pulls the fabric off his body. He can’t deny the jolt of cocky confidence that runs through him when Keely’s eyes shamelessly rake down his frame, knowing that those early morning and long hours at the gym were not only for his career but for her.

“Like what you see?” he asks, his voice lowering an octave as Keely gazes up at him.

“I always like what I see when it comes to you,” she replies, her tone matching his. But Andrei can feel his heart soften at her words. It wasn’t just a compliment on his body – it was a compliment towards him. The entirety of him.

He doesn’t reply – doesn’t even really know what to say to her to convey every emotion swirling around in his mind. Instead, his hands just drop to his slacks, unfastening the belt buckle around his hips. He can see the spark brighten Keely’s eyes and before he can blink, she is lifting her body to sit upright, her hands knocking his away.

Her blue irises glance up at him, soft lips pressing against the cut of his abs and the half sigh, half groan that runs through him at the sensation echoes around the bedroom. He can feel her smile against his skin, her lips trailing downwards as her hands make quick work of the clasp and zipper of his slacks. Keely’s hand slides down, gently palming him through the material, releasing another groan from the back of Andrei’s throat, his head falling back.

“I suppose,” she says, elongating the word, causing Andrei’s gaze to return to her. “Since you drove all the way from Montreal for me, I should do something for you in return.”

“Like what?”

“Do you really have to ask?” she teases, her body slowly sliding off the bed to kneel in front of him, her hand lifting to touch him again. “That strung out already, baby?”

The power she wields over him is dangerous. Some part of Andrei knows that – knows that he would do anything to be with her and that willingness to throw everything away could easily spell doom for him. But when Keely’s soft hands twist in the waistband of his pants and underwear, tugging them down his legs, her eyes alighting at the sight of his cock, tall and proud, those concerns disappear.

And when she presses her soft lips against his silken skin, his mind empties completely.

How he got this lucky, he’ll never know. He felt like the luckiest guy in the world back in that Toronto hotel room. He felt even luckier when he entered her New York studio. But he wouldn’t deny that this, right here – Keely’s eyes looking up at him as she takes him into the wet cavern of her mouth – this felt like the luckiest moment of his life.

Andrei’s body reverts to complete auto-pilot, his hand tangling into Keely’s hair as she lowers her mouth more onto his cock, her tongue moving against him. It feels sinful, sensual, the way she moves in a steady rhythm against him, tracing and tasting what feels like every inch of him. The choked groans and sharp breaths that fall from his chest are entirely unfiltered, wanting to let her know exactly how she’s making him feel. He can’t stop the buck of his hips, thrusting into her mouth sharply once before his eyes dart down, a flash of concern running through him. But when his eyes land on her, she looks at him through her eyelashes, her hand reaching up to grasp the back of his thigh and pull him into her again.

This woman.

His hands tighten in her hair, slowly thrusting, finding a steady rhythm. Keely lets him take her, her gaze trained on him, her hand still resting on his thigh as he sets a perfect pace. He relishes in the sound of her muffled moans, the feeling of him prodding the back of her throat, the sight of her blue eyes pricking with tears – all for him.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” Andrei mutters, a hand coming to brush away the wetness from her cheekbones. Keely’s only response is a whine, the vibrations of the noise sending a shudder down his spine, his head falling back.

“Fuck, babe, I need you,” he groans, pulling away from her, a glistening string of saliva still connecting them. He can hear her sigh, her tongue darting out to lick her lips, her own eyes sparkling with that mischievous glint that he had come to know and love.

Keely opens her mouth, no doubt some snarky comment about to fall from her lips. But Andrei doesn’t let her get a word in before he is lifting her off the carpet, spinning and pushing her down so her chest is pressed against the sheets, one of his large hands splayed against the small of her back, pinning her in place.

Andrei wastes no time hooking his fingers underneath her sweatpants, tugging down the plush material, exposing her smooth legs to him. But his eyes are attached to the sight of her core, the cotton of her panties stretched over her center, the dark wet patch enticing him even further. His fingers trace over the curve of her ass before dipping in between, his calloused skin pressing against her, causing more of her arousal to flood the fabric.

“Get this wet from sucking dick, sweetheart?” he questions, his fingers sliding lower to press against her clit, releasing a moan from her.

“Andrei, please,” she whimpers, her hips bucking back to meet his touch.

“Not yet,” he replies, removing his hands from her and tugging her underwear down to meet her sweats. This time, it’s his turn to kneel, his breath fanning her glistening core, the sensation causing her hips to wriggle. “Need to taste you.”

His hands grip the muscle of her ass, pulling and holding her open, putting her on display for him. Andrei pauses, taking in the sight of her wet and desperate for him. As if she knew the power she held, Andrei watches with wide eyes as a drop of her arousal drips from her core, hanging down like a silver drop of honey. Any sense of restraint evaporates from him as his tongue extends, collecting that nectar on his tastebuds before following the strand up to her molten core.

Keely’s moan is loud, bouncing off the walls of her bedroom as Andrei’s tongue works against her, dipping into her folds before stretching down to press against her clit. All his senses are just flooded with Keely – the smell of her, the taste of her. She encourages him by grinding her hips back to meet him and Andrei does not stop devouring her, his tongue never ceasing its movement, not until he feels her legs tremble beneath his hands.

It takes all sense of restraint to pull away from her, the whine that she releases another temptation for him to dive back in. But he resists, one of his hands moving back to grip her hip, the other dipping between his own legs to grasp the base of his cock. He leans forward, running the head of him against her soaked folds, Keely’s hips chasing him. Andrei tightens his hold on her, stopping her momentum.

“Andrei,” she whines again, her voice high and tight in the back of her throat.

“Tell me you want it,” comes the demand, practically growled as Andrei repeats his movement against her core. “Tell me you want me.”

“Please, Andrei. Please. I want you. I need you, please.”

If Andrei thought the sound of her moans were the most beautiful music he had heard, the sound of her pleading was a siren song, drawing him in. He was helpless to resist it even if he wanted to. But why would he ever want to deny her?

His hips press forward, sinking into her heat and the mutual moan they both release tells him that he feels just as good inside her as she does around him. Andrei continues to move until his hips are flush against her. There is a brief pause, a moment where the two of them just take in the sensation of Andrei fully seated inside her, his chest rising in heavy breaths as he watches Keely writhe against the bedsheets, her hands twisting the fabric in a death-grip.

“Move.”

The soft demand that falls from her lips sets off a fire inside him and Andrei slowly pulls back until he is almost entirely removed from her core before he snaps his hips forward.

“This what you wanted darling?” he asks, setting an almost brutal pace.

Keely’s only reply is another moan, her back arching as he feels her hips move to meet his thrusts.

“That’s right, fuck yourself back on it,” Andrei groans, his eyes trailing down the cut of her spine to watch her ass ripple with the force of his thrusts. “God, you look so good. Look so good like this. All mine.”

One of his hands trails around her waist, dipping lower to press against her clit. Andrei watches as her head turns, muffling her cries of pleasure into the plush duvet as he rubs slow circles against the bundle of nerves, a beautiful contrast to the animalistic pace.

Andrei’s eyes remain fixed on her body, his free hand running over the curve of her hip, her waist, up her spine before his fingers tangle in the straps of the lace still wrapped around her chest. He fists the material, sharply tugging, forcing her body upright meet his own. The heat of her pressed against the entirety of him causes him to moan, the scent of her perfume filling his senses as he wraps his arm around her, holding her in place as continues to thrust within her. The new position causes a gasp to fall from Keely’s lips, followed by a moan as her hands reach back, tangling into the hair at the base of his neck.

“Fuck, right there. Andrei.”

“Right there?” he questions, his voice a somewhat cruel taunt as he moves again. “Tell me. Tell me exactly what you want.”

“Want… want you,” she moans, her sentence choppy with the most gorgeous whimpers and whines.

“Want me to make you feel good?”

“Mmhmm,” Keely whines and Andrei can’t help the confidence he feels, knowing that he managed to make all grasp of language escape his awarded songwriter.

“I need you to say it. Tell me how I make you feel.”

“Good. So fucking good.”

“Who makes you feel like this?”

“You. Only you Andrei.”

“That’s right, sweetheart. Only me,” he growls, his fingers returning to her clit and rubbing tight circles around it, his touch sliding with an ease thanks to her slickness. “You’re all mine, aren’t you?”  

“Andrei…”

“Say it. You’re mine. Say it.”

“I’m yours. All yours,” Keely moans and Andrei can feel her body trembling against him.

“Go on, darling. Show me. Show me that you’re all mine. Come for me.”

His quiet demand is all it takes for Keely to fall over that edge, her body stiffening as her cunt clenches around him, an almost silent moan falling from her mouth. Andrei groans in kind, loving the sensation of her fluttering around him as she comes down, a softer sigh running through her as her head lolls back onto his shoulder, her eyes closed in satisfaction. He moves gently, his length still hard within her and she whines, her eyebrows furrowing.

“Andrei,” she whimpers.

“I know,” comes his reply, pressing a soft kiss against her temple. “I know. Just stay still for me.”

Keely whines, her head gently nodding as Andrei holds her tight, her back still pressed against his chest, the sweat on their bodies slowly cooling. Andrei slips out of her core, a guttural groan emanating from his chest at the loss of her warmth around him.

“Press your legs together. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?” Andrei whispers in her ear, his voice low and thick with the need for his own release. Keely nods, her feet moving in closer so her thighs touch, her hand still playing with the hair on the nape of his neck while the other rests on the strong arm wrapped around her waist.

Andrei groans, pressing forward to slide his rigid cock between the seam of her thighs, the arousal coating his length and her skin offering no resistance. He groans, his head dipping down to press his lips against her shoulder as his hips move again. The tightness of her thighs is nowhere near as pleasurable as her pussy but Andrei can’t bring himself to care. Not when he is so desperately close.

