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almostempty · 19 hours ago

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PSA THIS IS JUST ME SCREAMING AFTER EVERY PARAGRAPH BC I'M OBSESSED

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?”

LIKE FOR REAL! i believe the correct answer is actually nothing, and you just invite him straight into your pants

“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—”

Connie so fucking real for that take

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

I really love her so much

“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.

the corded phone giving me a fucking flashback omg

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.

FR I WOULD LOSE MY SHIT HELLO

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.

AND HOW DARE HE

He’s taken over your mind, lingering there like a sexy, infuriating ghost.

he can haunt me

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.

in fact, i might crawl into this fic and shoot him with a gun (kidding) if he doesn't get his shit together

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.

she's so strong, i woulda taken a pull from the bottle accidentally drank half of it and ruined my own date i stg i'd be FREAKIN

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

TELL ME BB TELL ME

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.

MMMM THAT SLUTTY OPEN SHIRT

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.

BITCH NOT THE SINGLE PEONY FUCK OFF i got my peony tattoo bc of this fic actually, write that down

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.

if he did that to me i'd be fuckin' dead y'all LIKE HERE LIES WEDS DEAD BC THAT STUPID MAN JUST LOOKED AT HER

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

fuck yes, be stronger than me, flip him shit

He’s doing the bare minimum, bringing you a fucking flower, and you’re already feeling all warm and mushy.

yeah it WOULD WORK ON ME

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

UM YEAH, I'LL BE REMEMBERING THAT YEP SHE GONN TELL US

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.

a man with a PLAN? the bar may be in hell but that would DO IT FOR MEEEEEEEEE

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.

me legit thinking wdym gorl we ain't new here, I've got his rap sheet

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.

A FLOWER, A PLAN, CONFIDENCE. SHUT UPPPPPPP

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.

the way you would make me think of that fucking hand gif set again AT A TIME LIKE THIS, HOW DARE YOU

“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.

no, no NO NO NO IT IS NOT OKAY BC I'M DEAD

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.”

LMAO is he me? like fuck that shit...unless, you're into it then uh I'll stfu bb

“Oh wow,” you say, chewing slowly with a hand hovering over your mouth.

shut uppppp now i gotta go get a jamaica and chorizo tacos and i'm already there too many days of the week

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.

sex deity not an exaggeration at all

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

their loss

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.

me referring to reading this fic

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

OPE THERE IT IS

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.”

still imagining javi listening to Too $hort and y'all never gonna take that away from me heheheheheheheh

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

too good

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

yESS

“I gotta ask you something,” he says, his voice dipping just a bit. “And be honest. Why didn’t you like me?”

jesus fuck bb, reading that made my heart and my pussy stop beating like oh shit

“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.”

yeah girl! being honest!

“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.”

REAL

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.”

VULNERABLE JAVI GOT DAYUM

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

i just like that sentence

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.

SHUT UP WTF

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.

it's so romantic i'm gonna emote

“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.

EVERYONE SHUT UP ARE YOU KIDDING ME

“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.”

EXCUSE ME

ARE YOU PUTTING ANGST IN HERE ??? I'M GONNA THROW ROCKS

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.

ACCURATE YES

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.

i'm gonna vibrate through the fucking ether oh my goddddd the whole kissing scene pls

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

i'm shedding a tear of sexual, emotional, and romantic yearning

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

that'd be hot too idc

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.

i actually can't, like i'm so unwell reading this i don't have anything fun to say about it, i just need him so, so, so, so, so, so, badly

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.

i'm passing away

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.

returned as a ghost and now i'm just shrieking

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.”

he's so stupid, how do i create him??? i'm never recovering

“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.

i have been staring at the wall trying to calm my own body down long enough to keep reading LIKE DAMN DOWN GIRL IT'S NOT HAPPENING LEND ME THE COGNITIVE FUNCTIONING TO KEEP READING HOLY FUCK

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.

no but like, that's it! right there! tits out, against the truck, dry humping like a feral teenager out past curfew i'm fuckin' done forrrrrr somebody scrape my body up with a shovel I've disintegrated

“Baby, just with the way you’re movin’ your hips, I can tell you ride cock like a fuckin’ champ.”

wouldn't you like to know! <- i'd say if i weren't drooling and trembling

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.

i have nothing useful to say, i'm just in awe, mout gaping like a fucking fish plsssss it's so VIVID

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

I'm so fucked up over him i need a lobotomy so i can have a chance at continuing on with my life after reading this and i know this chapter isn't even over PLS

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

maybe he's proving his point being a real gentleman, i'm choosing to imagine he's gonna cream his jeans and you can't stop me

“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.”

KAT I AM GONNA THREATEN YOU WITH VIOLENCE DON'T YOU DAREEEEEEEEE

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.”

OH MY GODD HOW IS THIS ALMOST WORSE BC NOW I'LL IMAGINE IT FOREVER AND NEVER HAVE IT OMG

“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.”

I NEED HIM I NEED HiM RGHT AWAY

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

I have to go touch grass, eat dirt, walk into the ocean, lay on the street in the rain, get frostbite, a third degree burn, literally anything pls i can't continue on without having him

“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.

HE CAN COME IN MEEEEEEEEEE (you know i had to)

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

she is the strongest woman in the fictional universe or i am a loose moraled slut, but it's probably the first one

You smirk, pretending to ignore the way his fingers are trailing dangerously close to your panties.

did you write every line of this just for me? like hand crafted, organic, farm to table, JUST. FOR. ME.

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.

SOBBING, OH MY GODDDD THE BUILD UP

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.

same

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 two of them are EVERYTHING TO ME

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.

I love Connie she is my supreme leader

“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.”

close your eyes i'm about to commit woman on woman violence

A flush of fury burns through you, and you’re on the verge of standing up, ready to beat her ass for her audacity.

yeah, I TOO WOULD THROW HANDS IDC I'LL CATCH A CHARGE

“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.”

UGH OKAYYYY BUT STILLL

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.”

i love her

“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.

me thinking i'm sharing funny anecdotes, backtracking when i realize i misread the room

“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.

i'd prefer that legacy to the barely legal scene, i said what i said

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.”

title reference swoon!

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.”

stop ruining my life with him i CANNOT HANDLE IT

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.”

quietly sobbing and nodding mhmm anything for u bb

“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.

EVERYTHING, THIS IS EVERYTHING TO MEEEEEEE

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

me whipsering the same thing to my phone screen like it's a prayer

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.

SIR YES SIR

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.

torture me pls

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?”

EDGE ME BB

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.

i'm sooooooo unfortunately serious, how am i supposed to continue after reading this ?? with life ?? THAT IS CRUEL! SICK PUNISHMENT!

“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.

pls can someone come over and read the rest to me????? my eyes keep rolling back, cross eyed, blurred by tears, i'm so gone

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.

not the 'you're breakin' my heart' nooooooo i can HEAR IT

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.

MEEEEEEEEE I'm FROTHING AT THE MOUTH

You need to fuck this man.

i feel this sentence in the very core of my being

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.”

no words left, just moaning as i read this like a SICKO

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.

somebody call me an ambulance (don't) how is every word so perfect

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.

10000/10 no notes rereading forever and ever and ever

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.

I KNOW THAT'S RIGHT

“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.

YEAH

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.

CAN YOU IMAGINE I'D BE A FUCKING MENACE LIKE Y'ALLLLL PUSSY TOO GOOD MY SEX DEITY CAN'T EVEN HANG GOD DAYUMMM

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

LMAOOOOOO EXACTLY!!!

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

i'm actually printing this chapter (the whole fic actually), framing it, hanging it above my bed, and calling it required reading for anyone who wants to smash idc I'll wait all night for u to read it bb

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.

I'M FUCKING SCREAMING

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

ugly, snotty, crying and repeating 'pornstar javi isn't real, pornstar javi isn't real'

“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”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

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.

pls

“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 KNOW RIGHT

“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.

STFU STFU SHUT THE FUCK UP YOUNG MAN OR SAY IT TO MY FACE

“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.

so stupid, i need a thousand of him, I've lost my single brain cell and this fic is the only thing that remains in my consciousness, and it's so fucking GOOD IT HURTS GOD DAYUMMMMMMMMM

I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU WOULD JUST FUCK ME UP LIKE THIS ON A THURSDAY WITH NO REGARD FOR MY WILL TO RECOVER ??

THE DATE

THE SEMI PUBLIC AGAINST THE TRUCK TITS OUT DRY HUMPING BONANZA JUST FOR ME

THE ONLY ACCEPTANCE AND COMMITMENT THERAPY I NEED IS JAVI AT MY DOOR TELLING ME HOW MUCH HE'S THOUGHT ABOUT ME AND HOW HE'S WILLING TO DO WHATEVER IT TAKES FOR A SHOT ???

THE UNDER THE BAR TEASE BEFORE THAT JEALOUSY HIT LIKE A FUCKING BRICK !!

THE INSAAAAANE DREAMY TEASING, THE VIBE, THE MOOD, THE TENDERNESS AND ADORATION, THE VIVID REALNESS OF THE ENTIRE SCENEEEEE LIKE BITCH I GOTTA CHANGE MY SHEETS AND SHOWER NOW AND I'M NOT EVEN IN BED HELP

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.

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.

“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.

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.

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.”

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.

“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.”

“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.”

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.”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

“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.”

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—”

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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—”

“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.

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.

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 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.

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.

“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.

“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.

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.

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.

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.

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 .

#mostly incoherent and mostly just me saying SHUT UP after every sentence but this is the hottest thing i'm fucking dead???#javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier pena smut #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña fic #javier peña narcos #javier pena fic #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fanfic #javier pena narcos #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #ppcu fandom #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #narcos fanfiction

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procyonloser · 13 hours ago

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Serial killer AU pt 3, same warnings

Adam felt sick, but he couldn't bring himself to vomit, no matter how much he wanted to. He had enough food to keep going, but Lucifer wasn't about to bring him more if he did chuck it all up again, and Lucifer knew that. He seemed to do this on purpose after he brought Adam food.

He swallowed, throat threatening to not work, but he forced it down. He forced Lucifer down. No matter how many times he'd sucked him off, Lucifer always seemed thick, coating his mouth, a flavor that wouldn't leave him and one that overpowered any of the food he'd had prior.

But that wasn't even the worst of it. Lucifer had begun to fuck him, not just his mouth, like he had the last few days. Adam couldn't say no, not if he wanted to fucking survive, he just accepted the fact that this was going to have to be part of that life now, but he would hope alcohol might burn the worst of his memories out of his head.

Lucifer always took him on the floor, and he would always pull on Adam's collar, regardless if he was fucking him from behind, on his back, or making Adam ride him. No matter what, he made Adam know who owned him.

He'd not cum from it, but he would get harder than he wanted to - left with dreams that kept his thighs sticky upon waking up, only to be met by reality.

"That's a good boy," Lucifer mumbled, pulling out painfully slowly, letting Adam feel every inch, and how cum began to start spilling from him, down his legs. "Have you thought about how you'll benefit me yet, Adam?"

Adam froze, pushing himself to sit up, looking at Lucifer in confusion, panic skyrocketing through him. "Haven't I ... I've been...I thought-"

"What, because we had sex?" Lucifer asked in some astonishment, eyes wide, laughing as he asked it. "Oh, Adam. I can get that anywhere, there's entire apps dedicated to anonymous hookups. You're not special because of that. I want to know what you can actually do for me."

This wasn't fucking fair. Hadn't he dealt with enough in his life? Yeah, he'd been kind of an asshole, but his entire life had been a big goddamn game of kick the man while he's down, so sure - he was a dick, but he had to be, because anything else just made his life worse.

And now, he had to play jester to a fucking lunatic.

"I can help you," Adam got out, voice colored in desperation, body shivering. "With the bodies. I can't walk, but I could help you process the bodies. You'd be able to kill again faster? The... The media would freak the fuck out if your rate increased suddenly."

Lucifer hummed slightly, acknowledging Adam, though the only thing that seemed to catch good interest was the idea of scaring the media.

"A.. and if I'm an accomplice, then I'm not going to rat you out, right? Even if I could escape, I'd be just as guilty." Adam thought it was a good argument, but Lucifer only seemed mildly amused.

"Why would I want you?" Lucifer asked, and Adam's stomach sank, and his shoulders fell. "It's funny to me, that you're so eager to continue living. I looked you up, and as far as I can tell, you have no real friends, no popularity, there's an entire Facebook page of women complaining about you, your band is a joke, and it looks like your family disowned you a long time ago."

Adam only looked at the tiled ground, vision beginning to go blurry.

"It's not like you're some heartthrob either, you're chubby and you apparently live out of your van. So, it seems strange to me that you want to live so badly you're trying to appease me at every turn. Why is that?" Lucifer asked, tilting his head.

Adam didn't answer immediately, tears begging to run down his face.

This was probably it, wasn't it? Lucifer was bored of him.

"...I just wanted to believe I'd eventually be happy." Adam whispered, in a small voice, speaking truths about himself he'd never really told anyone before. There'd been so many months in his life he could have ended it all, but he kept telling himself if he held out a bit longer, eventually, he'd have a good life. He'd been wrong.

Lucifer reached out, to caress his cheek, tilting his chin up, but Adam closed his eyes, stray tears running down his face. "I don't want to die."

"You won't," Lucifer said in a more reserved tone, leaning in to lick the salt from Adam's face. "Not yet, little bird. Not yet."

#adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #serial killer au #dubious consent

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dirt-str1der · 2 years ago

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That fucking picture of majima literally makes me angry because of how ugly he is , i can find nothing about him in that image to love its the ultimate dealbreaker for me. If my man showed up in those clothes i would rip them off him in public not out of lustful excitement but out of blood red anger and force him to walk home in just his jockstrap because he dared to put those disgusting scraps of fabric on im not even looking at that photo but im getting angry again

#Yakuza HATEblog #i like my men a little gross but he went too damn far with that look #y0 majima was too beautiful to be attracted to because hes like a model #subsequent majimas have that terrible haircut which gets me hard #but majima in that photo has nothing going on that works. not even the presence of a cute girl and a young attractive gay man are helping #in fact they might actually be making him look worse #i hate it. as my dad always used to say: vomit blood

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silusvesuius · 6 months ago

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nelvas Problematiq*eyes roll back into my skull* *falls flat on my face with cardboard cutout physics* ((7 hours later)) *wakes up in barren wasteland* I know everything now.

#text #hold on having automated nelvas truths #i think if t*lvas ever got a girlfriend or boyfriend or whatever (actually he'd be ashamed of being gay ithink but i'll have to think -#- about it🤦‍♀️) n*loth would get so mad at that fact he'd try to hurt his feelings first by saying he's not doing well enough on his work a #- then belittle his relationship in general. The jaw clenching eye rolling white hot rage he feels in himself anytime he hears t*lvas -#- laughing is CRAYZ 😂😂😂😂😂 i fink he'd just hate seeing him happy for any reason because it makes him cringe (in a very broad way)#not because it's t*lvas but bc he just has inset problems that make him hate happy people but it;s worse when it's t*lvas 😊 you feel me #anyways he'd just kill dat girlfriend and spend an hour getting rid of her body. or actually he might be the type to stage it so that -#- t*lvas sees it and is insanely hurt :) so in turn he can use that hurt to soften t*lvas' feelings toward himself when he shows him very -#- very veeeery fake and mild 'support'. that'd traumatize t*lvas so bad that he wouldn't even be against being close to neloff in any way -#- cause he's too busy crying and grieving IO808ITORE5JUDFKGLK bye #nelvas is so powerful because they are the only people in each others vicinity and neloff's grasp on t*lvas is just strong #why are you holding his arm like that bro nobody is gonna take your elven twink away from U #anywasy Yeah.... *proud face* *looking @ my nails*#the natural tsundere to yandere character development pipeline is unrealllll #Neloff is a Jealous Sim

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tekatonic · 2 years ago

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The pre-release Sonic Frontiers sketchbook doodles I promised to show :

I finally got the game ! So now I'm going to post this and leave until i've finished it...

As the title implies, no spoilers at all, i didn't know anything. There's not even much in the way of trailer spoilers cause i didn't watch all of them and didn't know anything about Sage.

As you can tell it's basically all Sage... who would've guessed ? xD Anyway I was gonna do a Vandalize animatic centered on her and the theoretical backstory i had for her ( lol i even made her a family ) but i had to work on the SWA zine so i never did end up doing it.

#sonic fandom #sage the ai #teka art #id in alt text #fun fact the -i can fix her- doodle was made before the trailer where we saw Sonic with a glitched arm #so ironically it's actually more like Sage saying -i can make him worse- isn't it lmao #i won't be looking at the reblogs sadly because #yeah who knows what might be in those tags #better safe than sorry #so far i really like the game by the way ! it's my first sonic game though and i was not prepared for the actual amount of speed...#sage is still my beloved #child ever

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krysmcscience · 2 months ago

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Did somebody say Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear? I think somebody said Bill shouldn't be allowed to swear. Thanks to that, have these retooled The Good Place jokes:

The "powers that be" can refer to either the Theraprism staff, the Axolotl, or just. Ya know. Disney in general. Or all three! Whichever you think is funniest. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The "party" Bill's referring to is Weirdmageddon, of course. He was quite the ashhole to everyone back then.

Ford has probably gotten pretty good at the 'tune out your psychopathic ex with dank memes' challenge.

It must be very cathartic to be able to make Bill shut up whenever you want with just the press of a button. I'm sure Ford doesn't abuse this ability at all.

Oh, sure, 'Not now,' he says, before he immediately backs out of the newly-made hole in the Theraprism wall. 🙄

Don't worry, Bill doesn't get far.

also yeah i know this one doesn't have an attempted swear - i just wanted to use the joke because of the massive stink-eye involved in it because it makes me laugh

⬇️ More goofs beneath the brief ramble if you wanna skip it lmao⬇️

Why is Ford even there, you might ask? Well, he either decided he preferred to watch Bill suffer in person over being distantly and repeatedly harassed with the same evil desperation book for the rest of his life, or he got roped into some kind of contrived community service for 1.) all his many counts of interdimensional thievery, and 2.) his ignoring all the very clear warnings to NOT summon Bill in the first place (which I like to imagine is also illegal). Theraprism staff were just like, 'Wait, this guy matters to Bill? Ooh, we can USE that! It might be the only thing that can help him want to get better!' It is not considered that throwing Ford at Bill so soon after Weirdmageddon could instead make them both WORSE - in new and altogether special ways! :D

Anyway, I'm calling it the Community Service AU, and I am most likely not going to do anything else with it beyond appropriating these silly Good Place jokes. So, feel free to adopt the concept if y'all wanna??? Just make sure that Bill is still not allowed to swear, no matter what, full stop. It's gotta be a real linguistic corkblork of a situation for him, is all I'm sayin'.

Finally, have these bonus Good Place jokes, but with Handyman!Bill this time:

'Opposite tortures' doesn't sound so bad...at least until it's an all-powerful chaos entity known for torture saying it.

you may think i forgot mabel's cute pink cheeks but the truth is that i did in fact forget but then immediately stopped caring which makes it okay, SHHHHHHH

And, finally:

lmao this is shit

True facts, if you cram Season 1 Eleanor Shellstrop and Michael into a singular triangle shape, they turn into Bill Cipher. This is science, look it up. Or don't, and just trust the source that is me, bro.