“Andrei,” Keely whispers, her breath fanning the shell of his ear. “Please. I need it. Need you to come.”

His hips buck, gliding against her skin a few more times before his body stiffens, his cock twitching as he meets his orgasm, the stickiness of his own cum joining the slickness between her thighs. The two of them stand there, tired and spent, their chests rising in unison as they each breathe deeply.

Andrei thickly swallows, his mind coming back to the present moment, his head lifting. He meets her blue eyes already staring at him, her eyelids heavy and a soft smile on her face. Andrei can’t stop leaning in to kiss her, helpless in the gravity of her. She kisses him back, her hand still tangled in the hair at the base of his neck. The two of them stay like that until Andrei pulls away, pressing a playful kiss onto the tip of her nose. Keely giggles in response, her gaze dropping from him as a grimace appears on her face.

“Bath?” Andrei questions.

“Yes, please.”

Andrei slowly pulls himself away from her, but only to give himself enough space to scoop her up into his arms again, another giggle falling from her lips. He wanders into the adjoining bathroom, the lit candle providing enough light for him to locate the large bathtub. Andrei gently lowers Keely down into the porcelain, running to flip on the light before returning to her and starting the water. He waits until it is at a comfortable temperature before stopping the drain, letting the water rise around her.

“Join me?” Keely asks once he stops the faucet, her eyes glancing up at him and her hands extended. Andrei’s only response is a smile as he takes her hand in his. She scoots forward, allowing him the space to climb in behind her, sinking down before pulling her back against him.

Hands moving, they gently clean the sweat and slick off their skin, the intoxicating fresh smell of Keely’s bodywash filling Andrei’s nostrils. They stay there – bodies pressed together, the gentle rise and fall of her chest matching his – until the water cools. After helping Keely out of the tub, wrapping her one of her plush towels, she disappears into the bedroom as Andrei drains the bath.

When he re-enters her room, he finds her already sitting on top of her bedsheets, an oversized t-shirt on her body. Her eyes track his movements as he finds the pile of his clothes at the edge of the bed.

“What brought this on?” Keely muses, her voice soft as she watches him untangle his boxers from the rumpled dress pants on her carpet.

“What?”

“This – this whole ‘you’re mine’ possessive talk? Not that I’m complaining.”

 Andrei swallows thickly, the question he wanted to ask, the proposal he wanted to make, returning to his brain. He is unsure of what to say or at least, how to say it clearly so she understands. Instead, he pulls his boxers back up his legs, choosing to answer her question with one of his own.  

“Are you really gonna go to the playoff games here?”

His brown eyes find her, watching the way she collapses back onto her pillows, her shoulder moving in a non-committal shrug.

“Probably. It’ll be fun, seeing my favorite team and my favorite player,” she replies. Her gaze darts back to him, that sparkling tease shining in her pupils. 

“What’ll you wear?” he asks and he notices the way her eyebrows knit together at his continued questions.

“I’m not sure. Maybe my All-Star jersey. Why?”

“It’s yellow,” he dumbly states. Keely lightly laughs, a grin appearing on her face.

“Yes, Andrei, it is.”

“But…”

“What? Upset that I won’t be wearing red?” she questions, her tone still light.

“You’d look good in red,” he mutters, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, his eyes turning to stare at the carpet.

“I know,” Keely replies. There is a brief moment of silence before Andrei can feel her foot gently nudging at him, causing his gaze to return to her.

“What are you getting at, Andrei?”

Her stare is curious and earnest, the sight of it making him relax. He gently takes her foot, placing it in his lap, his hands absentmindedly trace patterns against her smooth skin as his gaze falls back to the carpet, trying to piece his thoughts together. 

“It’s just… I like you.”

“Obviously,” Keely interrupts with another lighthearted giggle. Andrei eyes dart back to her.

“Keely, please,” he says, his voice firm and he can see her register the seriousness in his tone. Her body lifts upright, the leg not placed in his lap folding underneath her.

“I’m sorry. Go ahead.”

Andrei sighs, letting his eyes return to the space in front of him and the thoughts return to his head.

“I like you. And I’m pretty sure you like me. We’ve been seeing each other for a few months now and… I was wondering… well, I guess – I guess I just want the world to know that.”

The declaration is less certain and succinct than he wanted it to be but he hopes the underlying question is clear enough. His brown eyes dart towards her, analyzing every micro-expression that crosses her face. It takes a minute but Andrei can see when his suggestion registers with her. And a flash of panic runs through him when he watches her body stiffen, the foot in his lap recoiling and curling back towards her. Keely’s legs move, knees coming up to her chest as her arms wrap around her shins.

“You… you want to go public?” she asks. Andrei can’t quite figure out the tone lacing her words so he presses on.

“Yeah. I figured that this would be a good time.”

“Before the playoffs would be a good time?” she clarifies, contextualizing his words as her eyebrows raise in question. The mention of the playoffs triggers the memories of the media surrounding him, the Bruins, and Keely, bringing the real focus of his ire to the forefront.

“I just want everyone to know that you’re with me and not with Jeremy Swayman.”

The last third of his sentence was more muttered under his breath than the rest. But Keely heard it all the same, her body unfolding as her spine straightens to stare him down.

“Is that what this is about? Tabloid rumors?”

This time Andrei can hear the sharpness painting the edges of her words and he realizes his reasoning was the cause.

“No!” he says, attempting to backtrack.

“Then why are we talking about Jeremy Swayman?”

“We’re not – ” he tries to explain but he can feel the anger radiating off of Keely and knows now that he said the wrong thing. But he also knows it was far too late to take back his words.

“Does it bother you? What people are writing?”

“God, yes. Yes Keely, it bothers me. I’m sick of constantly hearing about how you’re in love with someone who isn’t me. I hate it, I don’t want to hear it. We could stop it: let the world know that it’s me – in your bed, your phone, your heart.”

He can see and hear the heavy sigh that escapes Keely’s chest, her eyes wide as she stares at him, her head gently shaking in disbelief.

“They won’t stop, Andrei,” she says slowly, as if talking to a child. “You have to understand this, they never stop.”

“But they will,” he argues back, his own stubbornness blinding him. “Yeah, they’ll talk about us but, it’ll be – it’ll be the truth.”

“No, it won’t. Sure, yeah, some it maybe but they’ll never be entirely truthful. Breakup rumors every time I don’t attend a game. Engagement rumors the very next day. How I’m a distraction if your game falters, how I’m going to write a scathing song about you if you break my heart, how – considering our careers and the amount of time we can’t be together – how we’ll never be able to work.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t?” she questions, her voice sharpening and Andrei realizes that he once again has said the wrong thing. “This has been my life for the past 10 years. No matter what we do, you’ll still have to hear rumors that you don’t want to hear. Are you ready for that?”

“I – I’m – ”

“If you’re this upset about the papers talking about me with someone else, how will you be able to handle it when the attention – both good and bad – is focused entirely on you?”

“I just… I just want you,” he confesses, the words truthful and earnest and he watches as Keely’s body deflates.

“You can’t want me and not be ready for that,” she tells him, her words wavering but her voice clear. “It’s a part of my life, Andrei. It sucks – trust me, I know better than most how much it fucking sucks. But if you want to be with me, it’s just something you have to accept. Can you do that, Andrei?”

The silence weighs over them, Keely’s question hanging in the air, demanding an answer. An answer that Andrei isn’t sure that he can give.

“I – I don’t know,” he says, the words falling through his mouth in the same time as his shoulders fall with a sigh, his eyes returning to stare at his feet resting against her plush carpet.

He can hear her matching sigh and a small part of him knows, intrinsically, that she understands where he is coming from, what he is feeling. But he also knows he can’t erase his previous words from her mind. He can no longer lie to her and pretend like the tabloids and publicity doesn’t bother him.

Keely sighs again, the sound drawing his attention back to her. Her eyes are also trained at a distant point in the room and he hates that he can feel the distance stretching between them, a distance that had been shrinking in the past months but now reverted back to that unmanageable ocean.

“I think…” she begins, her shoulders lifting in a deep breath. “I think it might be best if we take a break.”

The words hit Andrei like a shotgun bullet, piercing through his chest.

“Keely – ” he tries to say but Keely ignores his plead, continuing on.

“You’re clearly tired of the secrecy needed to be with me but you also clearly aren’t ready for everything that going public entails.”

“Wait, Keely, I – ”

“Andrei. Please.”

Her blue eyes dart back towards him and he falters under her stare. If her prior words wounded him, the cool indifference in her eyes would’ve been the kill-shot. But instead, it was the glimmer of pain hidden beneath that mask of apathy that truly cut through his heart.

“I can’t do this with you,” Keely says, her words not as practiced as her last, the pain and truth coming through. “I can’t – I can’t twist myself into something I’m not for someone else’s comfort. I won’t do that again.”

He wants to say that he’d never ask her to do that for him. That he loved her for exactly who she was. But he can’t. Because, while her words may have been harsh, she was right. He wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready. Maybe this was for the best – some space to let them figure out if this is something they both truly wanted.

So, Andrei says nothing. He just hangs his head down, giving Keely a small nod in understanding. He feels her weight shift on the mattress, the firm boxspring sinking as she scoots closer to him. He doesn’t look up, not even when her arms wrap around him in an embrace that is laden with every heartbreaking emotion he can think of. His hand lifts to grasp her forearm, his thumb gently caressing her skin for a moment before she lets him go.

The weight of her disappears and Andrei listens to the sound of her walking out of the room, moments passing before a door down the hallway shuts.

He sighs, lifting himself up and slowly returning his gameday suit to his body. He checks to make sure his keys are still secure in his pockets before he leaves Keely’s bedroom. He is almost at the backdoor when the soft sound piano tapping out a melancholy tune catches his attention. His head turns, listening to the music wafting down the hallway.

The melody is unfamiliar but heartbreaking all the same. Andrei’s gaze returns to the glass door leading to the backyard, rain beading on the surface. He sighs before walking out into storm, feeling his shirt quickly becoming plastered to his skin, that haunting music still ringing in his ears. He pushes through the back gate, turning to make sure it securely locked behind him. It is only when he is back in the cold unfamiliar rental car does he allow his head to drop, letting his tears fall in time with the rain.

a/n deux: yes, it's a third act break-up. i apologize but listen, i did say dating a rockstar isn't easy. will this break be good for them or will it be permanent? guess you'll have to keep reading to find out!

taglist: @fallinallincurls @laureniray @comphy-and-cozy@smileysvech@pyotrkochetkov @thewintersoldierdisaster @svexhenthusiast

let me know if you want to be tagged in this story or if you want to add yourself to my general taglist, click here!!

[gothgaymoth]

i feel like tumblr would enjoy the products of the first time i took adderall, in which i decided suddenly i wanted to watch hockey and choose which team i watched based on AO3 Men’s Hockey RPF (Real Person Fic), M/M pairing statistics.

anyway

BASED UPON AO3 POPULARITY (M/M MEN'S HOCKEY RPF, NO CROSSOVERS; APPROX. 11,000 FICS) #1 Sidney Patrick Crosby OC ONS is a Canadian professional ice hockey centre and captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins of the National Hockey League #2 Jonathan Bryan Toews OM is a Canadian professional ice hockey centre and captain of the Chicago Blackhawks of the National Hockey League #3 Patrick Timothy Kane II is an American professional ice hockey right winger and alternate captain for the Chicago Blackhawks of the National Hockey League #4 Evgeni Vladimirovich Malkin is a Russian professional ice hockey centre and alternate captain for the Pittsburgh Penguins of the National Hockey League #5 Tyler Paul Seguin is a Canadian professional ice hockey centre and alternate captain for the Dallas Stars of the National Hockey League #6 Mitchell Marner is a Canadian professional ice hockey right winger and alternate captain for the Toronto Maple Leafs of the National Hockey League #7 Jamie Randolph Benn is a Canadian professional ice hockey winger and captain of the Dallas Stars of the National Hockey League #8 Auston Taylour Matthews is an American professional ice hockey center and alternate captain for the Toronto Maple Leafs of the National Hockey League #9 Alexander Mikhailovich Ovechkin is a Russian professional ice hockey left winger and captain of the Washington Capitals of the National Hockey League #10 Patrick Sharp is a Canadian former professional ice hockey player... in the National Hockey League for the Philadelphia Flyers, Chicago Blackhawks and Dallas Stars (RETIRED) #11 Marc-André Fleury is a Canadian professional ice hockey goaltender for the Minnesota Wild of the National Hockey League

BASED UPON A03 POPULARIY (M/M MEN'S HOCKEY RPF, NO CROSSOVERS) #1 Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews (1654) #2 Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin (1521) #3 Jamie Benn/Tyler Seguin (704) #4 Mitch Marner/Auston Matthews (438) #5 Nicklas Backstrom/Alexander Ovechkin (244)

STATISTICS

Teams, with Multiple Patrick Sharps

Blackhawks 3/10 Stars 3/10 Penguins 2/10 Maple Leafs 2/10 Capitals 1/10 Flyers 1/10

Teams, with Final Patrick

Blackhawks 3/10 Stars 2/10 Penguins 2/10 Leafs 2/10 Capitals 1/10

Teams, sans Patrick (Fleury added) Blackhawks 2/10 Stars 2/10 Penguins 2/10 Leafs 2/10 Capitals 1/10 Wilds 1/10

Teams, sans Patrick II, for some reason Stars 3/10 Blackhawks 2/10 Penguins 2/10 Maple Leafs 2/10 Capitals 1/10 Flyers 1/10

Nationalities Candaians 6/10, Russians 2/10, Americans 2/10

1 Canada 8857 2 United States 5395 3 Sweden 2189 4 Russia 1067

Total number of players in the top 4 NHL nationalities: 17,508

Captainality Captains: 5/10 Alt. Captains 4/10 (5 incl. Sharp, Blackhawks) Other 1/10 (Fleury)

The top 10 most popular NHL Teams (# of fans is online only) # NHL Team Number of Fans Stanley Cups 1 Chicago Blackhawks             2,735,079      6 2 Boston Bruins             2,141,162        6 3 Pittsburgh Penguins             1,981,607           5 4 Detroit Red Wings             1,937,141           11 5 Montreal Canadiens             1,638,437       24 6 New York Rangers             1,479,947           4 7 Toronto Maple Leafs             1,342,357        13 8 Philadelphia Flyers             1,142,950        2 9 Vancouver Canucks             1,002,049        0 10 L.A Kings             920,989          2 source: https://www.stadium-maps.com/facts/nhl_facebook_table.html#fbtable

CONCLUSION The most popular players to fic ratio is not correlated to the number of Stanley Cups. The correlation between general popularity and AO3 popularity seems hit or miss. The Bruins, Red Wings, Rangers, Canucks and Kings do not have any players in the top 10 on A03, despite being in the top 10 most popular. The Blackhawks are the exception- taking in to consideration multiple Patrick Sharps cannot exist at the same time- they have the most players in the top 10 on AO3 and are also the most popular team. The Penguins have two players and are the 3rd most popular. THe Maple Leafs have two players and are the 7th most popular. The Flyers are the 8th most popular and have no players, if Patrick Sharp is in his final form.

Position as a captain or alternative captain seems to give you a distinct advantage as all top ten players on AO3 were either role at some point.

Nationality may over-represent Russians in fic. There were no Swedish players in the top 10, despite there being almost twice as many Swedish players as Russian players. This is taken out of context of teams, however, and has a low sample size for popular players.

This is not statistically noted, however on further research Olympic medalists make up the top four most popular players on AO3, along with 2 other players in the top ten (3 including Fleury). Skill may be a factor in AO3 popularity.

"Sidney Crosby" is tagged in more fics than "Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin" and is, as a whole, the most popular player. "Jonathan Towes" is the second most tagged player, despite "Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews" being the most popular relationship tag. "Patrick Kane/Jonathan Toews" and "Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malki" and their respective players seem to be the focus of Men's Hockey RPF on AO3. Both of these tags are of their respective team captain and alternative captain. All of the top five most popular relationship tags are between team captain and alternative captain. Three of the top ten most popular relationship tags are between (alt.) captains and non-captains.

i chose to watch the bruins

[evilkitten3]

some reminders that i think this site could use:

-it is still not ok to be racist

-it is still not ok to be antisemitic

-it is still not ok to be islamophobic

-it is still not ok to be misogynistic

-it is still not ok to be classist

-it is still not ok to be xenophobic

-it is still not ok to be intersexist

-it is still not ok to be ageist

-it is still not ok to be ableist

-it is still not ok to be fatphobic

-it is still not ok to be -phobic of anything under the lgbtq+ umbrella

-not even if you really dislike someone

-not even if you really dislike their spouse

-bigotry is not bad because it's targeting the wrong people, it's bad no matter who it's targeting

-hating someone for something outside their control is still bad

-sweeping generalizations of large groups of people will inevitably include smaller marginalized groups within that larger group and if you forget about this they will accuse you of bigotry towards them and you will deserve it

-the above does not separate those marginalized peoples fully from the larger group, nor does it make bigotry towards them acceptable

and also

-someone having a different opinion from you does not make them automatically a bot or a psyop. it makes them a person who has a different opinion than you

-fallacies, propaganda techniques, and means of spreading mis/disinformation are not just things to watch out for from those you view as opposition, but also things to keep an eye out for concerning your perceived allies and yourself

-sometimes people just don't know things or know incorrect things. this is not a statement of their moral inferiority. not everyone is actively out to do harm, some people just have questions or are wrong about things

ok? ok

[wrathofrats]

hnnn im gonna fucking GET YOU

Listen I’ve been thinking about quint fluids all day ok you don’t understand

Like … have we considered quint healing spit??? Homoerotic quint wound cleaning????? Phantom being a fucking freak and tenderly licking over Swiss’ wounds to “heal” them ????

Or quint tears? Get one fucked stupid and crying? Using the tears as some sort of further sedative??

Quint cum???? Fucked up omega using his cum in the infirmary as medicine??????

I’m saying we have options and possibilities and I shouldn’t be allowed around the quint ghouls

[rebeljyn-moved]

I don't know about the average population but I just saw a video of a woman who's attention span definitely got absolutely destroyed somehow bc she said she was watching Bridgerton and basically ANYTHING that doesn't "advance the plot" she skipped. Carriage rides? Skip. Almost kissing but not kissing yet? Skip to the kiss. Images of scenery? Skip.

She said she talked to her friends about the show and they were confused as to how she got so ahead of them when she started at the same time. If I was one of those friends I'd legit stop discussing any kind of media with her bc she clearly isn't watching shit even though she says she is. Her understanding of anything she "watches" is gonna be the same as the understanding of someone who read a plot summary on wikipedia.

Like legit why the fuck are you even watching any show at all if all you want is a tiktok video telling you in 3 minutes what happened in a 40min long episode? "Oh but it doesn't hurt anyone" I would legit never want to talk about anything with her ever again bc she clearly doesn't actually care so what would she add to my life?

[emily-mooon]

*appears from the corner with a magic wand (aka my Apple Pencil)*

Moomins your Nordegrim

[viivie]

*waves* hi tumblr!! long time no post!! I haven't rlly finished a lot of art stuff lately so I haven't had a lot to offer but,, for now,, here have these!! :,D

Recently like. a few months ago now I think actually hfgfh started playing bg3 and I am. absolutely obsessed. no thoughts only bg3!!! bg3 brainworms!!! tadpoles, if you will!!! So I wanted to draw some icons for the tavs I've made so far c: More rambling under the cut!!