Anyway, I should be in bed, y'all have fun with these, I guess. Tune in after like a week or so and maybe I'll have an addendum to my comic about how Bill was drawn naked for karaoke night. Because him actually being naked was not the only thing I considered as a plausible explanation. XD

Also if you see any inconsistencies or errors in any of these comics, No You Do Not :D

Also also, reblogs are rad as hell and I appreciate every single one, just don't repost, please and thanks. Every time a repost is made, an artist somewhere cries. :,)

#fanart #gravity falls #billford #bill cipher #stanford pines #stanley pines #dipper pines #mabel pines #pyronica #handyman bill au #book of bill #the good place #incorrect quotes #heck yeah i'm tagging billford - cuz these old men are EXES #jfc i said i wasn't going to color any other gravity falls stuff i made - and then what do i do?#i fukken color all of it #i may have a problem lmao #the green area outside the theraprism is because i forgot what was outside it and just went 'lol greenscreen idgaf'

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gay-dorito-dust · 7 months ago

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How’d they react to you calling them bro or dude whilst in a pre-established relationship…(platonic/romantic)

Dick: he’s insulted.

Gutted.

He will try to give you the silent treatment for such a shameful thing but ultimately fails as he ends up being the one pawing at you for attention.

‘Do you still like me? Or did you just run out of cute nicknames to call me?’ He’d say one night as your both cuddling in bed together. ‘If it’s the later then I can help you find something, just please spare me and don’t call me dude or bro anymore.’

He’d rather you call him Richard-wait, no he hates that even more because to him you’re not meant to use his fully name, only cutesy nicknames that’d make a grown man sick to his stomach. Nothing else would suffice other than Dickie bird, handsome, babe, hunk, honeybun or anything that wasn’t his name.

He’s go mad or would act delusional and say that everything was fine when everyone could tell that it wasn’t. People who know him have personally came to you and begged you to stop calling him dude/bro because he kept talking their ears off about how his beloved partner is torturing him, which ends up torturing them even more upon hearing about his relationship issues.

Dick would even consult Hayley on what he did wrong, only for Hayley to look at him with those big, big eyes of hers. This was not her level of expertise unfortunately. (Head empty, no thoughts. She can’t do her abc’s guys it’s a real tragedy.)

Jason: ‘I just had my tongue down your throat just now and you had to go and ruin the mood by calling me bro. What the fuck.’ - Jason at some point.

It’s a whole mood killer for him to be honest.

He’s calling you things like chipmunk or sweetheart but here you were calling him dude and bro. He knows for a fact that he’s well and truly out of the friend zone because the shit you’ve done together isn’t platonic in any sort of way.

Thinks Roy had set you up to call him dude or bro behind his back. (He hasn’t)

Jason is petty and will get his own back by referring you as ‘just a really good friend’, ‘buddy o’ mine’ or even worse than both of those; ‘chum.’ 💀

When you go low, Jason was more then willing to go to the depths of fucking hell to the point it had become a game to see who’d call out just how stupid this all was, and at the both of you for ever thinking that this was an excellent idea in the first place.

You’ll probs get punished…I’m just going to leave it there and let your minds guess what that ‘punishment’ was exactly.

Damian:

As much as Damian hates it when you call him Dami, he hates it when you call him dude or bro even more, if that’s even possible.

Damian hates it when you call him dude or bro. He’s not your dude or bro, he’s your partner and he expects no less then darling, my heart or my beloved.

So you calling him dude or bro is more than enough reason for him to give you the silent treatment.

‘Until you learn that I am your partner, I won’t want to be anywhere near you if you’re going to keep calling me your bro or dude. It is a disservice to who I actually am to you.’ He says with a huff and beckons Titus to follow, only for the Great Dane to be left confused as to why his human parents were at a disagreement over something silly.

Also Titus, Ace, Jerry, Alfred the cat, Goliath and BatCow are children of divorce because I said so.

So it’s bests that you apologise while you still can because Damian can hold a grudge unlike any other. Even if you didn’t, you’d still crack first before Damian and quickly put an end to calling him dude/bro.

He just thinks being called a dude/bro when in a pre-established relationship is an insult.

He can take a joke but not when it’s aimed at his relationship. He’s well and truly devoted to his relationship -if we’re to completely ignore the whole being Robin thing- that it might as well be an insult towards him too at this point.

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yanderenightmare · 4 months ago

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part one

TW: nsfw, dubcon, blackmail

fem reader

As promised, you receive the pictures in the mail while the payment is forwarded almost emmidiatly. You don’t know which makes you gawk more, the photos of you or the numbers.

You also get an email—an invitation. The photographer is asking you to dinner. Or, asking is putting it nicely—which he most certainly didn’t. It’s phrased like a notice from your boss—matter-of-factly, he’s picking you up at eight, wear something nice.

You think about declining, but then you think about your friend again and how you don’t want to cause her any trouble. A free dinner isn’t really all that bad, is it?

It’s worse, actually.

“You should have told me you didn’t have anything to wear. I would have lent you something,” is the first thing he says when you get in his car. He hadn’t opened the door for you or anything, just sat in the driver’s seat waiting.

And though your cheeks burn with embarrassment, you think you’re foolish for it. You hadn't really dressed to impress him, after all—something you might as well tell him, “Maybe I just didn’t feel like dressing up. You didn’t exactly leave a good impression last time we met, so I don’t believe I owe you anything.”

He scoffs with a grin—face turned towards the road as he starts driving. “You have a lot more bite without your friend.”

“She has too much respect for you.” You cross your arms and look out the window.

“That’s for sure.” You hear him chuckle, but he doesn’t offer any more of a response. You’re glad to spend the rest of the drive in silence.

You feel underdressed at the restaurant. You hadn’t thought he’d take you somewhere so nice. Most of the other couples there are dressed as if for a gala, while you’re dressed as if you’re going to an office party.

He hasn’t tried too hard himself. But still, he fits in—fat watch on his wrist, kempt hair, neat shoes, dress trousers, and a silk shirt with one too many buttons undone—a nauseating skinny chain beneath the collar as well as the hint of a chest tattoo. You bet it’s one of those dumb tribal inks, probably with some mundane Japanese characters he doesn’t know the meaning of.

“Is this where you undermine all the models desperate for your recognition?” you sigh as you sit down.

“We haven't even gotten our menus, and you’re already causing a scene?”

He’s the one who was rude the moment you got in the car. In fact, he was rude the minute you met him. “Might as well speed this along.”

He chuckles—his smile genuinely amused instead of angered the way you’d imagined—the way you’d remembered from last time when he sent girls crying. “You know, for a face like that, you have one hell of a tongue.”

He orders wine by the name with ease and swiftness before returning to what he was saying.

“I like that. Most models are dull, but not you.”

“I don’t agree. And I’m a model,” you snip, showing no interest in his flirting.

“No? Didn’t you see the pictures?” Your attitude doesn’t seem to deter him—rather, it only seems to egg him further on. “I have them all mounted on my walls at home—you should come see.”

This makes you falter. Looking at him from across the table with rounded eyes. “On your walls?”

“Framed.” He smiles, finally having broken through—he only intends to take it further. Not that what he was saying wasn’t true. “I just couldn’t help myself. I consider it my best work.”

The look on your face is something between disgusted and uncertain—speechless in a sense.

It makes him laugh again. “Does anything flatter you?”

The wine comes. He’s poured a glass for testing.

“Not when spoken by men like you.”

His grin grows as he swirls the liquid around, smelling it like a phony.

“That’s a shame,” he says before taking a sip. He nods to the waiter, and you’re poured a similar glass. Meanwhile, he looks at you. “I’d like to flatter you—I’d like to spoil you even. You seem like you deserve it.”

You sip your glass. “No need.”

“I’m not so sure about that. You currently work at a diner, right?”

You gaze at him from atop your glass, brows furrowing. “How do you—”

“I didn’t.” It’s a lie, of course, he’d searched you up and gone over every little detail he could find. “It’s clear from the looks of you—”

“Fuck you,” you snap, putting your glass down a bit too harshly, enough to make a little wine slip and spill.

He doesn’t mind it. “Oh, I want you to,” he says instead. “After I pay for dinner and drive you back. We can fuck right under my favorite portrait of you.”

You’re stunted by his crude words, but only for a second. “How about we skip dinner, and you go fuck yourself.”

His smile doesn’t drop, even as you get up to leave. “Settle down, sweetheart.”

“Make me, jackass.”

You’re on your way to go, but his next words have you halting.

“Either you humor me, or I make sure your friend never models in the country again.”

You turn around to look at him. You don’t really know why you’re so surprised. The card he just pulled is the very reason you agreed to the dinner in the first place. But an incentive is very different from outright blackmail, and suppose you just hadn’t really believed he’d take it that far.

“It’s my impression you don’t want that,” he continues.

You sit back down. He tops your glass off.

“I could make her big, you know?” he offers while pouring for himself as well. “Really speed her career along—set her up for life. I’ll do the same for you, too, of course.”

He swirls his wine, lifting it as if to make a toast.

“And all you gotta do is come back home with me.”

You don’t have the words.

“You won’t be disappointed,” he promises. “I’m good at it.” As if that’s your concern. “You’ll never want to fuck anyone else again.”

You hate how right he is.

You’ve never cum sooner or harder before in your life, not with anyone else or on your own. It’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced—so good, you’re screaming—moaning out in echoes throughout his giant penthouse, bouncing off the marble floors into all unlocked rooms, creating a cacophony of your undeniable pleasure.

He’s on his knees beneath you as you lean with your back against the window overlooking the city, barely able to stand as he buries his face between your soft thighs, canting his chin up while lapping hard at your slit and clit. His hard stare set on your face and the way you throw your head back while cumming in his mouth—your hand tussled in his hair, yanking on it hard enough to make him growl.

Your legs and feet give you little support. It's his hands that keep you up as you slide further and further down the floor-to-ceiling window until you’re almost about ready to drop your weight completely.

But he’s made you come undone three times by then, and just can’t wait any longer.

He’s spun you around before you know it, making you face the pretty lights of the city skyline—his mouth hot on the shell of your ear, “I told you so, didn’t I?”

Your breath fogs the glass with your panting—knees wobbly, only standing thanks to the thick arms he’s got supporting you, each with a tit in their hand, giving them rough squeezes as he starts pounding away at your womb—hard enough to make the city lights blend in with the stars.

“You won’t wanna fuck anyone else again.”

♡ BNHA – Bakugou, Shigaraki, Dabi, Aizawa, Shinso, Overhaul ♡ JJK – Sukuna, Naoya, Toji ♡ HQ – Tsukishima, Kageyama, Iwaizumi, Sakusa ♡ BLLK – Reo, Rin ♡ AOT – Levi ♡ DS – Akaza, Sanemi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

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yandere-daydreams · 7 months ago

Text

tw - unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, somnophilia, implied non/con, mentions of knots.

Puppy!Yuuta, who catches your eye the second you step into the shelter, despite the fact that he’s not at all what you were looking for. You need a service animal, and as cruel as it feels to say, hybrids of undeterminable origins with less-than-stellar past homes aren’t known to be very consistent, let alone trainable when it comes to such a high-stakes job. You were supposed to meet a pure-bred, highly recommended husky hybrid whose previous owner was no longer able to take care of him, but it was over for you as soon as you saw those big, dark, watery eyes – nearly hidden entirely by overgrown hair and jet-black ears that seemed to droop even lower whenever you threatened to look away from him. You’re already a lost cause by the time you ask a shelter employee for his name, and the paperwork’s signed within the hour. He leaves with you the same day, eyes on the ground and tail wagging a mile a minute.

Puppy!Yuuta, who was always meant to be someone's spoiled pet. He's shy, at first, scared to talk too loudly or cling too tightly or do anything that'll get him sent back to the shelter (no matter how clear you make it that that's a non-option), but it only takes him a few days to warm up to you, a couple weeks to come out of his shell, just under a month to start sleeping in your bed and trailing you around your apartment. He almost trips over himself when you ask if he'd like to wear a collar, and soon enough, he's more akin to a second-shadow than a dog. He does have some aggression issues, particularly when it comes to human men, but he's an angel with other hybrids, and when he bows his head and pouts, you really can't help but forgive him. With a life like the one he must've had, you can't really blame him for being so quick to bear his teeth.

Puppy!Yuuta, who's more than ecstatic when you mention still needing a service animal. He might not be qualified on paper, sure, but he's already constantly at your side, constantly worrying about you - it'd just feel wrong to go out and get another hybrid for a job Yuuta is more than capable of. He says he likes that idea of being able to take care of you, too - like you take care of him. You want to ask him not to be so sappy, to think of a slightly less sentimental way to say it, but when he's so happy and so, so proud of himself, it's hard to be even that strict.

Puppy!Yuuta, who cums untouched the first time you comb your fingers through his hair. You don't seem to notice, and he does his best to hide his face in your lap, to bite back the little, pathetic whimpers that crawl up his throat whenever you scratch at the base of his ears. He doesn't want to scare you, to be so needy so suddenly when you've been so kind.

Puppy!Yuuta, whose one and only flaw is that he can't seem to stop riffling through your dirty laundry. He can't be left alone for more than an hour without stealing one of your oldest, most threadbare shirts or worse, claiming a pair of your underwear as his newest chew-toy. You really should chastise him for it, but it's such an awkward thing to talk about, and he has such a sweet face - it's hard to believe he could ever do anything deliberately wrong. You've resigned yourself to just trying to limit the damage and salvage the less damaged items, even if those mysterious stains are a little hard to get out.

Puppy!Yuuta, who wishes he didn't have such a big, bulky knot. It's too thick and too heavy and seems to swell up whenever he gets even a little hard. If he didn't have a knot, he'd be able to actually thrust into you, rather than just fucking his fist over your sleeping body and imagining how tight you'd be, how pretty you'd look, how nice it would be to make you feel as warm and as soft as he feels because of you. He does what he can with his tongue, but you don't seem to like waking up with his saliva soaking everything between your thighs, and he always gets too excited when he tastes you. If he has to rut against your thigh that desperately again, he's afraid you might wake up and scold him.

Puppy!Yuuta, who can't wait until he works up the courage to mate with you properly. He knows it's still too soon, that it'd scare you to do it so abruptly, that he doesn't deserve it yet, but soon, he'll be able to to step up and take care of you as something more than just a pet. He's not there right now, but one day, he just knows he'll be the perfect mate for you <3

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere yuta #yandere yuuta #yuuta x reader #yuta x reader #yandere okkotsu yuuta #yandere okkotsu yuta

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itneverendshere · 1 month ago

Text

it's all you're good for, right? - r.c

pairing: bitchy!pogue!reader x rafe

rafe knew you wouldn’t take his disrespect lightly.

you never did.

he’d expected you to blow up the second he pulled that ignoring shit at the dinning. he was ready for it—your texts coming in hot, maybe you showing up at his house, ready to tear into him like you always did when he pushed too far. he'd never say it out loud, but a part of him almost liked it, the way you’d get all fired up, spitting mad. it was hot.

but you didn’t call. not a single text. you didn’t show up to the party that weekend, and when he tried to hit you up, just looking for a booty call—because fuck, he was so hard thinking about you—it went straight to voicemail. he stared at his phone like an idiot, calling again. blocked.

you? block him? nah, that wasn’t supposed to happen. rafe was the one with the power here, or at least, that’s how it used to be. it was always this push and pull, but he was the one pulling the strings, right? no fucking pogue was ever going to order him around. right?

wrong. the next weekend rolls around, and there you are at one of his parties, looking good as ever, laughing with your friends like nothing happened. and still, not even a glance his way. for two weeks now, you’ve been completely ignoring him, and it’s starting to get under his skin. more than it should.

he watches you from across the yard like a fucking creep, sipping his drink and trying to act like he doesn’t give a fuck, but inside, he’s low-key losing it. he half-expected you to walk right up to him and give him hell like you always do. but no, you’re just... doing your own thing.

but what’s really making his head spin is what you're wearing. the outfit is pure trouble—skin-tight and leaving almost nothing to the imagination. a barely-there black mini skirt, riding up just enough to make his jaw clench, paired with a tiny top that’s more like a bralette than an actual shirt. it’s low-cut and clings to your curves, thin straps barely holding it in place, and the way it hugs your body?

yeah, he’s fucked. the way the skirt moves when you walk, teasing just enough thigh? it’s like you knew he’d be watching.

he hates how much it turns him on.

every guy at the party notices. he can see the way their eyes follow you as you move through the crowd, laughing, like you don’t even care. but it’s the way you’re ignoring him that’s really pushing him to the edge. normally, rafe loves the attention despite the look of disgust he always greets you with when you show up. loves knowing you’re secretly going to end up in his bed. but tonight? he’s not so sure and it’s killing him.

by the time he corners you, all he can think about is tearing that outfit off. the silent treatment? that shit was way worse than anything you could've said.

“alrigh’, i get it,” he starts, throwing his hands up like he’s already done with this conversation. “jesus christ.”

you just blink up at him, completely unfazed, like he’s not even worth a reaction. his words might as well be bouncing off a wall. the fact that you’re standing there looking so fucking good, and acting like he doesn’t even exist, is messing with his head more than anything you could’ve said.

he’s pissed, yeah, but more than that, he’s desperate. desperate for a reaction. for anything. but you just brush past him, your body touching his for the briefest second, like you’re doing it on purpose just to make him snap.

rafe stands there for a second, blinking in disbelief. did you just really blow him off like that?

before he even realizes it, he's following after you, shoving through the crowd like a man possessed.

“are you serious right now?” he hisses when he catches up, grabbing your wrist lightly but firm enough to make you stop. the emotion in his voice is undeniable, and everyone nearby is pretending not to watch the little scene. “you're really just gonna walk past me like that?”

karma’s a bitch.

you finally turn to him, but the look in your eyes isn’t anger—it’s indifference. that cold, detached stare that fucks with his head more than any of the shouting matches you’ve had in the past. you pull your wrist free with ease, like his grip is nothing.

“’m over it,” you say coolly, like you’ve already moved on from the whole thing, “whatever this is? it’s not worth my time.”

that does it.

he’s used to the back and forth, the fire between you, but this, you acting like you don’t care at all—it’s new, and it pisses him off more than he thought possible. he steps closer, dropping his voice lower so no one else can hear.

“bullshit,” he says, eyes narrowing. “you’re pissed, i get it. but don’t act like you’re done with me. you aren’t.”

the smirk that curls on your lips is almost cruel.

“watch me.”

you turn and walk away, leaving rafe standing there. he knows he should let it go, but every time he tries to convince himself of that, the way your body looks in that outfit, the way you shut him down so easily, keeps replaying in his head.

and instead of walking away, he’s right back where he started, chasing after you like he can’t stand the idea of not having you anymore.

before you even get two steps away, he snaps.

his patience has run out, and all that pent-up frustration? yeah, it’s got him seeing red. he doesn’t even think about it—just moves. his hand wraps around your arm, and in one swift motion, he’s hoisting you up like you weigh nothing, slinging you over his shoulder.

“what the fuck, rafe!” you shout, your fists pounding on his muscular back, but he doesn’t stop. eyes burning, jaw clenched—he doesn’t give a shit who’s watching. not his friends, not anyone at the party. right now? he’s too pissed off and turned on to think straight.

you wriggle in his grip, your legs kicking, but he holds you tight, marching through the party like it’s no big deal, even though everyone’s definitely staring. he’ll deal with the fallout later.