On the left is Valens, the tav I made for my first playthrough!! She's a neutral good oath of devotion paladin and she is very very dear to me <3 On the right is the tav for my current run,, a chaotic neutral bard named Sylvie c: technically she has the volobotomy but when i started this drawing she didn't,, hence the purple eyes lmao. oh also dont ask me how her horns clip through her bangs like that bc i do not have an answer it just looks nice

I have more thoughts about them but I might make like. Actual reference sheets for them or smth so just in case I do I'll save all that stuff for then aksjdk- I also have a couple silly doodles and sketches lying around,, might make a sketchdump post or smth eventually since they're piling up,,, who knows :,D

[lale-txt]

the akaashi fic prologue ⁉️ you packed punches in them sentences, fucking destroyed me man 🫠

thank you i wrote it half possessed by a vision

[allylikethecat]

Chapters: 24/? Fandom: The 1975 (Band) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: George Daniel/Matthew Healy Characters: Matthew Healy, George Daniel, Ross Macdonald, Adam Hann, Jamie Oborne Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Past Drug Addiction, Mpreg Summary:

Matty lied, which was probably a mistake since he was a shit liar on a good day, and today wasn’t a good day. He was much better at just, not saying anything, even though his therapist had told him that was really just lying by omission. He couldn’t meet Jamie’s eyes, and knew he was sweating nervously. He was hyper aware that he could feel the wand in his back pocket.

.

Just like in the bathroom after the show, two parallel lines stared back at him, confirming deep down what he already knew. The test was positive.

[shame-is-a-wasted-emotion]

Dear giftee,

I shouldn't be writing this post but here I am. I am working on a 2 part gift with 2 one shots for you and right now, I've stopped writing temporarily. Your list was challenging yet I found a way to fulfil atleast a small part. The thing is, I have exams that would burn me to death till Dec 16. So I may write In the middle. I'm not sure if I would complete. So apologies in advance for any mishaps that would happen. I would try to do it in advance so I can find a beta reader soon. But otherwise,my aim is to atleast gift one of the fics. So if I disappoint you in any way,apologies in advance!

Yours sincerely in burn out,

Secret Santa

Ps. @klainesecretsanta2023 pls reblog this. So my giftee would see. Thank you

[bootyful-seventeen]

Omg quit jizzin in the hot tub is a total fucking banger I’d blast in the car when you’re not focusing on the lyrics

[theetherealbloom]

The Things I Would Do, Just To Be Here With You

Summary: Amidst the whirlwind of movie premieres and busy schedules, you and Pedro Pascal, both thriving in your respective careers, find ways to celebrate each other despite the distance. While Pedro promotes Gladiator 2 in London, he longs for your presence at the after-party.

Or, you two would scream at the stars for keeping you apart... and the government too.

“Pedro Pascal x f!reader, Pedro is promoting Gladiator 2, and reader is in Wicked (Elphaba or Galinda of course!) for the screenplay of Wicked, and they are just really supportive of each other but also joke about their own movie being the best. Finding time to come to each other’s premiers. Posting behind the scenes or visiting each other.” — From @imaginemixedfandom

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Red Carpet, Cameras, Paparazzi, Long Distance, Timezone Difference, Social Media, Interviews, I’m not a Spanish speaker, I might be wrong with the terms, please don’t come after me T^T,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Ty @imaginemixedfandom for giving the idea! I didn’t really want to replace the reader with the cast of Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. Those two are just too iconic. So instead I will make the reader a writer for the screenplay adaptation of Wicked tehe. You all should listen to brent iii by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler, it’s absolutely one of my favorite albums of this year. Lastly, remember this is all fictional and for fun! Enjoyyyy my loves!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: and the government too! By Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

gif by @andrew-garfielld

| Main Masterlist |

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING

“Hi.” Your voice was soft as you nestled deeper into the duvet, your body cocooned in its comforting folds.

“Hola, mi amor.” Pedro’s face lit up on your phone screen, the warm timbre of his voice washing over you like a balm. “I miss you.” “I miss you too… so much,” you replied with a little pout. The time difference between London and New York was merciless. Between his packed schedule promoting Gladiator 2 and prepping for Fantastic Four, and your whirlwind of work with the Wicked movie premiere, your conversations had been reduced to stolen moments like this. Still, even through a screen, Pedro had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the world. “You look cozy,” he said with a lopsided grin, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Meanwhile, I’m freezing my ass off here on set. I think my nose might fall off.” You laughed softly, the sound tinged with longing. “I’d trade you, you know. I’ll take the cold if it means I get to see you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He leaned closer to the camera, his face filling your screen. “If I weren’t contractually obligated to be here, I’d hop on the next flight and show up at your premiere tomorrow. Red carpet and all.” You smiled wistfully, your fingers brushing against the edge of your phone as if you could reach through it to touch him. “You’d outshine me. Imagine the headlines: ‘Pedro Pascal steals the show at Wicked premiere.’” “Please. Everyone’s going to be talking about you. ‘Brilliant screenwriter dazzles Hollywood!’” He paused, his tone softening. “You’re incredible, you know that?” Your throat tightened at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Stop, or I’ll actually cry, and my face will be all puffy for tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Okay, okay. But seriously, mi amor, I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.” “And so have you,” you countered. “The Gladiator 2 trailer broke the internet, and you still found time to send me flowers last week. You’re amazing, Pedro.” “Yeah, but flowers aren’t the same as being there with you.” His voice dipped, a hint of regret slipping through. “I hate being this far away.” You sighed, your heart aching in tandem with his. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the unspoken tension of your shared longing. Then, Pedro’s grin returned, bright and mischievous. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “who do you think has the better movie? Be honest.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Are you seriously asking me to compare Wicked to Gladiator 2? One’s a heartfelt, magical adaptation, and the other is a testosterone-filled epic. They’re different.”

“Uh-huh,” he teased, crossing his arms. “Sounds like you’re dodging the question. I knew you were scared to admit Gladiator 2 is better.”

You scoffed, sitting up straighter in bed. “Scared? Please. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings when Wicked inevitably becomes a global phenomenon.”

Pedro laughed, the sound rich and contagious. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, this would be grounds for war.”

“Lucky? You’re the lucky one,” you shot back, smirking. “I’ll prove it when I finally see you in person again. But until then…”

You brought the phone closer, pressing a soft kiss to the screen. Pedro mimicked your gesture, his lips brushing his camera lens.

“Goodnight, mi vida,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Pedro.” Your voice was tender, laced with all the love you couldn’t put into words.

As the call ended, you clutched the phone to your chest, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. Despite the distance, despite the chaos of your lives, you knew one thing for certain: Pedro Pascal would always be worth the wait.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — MORNING

Today was the day. You were walking the red carpet for the Wicked movie premiere. A sea of celebrities, producers, fellow writers, and editors would surround you. The sheer magnitude of it all left you feeling both giddy and utterly petrified.  

You smoothed your hands over the silk robe you wore, your palms damp with nerves. While you loved the craft of storytelling, the spotlight had always felt daunting. You preferred to let your work speak for itself—a tendency that paired surprisingly well with dating Pedro Pascal, the literal human embodiment of charisma and charm.  

“There, all done,” Laura, your makeup artist, said with a satisfied grin.  

You blinked at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin glowed, your eyes were accentuated just enough to look striking without overwhelming, and your lips were painted a perfect shade of confidence.  

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, giving her a warm smile.  

“Of course I did,” Laura replied with a wink. “Big night for my favorite screenwriter.”  

Mia, your stylist, emerged from behind a rack of gowns, holding up the dress. “Speaking of big nights... Ready to put this beauty on?”  

You nodded, though your smile wavered. “I just wish Pedro were here,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.  

Laura and Mia exchanged sympathetic glances before Laura gently squeezed your shoulder. “You’re going to look incredible, and he’d lose his mind if he saw you. How about we take some pictures to send him? A little preview for the man himself.”  

You hesitated, glancing at your phone on the vanity. “I don’t want to distract him. He’s busy with interviews and set work. London and New York aren’t exactly next door…”  

“All is fair in love and war,” Laura teased, her giggle breaking the tension. “Come on, babe! If anything, it’ll be motivation for him to hop on the next flight.”  

Mia chimed in, smirking. “Or just to remind him what he’s missing. Trust me, teasing Pedro is a public service.”  

You laughed despite yourself, feeling the nerves lift slightly. “Fine, fine. But if he complains, I’m blaming you two.”  

They ushered you into the dress—a masterpiece of emerald silk and intricate detailing that clung perfectly in all the right places. As Mia zipped you up, Laura stepped back, her hands pressed dramatically over her heart.  

“Pedro’s going to lose his shit.”  

“You look like a literal goddess,” Mia added, spinning you toward the mirror.  

For a moment, you hardly recognized yourself. The reflection staring back radiated elegance and confidence, even if you didn’t entirely feel it yet.  

“Okay, okay. Take the pictures,” you relented, biting your lip as you tried to contain your grin.  

Laura grabbed your phone and started snapping. You struck a few playful poses, twirling and laughing as Mia adjusted the hem of your dress. It felt silly, but imagining Pedro’s reaction warmed your chest.  

Once the photos were taken, you grabbed your phone and hovered over the message screen. You debated for a moment, then attached the best photo and typed a quick message.  

You: Wish you were here. But since you’re not... Enjoy this. Don’t let it distract you too much, cariño.  

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, the familiar swoosh of the message sending making your heart race.  

The reply came faster than you expected.  

Pedro: Distract me? How am I supposed to do anything now? You look like an angel. No, better than an angel. Drop-dead stunning. 

You couldn’t stop the grin from taking over your face.  

Pedro: Red carpet better be ready. They’ve got no idea who they’re dealing with tonight.  

The butterflies in your stomach multiplied tenfold. Before you could reply, another message appeared.  

Pedro: I’m so proud of you. Go knock ’em dead, mi amor. I love you.  

Your throat tightened, and you had to blink back the sudden tears threatening to ruin Laura’s hard work. You tapped out a quick reply.  

You: I love you too. Now go back to being the coolest man alive.  

“You okay over there?” Mia asked, watching you with a knowing smile.  

“More than okay,” you said softly, tucking your phone away.  

As you prepared to step into the whirlwind of the premiere, Pedro’s words echoed in your mind. Even from thousands of miles away, he made you feel invincible.  

Tonight wasn’t just about the red carpet or the glitz and glamour. It was about celebrating what you loved—and knowing Pedro would always be your biggest cheerleader, no matter where in the world he was.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON — AFTERNOON  

Pedro sighed deeply, his head resting against the back of his chair. The steady hum of activity on set felt like background noise, the voices and clatter muffled by the ache in his chest. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, the motion absent-minded, a physical echo of the restlessness he felt inside.  

He missed you.  

It wasn’t the casual longing of someone who hadn’t seen their partner in a while—it was the kind of yearning that settled into his bones, heavy and persistent. A few hundred miles of ocean separated you, but it may as well have been an entire galaxy.  

He opened his phone and scrolled back to the picture you’d sent him that morning. The emerald dress, the way it hugged your form, the way your eyes sparkled even in a still image—it took his breath away. You looked like a dream. His dream.  

“If I were there right now…” he murmured under his breath, running his thumb over the screen as if he could touch you.  

If it were as simple as hopping on a flight, he’d already be on his way. He imagined the way you’d light up when you saw him, how you’d rush into his arms. He’d bury his face in your hair, inhale your scent, and hold you so tightly that he’d forget about the world outside.  

But it wasn’t that simple. The timing was off, as it so often was with both your careers in full swing. He was tied to the production schedule of Fantastic Four, and you were in the spotlight for Wicked. The universe seemed determined to keep you apart, and for the first time in years, Pedro felt the cracks in his patience.  

He closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Damn stars. Damn schedules. Damn… government,” he muttered bitterly. The laugh that followed was humorless, the frustration thick in his voice.  

If he could, he’d scream at the stars for conspiring against you both. Curse the invisible forces that made life so complicated. He’d barter with time itself, twist it and stretch it, just to have you here with him for a few stolen moments.  

He wondered what you were doing right now. Were you nervous about the red carpet? Did you feel as hollow without him as he felt without you? Pedro clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him. You deserved to have him there, to walk that carpet with you, to hold your hand and beam with pride as you took in the applause for your work.  

“Pedro, they’re ready for you!���  

The call from a production assistant jolted him from his thoughts. He blinked, the weight of reality crashing back down as he stood and stretched.  

“Be right there,” he called back, tucking his phone into his pocket.  

As he made his way back to the soundstage, he couldn’t shake the thought of tomorrow. The Gladiator 2 premiere loomed ahead, another milestone he should be celebrating with you by his side. Instead, you’d be halfway across the world.  

But one day, he promised himself, one day, nothing will keep us apart.  

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING 

The flashing lights were relentless, casting an almost blinding glow over the red carpet. The screams of fans and the constant click of cameras created a symphony of chaos, one you weren’t entirely comfortable navigating. You’d always preferred the quiet—curled up with a book, tucked away from the world’s prying eyes.  

But tonight, you smiled and posed alongside your cast and the production crew. You owed it to them, to yourself, and to the story you’d helped bring to life.  

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Winnie Holzman, the original writer of Wicked, leaned in with a smile, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the crowd.  

You nodded, though your voice was tinged with nervousness. “It’s incredible. Overwhelming, but in the best way.”  

“You’ve done amazing work,” Dana Fox chimed in, her excitement infectious. “We wouldn’t be standing here without your screenplay tying it all together.”  

Jon M. Chu, ever the cheerleader, clapped you lightly on the back. “Tonight’s your night too. Own it.”  

You laughed softly, feeling a little more at ease with their encouragement. Together, the four of you posed for the cameras, sharing a few candid laughs before heading closer to the press area.  

As you stepped into the spotlight for interviews, the questions started flying.  

“How does it feel to see Wicked finally come to life on the big screen?”  

“It feels surreal,” you answered, your smile genuine. “Everyone on this project has poured so much heart into it. To see it come together like this is... overwhelming in the best way.”  

“You’re known for being quite private. How are you handling all the attention tonight?”  

“It’s definitely out of my comfort zone,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’m surrounded by such a talented and supportive team, which makes it easier.”  

Then, inevitably, came the question you’d been bracing for. “We couldn’t help but notice that Pedro Pascal isn’t here tonight. Do you miss him?”  

The question tugged at something deep inside you. “I miss him so much,” you said softly, your expression softening. “He’s busy promoting Gladiator 2 and filming in London. I know he wishes he could be here, just like I wish I could be there for him. We’re both incredibly proud of each other, though.” You grinned, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “But, of course, Wicked is better. Don’t tell him I said that.”  

The interviewer laughed, and you followed with a wink before stepping away.  

AFTER THE PREMIERE  

As the credits rolled and the crowd applauded, you walked alongside Jon, Winnie, and Dana toward the exit. The night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the theater.  

“You were glowing on that carpet,” Winnie teased, nudging you gently.  

Jon smirked. “Bet it’s because of a certain someone who couldn’t make it.”  

You flushed immediately, your cheeks warming. “Stop,” you mumbled, though your smile betrayed your embarrassment.  

“Oh, come on,” Dana added with a laugh. “You were gushing about him earlier. Just admit it—you’re head over heels.”  

You sighed dramatically, though your heart raced just thinking about Pedro. “Okay, fine. I miss him like crazy. I just—” You paused, glancing up at the stars. “I wish I could be there for him, you know? For his premiere. He’s always so supportive of me. It feels wrong not to do the same.”  

Jon stopped walking, turning to face you with a thoughtful look. “So go.”  

“What?”  

“Go to him,” he said with a shrug. “Take the jet. I’ll make the call.”  

You blinked at him, stunned. “You—you’d let me do that?”  

“Of course,” Jon said, waving off your concern. “You’re part of the heart of this project. If being with him makes you happy, it’s worth it.”  

“But I don’t have a ticket, and I need to pack, and—”  

Dana held up a hand, already pulling out her phone. “Relax. I’ll call a car, and we’ll pack together. You just focus on getting there.”  

Before you could protest further, Jon had already stepped aside, dialing someone on his phone. Dana grabbed your arm and started steering you toward the waiting car.  

“You’re really doing this,” she said, grinning.  

“I—I guess I am.” Your voice trembled with excitement and nerves. “What if I don’t make it in time? What if—”  

Dana cut you off with a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. “You’ll make it. And even if you don’t, just being there will mean everything to him.”  

AT THE AIRPORT  

The private jet was waiting for you, its sleek frame illuminated by the glow of the runway lights. You quickly texted Pedro’s manager and assistant, letting them know you were on your way.  

You: I’m coming to London. Please don’t tell him. I want it to be a surprise.  

The response was almost immediate:  

Franklin Latt: Got it. He’s going to lose his mind—in the best way.  

As you settled into your seat and the jet began to taxi, your heart raced. Seven hours separated you from Pedro, but for the first time in days, the distance didn’t feel insurmountable.  

You leaned your head back against the seat, clutching your phone tightly as you closed your eyes. You could already picture the look on his face when he saw you.  

Just hold on, Pedro. I’m on my way.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING

The energy in Leicester Square was electric. Fans filled the barricades, the roar of excitement nearly drowning out the camera flashes as Pedro made his way down the red carpet. Dressed in a sharp black shirt, the top unbuttoned, slacks, his signature charm, and a warm smile lit up every interaction as he stopped to greet fans and pose for photos.

The press area was bustling, and soon Pedro found himself standing in front of a journalist holding a microphone.

“Pedro, congratulations on Gladiator 2! How does it feel to be here tonight celebrating this film?”

Pedro grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It feels incredible. This is one of those projects you dream about as an actor, and to see it all come together, to see everyone’s hard work pay off, it’s… it’s a real honor.”

The interviewer nodded. “You’ve had an amazing year, between this and your other projects. But we couldn’t help but notice that someone special in your life had a big night recently—the Wicked premiere in New York. Did you get a chance to see any photos?”

Pedro’s face lit up instantly, a laugh bubbling out of him. “Oh, I did. Believe me, I did. She sent me some pictures, and I’ve seen the ones floating around online too. I mean… she looked absolutely stunning. Like, knock-you-out, breathtakingly gorgeous. I might be a little biased, but still.”

The crowd nearby caught wind of his gushing, and a few cheers erupted. Pedro laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I’m so proud of her,” he continued, his voice softening. “She poured so much of herself into that screenplay, and to see her get the recognition she deserves? It’s the best feeling in the world.”

The interviewer smiled. “There’s definitely a lot of love and mutual admiration between you two. Word on the street is you’ve got a bit of a friendly competition going on—Gladiator 2 versus Wicked. Any truth to that?”

Pedro chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, it’s absolutely true. We’ve got a bet going. She’s convinced Wicked is going to sweep the box office, and I, of course, have complete faith in Gladiator 2. Let’s just say the stakes are high—winner gets breakfast in bed for a week.”

The interviewer laughed along with him. “That’s adorable. Who’s winning so far?”

Pedro smirked. “Let’s just say she’s got me a little worried. But I’ll never admit that to her.”

LATER, BACKSTAGE

Pedro leaned against the wall, sipping from a glass of water while chatting with Paul Mescal. Their conversation flowed easily, but Pedro’s gaze kept drifting toward the entrance, as if hoping for some sort of miracle.

“You’ve got that look again,” Paul teased, nudging him with his elbow.

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning ignorance.