“put me down!” you’re practically growling, and maybe under any other circumstances, he would’ve listened. but not tonight. tonight, he’s done playing nice, done pretending like he’s not obsessed with you or your body, done trying to act like he’s got control over this situation when clearly, you’re the one pulling all the strings.

his grip on you is tight, and possessive, and you’re too furious to care about how turned on you secretly are. he doesn’t stop until he reaches his room, kicking the door shut behind him with one solid thud. the sound of the lock clicking is loud in the tense silence. then, he throws you onto his bed, like you're nothing more than a ragdoll.

you bounce once, staring at him with wide eyes.

“what the fuck is wrong with you!” you snap, sitting up on the bed, glaring at him.

he’s pacing now, running his hands through his hair, wild-eyed, like he’s trying to calm himself down but can’t. he turns to you, his face twisted in frustration, like he’s been holding something in for way too long. and when he speaks, his voice cracks just enough to show how on edge he really is.

“you!” he explodes, pointing at you like you're the only thing in the room. “you’re what’s wrong with me!”

his pacing slows down, and suddenly he stops. he turns back to you, both his hands shooting up to his temples, fingers pressing into his head.

“you get in my fucking head,” he admits through gritted teeth, jabbing his fingers into his temples like he’s blaming you for every thought he's had for weeks. “i can’t think straight because of you. every fucking time, you crawl into my head and just—won’t—leave.”

instead of letting his little meltdown get to you, you lean back on your hands, with a bratty scoff. “how is that my fucking problem?” you snap, crossing your arms like you couldn’t care less about his breakdown. “that’s on you, not me. maybe you should try, i don’t know, leaving me alone.”

rafe stares at you, his chest heaving, his jaw clenched tight, “you think this is a joke?” he growls, stepping closer, closing the gap between you two, his presence almost suffocating. “you think you can just sit there and act like none of this is your fault?”

you give him a fake sweet smile, leaning forward just enough to be in his face, “maybe you shouldn’t have fucked me in the first place, hmm? god forbid your friends find out you’ve been slumming it with a pogue.”

it’s the fake docility in your smile that makes him want to break something. he steps even closer, his breath hot and heavy as his eyes lock onto yours, blue and furious.

"that’s what this is?" His voice is low, almost a growl. “you seriously don’t get it, do you?" he leans in, his face inches from yours, his expression almost daring you to keep pushing. "this—whatever the fuck this is between us—this isn’t about them. it’s about you." his hand shoots out, gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. "don’t act like you didn’t know what you were getting into from the beginning."

you yank your chin free, rolling your eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he's getting to you. “right. you ignoring me at the dinner? guess i was supposed to just sit there and take it, huh? maybe you wanted me to be a good little bitch and not make any noise.”

you might be pissed, but you're not just angry—you're hurt, and that fucks with his head more than he cares to admit.

rafe huffs, running a hand through his hair in frustration, looking away for a second before turning back to you. “what the fuck do you want from me? huh? you want me to call you my girlfriend? you want me to fucking introduce you like this is some kind of relationship? be fucking serious.”

"be fucking serious?" you repeat, "you gave me a 200$ tip, you fucking asshole!" you shove him hard in the chest, catching him off guard. “like ’m some kind of fucking whore!”

rafe's eyes widen as he stumbles back a step, “wait—what? no, no, no. that’s not what it meant.”

you glare at him, shaking your head in disbelief. “of course, it fucking was!” you shout, shoving him again, harder this time. “what else would it mean, huh? you throw money at me like it’s supposed to make everything okay, like ’m some kind of... some kind of pogue you can pay off and keep quiet.”

he looks stunned, his mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to figure out what to say. “that’s not—fuck, that’s not what i meant. i wasn’t thinking about it like that, okay? i was trying to help you!" he blurts out, his tone defensive, like he can’t believe you’re twisting his intentions into something they weren’t.

you laugh, but it’s sharp, biting. “help me?” you stare at him like he’s lost his mind. “oh, please. shut the fuck up. why would you ever want to help me, rafe? be real.” he tries to speak, but before he can you’re already stepping back. “if you want to fuck me, just get on with it. i need to leave. so, make it quick.”

what?

“is that what you think this is?” he doesn’t move to touch you, but the tension is strong enough to feel suffocating. “you think ’m just here to—”

“to fuck me? yeah. that’s what this has always been about,” you cut him off, “and you know what? it’s okay. let’s not drag it out. do what you do best—take what you want and leave me the fuck alone.”

he’s not ready to admit that this feels more than just a hookup. he’s not sure if he will ever get there. rafe’s chest heaves as he stares at you. he’s done trying to explain himself.

“fine,” he snaps, stepping closer until his chest is almost brushing yours. “if that’s what you want.”

your breath catches in your throat, but you don’t back down. not when you're this annoyed. “yeah, it is. stop wasting my time.”

in one swift motion, rafe pulls you to him by the waist, with his usual roughness that makes you drip between your thighs. his lips claim yours with a bruising force. it’s not soft or sweet—this is raw, messy, all tongue and teeth. his hands are everywhere, gripping your hair, your ass, pulling you flush against him like he can’t have any space between you. you’re both moving with frantic, desperate eagerness, like this is less about desire and more about proving a point.

“is this what you want?” rafe snarls against your lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank your top over your head, throwing it somewhere in the room. “to get fucked stupid and leave? that it?”

you let out a breathless laugh, but it’s overflowing with venom. “that’s all you’re good for, right?”

so much for making peace.

TAGLIST: @drewstarkeys-world @maibelitaaura @maybankslover @jkrafe @willowpains

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miss-oranje-disco-dancer · 1 month ago

Text

everything's bigger in texas

pairing: joel x reader

tags/cws: size kink, praise kink, p in v, oral f and m receiving, virginity loss

summary: go big or go home on your first time

a/n: reader is a virgin, but is not specified to be a certain age and in my mind is only a bit younger than joel

div creds to @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

wc: 2k

tags: @vaaaaaiolet @faysslut @leonfucker3000 @withonly-sweetheart

It's embarrassing. It's the reason why you'd hesitated to even talk to Joel in the first place, fearing he might like you back, in which case, he might ask you out, and according to Cosmopolitan and the metaphorical grapevine, you would only get three dates at most before you'd have to end it. And you better not order the fucking lobster. Ever.

You get dolled up on the night you plan to bid him adieu. You'd feel horrible for wasting his time regardless, but the fact that he decides to treat you to dinner at a fancy restaurant for your third date, makes you feel even worse.

The worst part of it all is: you really like him. He makes you feel like you're in high school again despite the fact that he's decades past that point in his life - it's the way your heart flutters in his presence, the way he makes your cheeks heat up when he compliments you. However, this is anything but an innocent crush. You want more than the kiss on the cheek he gives you when he greets you at your doorstep, more than his hand holding yours as he helps you step in and out of the car, more than his arm around your waist as he leads you to the table.

You want him to fuck you.

You try to give yourself a pep talk in the mirror before he arrives, and for an extra confidence boost, you wear the singular pair of underwear in your drawer that matches the one bra that actually fits right, hoping it'll make you feel sexy. But what good is sexy if you’re not going to have sex?

But, at the restaurant, you decide to order a double shot of liquid courage, which is a one-way ticket to going home with Joel.

He drives with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on your thigh. He’s so hot that even the smallest things can get you worked up. It’s the first time in a long time that your arousal has been able to override your nerves.

You barely get your coat off before you’re pressed up against the door, and he’s kissing you with a type of hunger you’ve never felt before. You know he'll leave you with a case of stache-rash but you can't bring yourself to care.

You stumble across the room to the couch – you would’ve walked backwards into the coffee table if Joel hadn’t picked you up and carried you. You’re not even that drunk - at least, not on alcohol – just insistent on not breaking the kiss until you’re out of breath and you absolutely have to.

When his body looms over you, all you're thinking about is the feeling of his lips on yours, his hands playing with your tits, making you gasp when his thumbs brush over your nipples.

He gets so far as slipping his hand up your dress, but the moment his fingers brush the gusset of your panties, you grab his wrist.

"Joel—"

"Yeah?" He's quick to sit up and back off completely — not exactly what you intended but you're grateful that he respects boundaries.

"I should just be honest with you. I’ve never done this before, so I’m a little nervous…"

You're more than a little bit nervous, especially when you're so used to guys making up excuses to leave when they notice your hesitance after you reveal the truth, after they find out that they're not guaranteed to have you in bed that night.

Joel doesn't kick you out, not even close, he looks unfazed, and you're at a loss. The script you've planned says: end scene, but the camera is still rolling. You have to ad lib.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to do that. I’m more than satisfied just getting to kiss you. Hell, I’d be happy just to have you sit on the couch with me, not touching or anything.”

You should feel more comfortable - and in a way, it does - but the novelty of the situation still leaves you dumbfounded.

You can see the worry in his eyes gain prominence as you remain silent.

"Hey," he says quietly. "Are you okay? I promise we don't have to do anything like that. We can just hang out, watch a movie or somethin', no touching at all."

"But I want you, Joel. That's the problem. I really want you."

"I want you too, but only when you're ready."

“I am ready, just nervous since this is new to me.”

“Is this your first time doing anything… of that nature?”

"No, I’ve done some things, I just haven’t gone all the way yet."

Handjobs, blowjobs, the whole nine yards - well, really, the first three bases in the sports/sex analogy.

“Would you like to tell me about those things?”

The look in his eyes – sweet and suggestive all at once gives you a spark of confidence.

"I could tell you, but I’d rather show you," you say with a flirtatious smile.

"Only if you let me return the favor."

It takes a lot of willpower to keep yourself composed when you're face-to-dick with Joel. You feel a rush of something — lust, nerves, both? All you can think is: there's no way that is ever going to fit inside me.

It doesn't fit down your throat, not even close, but Joel's 50, not 20, so he knows that unlike in pornography, most women cannot deepthroat. He doesn't expect you to even attempt such a feat. Just looking into your eyes while you're on your knees for him is enough to get him there.

Post-orgasm, he's internally beating himself up for not using his good southern manners and pleasing his woman first. The best he can do is double his typical dedication when he goes down on you.

He doesn't need to try that hard. In what feels like mere seconds, Joel's fingers work you open, pulling an orgasm from you when he dips his head between your legs and flicks his tongue over your clit.

When he can tell you're close, he says, "I'm right here, baby. Let go for me." His lips return to your clit and with his reassurance you let yourself fall over the edge.

It's not until your fourth date that you actually make your first attempt to lose your virginity.

He makes you cum twice - once on his fingers, once on his tongue - before he even takes his cock out of his underwear.

You're tired by that time, ready to apologize and see yourself out, but then you look at him, naked and hard in front of you, and despite your exhausted body, your pussy drools (maybe your mouth too). It gives you a jolt of energy, a rush of blood down south.

Joel’s body is positioned perfectly above you, ready to give himself to you, but he waits, looks at you with admiration in his eyes but doesn’t touch you. When he does, it's his right hand on your cheek.

"Are you gonna… put it in?" you say, laughing a little – anything to break the tension.

"Just wanted to make sure you were okay first," he says with a warm smile.

"I'm more than okay," you assure him.

At your confirmation, his kisses move from your cheek to your jaw, they get rougher at your neck, your collarbone. He sucks on your tits until you whine in impatience.

You feel his breath as he huffs out a laugh into your neck between kisses. But you're more focused on the head of his cock prodding at your entrance. When Joel presses himself inside you — one inch first — you both take in a sharp breath. You're audibly wet, but there's still a stretch, a sting.

Joel sees your eyes squeezed shut and feels you tense up.

"You wanna stop?" he asks.

"No," you tell him. "Just… go slow."

He takes your hand, interlocks your fingers, before giving you another inch. For whatever reason, you hadn't expected him to be this sweet during sex, but you have no complaints.

Gradually, it starts to feel better, a lot better. You start to understand why people like this so much.

But then, you accidentally sabotage yourself when your gaze fixates on his cock going in and out of your pussy. A sense of shame falls over you when you realize he's only halfway inside you.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"It's not all the way in," you sigh.

"And that's okay, baby."

"I wanted to be able to take it all… I wanted to be good for you."

"Trust me, baby, it feels fuckin' amazing. You're squeezin' me so damn tight you're gonna make me embarrass myself."

"I can't help it."

"I know," he says, leaning down to whisper beside your ear, "and that's what makes it feel even better."

You whimper quietly - it's a flustered, needy, good noise, but still, Joel cups your cheek and holds infinite comfort within his touch as he shushes you, saying, "you're doing so good for me."

With slight shift of his hips, a change in angle, he hits that special spot inside you and you can feel the pleasure begin to build.

You moan — louder than you intended to — and it almost startles Joel, briefly takes him out of his trace. He doesn't know your sobs of pleasure well enough to be sure they're not ones of pain.

"You okay? You want me to pull out?"

"No, don't pull out. Do that again," you say, frantically grasping at him, horrified at the thought of him no longer being inside you.

"Do what again?" he says with a subtle smirk that lets you know that he knows exactly what.

"This?” he asks as he hits the same spot again and you can't tell him 'yes' when your mouth is busy with far more obscene noises, so you nod.

"Right there?" he confirms again, as he steadily thrusts in and out of you, not pushing any deeper, only meeting that special spot over and over.

It's rhetorical, and your 'uh-huh' is more than sufficient as an answer.

Pride mixes with lust and he rattles off praises, knowing he'll get your tight, wet heat to clench around him with every single word.

"You're takin' me so well, baby. You look so pretty like this," he says.

You cry out his name like it's the only word you know, over and over again.

"You're gonna make me cum if you keep sayin' my name like that, baby."

And it's not calculated dirty talk, it's just the goddamn truth.

With begging eyes and a mouthful of moans, you nod and hope your wordless gesture will convey the meaning, which is: please.

Your legs wrap around his hips and there is nothing Joel can do to hold himself back from burying himself to the hilt. There's nothing he can do to stop himself from spilling his load inside you immediately.

You swear you can feel him in your stomach, and you can see a bulge in your abdomen, and it would be fascinating if you weren't focused on clutching the sheets for dear life in an effort to save Joel from the wrath of your acrylics as you shudder through your orgasm.

You nearly lose yourself in the bliss of your high, all you know is Joel and the way he feels inside you.

When you come to, you turn to Joel and he says, "I'm proud of you," a phrase that never fails to make you melt.

You want to say "thanks" or "I love you" or any normal response one might give to that statement, but your words are already halfway out of your mouth.

"I swear you're gonna kill me with that thing," you say, gesturing to his cock, which looks not nearly as threatening when it's soft.

When he lies down beside you and wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer, you think to yourself, "maybe I am dead, and this is heaven."

You don’t realize you’ve said it aloud until Joel says, "I'm pretty sure we're still in Texas, baby.”

"Same thing.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction

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dunmeshistash · 7 months ago

Text

Okay I think I'm ready to write the second part of this post about Milsiril

To make it easier for me I'll just divide this into her relationship with Kabru, Mithrun and Helki (her ex-canary prisoner teammate)

First about Kabru

This is an extra from the daydream hour 5. The caption says "Something like this might as well have happened" so its probably not canon but could be. I honestly think his reaction to Milsiril visiting and being overbearing says a lot about the type of relantionship they have. This is the fakest bitch in the whole of dungeon meshi, he never says what he trully thinks unless there's an advantage to doing so, he's a people pleaser that does and says anything to make people like/trust him. And yet he immediatly converts into "Mooooooom you're embarassing meeeeee" when he sees it's Milsiril.

This translation used "Mom" but as I understand the original he uses the more formal version so I think it would be closer to "Mother" but still he acknowleges her as his Mother, and he acts like her kid in every interaction we see between them.

I really don't understand where the idea that he learned to be fake from being "forced" to be her adoptive son comes from.

(Continuing under a cut)

The other interaction we see between them is the Kabru extra from the Adventurer's Bible

Kabru comes to her with a deep fear he clearly has had even before she adopted him, he trusted her with this fear and she did not disappoint him, she comforted him and then gave him the information he needed to believe what she was saying

I'd also like to point out in no moment she discouraged him from calling his his bio-mom "Mom". He also says she taught her children everything they asked

I doubt this would only be true for him, it also mirrors something she said in the manga

"You can go ahead and learn all you want about something else." I believe it when Kabru says she made every effort to answer her children's questions. I think this is also the way she expresses the love she has for them. Plus I love the thought bubble with Kabru mirroring what he learned from her. I also love this daydream hour, she sacrifices her own comfort to do something for Kabru.

Milsiril isn't a perfect mother tho, besides the fact she is overprotective she comes from a very different culture from her children. I like to call her Kabru's white mom cause I think that would be the real world equivalent. This extra is the one I think the most about showing this context perfectly

Kabru wants to share Utaya sweets but looks at his mom looking gloomy/rejected so he talks about fruitcake instead. This very rude for Milsiril to do since she's kinda trying to overwrite his actual cultural background, but I think its done more as a "I want you to like the things I like" rather than something nefarious, and once again Kabru doesn't hide at all his distaste for it, he does the bare minimum to please his mom since she's being dramatic but he doesn't lie to her, he shows how displeased he is about fruitcake, something he refuses to do when eating the harpy omelette that is way worse, because he must make a good impression for Laios. Kabru is honest with his overbearing white mom once again.

Now a little about Rin, from Kabru's context, this is her extra in the Adventurer's Bible

(look at Helki he's such a gremlin i love him) anyway, Rin has a trauma about elves, they really mistreated her so she hates them, but when they notice she isn't thriving they go to Milsiril for help (Helki specifically I'll talk more about him next). I think this indicates she really has a better understanding of short lived kids, her kids are thriving differently from the ones the other elves try to care for. I'd also like to remember she lives secluded from other elves so while Kabru probably had lots of interactions with elves during his life, most of it was probably spent with Milsiril and her other adoptive kids. She also asks Kabru if he would do this to help Rin, he isn't being forced or anything, I also think it's good that Milsiril knows she cant take in any more kids, this to me shows she's worried about the quality of life her kids have. That is all to say, Rin is the one with elf trauma, not Kabru, because Kabru had Milsiril to shelter him from them.

Helki

This will be short and sweet since there's barely anything about Helki, he's her prisioner companion from her time in the canaries, but he was pardoned after Utaya, it says so in the Canarie's Structure page in the new adventurer's guide but I cant really find it translated again... so here's google's machine translation (I remember it saying "Retired and pardoned as a reward after Utaya", something like that)

so officially he isn't a prisoner anymore, but I think he still works as a canary, even so he and Milsiril seem quite close, he is the one to go talk to her about Rin, He is there when she's training Kabru (both laughing at Kabru and then participating). I saw people theorizing she stays close to him because he is also someone who she can feel superior to, but I don't believe it at all, he's STILL in contact with her even after they have nothing to with each other, I think they really have a friendship, and there's no point where it seems like she feels like she's better than him or that he's less than her, people seem to interpret Milsiril and her relationships in the worst possible ways every time and I don't understand why.

This segways into Mithrun

I've also seen people assuming she only got close to Mithrun because now he needs her and has no power over her, once again with the theory that Milsiril surrounds herself with people she can feel superior to. But once again, Milsiril had a change of perspective about Mithrun after seeing his Dungeon

Rather than she feeling superior to him I think rather she realized he was just like her. (And I think she's friends with Helki for a similar reason, it's probably easier to see him as an equal than other nobles)

I've also seen this part used as proof of that. "He said that you've got suspicious ulterior motives and that I shouldn't listen to you" as if that's true, but this is past Mithrun, the one that didn't trust anyone and thought ill of all his teammates, ofc he doesn't believe someone would help him without an ulterior motive. This doesn't prove much about her real motivations.

Also before she showed up, Mithrun was being cared for by servants hired by his brother, he isn't someone helpless she has power over, he is still a member of an important Noble family that has a caring brother providing for him, he can do without Milsiril, he had done without her for 20 years before Utaya happened and she quit the Canaries.