“The ‘I’m desperately in love and missing my girl’ look,” Paul quipped with a grin.

Denzel Washington, who had just joined the conversation, chuckled. “He’s not wrong, man. You’ve been staring off into space like a lovesick teenager.”

Joe Quinn walked by, overhearing the exchange and throwing in his two cents. “It’s cute, though. Very romantic. Someone should write a movie about it.”

Pedro rolled his eyes, though a bashful smile crept onto his face. “Okay, okay, I miss her. Can you blame me? She’s halfway across the world, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Frank, Pedro’s manager, stepped in, giving him a supportive pat on the back. “You’ve got it bad, buddy. But hey, it’s not a bad problem to have.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile to himself, already knowing what Pedro didn’t—that you were on your way. He could only imagine Pedro’s reaction when he saw you walk through those doors.

“Alright,” Pedro said with a dramatic sigh, “can we please focus on the fact that we’re here for Gladiator 2 and not my love life?”

“Sure,” Paul said, smirking. “But if she shows up, we’re all watching you lose it.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll take that bet.”

Little did he know, he was about to owe a lot of people a round of drinks.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING  

The crowd in the after-party buzzed with excitement, a mix of A-list chatter and glasses clinking. Pedro stood near Lux, their conversation about the night’s success lighthearted, though his gaze kept drifting toward the entrance. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that the ache of missing you hadn’t dulled, even amidst all the celebration.  

Lux, sharp-eyed as always, caught the slight shift in his expression and smirked. “You’ve got that look again,” she teased.  

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning nonchalance as he sipped his drink.  

“The one that screams, ‘I wish she were here.’” Lux nudged his arm playfully.  

Before he could muster a witty retort, Lux’s eyes darted toward the entrance, widening in surprise. “Well, speak of the devil…”  

Pedro turned, following her gaze, and the breath left his lungs.  

There you were, stepping into the room, your black silk gown catching the dim lights perfectly. Your hair, slightly tousled from the rush, framed your face with an effortless beauty that made his heart stop. Heads turned as you walked in with Frank, but Pedro didn’t notice anyone else.  

He froze, jaw slack, his mind racing to comprehend that you were actually here.  

“Pedro,” Lux whispered, amused. “Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”  

But Pedro couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was watch as you walked toward him, the soft smile on your lips turning into a grin as your eyes met his. He vaguely registered Joe, Paul, and Denzel laughing nearby, but he didn’t care. You were here.  

When you finally stopped in front of him, your grin widened, and you quipped, “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was terrible—there’s a movie premiere happening, and I—”  

Before you could finish, Pedro moved.  

He swept you up in his arms, lifting you off your feet as a chorus of cheers, whistles, and laughter erupted around you. You let out a surprised giggle, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he held you close, burying his face against your shoulder.  

“Dios mío,” Pedro murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here.”  

“I’m here,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his curls.  

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes brimming with love. “I can’t believe this. You’re really here.”  

You smiled, tears threatening to spill as you cupped his face. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun without me.”  

Pedro didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance, kissing you with a fervor that made the entire room fade away. The kiss was deep, all-consuming, and when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless.  

Your laughter broke the moment, and Pedro pressed his forehead to yours, his hands still firmly around your waist as if afraid you might disappear. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.  

“For what?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.  

“For being here. For being you. For… everything.” His voice was low, reverent. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll never stop thanking the universe for it.”  

You kissed him again, a soft press of lips this time, and smiled against his mouth. “You don’t have to thank the universe. Just let me love you.”  

Pedro let out a soft laugh, his arms tightening around you. “You’re incredible, you know that?”  

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” you teased, resting your head against his chest as the room slowly came back into focus.  

From the sidelines, Joe nudged Paul, chuckling. “Think he’s gonna let her go anytime soon?”  

Paul smirked. “Not a chance.”  

Denzel clinked his glass against Joe’s. “Now that’s a man in love.”  

And Pedro? He didn’t care about the laughter, the cameras, or even the early morning call time tomorrow. For now, you were in his arms, and nothing else mattered.

[stop4death]

confessions

note: i'm not a good writer i apologize in advance. but i have challengers brain rot and can't stop thinking about it so i had to write this. thinking about writing fem!reader x tashi next (reader is lowkey in love with tashi as well in this one in my mind) lmk if u like this and maybe i will

pairing: stanford!art donaldson x fem!stanford!reader

summary: since you started at stanford, you’ve been avoiding your close high school friend, art, and you’re pretty sure he’s been avoiding you, too. when he shows up to the tennis courts while you’re playing with your roommate and asks to talk, some confessions are made.

warnings: nsfw 18+ (MDNI!), smut, sub!art donaldson, soft dom!reader, angst, fluff, grinding, hand job, praise, aftercare (reader loves art sm), art is pathetic (in a good way i love him), please lmk if i forgot anything

word count: 1.9k

posted: may 27th 2024

It’s been a little over a month since you started at Stanford. With the stress of all your classes, homework, club meetings, and private out-of-season training for tennis, it feels like you can never catch a break. To make things even worse, you’ve been actively avoiding your close high school friend, Art. You promised each other you’d stick together at school while your best friend, Tashi, and her boyfriend, Art’s best friend, Patrick, are touring. Now, you haven’t heard from him, and haven’t tried to reach out to him either. When your roommate found out you’re a tennis player, she asked if you’d be willing to teach her how to play. You happily agreed, so you’ve been going down to the courts and playing with her once a week. Today, your heart jumped out of your chest and you almost dropped your racket when you were teaching your roommate how to backhand and Art walked in, sitting down in the stands.

“You okay?” your roommate asks, concerned by your sudden change in demeanor. She looks back to where you were looking and sees Art, then turns back to you confused.

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine” you say unconvincingly, and serve the ball. She doesn’t press any further, so you continue with the lesson, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach.

You can’t help but keep glancing up at Art. He hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since he got there. Once you finish up her lesson, you say goodbye to your roommate and nervously walk up to the stands where Art is sitting.

“Hi.” you say softly, scratching at your palm anxiously.

“Hi. How have you been?” he asks, seemingly genuine.

“Um… I-I’ve been good. How about you?” you stutter, your heart racing.

“Can we talk?”

“Yeah, sure.” you sit down next to him, but he shakes his head.

“Privately?” he looks around at the few people who are on the tennis courts, including your roommate who’s still slowly packing up her bag and glancing up at you confoundedly.

The knot in your stomach twists even tighter, but you nod your head in agreement, standing up. You follow him out of the tennis courts and towards one of the dorm buildings. He unlocks a door on the first floor, gesturing for you to enter. As you walk into your friend’s dorm room for the first time, you look around. Your lips curve up slightly and you feel a warmth in your chest when you notice a photo of yourself with Art on a wall of photos of his friends and family. Your apprehensive look returns when you turn back towards the door as he shuts it behind him, standing awkwardly in the middle of his room. You’ve never been a fan of confrontation, but you should have prepared for it when you decided to completely ghost one of your best friends with no explanation.

“You can sit down, you know.” he says casually.

You glance between his desk and his bed, ultimately opting for the desk chair. You face the chair out away from the desk and sit down. He sits down on his bed, facing you.

“Nice room.” you say awkwardly, desperate to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Why did you stop talking to me?” he says plainly. You suddenly feel like you might vomit at any second. You would rather be six feet underground than in Art’s dorm room having this conversation right now.

“I didn’t mean to, I’ve just… been so busy with classes and clubs and training I guess I haven’t gotten the chance to text you.” you lie. And he sees right through it.

“Can you be serious… Why haven’t you talked to me since we got here?”

You take a deep breath, and look down at your hands. Trying to think of any other way you can stretch the truth and not have to tell him what you’re about to tell him, but your mind has gone blank. You look back up at him, realizing you have no choice but to be honest.

“Art I-” you try to find the words, your heart racing even faster. “I, um… back in high school, I had this… huge crush on you." Your cheeks flush with embarrassment as you stutter through the confession you've held onto for years, and you continue awkwardly, “And I knew you had a thing for Tashi, and it hurt because obviously who could ever compete with Tashi. She’s literally perfect. So over the summer, like a week before school started, Tashi and I were drunk and I decided to block your number. I thought maybe it would help me move on, start fresh, you know? I didn't want to keep being just friends and feeling, I don't know, awkward around you." You shift uncomfortably, the weight of your words heavy on your shoulders. "Honestly, I forgot I even did it until now. I thought maybe you were avoiding me, too, or… I don't know, I guess I just didn't think it through. I'm sorry, Art. If you don't hate me now, could we maybe try being friends again? I've moved past that crush, I promise. I won’t let it get in the way again.”

You try to make the last part sound as convincing as possible. You don’t think you’ll ever be over your crush on Art. He just sits there and listens as you talk. His expression is unreadable, and for a moment, you fear you've said too much. You look down again, fearing his response.

“Why didn’t you tell me before… that you had a crush on me?”

“Cause you liked Tashi. Like everyone else.”

“Tashi was always just a friend to me. I liked you.”

You look at him as if he must be lying, searching for any hint of irony in his tone or facial expression.

“I still do.” he says softly, and the knot in your stomach is replaced with butterflies.

You stand up from the chair, and Art looks at you with concern, thinking you’re about to walk out. You take a few steps forward and sit down next to him on his bed, your knees brushing together.

“I still like you, too.” you whisper and put a hand on his cheek. You slowly lean closer to him, and press your lips against his. His lips are soft and they taste of cigarettes and watermelon lime ChapStick, his favorite. You’ve dreamed about this taste for years. He places a hand on your thigh, deepening the kiss. You quickly move to straddle his lap. Your hands twist in his soft strawberry blond hair as you kiss him sloppily, as if you were trying to consume him. You feel his erection growing under you and grind your hips down against him, making him moan softly into the kiss. You tug at the hem of his shirt and he quickly removes it, tossing it carelessly across the room, then smashes his lips back against yours hungrily. His hand moves up your thigh to the waistband of your skirt.

“So impatient.” you say with a smirk, moving your head down to kiss his neck and taking his hand in yours, moving it away from your waistband. He whimpers at the feeling of you sucking and nibbling gently on his neck. You kiss up his neck and jawline then back to his lips quickly before pulling away. You move off his lap and sit further back on his bed, spreading your legs slightly and patting the space between them.

“Come sit here.”

He looks at you a bit confused, but he obeys. He sits between your legs on the bed, his back to you. You move your hands slowly over his arms and chest, kissing his neck from behind, bringing back the sweet sounds of his whimpering. He closes his eyes and leans his head back on your shoulder, giving you better access to his neck. He moans softly, reveling in the feeling of your lips and hands on him. You tease him, moving your hand slowly down his abdomen and stopping just before his waistband, then moving back up slowly. You do this a few times before he can’t take it anymore and his hips buck upwards, begging for your touch.

“Such a pretty boy… you want me to touch you?” you tease, speaking softly against his neck and driving him insane. He whimpers, nodding his head eagerly.

“Use your words.” you whisper in his ear. His hips buck up again, a needy whine escaping his lips.

“Please,” he gasps out, his voice soft and needy, “please touch me, I want you so bad.”

You smirk and move your hands to the waistband of his pants, tugging down gently. He wastes no time pulling his pants and boxers off in one quick movement.

“Good boy.” you say softly, sliding your hand down his abdomen. A strangled moan leaves his lips as you wrap your hand around his cock and start to stroke him. His hips jerk up, desperate for more friction.

“Fuck” he gasps out, his voice a husky whisper. You continue to stroke him slowly, your other hand wandering over his chest and abs, kissing his neck occasionally.

“Love hearing your moans… such a good boy for me.” you say softly in his ear. He can’t contain his whimpers as you continue.

“Feels… so good.” he chokes out through moans, leaning his head back on your shoulder again. He lets out a low moan as you kiss his neck again, panting heavily.

“Such a good boy.” you emphasize, playing with his hair with your other hand.

“Yes, I am… such a good boy for you.”

You can tell that he’s close to the edge.

“You gonna cum for me, baby?”

“Yes… yes.” he gasps, his eyes squeezed shut as he breathes heavily. You stroke faster now, and he lets out a loud moan as he finally lets go, cumming hard on your hand. He pants heavily as he leans back against you, trying to catch his breath. “Thank you.”

You move your hand up to your mouth, licking some of his cum off and swallowing it, then moving your hand to his mouth. He knows exactly what you’re asking of him. His breath hitches at the sight, and he leans forward to lick the rest of his cum off your hand. He swallows then closes his eyes and leans his head back against your shoulder.

“You did so good for me, angel. My good boy.” you wrap your arms around him, holding him close and rubbing his stomach as he recovers. He lets out a contented sigh as he leans back into you further, his body still trembling slightly. He puts his arms over yours, holding onto you tightly as he catches his breath. You let him lean on you for a few more minutes, still rubbing his stomach, before the two of you lay down, you still holding him from behind. He turns over to face you, his lips curling into a smile. You smile back at him and put a hand on his cheek, stroking it gently.

“I missed you so much. Please, don’t ever leave me again.”

His words are like a shot to the heart. You still feel like a horrible person for the way you hurt him, but one thing about Art is he could never hate you, no matter what you do. You pull him close, stroking his hair gently as you whisper, “I won’t. Ever. I promise.”

[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 .

[bigbuffjoonie]

I’m always late to the party but omg I love this fic already!! Enemies to lovers villain au w crack SIGN ME THE FUCK UP!!! Pardon my multiple tags of nonsense it’s the primary way of expressing my thoughts on the fic 😅

Versus | MYG, JHS - Chapter One

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader x Hoseok

Genre: smut, fluff, angst, crack, enemies to lovers, Villains!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: weapons - daggers & laser swords (*cough like lightsabers cough*), use of restraints, swearing, violence (hand-to-hand combat), fingering, oral sex (f receiving), mentions of squirting, Dior Hobi and Ginger Yoongi are the visuals here

Word Count: 2.9K

Disclaimer: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: Supervillain exes Yoongi and Hoseok are sick and tired of having their plans for world domination wrecked by you, aka Vitality, the world’s most powerful superhero. When fellow villain Jimin suggests a little competition to see who can bring you to your knees, they both eagerly accept. Now the battle is on as both men engage you in fight after fight to see who will conquer you first. Will you finally defeat these two, or will they destroy you - and possibly take each other out in the process?

A/N: It's finally here! This new series stems from an ask I got back in November from my beloved Bloobs pointing out that red-headed Yoongi in that striped suit at the PTD press conference was 100% sexy evil villain material. That little idea became this Villains!AU.

Unbeta’d as usual. I’d love to know what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕

Series Masterlist ✨ Chapter Two ✨ Character Playlists

CHAPTER ONE: A MODEST PROPOSAL

You tug against the restraints, testing their give. There is none. 

“Finally, our little dance comes to an end, pretty bird,” Yoongi coos, twirling his dagger, the light from the lamp swinging overhead reflecting off the long blade. “Does that make you sad?”

“You make me sad,” you hiss. “You’re pathetic.” 

He’s annoying the fuck out of you right now, as usual, refusing to shut up long enough to let you figure out what’s going on with your powers. Again you try to access them and fail. 

This isn’t the time to panic. You need to get free. Guess you’ll have to do this the hard way.

Yoongi’s gaze rakes over you slowly as you hang helplessly against the wall. Ignoring the sudden stirring in your gut, you pull on the ropes. There. Your left hand. If you can just twist a little more….

Yoongi presses his blade against your throat. The cold metal bites into your skin as his other hand grips your shoulder, and you freeze, going completely still beneath his touch.

“What was that, pretty bird?” he asks, cat-like eyes targeted on your lips. “Say that again.” 

You glower at the handsome villain with the ginger hair. “I said, you. Are. Pathetic!”

His laugh echoes throughout the room. “Incredible. Even at death’s door, you’re still obnoxious.” He steps closer, face hovering above yours as he traces down your cheek with the tip of his weapon. You tilt your head away, inadvertently exposing more of your neck. “Look at this lovely blank canvas, just asking to be marked up. Should I use my blade or my teeth?” He snaps at you and you recoil despite the shiver that races through you. “No response? You’re not even going to beg for your life?”

“I’ll never beg,” you growl through grit teeth, eyes flashing. Yoongi smirks. 

“Let’s find out.” He sheaths his dagger and now both of his hands are around your throat, not squeezing, just resting heavily, as his thumbs trace over the hollow of your neck. “I can feel your pulse, pretty bird. It’s so fast. I think you’re terrified.”

You scoff, but you can feel your heart beating so fast, it’s threatening to jump out of your chest. 

Yoongi licks his lips, humming happily. “I think I could have you begging in no time. Asking for sweet release.” His fingertips flutter over your cheek. “I bet you’d beg so sweetly.” 

You’re so close. Just keep him distracted. 

“Fuck off,” you spit out, “you couldn’t give me the release I want if you tried.” 

Yoongi pauses. He squints.

“What was that?”

Shit. You’re really bad at this whole banter thing. It’s probably your least favorite part of the superhero gig.  Maybe you should ask Namjoon for some help. The man’s got a wicked tongue.

“Nothing, nevermind! You’re - you’re so fucking lame,” you sneer, but from the grin on Yoongi’s face, you know he’s not buying it. 

“Why, pretty bird, you surprise me! I wasn’t referring to that type of release, but I am… amenable… to suggestions like that,” he purrs, one hand dropping to your waist as he chuckles. His long fingers stroke your side.

Focus. On the restraints, god, not on his hand or the way that his deft fingers are etching tiny circles into your hip…

There!

“I have another suggestion,” you whisper, biting your lip. Yoongi watches your mouth with naked interest.

“And what is that?”

“Learn how to tie a proper knot, fucker.” 

The last thing Yoongi sees before your fist connects with his face is your smirk.

ZZZZZZZRT!

Your laser sword buzzes against Hobi’s as you block another swing. He has you on your heels, retreating as he cuts through the air violently, a nasty grin on his lips. 

You curse yourself for letting your swordsmanship get so rusty and swipe at the villain as he cackles darkly. “Give it up, little bee,” he commands, and you raise the electric blade in time to prevent losing an ear. “You can’t defeat me like this. Your skills are no match for mine.” 

He’s not wrong. Once again without your powers, you have to rely on your other abilities, and wielding this fancy weapon is nowhere near the top of the list. 

“Defeat this!” you shout lamely, throwing a punch with your free hand, but he easily dodges, still laughing. You continue to back away, unaware that one of his henchmen lies unconscious behind you until you trip over the body and land on your ass. 

Fuck.

He advances slowly, taking his time. You’re both panting, dripping sweat. He runs a hand through his dark hair, lifting it from his gorgeous face. You hold your blade in front of you and he simply knocks it away, dropping his as well. 

He’s on you before you can react, kneeling over your thighs, one hand pinning your wrists to the ground while the other clutches at your throat. “I don’t even need any weapons now. I can break you with my bare hands.” His grip is ironclad, but you keep struggling anyway, trying to break free as his fingers stroke your chin. “Come now, no need to fight anymore. Don’t you want to give in? Let me take control?”

A heat pools in your belly. You can so easily imagine what it would be like. 

It scares you to no end. 

“Fuck off, you monster,” you scowl. “I’ll never let you have control.” Inhaling shakily, you do your best to glower up at him as his hand rubs your stomach, like he can sense the heat coiling there and seeks to stoke it. 

Hobi sighs. “It could be so sweet, little bee. Just say the word and I’ll show you.”

“If you’re going to kill me, do it already and spare me this bullshit.” 