This is all to say I think Milsiril is just a white(elf) adoptive mom doing her best, I don't see much of anything nefarious about her or her motivations, she is flawed as all the dunmeshi characters are, she isn't a perfect mom, she isn't an evil mom, she's just a person.

Elves in general also see short lived species as "children" so I imagine this makes her "You'll always be my baby" attitude way worse, she really treats pre-teen/teen Kabru like he's a toddler sometimes. But she also respected him enough to go all out in training him. I think they're a family with everything that entails.

PS: I didn't get much into Interracial adoption since this is something that happens irl too and I don't know much about all the issues that entails, but in the end, in this case, it seems like a net positive for the kids she adopts considering all we see about how she raised Kabru.

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #Milsiril #Mithrun #Kabru #The Canaries #part 2 of 2 #longpost #long post #Kabru of Utaya #Helki #dunmeshi thoughts #Dunmeshi Extra

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reidmarieprentiss · 3 months ago

Text

Always You

Summary: Spencer is in love with his best friend, you already have a boyfriend.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: being called a bitch (not by spencer), sharing hotel rooms, pining, love confessions, break ups, (un)requited feelings, HAPPY ending

Word count: 4.6k

a/n: if your partner of multiple years does not know your basic likes and dislikes ..............

main masterlist

For two years, seven months, two weeks, and six days, you have been a dedicated member of the BAU. For two years, five months, two weeks, and four days, Spencer Reid has been hopelessly in love with you. But for two years and four months, and one week, you’ve been in a relationship with Duncan Cody, the Counter-Terrorism agent who everyone not-so-secretly despises. Spencer was just too late to tell you how he felt, and for two years and four months, that regret has gnawed at him, leaving him haunted by what could have been.

—

The team was on a case in a small, dusty town in New Mexico, and the accommodations were limited, forcing everyone to double up on rooms. Naturally, you chose to bunk with your best friend, Spencer. But he was unusually tense about the arrangement.

“Hey, JJ, can we switch?” Spencer asked, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness.

JJ looked up from her phone, puzzled. “Huh? Why? I thought you liked rooming with Y/N.”

Spencer swallowed, trying to keep his voice low and steady. Usually, he did love sharing a room with you—it was comfortable, familiar. But the oppressive heat of New Mexico had driven you to wear lighter, more revealing clothes, and Spencer had been struggling with the sight of you all day. The thought of what you might wear to bed, or worse, the possibility that you might wear nothing at all, had his mind spinning and his temperature rising.

“Yeah, no, I do. It’s just… I thought you might want a chance to room with her instead of Hotch,” he stammered, attempting to sound casual.

JJ smiled warmly, shaking her head. “Aww, thanks, Spence, but I don’t mind. Hotch and I usually just talk about the boys until we pass out. It’s actually been pretty nice.”

Spencer forced a tight smile, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten as JJ cheerfully dismissed his suggestion. He could hardly blame her; in fact, he would normally jump at the chance to room with you. But the idea of spending the night so close to you, especially in the sweltering New Mexico heat, had his nerves frayed.

Back in the room, you were already making yourself comfortable, tossing your bag onto the bed with a carefree smile. "It's like a sauna out there," you groaned, fanning yourself with your hand. "I might just sleep in my underwear tonight."

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing at the mental image that followed your innocent comment. He cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn’t betray him. "Y-yeah, it's definitely... warm."

You flashed him a grin, completely unaware of the effect you had on him. "At least the AC is working, right?"

"Right," Spencer echoed, swallowing hard. This was going to be a long night.

“Do you mind if I take the first shower? I’ll be quick, I want to get right to bed; I’m beat,” you asked, glancing up from your go-bag as you rummaged through it for your toiletries.

Spencer, trying to keep his cool, nodded quickly. “Ye–yeah, that’s fine.”

You smiled, seemingly unaware of the effect you had on him. “Oh, and which bed do you want?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. “Um, whichever is fine.”

“Thank god, I want the one by the window. Thanks, Spence!” You flashed him a grateful grin before grabbing your things and heading off to the bathroom.

As the door clicked shut behind you, Spencer exhaled a breath he’d been holding. It was wrong to fantasize about his best friend, especially in the very not-safe-for-work way that he often did, and especially when you had a serious partner. But he couldn’t help it. You were the kindest, most genuine person he knew, and the fact that you were also the most stunning person, inside and out, only made it that much harder for him to keep his feelings in check.

Minutes later, you emerged from the bathroom, keeping your promise to be quick. However, Spencer’s pulse skyrocketed when he saw you—dressed in nothing but your underwear and a thin tank top that left little to the imagination. He could feel his face flush as he quickly averted his gaze.

“I’m all done, Spence. Shower’s all yours,” you said cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil.

“Uh, thanks!” Spencer blurted out, nearly tripping over his own feet as he shot up from the bed, making a beeline for the bathroom. He knew there was only one solution to his current predicament—a long, cold shower.

Once both of you were settled in bed with the lights off, you couldn’t resist starting a conversation. Sharing a room with Spencer always reminded you of those childhood sleepovers—giggly, fun, and safe. The quiet darkness seemed to invite whispered secrets, the kind that felt easier to share when you couldn’t see each other’s faces.

“I think Duncan is going to break up with me,” you whispered, your voice just loud enough for Spencer to hear, but soft enough that it felt protected by the shadows.

Spencer’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

You hesitated for a moment, as if hearing the words out loud made them more real. “I hadn’t said it out loud yet. It sounds crazy now that I have.”

“Why do you think he’s going to break up with you?” Spencer asked, his voice gentle, though he could feel a tightness in his chest.

You sighed deeply, the weight of your thoughts evident. “He’s been pulling away recently. Fewer date nights, less texting during the day… I haven’t spoken to him on the phone once since we got here.” You paused, gathering the courage to continue. “We haven’t had sex in weeks.”

Spencer felt a sharp pang of something unpleasant in his stomach at that comment—jealousy, frustration, regret—he wasn’t sure. “Oh, I’m sorry, Y/N,” he murmured, struggling to keep his voice steady.

“Thanks, Reid,” you replied, your tone quiet and resigned.

For a long moment, silence hung between you, thick and heavy, as if neither of you knew what to say next. Just when you began to drift off, almost convinced that sleep was pulling you under, you heard Spencer’s voice, low and tender, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

“If he lets you go, he is the single biggest imbecile on this planet.”

You blinked in the darkness, half-convinced you were imagining things. Did Spencer really just say that? But before you could ask, the silence returned, leaving you to wonder if it was just a dream after all.

—

No more confessions were made during the case, and within a few days, the team was back home. But for Spencer, the case hadn’t been the only thing on his mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that you might be single soon. The possibility gnawed at him—would he have a chance? Could he ever muster the courage to tell you how he really felt? Who knows?

What he did know, however, was that you had been using him as a frequent escape from your shared apartment with Duncan. Spencer didn’t mind; in fact, he cherished every moment with you.

“Hey, Spence, do you want to order pizza and watch a movie tonight?” you asked casually as the workday began to wind down.

“Yeah, sounds great,” Spencer replied, his smile brightening his features.

As soon as you walked away, Derek strolled over to Spencer’s desk, a look of mild concern on his face. “Uh, Reid?”

“Yeah?” Spencer responded, glancing up at him.

“I thought you had a date tonight?”

Spencer blinked in confusion. “Huh?”

“With that girl from the post office?”

“Oh.” Spencer’s eyes widened as he realized he had completely forgotten about the date. “I completely forgot.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, surprised. Spencer never forgot anything. “Listen, Reid. I know we all have our feelings about Duncan… but be careful, okay?”

Spencer frowned slightly, unsure what Derek was getting at. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just—she’s hurting right now, but what happens when they make up? I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”

Spencer’s mind began to race as he processed Derek’s words. “We’re just friends, Derek. I’m just supporting her in her time of need.”

Derek gave him a look that was equal parts sympathetic and skeptical. “I hope you’re right, Pretty Boy.”

As Derek walked away, Spencer found himself caught in a whirlwind of thoughts. Was Derek right? Was he setting himself up for heartache? He didn’t know the answers, but one thing was certain—he was in too deep to turn back now.

—

You were sitting on Spencer's couch, enjoying a slice of pizza, when his phone started ringing on the coffee table. Since Spencer was in the bathroom, you reached over to grab it, assuming it might be work-related. But the screen flashed a name you didn't recognize: Amanda. Who's Amanda? you wondered, feeling a twinge in your stomach that you quickly tried to dismiss.

When Spencer came back from the bathroom, you waved his phone with a teasing smile, trying to mask the discomfort you felt. "Who's Amanda, Spence?" you asked, your voice light but edged with curiosity.

His face dropped instantly, a look of confusion and then realization washing over him. "What?"

"You got a call from someone named Amanda," you repeated, watching his reaction closely.

Spencer's shoulders sagged as he took the phone from you. "Oh shoot, I forgot to cancel our date tonight. She probably thinks I stood her up."

Your heart sank a little. "Wait, Reid, you had a date tonight? Why didn't you tell me? I could have gone home!"

The mix of surprise and a slight sense of betrayal hung in the air. Spencer looked genuinely apologetic, his eyes wide with concern. "I... I just forgot. With everything going on, it slipped my mind. I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you here if you had other plans."

You forced a smile, shaking your head slightly. "It's okay, I just... didn't realize." Inside, you were conflicted, feeling foolish for how comfortable you’d become in his space, reminding yourself once again that you were just friends, despite the years of ignoring that pit in your stomach.

—

The entire team had taken note of the significant amount of time you and Spencer had been spending together, and they were all too aware of his long-standing crush on you. Their concern for their friend was palpable, which made the next rooming arrangement all the more telling. When the opportunity arose again for team members to share rooms, JJ immediately claimed you as her roommate. You caught the unmistakable look of relief that Spencer sent her way. What the hell?

That night, as you settled into the room with JJ, the question that had been nagging at you finally spilled out. "Why did Spencer seem relieved not to room with me? Did I do something wrong?"

JJ looked at you with her soft, comforting eyes, shaking her head gently. "Oh, I don’t think so," she reassured you in her calming tone. "Last time he asked me to switch, I think he just wanted a break," she added, her words kind but straightforward.

"Got it." The words felt like a punch to your gut. Your best friend didn’t want to room with you? The thought made you feel nauseous, or maybe it was the urge to cry that was overwhelming you.

"Is everything okay?" JJ noticed the tears brimming in your eyes.

"Yeah," you waved her off with a forced chuckle. "I’m on my period, just overly emotional," you laughed it off, masking the true turmoil you felt.

JJ immediately responded with a warm smile. "Aw, honey, I have pain killers and tampons if you need anything!"

"Thanks, JJ," you muttered, grateful for her kindness but still reeling from the emotional sting of the evening's revelations.

—

After the case, you found yourself withdrawing from Spencer, the sting of feeling like an imposition too sharp to ignore. Instead, you poured your energy into mending the fraying edges of your relationship with Duncan. Spencer, on the other hand, was left puzzled by your sudden distance, unable to pinpoint the cause of this shift in your dynamic. It wasn’t until he caught a glimpse of a faint hickey peeking out from under your collar that he understood—or thought he did.

“So you fixed things with Duncan?” he asked one day, trying to sound casual as he joined you for coffee in the breakroom.

“Yup. I’ll be out of your hair now, don’t worry,” you replied with a tight smile, and without waiting for his response, you walked out, leaving Spencer bewildered in your wake.

“What was that about?” JJ inquired, having witnessed the interaction from her spot by the vending machine.

“Not sure, she’s been giving me the cold shoulder since the last case,” Spencer murmured, frowning deeply as he stirred his coffee absentmindedly.

“Oh, I might know why,” JJ said, her voice lowering slightly.

“Why?” Spencer looked up, his interest piqued.

“Well, she knows you didn’t want to room with her,” JJ revealed, her expression sympathetic.

“What? You told her?” Spencer’s voice was a mix of surprise and slight irritation.

“She asked, Spence. She was really upset about the whole thing too. You should talk to her,” JJ advised, her tone earnest.

Spencer nodded slowly, the weight of the situation settling on his shoulders. “Yeah, okay. I will,” he agreed, his mind already racing with what he would say to you, hoping to mend the unintentional hurt he had caused.

—

"Y/N, can we talk?" Spencer caught up with you just as you were about to step into the elevator on a quiet Friday evening. The office had already emptied, leaving you both as the last on the floor.

"Sure, what's up?" you asked, pausing to face him, noting the serious look on his face.

Spencer opened his mouth to explain the hotel room situation, his mind racing for the right words that wouldn't betray his deeper feelings. "Well, you see, it's about the hotel room situation on the last case, and I just—uh, I mean, when we were assigned to room together, I found myself in a bit of a predicament, or rather, a series of considerations that perhaps aren't usual, or rather aren't typically problematic in ordinary circumstances, but given the nature of—"

"Spencer, it's fine. You don't have to room with me on every case. I'm sorry I never asked first," you interjected, misreading his hesitation.

"No, no, I want to room with you," he blurted out, more forcefully than he intended.

"Then why did you ask JJ to switch?" you asked, your confusion evident.

Spencer felt trapped between his desire to comfort you and his fear of making things awkward. "Um...it was just really warm on that case, and I—I didn't want to see you in your underwear," he admitted, his cheeks coloring slightly.

"What? Spencer, you could have just told me. Oh my god! I was walking around in my underwear!" you exclaimed, half-amused and half-mortified.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, looking genuinely apologetic.

"No, Reid, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Is it because I have a boyfriend?" you asked, your tone laced with concern.

Spencer scoffed at the mention of Duncan. "No."

"Then what is it?" you pressed, your gaze steady on his.

Caught with no more excuses, Spencer knew he was cornered. His heart raced with the realization that there was no turning back. "Because I'm in love with you," he confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush.

—

Spencer Reid's confession echoed in your mind, each word reverberating through your thoughts like a bell that couldn’t be unrung. Spencer Reid is in love with me? The realization sent your thoughts into a tumultuous spiral as you drove home, the familiar streets blurring past. You considered pulling over, needing a moment to process the swirling chaos in your head, but you pushed on, driven by a need to just get home.

When you finally walked through the door of your apartment, the atmosphere struck you immediately. It was dimmer than usual, the air filled with a scent that was distinctly not yours. The smell of soy candles—a scent you distinctly disliked—mingled with the scent of red roses, another thing you didn't care for.

"Duncan?" Your voice was hesitant, almost wary as you set your things by the door and walked deeper into the dimly lit space.

"In here, babe," Duncan called out from the living room.

Following his voice, you found him standing in the center of a meticulously staged scene, surrounded by the roses and candles. The setup was so unlike what you would have wanted, so disconnected from who you were.

"Uhhh, what’s going on here?" you asked, your tone a mix of confusion and a growing sense of disconnect.

Duncan turned to you with a smile that didn’t feel genuine, the ambiance around him feeling more like a set piece than a gesture of genuine affection. "Y/N," he began, his voice taking on a rehearsed quality that made your heart sink even further. "I’ve been thinking a lot about us, and I just really think it’s time we take the next step together. What do you say?"

The words, meant to be romantic, felt hollow and oddly generic, as if they were pulled from a script rather than from his heart. Standing there, with Spencer's heartfelt confession still burning bright in your mind, Duncan’s display felt even more jarring.

The room was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows as Duncan's unexpected question hung in the air. “What?” you asked, your voice shaking.

“Y/N, will you marry me?”

The word slipped out before you could even think, a reflex born of surprise and clarity. “No.” It was firm, decisive, echoing slightly in the quiet room.

Duncan’s face crumbled, his brow furrowing in confusion and hurt. “What?” he echoed again, his voice a blend of disbelief and dismay.

You sighed, feeling the weight of the moment heavy on your shoulders. “Uh, this is just so out of left field. I mean, we have never once talked about marriage.”

Duncan’s response was quick, a desperate attempt to salvage the situation. “But, babe, we live together,” he reasoned, as if cohabitation alone was a precursor to marriage.

“So? You basically ignored me for a whole month,” you countered, your voice steady despite the turmoil swirling inside you.

“Right, but then we fixed things, so we know we work together,” he argued, trying to paint a picture of a resolved partnership.

You couldn’t help but let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Solid logic,” you replied sarcastically, the absurdity of the conversation becoming more apparent.

Duncan's frustration was palpable. “Are you really being sarcastic right now?”

“Yeah, and I wish you were too,” you shot back, wishing the whole scenario was just a bad joke.

Duncan’s next words were sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife. “Fuck you, bitch.”

You froze for a moment, the harshness of his words striking deep. “What did you just call me?” Your voice was calm, almost eerily so, as you fixed your gaze on him.

“A bitch,” he repeated, his voice cold and hard.

“Get out,” you said, your tone final. You stood up, your posture rigid with resolve.

“No, I live here too,” he protested, but there was a waver in his voice now.

“Whose name is on the lease? Get out before I call my team. Do you want Derek and Emily to escort you out?” Your words were a clear threat, backed by the certainty that you would follow through if needed.

Duncan hesitated, his anger giving way to a flicker of fear as he considered your words. Then, in a sudden burst of spite, he hurled the ring box at you. “Keep it, I don’t want your bad juju.”

With that, he stormed out, the door slamming behind him with a force that seemed to shake the apartment. Silence descended, heavy and absolute, as you stood there, the ring box at your feet, a stark reminder of the relationship that had just disintegrated before your eyes.

—

Spencer Reid had cried more times in his life than he cared to count. He cried when he was bullied as a child, when his father walked out on him and his mother, when he made the heartbreaking decision to place his mom in a care facility. He cried when he was kidnapped, when Emily died—or so he thought. The list of tears was long, but today, he added another entry: the day he told his best friend he was in love with her, only for her to stand there as still as a statue, silent and unmoving, until his heart shattered so completely that he had to leave before she saw him break down.

Now, he lay in bed, the lights off, his eyes puffy and wet, replaying every scenario he wished had happened instead of the painful reality he’d experienced. He sniffled, whimpered, and curled into himself, desperate for a do-over, a second chance to make it right. But life wasn’t that kind.

A knock sounded at his door, pulling him from his misery. He ignored it, too consumed by his sorrow to entertain company. The knocking persisted, three more times, before it finally ceased. Relief was short-lived, however, as his phone began to ring. Without checking the caller ID, Spencer answered, his voice sharp and uncharacteristically harsh. “What?”

“Spence, it’s me. Please open the door.”

He’d never moved so fast in his life. Leaping out of bed in such a hurry, he promptly tripped over his own feet and crashed to the floor with a thud. “Ouch,” he muttered, pushing himself up with a wince. Ignoring the ache, he scrambled to the door, swinging it open with such force that it nearly bounced back. His heart clenched at the sight of you standing there, your expression filled with concern as you took in his tear-streaked face.

“Hi, Spence,” you greeted softly, your voice gentle as if trying not to scare him away.

“Hi,” he croaked out, barely holding himself together.

“Can I come in?” you asked, your tone tentative.

He nodded and stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter. Once inside, you turned to face him, clearly gathering your thoughts.

“So, uh, I’m just going to talk. You can listen or interrupt, whatever you want,” you offered, trying to ease the tension.

Spencer nodded again, still too emotionally raw to form coherent words.

You took a deep breath. “Duncan proposed to me.” The words hung in the air, a bombshell that detonated in Spencer’s chest. His heart broke all over again, shattering into a billion pieces. “I said no.”