“Kill you? I’m offering you the chance at pleasure, and you’re asking me to kill you?” His eyes narrow. “You disappoint me so.” 

“Do it. Finish me off. Don’t torture me by promising me pleasure you can’t deliver,” you spit back.

Hobi just laughs. “Seriously? Now you’re trying to goad me into proving it to you, so you can get the upper hand again?”

Well, actually, yes. Goddamn stupid banter. You’ve got to get better at this distraction tactic.

He shakes his head. “After all this time, I truly expected better from you. This lame attempt won’t work.” 

“Whatever,” you seethe, sneering. “Doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t be good like this anyway.”

“And what makes you say that?” Hobi inquires, raising an eyebrow.

“Because!” You summon all your strength and roll, hard, flipping your positions. As he stares up at you, mouth hanging open in surprise, you wink. “It’s always better when I’m on top!”

Grabbing your sword, you smack him with the hilt, knocking him out. 

Jimin clicks the overhead projector off and the wall goes black. 

Hobi folds his arms. “Did you call us here just to show us the videos of our latest defeats?” 

Yoongi cocks his head. “How did you show us the videos of our latest defeats? Did you have Jungkook hack our systems again?”

Jimin waves his hand. “We can discuss the how later. The reason why is pretty evident, don’t you think?” He takes a seat behind his desk, propping his feet up on the glass surface. “You’ve both lost your touch.” 

Hobi arms the laser gauntlets he wears while two blades slide out of Yoongi’s sleeves. 

“Hold on, hold on,” Jimin attempts to placate the two before they unleash hell. He just got the blood out of his rug after the last time. “All I’m saying is, it’s way past time that someone removes Vitality from the board for good. Watching those videos, it could have been either of you.” He tuts. “I even loaned you both my power disrupter tech and she still kicked your asses!”

“That tech is glitchy as fuck and you know it, Jimin-ah.” Yoongi mutters, sheathing his daggers, as Hobi nods in agreement.

“Yeah, I keep asking you to send me the specs so I can review them and figure out where the fuck you went wrong.” 

“The tech isn’t the issue,” Jimin maintains his brilliant smile, but his left eye twitches slightly. “You both had the world’s most powerful superhero in your clutches, completely at your mercy, and then you just… lost.”

“Hyung could’ve taken her out if he hadn’t been thinking with his dick,” Hobi drawls.

Yoongi blinks languorously at his ex. “You’re one to talk. What was that about ‘pleasure,” again?”

Hobi uncrosses his arms. “Of course you’d have no idea what I’m talking about.”

Yoongi swivels in his seat. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean??”

“Hey!” Jimin claps his hands. “I didn’t call this meeting so you two could relitigate your disastrous relationship for the millionth time.” 

When Jimin had sent out the evite for today’s meeting, he figured he’d have to do some cajoling or even some old-fashioned begging to get them both into his office once they realized what he’d done. After all, both have complained his ear off lately about the other. But instead, the two seemed to be under some tacit agreement to act as if everything were totally fine, like they weren’t in the presence of their most hated enemy. An unspoken contest to show who could give the fewest fucks.

He should’ve known that uneasy detente wouldn’t last.

Yoongi and Hobi stop glaring at each other to glare at the rainbow-haired man behind the desk instead.

“Then why did you call us here?” Hobi finally asks. 

“Because, I would like to propose a challenge.” Jimin beams, a deceptively angelic smile lighting up his beautiful face. Neither man responds. “Well? Aren’t you going to ask what I’m proposing?”

“No,” Hobi replies flatly.

“Just tell us what your warped little mind is scheming now,” Yoongi adds.

Jimin holds a hand over his heart. “Ouch. Okay. I’m proposing that the two of you go head-to-head in a battle to see who can defeat Vitality first. No more plans to freeze the entire planet or block out the sun or whatever the hell the two of you have been plotting lately. Time to focus on one goal: eliminating the enemy.“

Yoongi frowns. “Why a battle?” 

“Would you rather work together?”

The two men eye each other for several long seconds before both emphatically answer, “No.” 

“But why should it be the two of us and not, say, you?” Hobi inquires. 

“Because no one’s gotten as close as either of you, including me,” Jimin explains. 

“Because he wants us to do his dirty work,” Yoongi translates. 

“Ah, right.” 

“That’s not true!” Jimin insists. “I mean, yes, I would obviously benefit from you keeping her out of my hair, but… look, you both came so damn close. Don’t you want to finish the job?”

“Of course. I want her out of the way. But I’m not about to jump through a bunch of your hoops to get it done,” Yoongi informs him.

“No hoops! Just a simple competition. The two of you take her on one by one until someone finally annihilates her once and for all.”

“But… why?” Hobi asks, arching a brow. “What do we get out of this?”

Jimin spreads his hands. “Everything! Think about the boost to your reputation alone! The villain who defeats the strongest superhero in recorded history would be peerless, wouldn’t they? Top of the pecking order, cock of the walk, insert your favorite cliché here. No one would question your power.” 

Hobi scoffs. “I don’t give a fuck what others think of me.”

Yoongi laughs loudly, drawing an irate look from the other man.

“What the fuck are you laughing about?”

“Oh, please! You couldn’t possibly care more!”

“Fuck you, I’ve never given a damn ab-”

“I have three words for you,” Yoongi interrupts, holding up his fingers to tick them off. “The. Riga. Incident.” 

“You said you’d never bring that up again!”

“Oh, but you don’t care what people think, right? So maybe I should tell Jimin what happened in Latvia!”

“Fuck you!” Hobi’s on his feet.

“No, fuck you!” As is Yoongi.

And so is Jimin, diving between them. “HEY!”

Blades and gauntlets hover, waiting. The air is thick with tension. Jimin can feel a migraine lurking. 

“Calm. The fuck. Down.” He gently places a hand on each of their chests, guiding them back into their chairs. “You want to know why I thought a battle would be a good idea? This is why. I’ve tried to get the two of you to work your shit out and nothing’s helped. Maybe this way, you can funnel all of this anger into something useful. Something other than turning my rug into a goddamn bloody Jackson Pollack!”

Yoongi and Hobi continue to observe one another closely, monitoring for any signs of attack from the other as Jimin returns to his seat. Taking a deep breath, he straightens his tie, smooths the lapel of his gunmetal gray suit, and runs his hand through his colorful hair. The glossy facade returns as he smiles. 

“Gentlemen. Commit to this competition. Get rid of Vitality. Bring her to her fucking knees and destroy her. Once she falls, that stupid organization she works for won’t be far behind.” He chuckles derisively. “We all know she’s the only real threat to us. None of the other supers can hold a candle to her power. They’ll be easy pickings once she’s out of the way. And when that group is gone, the path to total domination will be clear. Take Vitality out,” he stands again, leaning over his desk, “and there’s nothing stopping you from taking over the world.” His tiny fist pounds his desk for extra oomph.

Jimin’s dramatic as fuck, Yoongi thinks, but dammit if he’s not persuasive.

“Fuck it. I’m in,” Hobi declares, holding out a hand. Yoongi flattens his lips, taking a second to decide, before shaking it. 

“Excellent!” Jimin rubs his hands excitedly. “We can work out the terms of the challenge later. I’m fucking starving - should we grab some dinner?” 

“Hold on. I still want to talk about how you got those videos,” Yoongi states, blades flashing into the air again as Hobi rearms his gauntlets. Jimin gulps. 

He knew he should’ve bought a red rug.

Sitting up with a start, you glance wildly around your room. “What the fuck was that?”

“Mmmm?” Namjoon lifts his head, licking his plush lips. “What?”

“I felt something. Something… different.”

“Oh, that? I just turned this on. Sorry, guess I should’ve warned you.” He pulls his hand from where it’s currently engaged, and wiggles his fingers. A bright purple vibrator waves at you from his index. 

You frown at the hunky man lying between your legs. “Christ, Joon, not the vibrator. I obviously noticed that, and don’t you fucking think about taking it off, but I also felt something else. Like a change in the air.” 

“Ohhhhh shit, like a fluctuation in one of your energy field thingys or something?”

Or something. Thanks to your superpowers, you see things a little differently than others do. The world is bathed in a multi-colored glow thanks to the energy fields present in everything - every living creature and every object - that you’re able to perceive. Kinetic, potential, radiant, etc. - doesn’t matter the type, all of these leave you viewing life through a constant prism.

But lately, not only can you see these fields, you can feel them. 

And something just shifted somewhere, hard enough that it sent a crazy shiver down your spine.

Or maybe that was just Joon and his magic touch.  

“Do you wanna go talk to Doc? Visit the lab?”

Why bother? Since you’re the world’s first known energy vampire (you really wish you’d had a say in the nomenclature, because that name sounds like you’re an exceedingly dull office drone and not the most powerful being on the planet), your powers do nothing but consistently stump the scientists. All they really know is that you feed off the fields, absorbing the energy, and your body transforms it into a concussive force that you use to fight.

Besides, it’s ridiculous that you have to report anything to anyone, anyway. No one can challenge your status as the most formidable superhero in existence. Shouldn’t they all be reporting to you?

You really gotta work on that whole “no I in team” thing. 

“Eh, won’t do any good. They don’t know shit.” Lying back, you resume your comfortable position on your pillows.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind if you need to stop.”

You raise your head, giving your teammate a look. “Excuse me? You promised you’d give me, and I quote, ‘the squirt of a lifetime’ tonight. Are you trying to back out?”

“Fuck no.” Namjoon clicks the vibe on again. His finger begins to shake. “I’m just warming up, baby. You’re gonna soak these sheets. I fuckin’ promise.” 

“Back to work, then.” 

The soft yellow aura emanating from Joon brightens as he returns to his task, and you let his ministrations carry you away, trying to forget the strange sensation from earlier. 

It only takes two orgasms before you both succeed.

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

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