His head shot up so fast he thought he might have given himself whiplash. “What?”

“Yeah, it was bad. He had red roses and soy candles set up in the living room.” Spencer’s nose scrunched in distaste; he knew how much you hated those things. “And when he left, he called me a bitch and threw the ring at me.”

Spencer’s fists clenched, a protective anger surging through him. “I’ll kill him.”

“Nah, someone else will. I’m sure of it,” you replied with a small, rueful smile.

His anger softened, replaced by confusion. “So…what are you doing here?”

You looked at him with determination and vulnerability. “What ring would you buy me?”

“Huh?” Spencer blinked, taken aback by the sudden question.

“If you were to propose to me, say tomorrow. What kind of ring would you buy for me?” you asked, your eyes searching his.

“A round cut diamond with a thin silver band,” he answered without hesitation, the words spilling out before he could stop them.

“I’m in love with you too,” you confessed, your voice steady, but your eyes shimmering with emotion.

“Wait, what?” Spencer was incredulous, his mind racing to process what you’d just said. But even as his heart tried to catch up, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Duncan got me a thick gold ring with a pear-cut lab-grown pink diamond,” you explained, shaking your head at the mismatch.

“Did he know you at all?” Spencer asked, the smile growing despite the shock still coursing through him.

“Apparently not. I’m going to kiss you now,” you declared, stepping closer, leaving Spencer no time to overthink, no time to doubt—just enough time to feel the world tilt as your lips met his.

It was gentle at first, a tentative brush of lips, as if testing the waters. But then something shifted, a dam breaking as all the unspoken feelings, the years of longing and missed chances, came rushing to the surface. Spencer responded in kind, his hands lifting to cradle your face with a tenderness that belied the storm inside him. His thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear that had escaped in the heat of the moment.

He poured everything he couldn’t say into that kiss—all the love, all the fear, all the hope. The kiss deepened, growing in intensity, but it remained sweet, a quiet revelation of the love that had always been there, just beneath the surface.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and slightly trembling, your foreheads rested against each other’s, both of you taking a moment to simply exist in the aftermath of the kiss. Spencer’s eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with wonder and relief.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

“Me too,” you replied, your voice equally soft. “I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”

“Better late than never,” he said, a small, genuine smile spreading across his face.

You laughed softly, the sound breaking the last of the tension between you. With your hand still resting on his chest, you could feel the rapid beat of his heart, mirroring your own.

Spencer’s hand slipped from your cheek to your hand, fingers intertwining with yours as if afraid to let go. “So, where do we go from here?” he asked, his voice carrying a note of hopefulness.

“Wherever you want, Spence,” you replied, your smile reassuring. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Spencer’s eyes twinkled with affection and mischief, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “I never want to room with Hotch again.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and full of warmth. “Just me?”

Spencer’s expression softened, his gaze unwavering as he responded with quiet sincerity. “It’s always been you.”

The words hung in the air, filled with all the meaning and truth he had held back for so long. Before you could fully process the weight of his confession, he leaned in again, capturing your lips in another kiss. This time, it was slower, more deliberate, as if savoring every second, every sensation.

The world outside seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you wrapped up in the warmth of each other’s embrace. This kiss wasn’t just an expression of love—it was a promise, a confirmation of everything that had been unspoken until now.

When you finally parted, both of you breathless but smiling, it was clear that nothing would ever be the same. And that was perfectly okay.

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dilvei · 4 months ago

Note

Can you make yandere male dark prince who notices that his male fiance tries to run away from him?

𝐰𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 ( y! dark prince x m! fiancée reader )

yandere! prince x male! fiancée reader

warnings:

attempted murder

slight animal cruelty

choking

biting/marking

mention of blood

thank you for requesting <3 this went to a much darker route than intended tbh, because this guy kept getting worse in each draft I wrote lmfao. hopefully, you enjoy this since you did specify that the prince had a dark personality mwah mwah 💐💐 ( also imagine the face claim above has a big scar on the left side of the face heh ) 😈

big thanks to @kierahn for beta reading this for me <3 would not have noticed that much mistakes oof. 🌈🌈 kier writes yummy male reader stuff too so check out their blog guys! 💗💗💗💗

✾ | an arranged marriage comes with all sorts of expectations, especially when one is betrothed to a prince from a far larger, wealthier kingdom; his realm abound with riches and harvests, while yours struggle even to survive the winter.

✾ | the arrangement was made when you were both children. in exchange for this future union, your kingdom receives substantial aid from the neighboring realm, including its wealth and crops to sustain your people.

✾ | naturally, everyone was overjoyed by this news. a sad thing it is then, that the prince you are to marry falls short of your expectations.

✾ | not that he wasn't a handsome boy—the second prince is actually a bit more handsome than his elder brother—but the fact that he tried to kill you the first time you met him overshadowed any charm he might have possessed.

✾ | your memory blurs as to how it all went so, so wrong, but it's safe to say that it started when the prince, Lucien, held a small bird between his palms.

✾ | it was a cute little thing, as small as a teacup, with baby blue wings and a stout beak that chirped so sweetly as it looked up at the two of you.

✾ | you recall expressing a desire to keep it, to have its sweet chirping greet you each morning as a reminder of this meeting you share with him—you did not realize what a mistake it was to say such a thing.

✾ | with a fond smile directed at you, Lucien snapped the bird’s wing bone, ignoring its agonized cries as droplets of blood seeped through his small, boyish fingers.

✾ | you saw red. you pounced, lunging at Lucien. your nails scratched at his arms as he finally lets go of the bird, letting it fall to the ground.

✾ | he blinked, confused. “why?” he asked, dodging a blow. he didn’t understand why you were so angry, but you didn’t care to explain.

✾ | the two of you brawled, rolling on the ground as dirt and blood mixed together. but then, lucien grabbed a rock. he hesitated, if only for a moment.

✾ | you dodged, but not fast enough. a sharp pain tore through the corner of your lip, leaving a dark red gash blooming on the right side of your face.

✾ | the pain was sharp, but the sight of Lucien’s detached expression hurt more.

✾ | as anger welled up inside you, you reached for a rock of your own, gripping it tightly as you quickly decided to return the favor back to your future husband.

✾ | the stone connected with Lucien’s left cheek, and he screamed, staggering back. blood gushed down his face, a jagged cut marring his skin, the tip of it almost reaching his left eye.

✾ | the bird’s pained cries was the only sound that dared to break the uneasy silence that followed.

✾ | when your parents, and his, finally discovered the state the two of you were in, it was a truly a miracle in itself that the agreement continued, much to your overwhelming surprise.

✾ | you had no idea that it was Lucien himself who insisted on keeping the arrangement intact. you did not see the dark, almost hungry stare the boy directed at you as you gently picked up the silent bird.

✾ | years passed, seven to be exact, and the time has finally come for you to marry Lucien in a week’s time.

✾ | throughout the years, you’ve kept a close watch on him through your network of spies. and well, the reports have not been favorable, to say the least.

✾ | they say many things about him, but you grasp the essence of it quickly enough. how violence is etched into his very soul, how hatred always lingered on the tip of his tongue, how cruelty danced gleefully at the center of his heart.

✾ | the ugly scar on his face matched his equally ugly personality quite well, they say. and if you were a better man, you would have, perhaps, disagreed at such slander. but in the end, you only let a mirthful laugh escape your lips.

✾ | to be forever bound to such a person… you can’t even bear to imagine something so repulsive. there is no way you'll allow yourself to be married off to such a cruel, unpredictable man.

✾ | you seek to escape from this sham of an arrangement, but your parents refused to listen, and you don't think his will either. so in the end, running away seems like the best option available, and with what remains of your time, you plan.

✾ | there is much fanfare the day you and your family arrive in the neighboring kingdom, a day before the wedding. and while your family appears joyous at this, you feel the exact opposite.

✾ | when you finally set foot inside the palace, you find it amusing that his parents, with tired expressions, immediately inform you that the second prince cannot be found and that you will meet him at dinner instead.

✾ | you have an inkling of his whereabouts, thanks to the rumors you’ve heard countless times. at this hour, Lucien would most likely be in the brothels, sating his boredom to everyone's utter exhaustion and dismay.

✾ | but what you don’t understand are the strange rumors that he would always choose those who look most… like you. unsure of how to process this information, you’ve always chosen to ignore it.

✾ | as dinner time approaches, the table is set with dishes as lavish as you imagined, smoky meat, delicious gravy, and an array of mouthwatering sides.

✾ | a shame that you lost your appetite the moment you set eyes on the man that will become your future husband—a fate you’re determined to change, no matter what it takes.

✾ | although rumors depict your future husband as a scarred man, the scar you inflicted only accentuates his handsome features. it is infuriating, to say the least.

✾ | and though his appearance may have changed significantly, you have no doubt that he still harbors the same cruelty as the boy you met seven years ago.

✾ | and you stand corrected, as that night, he visits you in your chambers, shrouded in darkness, just as you were preparing to escape.

The first thing he says to you is your name.

"[Name]."

His voice is low, like the soft rumble of distant thunder, and you frown as your hands tighten around the bag full of your belongings—the very bag you were preparing to carry with you on your escape.

"Leaving so soon?" he continues when you make no sound to reply, taking a slow, deliberate step closer, and then another, until he stands right in front of you. "Without... me?"

He towers over you, easily.

You purse your lip, defiantly raising your chin as your mind scrambles for a way to escape him, to escape Lucien. "And why would you even care? We're practically strangers at best." And enemies at worst. For you have scarred each other, permanently marked the other with a wound that will never fade.

"Of course I care. We are to wed tomorrow. I will be yours, and you will be mine,” he says, the words settling between you like a promise, like a binding chain.

You scoff in disgust. "Wedding? Oh, please, this arrangement means nothing to us!" You stare into his eyes, blue as the deepest part of the midnight ocean. "You don't love me, Lucien, and I certainly don't love you."

Suddenly, his hand shoots out to grip onto yours, forcing you to release your bag. The strength of his grip hurts.

“You— Let go!” you shout, struggling against the pressure of his hold.

Lucien leans in, his breath eerily mingling with yours. This close, you can see the scar more clearly—an ugly, jagged line marring his otherwise unblemished, smooth skin.

“Do not put false words on my lips, [Name].” His tone carries the soft amusement of a gentle lover, yet there’s an unmistakable undertone—a dark compulsion, an obsession that lies right beneath the surface. “When have I ever said that I do not love you?”

Those words chill you to the core more than the coldest night winds ever could, settling into your bones with a penetrating dread that refuses to dissipate.

You can't believe what you're hearing. You can't believe his words. And so you say the only thing that comes to mind even though you know that it isn't true.

"You lie, Lucien."

He grips you tighter.

"You are a liar," you snarl, "and you are a fool if you think I would ever believe such a thing. Did you really think… those words would sway me? You think I haven't heard of your constant visits to those brothels?!"

Unexpectedly, his other hand moves to thread through your hair, soothing, but also unmistakably mocking, highlighted by the faux smile adorned on his face.

You allow it to happen, even though his every touch feels like a dangerous gamble. Because you know the man in front of you has grown to become the worst version of himself.

"I missed you. I could not have you, not yet anyway, so I sought what was available to me. I would not tarnish you, not until our wedding night," he says.

"Lies. Lies. Lies. Are you mocking me, Lucien? Are you? Just how naive do you think I am? Just how foolish? Such words do not soothe me. It is the exact opposite!"

You move, whispering into his ear. "Your very presence disgust me."

Suddenly, his fingers tighten in your hair, pulling your faces closer as pain shoots through your scalp, causing your breath to hitch. "Making me angry will not change my mind, [Name]."

"I don't care how you fucking feel. I'm leaving!" you say as you push against him with your hand, demanding him to release you.

He does, but both his hands swiftly shift to your neck, tightening around it and choking you as you now struggle to breathe.

"You can't leave. Don't be stupid. There's no boat waiting for you outside these walls. No one out there will help you escape," he whispers slowly. "Not when they're all dead, that is."

Shit. How did he know that? You've always been careful with your plans, and this one has been the most careful yet. Has he been keeping tabs on you without you knowing?

"It’s not fair, [Name]. I’ve waited a long time for you. I’ve been patient, have I not? I haven’t taken you away from your kingdom because of this patience. I’ve endured your cruel jeers because of this patience.”

He slams you onto the bed, his hand still painfully stealing your breath away. You claw at his grip, panic consuming your mind, but Lucien remains indifferent to your struggle, his expression cold and unyielding as he watches your desperate attempts to break free.

“I’ve been patient, because when we finally wed—and oh we will—you will be entirely mine.”

You don’t understand his persistence. Why is he so fixated on this? He can’t possibly want to marry you—he just can’t.

With all the strength you can muster, you punch him squarely in the face, hitting the scar you left him with years ago. He groans and releases you.

You sit up, clutching your throat as you struggle to speak. “Are you insane? You tried to kill me years ago! Why would I want to marry you, you lunatic?”

He lunges at you.

All of it is a blur of pain and punches, but the outcome is clear in the end—you’ve lost. Now, he looms over you on the bed, his fingers jammed painfully down your throat, silencing any further protests.

When you move to bite his fingers, he thrusts them deeper, choking you and cutting off your airflow once again.

"Don’t say such mean things to me, [Name]. I don’t like hearing them. And I’m certain you wouldn’t like it either if you were in my position.”

Tears well up in the corners of your eyes as you kick and punch desperately, struggling against his unyielding grip.

Lucien suddenly shifts his position, his expression darkening with a predatory focus.

Then— he sinks his teeth into your throat with a savage intensity. Blood wells up and spills over, warm and sticky against your skin. You scream at the sensation.

He licks the crimson liquid with a slow, deliberate motion, savoring the taste of you.

"This is where you belong, [Name]. Beneath me, and all, all mine—only mine. You were promised to me and I will not let anything get in the way of that."

The pleasure in his eyes is twisted, and then his teeth press deeper, the pain more insistent, sending shivers through your body.

He pulls back momentarily, his tongue tracing the bloody trail he has left.

As he licks the wound clean, a shocking realization flickers across his face. A laugh escapes him, first soft and incredulous, then growing louder and louder, mocking you.

Lucien grins.

“Well, would you look at that? You’re hard too,” he says, his tone fond. "I knew it. I always knew you were the one."

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your bloodied skin. You try to reply, but only a groan escapes as his finger still presses deeply into your throat.

"It’s a shame, but we should save that for tomorrow, beloved. Our true kiss should also be for then." He licks your neck again, and you shiver. "I’ve been patient for long. I can wait another day.”

And finally— he lets go.

You cough, stifling the urge to vomit as he slowly backs away from you in unhinged glee. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, oh future husband of mine.”

( It’s fine that you do not love him; he has made peace with that. Lucien knows that he can love enough for the both of you. )

As he finally leaves your room, an eerie silence fills your mind. Your body is wracked with chills, and sweat runs down your back as you close your eyes.

One thing is certain: You need a new plan, and fast.

#🌙 | ✦ ∘° LUCIEN !!!#dilvei.writes #yandere prince #yandere x male reader #yandere male x male reader #x male reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere male #yandere #yandere x reader #banner by cafekitsune #art by -温光- on weibo

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incognit0slut · 6 months ago

Text

REFLECTED BLISS

When you discover a mirror attached to the wall in your hotel room, Spencer decides to take full advantage of it.

Warnings: (18+ MDNI) afab reader, established relationship but they're being sneaky, fingering, guided masturbation (f), unprotected sex with a mirror involved, creampie, and spencer being spencer a.k.a he uses fun facts as dirty talk ~3.9k words A/n: Told myself to make this 'cute and sexy and less filthy' but… idk man, from a scale to 1 to 10 how filthy is this be honest Requested: Here

“Oh my god.”

“What? What is it?”

“Spence,” you urged, pulling him into the room. “You need to see this.”

He followed you, stepping further in, and his eyes widened as they landed on the wall opposite the bed—a wall that wasn't just a wall, but a vast, floor-to-ceiling mirror reflecting the entire room. “That’s… interesting.”

“Interesting?” You mocked before peaking your head out the door, making sure no one was in sight before clicking it shut. “It’s terrifying.”

His duffel bag hit the carpet floor. “You’re scared of a mirror?”

“No,” you responded, placing your own bag alongside his. “I’m scared of the idea of it. I mean, look at it—it’s like it sees everything.”

“It’s glass. It can’t actually see us.”

“Yeah, but still,” you said, crossing your arms defensively. “It’s placed right in front of the bed. Who would want to watch themselves sleeping?”

His eyes shifted back and forth between the mirror and the bed, the reflection capturing every detail of the room, including the bed’s plush pillows and crisp white sheets. “You know, I don’t think it’s used for sleeping.”

“What do you mean?”

His lips quirked up into an amused smile. “Think about it. Why would anyone want a mirror like this in front of their bed? It’s not for sleeping, it’s for... well, other activities.”

You felt your cheeks heat up as realization dawned. “Oh, you mean—that’s even worse!”

He laughed, closing the distance between you, his arms resting comfortably around your waist. “Actually, visual stimulation can significantly enhance sexual experiences. Mirrors can add a whole new level of excitement by engaging our sense of sight.”

Your face flushed even more. “I… did not know that.”

“Yeah, it’s all about the brain processing the stimuli.” He pulled you closer, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone. “It can heighten our arousal and make the experience more intense.”

You could feel your heart hammering against your chest, knowing what he was trying to do. Every time he initiated something intimate, it never failed to fluster you. There was a time when Spencer was uncertain and hesitant about these aspects of your relationship. But the more you spent time together, sneaking into each other’s hotel rooms from time to time, the more his confidence grew.

Now, you could feel it in the way he was holding you, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. His touch was firm yet gentle, and the way he looked down at you, his eyes filled with warmth and a hint of mischief, was sending you into a frenzy. There was something different in his gaze—a new assurance, a quiet strength that made your pulse quicken.

He smiled down at you, a secretive, knowing smile as if he held a secret of his own, one that he was eager to share with you in these private moments. You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing.

“I guess that makes sense.”

His smile widened. “So, while the mirror might seem creepy at first, it actually has its perks.”

“Perks, huh?”

“Absolutely.”

You pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing at him. “Are you trying to convince me to have sex in front of the mirror?”

“Is it working?”

You couldn’t stop the laugh escaping your lips. “A little.”

He laughed along with you, the sound warm and infectious. “Can I convince you more?”

But before you could answer him, his lips were already down your neck, drawing a sigh from you. You tilted your head to grant him better access. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer until you could feel the steady beat of his heart against yours.

“I thought—” You let out a moan when he sucked a spot just below your ear. “I thought we agreed… no funny business tonight.”

“Was that really your plan when you begged me to stay with you?”

“I didn’t beg,” you defended. “You offered. I told you this town gave me the creeps and you said you’d sneak in my room to keep me company.”

His lips paused momentarily, hovering just over your pulse.

“You’re right, you didn’t beg,” he conceded with a soft chuckle, his breath tickling your skin. “But you have to admit, the offer was mutually beneficial.”

“Mutually beneficial? Is that what we’re calling it?”

“It’s accurate,” he murmured, drawing back to look at you. “And I seem to remember someone saying how much they appreciated the company... especially at night.”

You could feel the smile forming on your lips, even as you tried to maintain a semblance of indignation. “Well, maybe I did say that. But that doesn’t mean—”

His lips cut you off, soft and persuasive, making it impossible to continue as your protests melted away. The kiss deepened, driven by a mixture of long-held desire and the thrill of his hard body pressed against your soft frame.

“You make a pretty convincing argument,” you murmured against his lips, your earlier resolve softening.

He pulled away from you before taking your hand in his. “Come here.”

He led you gently towards the mirror, the expanse of glass revealing your intertwined figures in the softly lit room.

“Oh my god, we’re actually doing this?”

He positioned you in front of him. "Only if you're comfortable.”

You watched your reflections, the way his hands settled more firmly around your waist, how your bodies fit together so perfectly. Your gaze met him through the mirror.

“Convince me more.”

He smiled and wrapped his arms around you, fingers hovering above the buttons of your shirt.

“Well," he began. "Did you know that mirrors don't just reflect visuals? They can also amplify emotions.”

You watched him in the reflection, the depth of his clear, brown eyes pulling you deeper into the moment. "It's like being both the spectator and the participant," he continued, his fingers deftly beginning to unbutton your shirt with gentle precision. "It makes everything more real, more intimate.”

You found yourself nodding, drawn in by both his words and the tender yet confident way he handled you.

"So," he concluded as he folded back the fabric, revealing more of you to the cool air of the room and the warm glow of his gaze, "If we're talking about enhancing our senses, using a mirror could make every touch, every kiss, feel even more intense, don't you think?"

Words failed you; you were too overwhelmed by his presence, by the heat that radiated from his touch, so instead of speaking, you nodded again. He smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that suggested he was aware of the effect he had on you.

"See?" he murmured, slipping your shirt off your shoulders. "Everything feels more alive, doesn't it?"

More than alive, your body was burning. You couldn't tear your eyes away from the mirror, where every movement and touch vividly reflected back at you. You leaned into him, letting the warmth of his body envelop you as his lips found the curve of your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses.

His fingers slid down the strap of your bra, the motion slow and tantalizing as his gaze traced the path. His other hand remained at your waist, holding you steady as if he knew how his actions were making your knees weak.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he urged when he caught you staring intently at your reflection.

"I'm thinking," you started. “That this mirror might be magic.”

His eyebrows raised slightly, amusement flickering through his gaze. "Oh?"

“It’s making my clothes disappear.”

He laughed, the sound rich and warm in the quiet room. “I thought maybe I had something to do with that.”

“Well… you do love a good magic trick.”

“I do love a good magic trick.”

You felt his fingers on your back before he unhooked the clasp of your bra. The fabric loosened, and you felt a flush of warmth that had little to do with the room's temperature. His hands slid from your back to your shoulders, gently pushing the straps down your arms, allowing the fabric to slip away gracefully.

“You’re so beautiful.”

You swallowed, trying to concentrate as his arms circled your waist before his fingers found the waistband of your pants.

“You’re… you’re pretty too.”

His chuckle was low and affectionate, his breath tickling your ear. "I'll take that as a compliment."

You felt his fingers undo the button of your pants, his movements slow, almost teasing, before he gently slid the zipper down. He gazed into your eyes through the mirror, seeking permission, and you found yourself nodding, your breath catching in your throat.

His hands shifted, not only guiding the fabric down your legs but also making sure your panties followed suit as he kneeled behind you. He let out a strained groan when he caught the evidence of your slick arousal clinging onto the fabric, momentarily pausing to kiss the back of your exposed thigh.

You were so pretty, so warm, so inviting. Spencer let his lips linger onto your skin while he pushed the last piece of clothing gently past your knees, allowing it to fall gracefully to the floor. He stood back up and led you both backward until the back of his knees met the edge of the bed.

With a smooth motion, he sat down, guiding you to sit between his spread legs. He carefully nudged your legs apart with his hand, and you couldn't resist looking away when you saw yourself in this position.

“No,” he said, his hand tracing along the column of your neck, coming to rest gently against your jaw before tilting your face toward the mirror. “I want you to watch.”

Hesitantly, your eyes met your reflection in the mirror. You could clearly see yourself, how exposed you were, how you seemed to look smaller compared to him with the way you were naked and the way he was still fully clothed.

His hands traced a path from your jaw down your neck, and he watched himself move over the swells of your breasts. He gave them both a firm squeeze, admiring how they looked in his hands, how your skin radiated beneath his own.

You gasped when his thumbs brushed your nipples. It seemed like it wasn’t much, but the sensation you were getting from it was making you wetter. Your nipples were so sensitive that you let out his name in an airy moan.

“Yes, baby?”

Your back arched instinctively. He knew what he was doing with his sweet, gentle voice and the way he was rolling your nipples in between his index and middle fingers.

You shifted your head to the side. “Can you kiss me?”

Of course he could, he’d probably give you anything you asked for. Spencer leaned forward, his lips met yours that melded with sweetness an intense longing. One of your hands found its way to his hair, pulling him closer as you kissed him with a clear desperation, but his hunger was unmatched.

He was kissing you as if he wanted to make sure he memorized every curve of your lip, the way your tongue felt, and how it felt good to get a moan out of you. You were moaning loudly, way too loud, and all he could do was swallow your moans—tongue exploring all over the inside of your mouth or press his lips hard against yours.

Finally breaking the kiss just enough to speak, he whispered against your lips. “Should I continue?”

You nodded as his other hand, which had been skillfully teasing your nipples traveled down, tracing the lines of your body, over your ribs, pausing at your hips. He gently guided your hips to shift slightly, adjusting the angle, spreading your legs further apart.

“Can you keep your eyes on the mirror for me?”

You fixed your gaze on the reflection and felt a surge of heat rush through you. A glistening sheen of your arousal coated your inner thighs, and it almost embarrassed you, but it seemed like he didn’t mind. His large hands moved down your thighs, his touch alternating between gentle brushes and firm grips, exploring the softness of your flesh.

The moment his fingers made contact with the slick wetness, sliding effortlessly through your folds and parting them, a sharp gasp escaped your lips. The image in the mirror was boldly erotic, and he continued with practiced movements as he pushed you further into a haze of pleasure.

“Look at how responsive you are,” he murmured, his fingers rolling over your clit. "Visual stimulation can greatly enhance the physical sensations. Watching yourself like this, seeing how much you enjoy it, can intensify everything you feel."

Your stomach churned with a violent delight as he began to put more pressure, rubbing your swollen nub in a circular motion. You gasped, focusing on your reflection–your head tilting back, your eyes fluttering shut before snapping open again. It was intensely arousing to see yourself in such a raw, unguarded state.

"Watching can make the pleasure more acute," he continued, guiding your hand down to feel where his fingers were at work. "Try it."

Your eyes met his in the mirror. “W-What?”

“Here,” he encouraged, taking hold of your hand before placing it at the center of your cunt. The warmth and wetness were startling, even more so because you were witnessing it unfold in the mirror. His fingers guided yours, teaching you the rhythm and pressure that had drawn those sharp gasps from your lips.

"Like this," he murmured, his own hand adjusting yours, showing you how to circle and press. Your breath hitched, seeing the flush spread across your chest and neck, the way his fingers moved above yours.

"It intensifies, doesn't it?"

Your head fell back to his chest. “Y-Yes.”

“Keep going,” he instructed, and you followed, playing with your clit with the right amount of pressure you desired. When his fingers traveled further down, his fingertips grazing your entrance, your jaw slacked open.

You whimpered as he began to sink his digits into your cunt, savoring the way you clenched around him. Your eyes rolled at the back of your head before you instinctively closed your eyes.

You felt his free hand gripping your jaw.

“Eyes on the mirror, Sweetheart.”

You obeyed, reopening your eyes. You settled to watch how his hand flexed as he began to slowly pump his finger in and out of your dripping cunt before adding another to stretch you out. You whined, your own fingers moving fast against your clit.

“Good,” he murmured, burying his face against the side of your neck, face nearly pressing into yours. His stubbled jaw scraped across your skin, causing you to shudder in pleasure. “Keep watching.”

You could barely think straight, your breaths coming in short gasps now, your focus split between the sensations rippling through your body and the erotic display in the mirror. His fingers curled inside you, finding that perfect angle to press against your most sensitive spot.

The room was quickly filled with the lewd sound as he kept a steady pace, fingers rutting into your tight hole, your slick inner walls clenching around him with each thrust. Your hips jerked against him again as a tiny moan escaped your lips.

"I love seeing you like this," he confessed. "Are you close?”

You struggled to answer, your breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. But he felt the way you clenched around him, a clear sign of your approaching orgasm. His other hand traced a path from just below your breasts, gliding down over the smooth plane of your stomach. He paused, his palm resting just above where your own fingers were playing with your clit, and applied pressure there.

A shudder tore through you, the sensation bordering on overwhelming before a sharp, involuntary whimper escaped your lips. Your body shook as your orgasm washed over you in an intense wave.

The mirror captured it all—the way your head tossed back against his shoulder, your eyes squeezed shut, then snapped open to catch glimpses of his fingers thrusting into your throbbing cunt while his other hand pressed gently on your lower stomach.

Your own movements paused as you tried to catch your breath and Spencer held you, making sure you composed yourself even though his erection was digging into the swell of your ass, itching to be inside of you. Fortunately, he had patience—you, on the other hand, not so much.

You gripped onto his thigh, noting the fabric underneath your palm. “You’re wearing too much clothes.”

Spencer chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear. "Am I now?"

"Definitely too much.”

"Maybe we should fix that," he suggested, shifting slightly to allow some space for you to turn in his arms. Your hands moved to the buttons of his shirt the moment you faced him, fingers itching to rid him of the unnecessary barrier.

He watched your every move with a slight smile playing on his lips. letting you push the fabric over his shoulder. “Better?”

"Getting there.”

You worked at the buckle of his belt before you unbuttoned his pants, urging him to lift his hips as you slid them off. "How about now?”

You reached out, your hands gliding up his now bare thighs.

"Almost. Still too much."

Spencer responded immediately, his hands removing the last piece of his clothing in a fluid motion. Then he was finally naked, and the sight of his cock, visibly aroused and gleaming slightly at the tip, drew a sharp intake of breath from you.

"Now we're talking," you breathed out, a satisfied grin spreading across your face.

His hands found their way to your waist, urging you to face the mirror again. “Get on your knees for me.”

“You’re really into this mirror thing, huh?"

“It’s hard not to,” he quipped, his hands gently guiding you into position as he settled behind you. "Don’t worry, all the attention is on you."

“Oh, really?” you responded, turning slightly to look up at him. "Or do you just like seeing how good you make me feel?”

“I do make you feel good, don’t I?”

“Cockiness does not suit you.”

“Mhm,” he hummed, gripping your hips with one hand and the other positioning himself right at your entrance. “Arch your back a little.”

You obliged, accentuating the curve of your body. “Like this?”

“Perfect.”

His hand on your hips adjusted you slightly, ensuring the angle was just right. You sucked in a sharp breath, feeling his cock brush past your folds and you both moaned as he pushed himself further into you. Once he was all the way in, pausing to take a breath, he slowly slid back out to give you an experimental thrust.

You whined at the sensation before adjusting your knees, spreading them further apart to give him better access. This new position deepened the angle, and when he thrust back into you, the pleasure intensified.

"Is this better?" He asked breathlessly, watching your expressions in the mirror for any sign of discomfort or pleasure.

You nodded. Your face felt hot, your mind was fogging up. The feeling of being filled was too good, but you wanted something more. Your hips, as if you had no control over them, started to grind against his.

Spencer groaned in pleasure, head going blank. His hands rested on your waist, pulling back to slide himself out before going back in slowly, meeting your movement. But he was treating you as if you were fragile, his thrusts were gentle, and despite how vocal you are with your little whimpers, it still wasn’t enough.

“Baby,” you gasped, pushing your hips back into his. “Can you—can you go faster?”

Spencer's response was immediate, his breath catching slightly at your request. His gaze met yours in the mirror, searching for any sign of hesitation, but when he saw none, he began to pick up the pace.

“Faster?” His hand tightened on your waist as he gave you a hard thrust, jolting you forward. “Or rougher?”

Both, you wanted both, but a breathless yes was the only thing that managed to slip out of your mouth. His grin was sharp, almost predatory. His movements became even more deliberate, each thrust gaining force and speed, driving into you with an intensity that matched the urgency in your voice.

“You like that?” he asked, voice rough with desire as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your skin.

"Yes, I—fuck," You blabbered. The pleasure was building, coiling tightly within you. “S-So good.”

Spencer’s other hand moved forward, finding your chin in the mirror and gently turning your face towards his. “Look at us.”

The reflection showed every detail—your wide eyes, his focused expression, the way your bodies moved together in a perfect rhythm. It was overwhelming, and even more intense when the hand on your waist slid around you, fingers brushing your clit.

You mewled, your back pressing against his chest. The visual of watching it all happen, of seeing how your bodies worked together, amplified everything. The combination of his thrusts and the relentless circles his fingers traced over your clit drove you closer to the edge.

"Spencer, I’m—" you started, breathless, the words catching in your throat as the building pressure within you neared its peak.

"I know," he replied. He could feel it too, the way your body clenched around him, and he was just about at his limit. “Me too… I’m so close.”

You felt every muscle in your body tighten, the coil in your stomach winding tighter and tighter. “Wanna feel you,” you gasped. “Cum… inside… me.”

Spencer’s response was a deep, guttural groan, his breaths growing even more labored. “Yeah? You want me to fill you up?”

“Please," you whispered, urgency lacing every syllable. “Want your cum in me.”

That did it. He just couldn’t say no to you.

His fingers moved rapidly on your clit as he drove into you. The combination of his deep, determined thrusts and the relentless stimulation of your clit overwhelmed your senses. The room was filled with the sounds of the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, and you could see in the mirror how each movement affected you.

Then, with a few more powerful thrusts, you felt him tense, a deep groan escaping him as he reached his climax. The hot rush of his release inside you was the final trigger your body needed. Your vision blurred, your mind blanked, and you surrendered to the intense wave of your own orgasm, crashing over you with a force that left you trembling and breathless.

Spencer continued to move gently, riding out the aftershocks of your climaxes together, his movements becoming slower, more soothing. As the waves of pleasure subsided, he wrapped his arms around you more tightly, pulling you back against his chest protectively. His breaths were slow and deep, calming against the back of your neck.

You were panting, tired yet blissful, and your eyes met his gaze in the mirror once again.

“How many couples do you think the mirror has witnessed?”

Spencer chuckled softly, his chest rumbling against your back. "More than we can imagine."

He then pulled out from you and a soft sigh escaped you as his hot release slipped from your cunt. Spencer noticed it too, which was why his hand went back between your thighs, his fingers pushing the white, warm liquid back into you.

“Oh my god,” you gasped. “What–you—” You stared at him with wide eyes. “You are filthy.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this.”

You sighed, because he was right, more so you were enjoying it too much because his fingers continued thrusting into you and you found yourself pushing back against his hand.

“Spence…” You warned him, although it came out too breathless to make it sound like a real threat.

He grinned, clearly enjoying your response. “Do you want me to stop?”

You paused, pretending to think, but there was no real doubt as you quickly shook your head. Because how could you want him to stop when his touch was so intoxicating, when he was focused so intently on your pleasure more than ever before?

Your eyes drifted back toward the expansive mirror in front of you.

Maybe you should get one for your room.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencerreid #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n

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gutsby · 8 months ago

Text

Abstaining Game

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: The only thing worse than an anti-sex retreat is an anti-sex retreat with your former fuckbuddy and dad’s best friend. Especially when sharing one cabin.

Warnings: 18+. IF HE AIN’T GRAYIN’ I AIN’T STAYIN’ 🗣️ [Age gap]. Unprotected p-in-v. Forced proximity. Joel making you fuck just his middle finger when he’s mad. Daddy kink. Overstimulation. First-time squirting. Angst.

Translations: ‘Don’t piss down my back & tell me it’s raining’ is a fun Southern phrase for, ‘Cut the bullshit’ or ‘Don’t lie.’

Sequel to Waiting Game & Hating Game (last rhyme I swear)

October 26, 2024

Dear Joel,

Roses are red,

We’re a couple of sluts,

Abstinence camp is awful,

I miss you rearranging my guts.

You were just about to put your pen back down to paper and add the finishing touch, signing an equally lascivious farewell, when the letter was snatched out of your hands. A tyrant in khaki capris and an artichoke-colored polo eyed over your words with a pointed look and frowned.

“Letters to the boyfriend have to be G-rated,” Marlene said, crumpling the thing in her fist before chucking it.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you returned shortly. Then, “That was actually meant for my dad’s friend.”

You sat tight a moment as the dots came to connect in the woman’s parochial and prudish mind—waiting for the wince of disgust to twitch at the corners of her eyes when she put two and two together. Once it did, you grinned. Even when she plucked the pen out of your hand and told you to sit outside, if you can’t participate in this one simple activity, you smiled bigger and strolled at a comfortable pace out the canteen door.

Anti-sex ‘summer camp’ wasn’t bad at all when you didn’t give a fuck what your counselors told you to do.

It was ridiculous, really. Absurd. Tommy Miller catching you sucking his brother’s dick under the table at your father’s birthday dinner, losing his shit with you both, then threatening to tell your dad everything if you didn’t agree to this stupid retreat and stop seeing each other. You’d barely been trapped in the shithole for twenty-four hours, and you already knew this angle wouldn’t work.

What many of your fellow campers affectionately called the ‘Firefly Fuck-Free Zone’ or the ‘Federal Dickriding Response Agency’ (F.E.D.R.A.) was in fact a secluded enclave south of Austin where khaki-clad monsters forced you to reckon with your sexual urges like one might treat a mutated strain of the Cordyceps fungus. You weren’t meant to keep them for long, and if you did, someone like Marlene would surely shame you for it.

Frankly, Tommy was dumb as shit if he thought this anti-boinking boot camp would have an effect on either one of you—Joel wouldn’t ever bang you again after what happened that night, but it wouldn’t be because of some arts and crafts bullshit he did out on a FEDRA ranch.

He just didn’t want your dad to find out and kill him.

That was a fair concern to have. You didn’t blame him.

Presently, you kicked your feet up on the porch outside the cafeteria, where the rest of the group was finishing up letters to their loved ones—this latest activity was meant to be ‘making amends’ to the people in your life—and you tipped your head back to survey the landscape.

Nothing but sweetgrass and gently rolling hills as far as the eye could see. Somewhere across the plains there was another cluster of cabins, though you couldn’t quite see it, and someplace within that minuscule cluster, you knew there was a middle-aged man. Dark grey eyebrows furrowed in concentration and chest heaving gently. Likely hunched over an old oak desk about five sizes too small for his frame as he gripped a pen and scribbled:

Dear Tommy,

Fuck you, you fucking fuck.

Sincerely,

Joel

You grinned again just thinking about it.

If anyone had a reason to be ticked off and terrified, it was Joel. And you, you guessed. You still hadn’t gotten your period—but that wasn’t due for another few days.

For now, you’d settled on worrying yourself over what would happen after the retreat had ended; what would you and Joel do once you went back to school? What would become of his life back in Austin with a supremely pissed off brother and a best friend who didn’t know his kid had been fooling around with a man twice her age?

Silently, you thanked your lucky stars Joel’s part of the camp was kept separate from yours, because you didn’t think you’d be able to keep a straight face if you saw him.

The whole thing was sickening, if not slightly funny.

You slipped Joel’s old pack of American Spirits out of your boot and fished in your back pocket for a lighter.

Then you crammed both back when you heard a boom:

“LAKESIDE GUIDED MEDITATION STARTS IN FIVE.”

The tinny intercom rang a deafening pitch in your ears. You clamped a palm over the left side of your head and winced, having forgotten this exercise in mindfulness was supposed to be the last event to wrap up your day. You just wanted to slink back up to your cabin and sleep. Or eat. Or slip your fingers between your aching legs and indulge in some much-needed Joel Miller reminiscing.

Then you recalled how masturbation was also off limits to all would-be sexaholic campers—if there was any time to sneak off and get busy by yourself while your counselors were otherwise occupied, now would be it.

Just as you cast a glance over your shoulder to see if a stealthy exit was even possible, a voice trilled overhead.

“On your feet, skank.”

You looked back fast, and damn did Tess look smug.

Your bunkmate crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe, seeming to feel your thoughts before they’d even been fully processed.

“If you skip meditation, I think Marlene’s gonna take you behind the rec and shoot you in the head,” she added.

“How kind.”

“Yeah? Certain death?”

“Better than the dick deprivation,” you grumbled, only half-kidding as you dragged yourself back to your feet.

Theresa Servopoulos was no avid fan of penis herself—she much preferred women when she had her pick of it—but she grinned all the same and clapped a comforting hand over your shoulder before the two of you started walking down the mess hall’s front steps. Then she only laughed a little bit when you almost ate shit treading down the winding rocky trail to the lake and cursed your present lack of intercourse for causing your clumsiness.

“You realize it’s only been, like…a day, right?” she said.

“Might as well be a million,” you muttered, “I feel like I’m never getting laid again.”

“Oh?”

Tess gripped your elbow when a root protruding from the path nearly sent you flying again. She tried not to smile.

“Well…my fake brother’s mad at me for going behind his back and fucking his brother,” you explained, coolly.

Stupidly.

“Wait—you fucked your brother?!”

That stopped Tess in her tracks. The two of you were approaching the cusp of a clearing, just feet away from where the forest gave way to the shoreline of the lake. Folks were already congregating at the water’s edge.

“Any day now, ladies,” Marlene called through cupped hands. Tess was still regarding you with eyes the size of saucers as you traipsed across the way to that voice.

“Not my brother,” you hissed.

“You said your brother’s brother. That makes this guy your brother, too,” Tess whispered—still far too loud.

“Not my actual brother, he’s just— fuck—”

Suddenly, two scraps of red fabric were catapulted in your direction. Tess caught one. You caught the other.

“Tie ‘em over your eyes.” Marlene ordered.

“The fuck?” you mumbled, but ventured nothing more as you were ushered to join the group sitting cross-legged on the ground in front of you. Everyone else was tying bandanas around their eyes like all of this was normal.

“Another trust exercise,” Tess’s voice was low as you dropped your asses one after the other on the sand. Speaking like a seasoned veteran of the anti-sex retreat, she helped you get yours on and shot you one last ‘You-better-not-have-actually-fucked-your-sibling’ look before letting you help her secure her blindfold, too.

Just as Marlene began describing in great detail what this blind, guided meditation in self-love and elemental trust was meant to look like, your friend opted to give voice to her concerns the second the opportunity arose.

Still seated side-by-side, still blind, Tess leaned over.

“Please tell me you’re not here for bangin’ your brother.”

You had to stifle a laugh.

“I am not.”

“Then explain, Cersei!”

Just then, a throat cleared behind you. Evidently another camp counselor at your rear was telling you, wordlessly, to shut the fuck up and listen to the instructions. You and Tess just scooted closer and lowered your voices.

“So this guy, Tommy…he’s been like a big brother to me for years. Worked with my dad and always had my back for the wild shit I did back in high school,” you began.

“Uh-huh.”

“His big brother, Joel, is like…old as shit, but wildly hot.”

“Dangerous combo.”

“And Joel’s my dad’s best friend. Drove me back from college over fall break when he was visiting Boston, we took a little motel detour on the road trip home, and bam—” You snapped your fingers for effect, “We fuck, right?”

“Right.”

“—imagine you’re standing at the edge of a waterfall—”

Marlene couldn’t be serious with this hippy dippy shit. You tuned out the rest of what she said and continued:

“It’s incredible. But the condom busts open at the end—”

“Oh shit.”

“—deep breath in…and release…and again, we—”

“Freak the fuck out, right? I’m poppin’ Plan B like candy.”

“As you should.”

“—hold that breath in right there—”

“A week later, me and Joel hook up at my dad’s birthday party. Only we fuck up, ‘cause Tommy catches us, and—”

This time, the counselor who’d cleared their throat to shut you up took to nudging you both in the back with the toe of their shoe. You straightened up, tilted your head back, and scowled at them through your blindfold.

“Do you mind?” you said, turning in place but unable to see anything behind you. You imagined whoever had just butted in on your conversation was probably frowning. They said nothing in return, just huffed like a child.

“Anyway.” You pivoted back to Tess, “Tommy flips his lid, tells us he’s gonna snitch on us to my dad if we keep fucking around like that, and then he…sends us here.”

You heard your friend fight back a chuckle beside you.

“And abstinence camp is supposed to cure you of this awful disease? Wanting to fuck daddy’s best friend?”

Oddly, you wanted to giggle too. You weren’t sure what was so funny, or why Tess’s tone made you want to say something equally out of pocket and lewd, but then you were leaning over before you could even think twice:

“That old man’s dick is like a fuckin’ drug, dude.”

You wished you could’ve seen her face when you said it. But you didn’t need to catch a single glimpse to know she was grinning big and dumb when she whispered,

“Prehistoric cock must’ve been pretty nice, huh?”

You choked. She snorted. You returned, next, shortly,

“Best senior citizen schlong I’ve had in my life.”

You weren’t sure which one of you burst out laughing first. Maybe Tess. Probably you. Either way, both of your sides were splitting in seconds, as the ridiculous and just marginally offensive descriptors for Joel’s dick trembled at the tips of your tongues. You felt like a teenager again, telling your friend your filthiest desires for the DILF-next-door—except this time, you’d actually fucked him. Small perks to seeking out middle-aged men in your twenties. You had to clamp your hand over your mouth to rein in the peals of laughter as Tess wheezed quietly beside you.

Then you felt hands.

Two palms under your armpits, yanking you up.

You stumbled back, graceless and still staving off half a laugh as your back struck the counselor’s chest.

“Just…take her back up.” You heard a female’s voice to your left, low and not sounding particularly amused.

Take you where? Was this the part where Marlene dragged you behind the rec and shot you in the head?

About damn time.

Whoever had grabbed you grunted in acknowledgment. You swayed in their arms, trying to regain better footing, but the grip tightened up in a second and thrust you sideways. You staggered, cursing your captor.

“Fucker,” you hissed.

Fucker said nothing.

Their hands slipped from your pits to one of your wrists, leading you away from the lake in long strides. You were moving so fast you scarcely had the chance to pull the blindfold back, so you just kept walking. Marching.

“Can you slow the fuck down, please?”

You imagined the face of the person leading you forward might’ve twisted in a scowl. Their lips didn’t stir, though.

In a matter of minutes, your feet were crunching on the flat, gravelly terrain you knew to lay under the cabins. This person was leading you back. Likely to throw you off to your room in the next several moments—but not before ripping you a new one for disrupting the peace back down at the lake. You weren’t stoked to hear it.

“Alright, just—” You tripped as you were led up the rickety steps, cursing again, “—just leave me right here.”

A set of knuckles at your spine thrust you forward.

“No? Okay. Fine. Whatever.”

You shook your head as you entered the cabin and heard footsteps follow you in. It occurred to you then that now was probably a good time to take off the blindfold.

Before you could, though, it was ripped off for you.

“Pack your shit.”

Dude.

You spun on your heels.

“DUDE!”

Your eyes moved up the very khaki shorts you despised, the puke-colored polo, the neatly embroidered camp logo, and a nametag strangely labeled ‘Lucien Flores.’ Everything in the ensemble screamed ‘camp counselor.’ But the face above it—it wasn’t one of their own at all.

It was far too lax. Fresh with an easy, shit-eating grin.

“Sweetheart—”

He started to speak, only to get the wind knocked out of his chest when you threw your arms around him.

The barrage of kisses came without you ever really intending to place them at all. You were just so stunned, practically overcome with joy to see Joel Miller in all his ruggedly handsome glory, then confused. What was he doing here, and why was he dressed head-to-toe as a counselor? And why were you so into that on him?

You doubted you could even ask the questions, and he was barely more able to answer the longer you stayed latched to his neck, kissing him everywhere your mouth could get to. You’d just stood on tip-toes to press your lips to his when you realized he wasn’t reaching back.

His hands hung limply at his sides. Still, he smiled.

“Abstinence camp ain’t taught ya much, has it?”

You parted your lips to drag your teeth along the grey-spattered scruff on his cheek—biting but not quite. Begging him to kiss you back, grab your ass, anything to quell this anguish twisting low in your stomach at the lack of contact. Joel didn’t seem keen on answering to it.

“I’ve learned plenty, Miller,” you panted against his jaw, before moving below it to sink into the skin of his neck, “Lemme show you all the stuff FEDRA told us not to do.”

Yes, you sounded desperate. No, you didn’t really care. You were much too busy fiddling with the front of Joel’s shorts to concern yourself with anything but his cock. It made it all the more gut-wrenchingly horrific and disconcerting when you felt his hands push yours away.

“No,” Joel said, simply. Then, nodding to your luggage at the foot of your bunk, “Pack your stuff, sweets. C’mon.”

He was seriously trying to break you out?

You admired the cojones on the man, but you wanted to fuck real quick to get it out of your system. Needed it.

“Joel, I—” You swallowed thickly, shaking your head.

What your mouth couldn’t finish, your eyes said clear as day: I want you to take me right here. Quick and dirty. But, again, Joel seemed completely impervious to your pleas. Almost callous in the face of such a desperate request made from your eyes to his. He moved over toward your suitcase when you didn’t want to budge.

Luckily for you, you’d never unpacked. All that was left were the clothes on your back and a water bottle on the nightstand. Joel grabbed the latter and turned around to snag the suitcase on his way to the door, when he was met with you. Obstructing his path and frowning a little.

“Joel?” You raised a brow.

“Mm?”

The man in front of you straightened up, rolling a nonexistent kink from his neck before regarding you.

His gaze was alarmingly sedate.

“Y’know, you’ve got quite the knack for makin’ shit difficult—”

“Just a quickie, Miller—”

“I ain’t fuckin’ you here!”

The sudden boom of his voice should’ve startled you. But then a broad, warm palm came to rest on your shoulder, and Joel’s expression dropped immediately. There was still a tightness to it, somewhere deep within, and you couldn’t quite work out why he seemed so…off.

Then you caught sight of something steely in his gaze.

It just might’ve clicked if Joel didn’t reach for your face and elucidate things for you himself, eyes narrowing.

“I know my old man dick is like a fuckin’ drug and all…”

Shit.

Cheeks squished between his two big hands, you had only to stare. And blink. And silently regret being so loud when you were talking to Tess before. It didn’t look good.

“Joel—”

“No, no, my senile brain must be mistaken—it was actually that prehistoric cock that did it for ya.”

Your face heated with shame. You blinked again.

But just as you tried to shake your head between Joel’s hands, he pressed his palms tighter and drew you closer.

“Senior. citizen. schlong?” he intoned, painfully slow.

“Joel, I just—”

“Need to fuck someone your own age, it sounds like.”

The man in front of you released your face just as fast as he’d grabbed it, and when he stepped back, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of desperation. That wasn’t what you’d meant! It sounded so puerile and cruel coming out of his lips like this, but you had to tell him it was a joke.

“It was a joke.”

No time to mince words now.

“Real fuckin’ comedic genius,” Joel snorted.

He rolled his eyes and tried to sidestep you, but you mirrored the movement. When your hands flew to his chest to keep him from moving, please, just listen to me, Joel, he pretended not to hear it, or feel it, against him.

“Alright. Enough,” he muttered, “‘S’time to go home.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No.”

For the first time, you saw Joel’s nostrils flare. You pressed into his sternum again, hoping to hold him in place so you could explain yourself, but it seemed he wasn’t planning on staying stationary. Joel dropped to your bunk—or Tess’s, technically—and situated himself comfortably on the bed before shooting you a look. You barely had had a moment’s time to contemplate your next move when he yanked you onto the cot with him.

Joel didn’t try to kiss you. He didn’t attempt to remove one article of clothing from your body or his. He just sat there, staring, while you straddled his hips staring back.

“If you wanna fuck me so bad, go right ahead,” he said, motioning indistinctly in front of him, “Be my guest.”

When you stilled, he added, “That is all y’want, right?”

With your palms laying flat on his chest and a head full of conflicting thoughts—you did want to bang him, obviously, but not before you’d gotten a chance to set things straight, not when he was looking at you like this—you chewed your bottom lip. Certainly you couldn’t continue while Joel still believed you were embarrassed by his age, his lips downturned and humorless as ever.

“C’mon,” he tried again, a touch more venom laced in his words as he spoke, “Show me how much ya want it.”

You needed time to think.

“Why are you…dressed like this?” you said, stalling.

But Joel wouldn’t be kind enough to give you that time.

“Stole the uniform so I could sneak out and over here and get you out. Are we gonna fuck now or what?”

His hands moved over your own to guide them to his lower half, just above where your clothed core was touching his. Your fingers moved mechanically, almost reluctantly, to undo the button and zip of his shorts.

Was that a flash of hurt you saw in his eyes?

You’d never been good at this communication bullshit. Neither had Joel. The two of you would probably just have sex now to hash out your feelings, as was par for the course for a pair of emotionally stunted individuals. It still pained you to see him look at you like that, though.

“Tess and me were just kidding, baby.”

You palmed the bulge in his boxers and heard him grunt. When you nudged his cock out of the fabric to stroke him, his eyes fluttered shut and he sucked in a breath.

“I would never say those things to hurt you,” you added.

“Didn’t hurt me none,” Joel returned instantly. Then, feeling you flick the pad of your thumb over the head of his cock, he exhaled and held his face firm in place. Like he didn’t want you to see the effect you had on him.

You let go of his cock to take off your socks and shoes. Then your top. Then your shorts. Then you slid down his body a little, unsure if this was the time to be trying something new. Or even doing this kind of stuff at all.

At first, you just sort of lowered yourself to Joel’s groin, his dick resting comfortably between your tits. Then you started to move, and your hands were cupping either side of your breasts to push inward on his member. Before you even fully knew what you were doing, you were squeezing Joel’s dick with the soft, supple flesh and stroking him gently. Gaze glued to him all the while.

His eyes cracked open to catch you watching him. Evidently, Joel couldn’t contain all of his reactions, because he audibly groaned when you got going.

Sliding your tits up and down his shaft, feeling him pulse between them. Sensing a warmth pool in your own lower half but being too focused, and slightly ashamed, to act. You just wanted to make Joel feel good, even if your words weren’t able to do the trick with apologizing.

“Come here,” you beckoned him with just one finger as you slid off the bed, to the floor. Joel sat up, and you kneeled obediently between his legs. The two of you shared a tense, sexless look for a second before you lowered yourself back down and resumed the position.

This time, Joel could—and did—stir his hips to create some friction between your tits. His brow pinched inward with a muted concentration, and you wanted to say it looked handsome on him, that you were sorry for saying those stupid things to Tess and making him doubt your affection for him, but you kept your mouth shut. You had to remind yourself that emotions had no place between two needy, unfeeling people who just wanted to fuck.

Maybe that was how it should’ve been from the start.

But watching Joel’s face twist and contort in pleasure nearly wiped the thought clean out of your brain forever.

You felt many things for him, whether you liked it or not.

You really wished you hadn’t said the things you’d said.

Joel braced his hands at the edge of the bed on either side of him, hips working a steady pace to fuck your tits. He was staring mostly at the spot where the head of his cock was poking up through your cleavage with each thrust, entranced by the sight, and in a second, a full-throated moan was fighting its way out of his chest. He spit in his hand and paused to smear the stuff on his shaft, on your tits. Spit again and rubbed even harder.

Seeing him so cold and detached, you wanted to apologize again. Maybe beg him to say something kind.

Instead, you mumbled, “I love it when you fuck my tits.”

Joel scarcely acknowledged the remark, just letting you work yourself over him, meet his shallow thrusts, look sweet and wait patiently for him to cum all over you. When it seemed he might be ready to do it, though, Joel withdrew from you the next second and moved back on the bed. He pulled you into his lap, straddling again, but this time situated over the side of the bed—him sitting up, you perched on the flat, sturdy expanse of his thighs facing him. In the space between your bodies, Joel slid a quiet and almost careless hand to your heat, flicking the sheer fabric of your panties to the side in one go.

The moment his fingers made contact, you flinched.

It wasn’t that you were opposed to his touch, you just felt unfairly balanced in this situation. Joel appeared so stoic; you, a complete and utter wreck. Fighting fifteen different emotions at once and feeling unusually vulnerable spread open to him now, you almost didn’t register what he was doing—or what his hand might find.

Joel’s groan brought you back, though. When he rubbed his knuckles over the seam of your cunt and practically choked out twice his lung’s capacity, you had to look.

Aloof as he tried to be, the man’s desire was painted all over his expression. And his crotch. And his hand.

Well, actually, that last bit of arousal was yours.

“Fuckin’ soakin’ me, sweetie,” Joel breathed.

You perked up at the term of endearment. Watching one glistening fist of his make its way back and forth against your body, smearing sticky wet pleasure all over your mound and your folds, you found yourself gnawing your lip once more, this time for entirely different reasons.

Joel seemed to soften—even if only for a glaring carnal need, you didn’t care. You sank into this gentler touch.

“Khakis kinda suit you, Miller,” you said, off-handed.

Really, Joel looked almost as comical as he was sexy in that camp counselor getup: tan shorts stretched tight over even tanner legs, polyester top sitting pretty on wide, hulking shoulders, that silly stitched logo for the camp emblazoned over his left pec, and, of course, the nametag that didn’t belong to him but to Lucien. The whole thing was so alien to his lumberjack-chic demeanor that he nearly seemed boyish. Endearing. Some spearmint-scented hottie you might’ve had a crush on at camp years ago. You couldn’t help but smile.

Joel tried not to hold your gaze for too long.

“Don’t go pissin’ down my back and tell me it’s rainin’.”

When he slid one finger to your entrance, you tensed again, but smiled just the same and let out a breath. You felt him prod at the warm, wet skin and thumb at your clit, and something told you that he’d wanted to grin too.

“I’m serious,” you said, “Scout’s hon—ohfuckfuckfuck.”

Joel pushed one finger inside you. In spite of the ease with which he slipped between your walls, that gentle sensation made it wonderfully snug. He gripped your hip and started moving his single digit in and out, and in spite of yourself, you squirmed a bit. Joel never failed to call you out for doing that; today would be no different.

“Easy, sweet pea,” he hummed when you jumped again.

But you couldn’t help it. Your hands quickly anchored themselves to Joel’s shoulders, your legs spread wider, and your hips started stirring—bucking, really—against each teasing touch. It was still just one thick finger of his.

You glanced down and saw that it was his middle finger, in particular. The double meaning wasn’t lost on you.

“Another,” you pleaded.

“Nuh-uh.”

“You’re a mean ol— mean man.” You tried to correct course when you felt a mention of ‘old’ slip back into your vernacular, and inwardly, you cringed at your words.

Joel had already heard it. He cocked one eyebrow.

“Mean ol’ man?” he scoffed, still fingerfucking you softly. When you bucked against it, he nodded as if to say ‘fair enough.’

Then, before you could chime in, he nodded some more.

His expression was hard.

“Fuck my hand,” he said.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

You weren’t quite sure what he meant for you to do. When he nodded a third time, the gesture was accompanied by a quick dart of his eyes to the place where your cunt was being penetrated by his one finger. He curled the finger inward, and when you twitched at the hot throb of pleasure that followed, he grunted.

Fuck my hand.

Nails still searing tiny half-moons into his shoulders, you acted more out of impulse than by command. The look from Joel sure didn’t hurt, though. The second you started rolling your hips, he nodded again. Holding onto his praises for now and simply showing approbation.

“Like that,” he murmured.

All you were doing was rocking back and forth over his finger, whimpers percolating quietly in your chest, but the act alone made you feel desperate. And Joel smug.

It was like he wanted to see you getting off to this one, comparatively smaller part of him without being filled. Bucking plaintively to find that fullness and coming back empty every time. Your whimpers turned into whines.

“Need more,” you keened.

“Yeah?” Joel replied gently.

“Yeah.”

A beat, then:

“Tough shit.”

But he said it so goddamn sweet you had to do a double take to make sure you’d heard him correctly. When you met Joel’s eyes, you saw a hint of amusement lingering behind them. Then he squeezed your hip again and started helping you move into his hand, up and down.

“Only givin’ more fingers to good girls, y’hear?” he said.

“What about your cock?” You couldn’t help it.

Joel just breathed out through his nose. In a second, he went from camp counselor to disapproving father figure.

“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?”

That was all he needed to say, but the firm plunge of his middle finger certainly put a finer point on it. He curled the digit again and, upon grazing that spongy surface inside you, saw another desperate plea in your eyes.

And pleasure.

The pleasure ran almost as intense as the desperation.

Your head fell back when Joel got to making those ‘come hither’ motions again and again, thumb circling your clit, eyes trained on your figure with a marked concern. Like the prospect of not drawing an orgasm out of you in the next two minutes might very well ruin the man’s night.

“‘S’alright, honey,” Joel said quietly.

Then, finding your gaze when your head tilted back,

“Be a good girl and let go for me. Let go for daddy, hm?”

Fortunately for him, that one low hum and another flick of his middle finger and thumb were all you needed to find your release. You came on his hand with a sharp, pitiful cry and a ‘Fuckthatfeelssogooddaddyplease,’ hips working feverishly against his hand as you rode out your high. The sight of you bouncing up and down on his open palm and the way your eyes rolled back, begging him to fuck you full of his cock next, felt wildly obscene.

Joel loved obscene. Needed obscene. Hot. Febrile. Raw.

He nodded again.

Before you’d even descended fully from those staggering heights, his finger was moving too—joined by two more. Joel stuffed his index and ring fingers inside your still-pulsing hole and pretended not to hear your soft cry.

After all, you’d asked for more before. Joel was just sating your desire; your overwrought body would be fine.

“Joel,” you hissed, seizing his wrist.

“Too much?” he returned.

You tried to verbalize some answer but were cut short by a punishing stretch—all three fingers plunging in and out of your sensitive, drooling cunt and making it full of him.

“Too soon?” he tried again.

“I—”

“Too fast?”

“N—”

“Too…old?” Joel pressed after a beat.

There was an air of feigned condescension in his tone as he took on a faster pace gliding his thick, calloused fingers between your walls. You might’ve screamed if you hadn’t found your forehead pressed to his and the warmth of his irises boring into yours while he did it all. At this distance, you could discern a trace of hurt again. Something needing to be soothed inside Joel Miller.

You rutted your hips and shook your head, skull still stuck to his as you did so. Whimpers coming low.

“I didn’t…mean it,” you managed at length.

“What? That I’m ‘old as shit but wildly hot’?”

Joel wedged his fingers straight down to the knuckle and nearly tore a shriek out of your body. His eyes were surprisingly soft. Making sure your pleasure was all there.

“Hyperbole,” you choked, voice hoarse.

Then your jaw grew lax when a hand cupped your chin. All you wanted to do was melt into Joel, but you sensed something brewing again behind those honeyed eyes. Blinking was all you could do to keep your composure.

“You’re right, darlin’,” Joel said, “I am too old for you.”

Right after a clench in your tummy, a hurried word leapt up to your tongue, ‘NO!’ and you had to swallow a moan to keep from succumbing to the pleasure Joel was bringing with his fingers. Sandwiched between two orgasms was no time for a serious argument to take place, but there you were, fighting against it anyway.

“N-No,” you stammered. Stupid.

“I am.” His voice came softer somehow, more resigned.

When outright rejection of the claim seemed futile, you tried to pivot. Climax still closing in as fast as ever.

“I don’t care about that,” you hissed, exhaling hard when the first ripples of bliss crept up toward your stomach.

Joel watched you with careful eyes.

“Yeah? And Tess?”

“Joel—”

“Or Tommy.”

“I don’t—”

“Everyone else?”

Almost against your will, those minuscule ripples turned to waves of full-blown euphoria, and then you were clenching again on Joel’s hand and crying out in climax. You willed your gaze not to stray from his, but it was tough. Especially when the eyes beneath your own seemed so fucking morose and removed from you.

Don’t do this to me, Miller. Don’t do it, don’t do it.

In the wake of what should’ve been consummate satisfaction, you found yourself retreating to a place more akin to starvation—suddenly eager to get your mouth over his and start kissing, tonguing, and scraping your teeth like you’d missed out on a full week’s worth of meals. Feeling selfish but also uncertain how else to proceed—was Joel Miller breaking up with you here?

You couldn’t be sure, because he kissed you back. Joel kissed you and cupped your cheeks, then chased your frame all the way down to the coarse, scratchy sheets of the bed, where he was quick to climb on top of you.

Hell, it seemed breathing was too tough to accomplish with your frenzied pace and the continuous stream of open-mouthed kisses placed anywhere and everywhere. A groan from Joel trembled between your lips as you helped him get his shorts and boxers the rest of the way down his legs—all but dragging them with your heels—and he tightened a fist in your hair when they were off.

“I shouldn’t’a come here,” he mumbled.

“But you did,” you panted.

Both of you got lost in another onslaught of kisses, and you tried not to sigh. Joel was still battling something.

Even as he peeled your panties off and lined himself up with your entrance, he seemed resolved to stay quiet. Holding your gaze and not saying what had to be said.

He was a lot like you in that way.

You kept kissing him anyway.

The events that followed seemed to you little more than fleeting, happy scenes from a film you’d always wanted to see—an eager Joel, a caring Joel, an I-don’t-think-I’m-physically-capable-of-holding-you-any-closer Joel. The weight of his cock a welcome friend and the kisses somehow far too intimate to be considered friendly at all. You’d almost forgotten you were at a camp designed to prevent this very thing from happening between two stupid, impulsive people like you, and you didn’t care.

All you knew was a yawning stretch—that aching, empty void filled to perfection by Joel’s member—and the shockwaves of pleasure that vibrated in bands all the way down to the balls of your feet. You felt safe and secure caged between two muscular arms, and you reveled in a warmth that spanned every inch of your body touching his. The weight suffocating and somehow not oppressive; Joel cradled your head to make sure of it.

“Ain’t…hurtin’ ya, am I?” he said when you winced.

You shook your head against his sweaty palms to say that he wasn’t; you were just adjusting. He scanned your face for any trace of insincerity but found nothing.

In this tender position, your brain was ready to burst—whether from guilt, shame, ruthless self-loathing, or a sobering sense of closeness, you weren’t sure. All four seemed to form the impetus for the words that came next, which were soft, repeated apologies against Joel’s mouth. He swallowed each one without a second thought.

“Quit sayin’ it,” he rasped, low.

“I’m sorry, Joel, I’m sorr—”

Soft lips again. ‘S’okay, honey.’

You weren’t sure why, but your face felt extra hot.

Joel pressed his thumbs on either side of it while he kissed you and went deeper. Then he squeezed even more, and your breath hitched quietly in your throat.

Aw, shit, he could probably feel your heart running amok in your chest and thrumming like crazy right now.

“Ain’t nothin’—” Joel paused to send one measured thrust along your cervix, “—to be sorry for. Nothin’.”

Your legs tightened at his sides when his hips started to snap in quick, stuttered motions, desperate for more friction and depth. He got both, and he groaned feeling you tighten around him as he filled your cunt to the brim. The silky warmth of your walls drawing him in was almost too much, and every now and then he’d have to slow to mutter some, ‘’S’fuckin’ chokin’ me, honey, ya feel that?’ or ‘This pussy’s just made to take me, huh?’

Joel asked like he actually needed the reassurance. As if the slick, dripping arousal coating his length and the sounds of your whimpers mixed in with those wet slaps weren’t enough—as if he had to have deeper consolation.

He was splitting you open and looked guilty as he did it.

Still shaking with each thrust, you helped him slide his shirt over his head and bring him bare, chest-to-chest with you. You couldn’t ignore the tension any longer.

“Joel, I fuckin’ love— I need you inside,” you managed.

“You do?”

“Uh-huh.”

His face softened.

“‘S’mine, isn’t it?”

He said it so fast you couldn’t make out if it were really a question or a simple statement of fact. His balls routinely smacking your ass, eyes searching yours, always gentle.

“Say that you’re mine.”

No, Joel—don’t do that, don’t say it like that.

Your visceral reaction was to recoil. You couldn’t because he had you pinned, but damn did you want to—not him, not this, not now, Joel, why would you fucking say that?

The look in his eyes now surpassed the hurt from before. It was open and aching, even as he drilled your body in two at a near-ruthless pace. Asking you so sincerely.

The obstinacy inside you was almost laughable. Damn near sent your head spinning in a fit of hysterics at how much you wanted to say but wouldn’t; how much you sensed lay waiting to fly off Joel’s tongue but couldn’t. If you were any more emotionally pent-up you might’ve ruptured a blood vessel and lost all ability to think.

It didn’t help that you were both about to cum.

Or that Joel’s right hand was fumbling for your clit.

His expression was steady as ever when you jumped, made a whining noise below him, and grabbed his wrist. You looked down to where your bodies were joined and got a dizzying glimpse of that sight: cunt swallowing Joel’s cock repeatedly, pleasure pooling between your two bodies, then a digit at that little bundle of nerves.

He kissed your hairline and hummed.

“C’mon, pretty girl. Whose pussy is this?”

His thrusts sped up, along with his thumb.

“Don’t.” Not an answer but a warning: tread lightly, Joel.

He kissed your forehead again. And again. For a second you thought he might stay that way until you both came, but then his lips were finding yours, mumbling softly,

“Say no one’s gonna fuck you but me.”

“But—”

“None of those pencil-dick douchebag Delta Sigma whatever-the-fuck ya call ‘ems—” Joel continued, unfazed, “—not your lab partner, not your hallmate—”

His cock was gliding in and out of you at a punishing pace now. Wonderfully slick with sounds obscenely piercing to your ears. You could feel Joel digging in the depths of your tight, throbbing cunt, could see his expression contort with much the same pleasure you were experiencing yourself, and could very well smell the faint aroma of American Spirits still staining his breath. Joel Miller was a sick fuck for what he was doing to you, and he knew it. You nipped at his lower lip in between tender kisses and quietly-spoken words, and whimpered.

“—not your TAs, not your professors—” he pressed on.

You opened your mouth to let a lewd moan escape when Joel lifted his hand to shove a thumb inside. Instinctively, you sucked the whole thing straight down to the knuckle.

“Nobody but me, y’hear that?” Afforded better leverage with his finger wedged between your teeth, he shook your head a little as he fucked you. Watched you bob and nod a wordless ‘yes’ in doe-eyed complaisance while his cock drove shockwaves of pleasure straight through you.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth, and you let him.

You drooled all over that man’s finger like it might’ve been supplying oxygen to your lungs, and when Joel leaned in and said, ‘Ya like that, sweet pea?’, you answered in the affirmative. Or at least as close as you could get while Joel was filling up his two favorite holes.

Your orgasm was maybe two strokes away from shattering bones, it seemed. Now was his chance.

Swiftly, Joel retracted his touch just far enough to drag a string of saliva out of your mouth—then deliver a taut but gentle slap to your cheek. The soft thwack, combined with the sounds your bodies were making down below, served only to elevate the pornographic pitch of your moan:

“Joel!”

“That’s right.”

Joel’s mouth hovered an inch over yours, half-smirking, as if waiting to suck the words clean off of your lips. You whined when his thrusts got quicker and the mouth that was grinning got to kissing your own again. Talking dirty, too.

“Show me who this cunt belongs to. Say it,” he grunted.

You clenched, kissed him back, were just barely aware of the words you were trying to form when you stuttered some unintelligible, ‘Y-Y—ohfuckdaddyjustlikethatoh—’

Oh.

Your eyes widened to Joel’s, and before you could even begin to process what was happening to your body, his name just snapped off your tongue like a shot. A shriek. Some blissfully half-strangled moan that Joel captured between his teeth as he fucked you into the mattress and held your body tight to his own. His palm was wet.

Your legs were wet.

The soft, heaving juncture between your bodies was wet.

You were only dimly aware of the sensation as you dug your heels in Joel’s back and let out a series of cries and moans, but then that fluttering feeling inside made you flinch. A pulsing between your thighs and a…warmth.

You were still blinking through a post-euphoric haze when you felt a soft heat simmer and sink within you.

Did Joel just…cum inside you? Again?

“You dumb motherfucker,” you hissed without hesitation.

You’d just managed to shove him away—not far, but away—when you scrambled into a sitting position and slapped a hand over your stomach. Expecting to feel a churning and an awful pinch as you came to make out some vague sensation of Joel’s seed painting your insides, you were surprised when you didn’t get it at all.

In point of fact, Joel had just sprayed a full Jackson Pollock onto your stomach and was blinking, still fisting his cock as you quickly made your way back to your feet.

Where was that wetness coming from?

You stood and stared down at your stomach. Your legs. The translucent, trickling something that had paved a clear path between your thighs and all over Joel’s front. It didn’t make sense, unless—

“You fuckin’ squirted!” Joel cheered.

Your first instinct was to make a face.

That shit only happened in poorly produced pornos and movies based on books by Colleen Hoover, not real-life human beings. What the hell was this man on about?

“Be fucking serious,” you scowled, reaching for a stray shirt on the floor. Before realizing it was even yours, you hastily swiped several big globs of Joel’s cum with it. Your face grew even more enflamed, and yourself, oddly…ashamed. You couldn’t quite make sense of why Joel was grinning so big, or why you felt so embarrassed by what appeared to be a natural bodily function, but you suspected it probably had something to do with the state of sex education in Texas. Those fuckers definitely skipped squirting in favor of abstinence-only rhetoric.

Still weird. Still gross. You wished Joel would stop smiling.

“Lose the look or I’ll slap that fuckin’ grey off your head.”

Admittedly, neither aftercare nor communication was your métier. You started throwing on clothes, annoyed.

Meanwhile, Joel was swiping moisture off his abdomen three thick fingers at a time and wiggling the residue up for you to see—‘All it is is a sign of good lovin’, sweets, ain’t nothin’a be ashamed of!’—and you gave him just one finger in return. You were sliding your shorts up your legs and attempting to scrap the jizz off your FEDRA top when Joel started shrugging on his stolen clothes, too.

Your back was turned to him, eyes scanning the almost too-calm outdoors through the window a minute later, when you felt an arm snake close around your waist.

“Tastes a little like honey,” Joel crooned in your ear, doubtlessly smirking as he swayed you, “Only sweeter.”

You rolled your eyes. No cunt tasted like a honeycomb.

And you tried to say as much when he stroked over the strip of exposed skin between your shorts and the hem of your shirt, squeezing you tighter, but Joel was too good. He spidered a teasing touch over your tummy and yanked you back into his chest when you squealed and tried to break free. Then your sides, your ribcage, your shoulder blades—anyplace Joel could tickle, he tried to—and most spots, you were squeamish as hell. You clamped a hand over your half-open, giggling mouth, and when you felt him flip you around, you didn’t protest.

Suddenly, Joel’s hands were on either side of your face. He wasn’t smiling quite so big anymore but nevertheless maintained a kind glint behind his eyes. They were soft.

“‘M’sorry,” he said.

Then, pausing as if to consider his words, he said,

“You did great.”

He stopped again to press a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“So good.”

When he saw another smile twitch at the corners of your lips, as though asking him for more, he kissed those too.

“If that was your first time with…that…I’m, uh…”

“What?”

Another beat. Another stupid, stubbled grin.

“The luckiest…senior citizen sonovabitch, I guess.”

At the tail end of that, and once Joel had punctuated his sentence with another tender peck, you met his gaze again. Somehow, it had only gotten softer. His thumbs were searing the gentlest of imprints in the apples of your cheeks, his breaths were even and warm, and if you hadn’t known any better, you might’ve thought the man was contemplating saying something else to you then.

He didn’t.

The bridge to an old Billy Joel song made sure of that.

“And when she’s walkin’, she’s lookin’ so f-i-i-i-ine.”

You heard gravel crunch outside the cabin.

“And when she’s talkin’, she’ll say that she’s m-i-i-i-ine.”

Footsteps bounding up the half-rotted, cedar steps.

“She’ll say I’m not so tough just because I’m in love wi—SHIT.”

Tess’s face went blank the second the door swung open.

Thankfully, both of you were clothed. You and Joel leapt apart like she’d just caught you in doggy, though. And Tess looked like she might’ve seen an asscheek or two with the way she was staring at you both, letting the screen door slam shut, and a wordless ‘what-the-fuck’ caught somewhere in the tepid air between you three.

You stared at Tess, and Tess stared at you. Joel peered over her shoulder for the arrival of any more onlookers or folks just wanting to sing ‘Uptown Girl’ in your general vicinity. Fortunately, no one else appeared behind her.

But Tess looked awestruck enough for fifty people. She blinked and visibly swallowed as her gaze shifted to Joel.

“So FEDRA does dick appointments now?” she hissed.

“No!”

“I’m not—”

“He’s from the other camp.”

“You’re shitting me. Absolutely shitting me right now.”

You brought both hands to your face in a stifling, quiet desperation, unsure what to do. Joel just blinked back.

“I’m—we’re—” he started.

“Fucking!” Tess bit back, “You are so fucking. Raw.”

She wasn’t wrong. Her sixth sense for knowing who was having clandestine sex in her bed was kind of insane.

But, where you expected a look of horror to crawl into those taut, too-smart-for-her-own-good features, you found your bunkmate starting to raise her eyebrows.

Then laugh.

Tess threw her head back and laughed because she thought you were boinking a FEDRA camp counselor.

Joel shared a similar look of surprise but didn’t laugh.

“Yeah, I’m uh…J—” Again, he made as if to speak, to introduce himself, but Tess cut him off. About to wheeze.

“Lucien Flores, you dirty dog!” she cackled.

Joel glanced down at his nametag, started to shake his head, and probably didn’t anticipate Tess smacking him on the shoulder in a semi-congratulatory sort of way. Given a little more muscle to the playful punch, she just might’ve knocked him over. Joel was then trying to pry the pin off his polo just as you stepped closer to her.

“Tess, he’s…” You considered spilling the beans en masse but quickly decided against it. You’d have to stick to the barest of bones if you had any hope of escaping this place. So, resuming, you squeezed her arm and just said:

“Flores is gonna bust us out. Get your shit and we’ll go.”

Theresa Servopoulos didn’t need to be told twice.

And when she scrambled over to her sex-stricken bunk, inquired with a hurried but patently grossed out expression about who the fuck had wet the bed while she was gone, Joel didn’t hesitate—he said it was him.

“FEDRA man with a piss kink. I like you already, Lucien.”

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