#like i love the practical effects used n makeup

[teasodium]

Wanted to do something for mermay and I've been watching the music video for Casual by Chappell a bit too much

[wonkizz]

do you feel the same way i do about you?

성훈 x fmr genre: angst warns: cursing, shit talking, alcohol/drinking, unrequited love, parties, not proofread wc: 1624

Sunghoon is your best friend. Someone you’ve gone through hard times with, someone who’s always been there for you. It was easy for you to catch feelings, but it was also just as easy to hide them away.

The one thing people always say about you and Sunghoon is that you’re so different it’s almost comical. He’s loud and cheerful, albeit around people he’s comfortable with, while you’re quiet and shy with practically everyone, even him.

You’ve tried over the years to branch out and make more friends, but you always find yourself falling short and just missing the mark.

But Sunghoon, he’s never made you feel bad about your personality, if anything he’s allowed you to embrace it.

Which is why when he convinced you to go to a party with him, he was as shocked as you were.

You don’t go to parties, they’re just not for you. But Sunghoon said this one would be good and a chance for you to make more friends.

He wanted to introduce you to his other friends, the ones he’s made at your college.

You were hesitant but decided it might be worth it in the end.

Only problem is, you don’t have party worthy clothes. Your style is basic, you wear jeans and sweaters on most occasions because you prefer comfort over anything else.

When you tell Sunghoon this, he urges you not to worry about it, saying he’ll handle it.

What exactly does that mean? Buying you the skimpiest outfit he could find.

The dress is short, barely covers your ass and your chest is nearly exposed.

“Sunghoon, I don’t think this is for me,” you say, staring at yourself in the mirror.

You did your own hair and makeup, although barely any, and the outfit was the final touch.

You don’t look like you.

“Are you kidding? You look great!” He says, enthusiastic as ever.

“I just… I don't look like myself, you know? I feel weird.”

“I promise, everything will be fine. I know you’re stepping out of your comfort zone for me, and I really appreciate it. This is just part of it.”

Sunghoon, ever the sweet talker, smiles when you nod.

“Okay, let’s go.”

The drive isn’t far, it’s being hosted by Sunghoon’s friend Jay.

When you say the house is gigantic, you mean it.

Your one bedroom is more like a studio compared to it.

Your nerves start to get the better of you, and you almost don’t want to get out of the car.

Sunghoon opens the passenger door for you, holding out a hand, “Come on.”

You take it, and he leads you up the steps and straight inside, not even bothering to knock.

Then again, why would he have to? It’s a party for god's sake.

He leads you through a wave of bodies until you reach the kitchen.

6 other guys are standing there and Sunghoon greets them eagerly.

You can’t help but stand there awkwardly, twiddling your fingers and looking down at the ground.

“Guys, this is Y/N, my best friend,” Sunghoon says as he begins to point at everyone, “Y/N this is Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunoo, Jungwon and Riki.”

You wave at them, giving a shy smile as they all greet you.

“You didn’t tell us how pretty she is, Sunghoon,” Heeseung says, raising an eyebrow.

Sunghoon scoffs, “Yeah yeah, don’t overwhelm her, this isn’t her type of thing.”

He grabs two beers from the fridge, opening them and handing you one.

You sip it gently, souring at the taste. You’re not a big drinker either.

It’s not long before Sunghoon effectively abandons you.

He dragged you to the dance floor one minute, then the next he was gone.

You don’t know why, but something is telling you to head upstairs.

It’s there you hear your name coming from a bedroom with the door slightly ajar.

“Why didn’t you introduce us to Y/N sooner?” You barely recognize Heeseung’s voice amongst all the noise coming from downstairs.

You certainly recognize Sunghoon as the next person to speak, “Parties aren’t her thing, I told you that.”

“We’ve been in college for 4 years though. This is the first time you’ve gotten her to come to one?”

“What else can I say? She’s a stick in the mud.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say about your best friend,” Sunoo speaks up.

“I know, but it’s true. She’s kind and all but she’s so shy and closed off that she can’t make friends. The only reason we really became friends is because our parents pushed us to be close.”

Ouch.

“So you’re friends with her out of pity?” Riki asks.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Sunghoon retorts, “she’s sweet and I appreciate having her as a friend but she’s kinda boring and our personalities don’t really match at all. If it weren’t for our parents, we probably wouldn’t be friends at all.”

“That’s harsh, man,” Jake pipes up.

“I know, I just…don’t know how else to describe her.”

You’ve never felt genuine heartbreak. Not until this moment.

So this is how he feels about you? The best friend you thought accepted you for who you are, truly just…tolerates you?

Has he always felt this way? Has he only kept you as a friend out of pity?

You never thought of yourself as less than when it came to Sunghoon, but now, you’re doubting everything you thought you knew.

As tears gather in your eyes, you turn around making your way back downstairs and out the front door.

You call yourself an uber and go home, crying silently in the back seat of this stranger's car.

Once you make it inside your apartment, you take the heels Sunghoon bought off, thank god because they were killing your feet.

Heading into your bedroom, you look at yourself in the mirror again. The girl glaring back at you, isn’t you. She’s what Sunghoon wants you to be, but clearly you can’t give him that.

You almost tear the dress as you’re taking it off, and change into sweats and a t-shirt.

As you lay in bed, you think back on your years with Sunghoon.

All the time he tried to convince you to do things with him, all the times you tried. All the times you asked him to do something with you and all the times he declined because they “weren’t his style.”

Has it really always been like this? You, trying to be different for Sunghoon, but Sunghoon, never trying for you?

Suddenly you feel humiliated.

Humiliated at the fact that your friendship with Sunghoon has all been a fluke.

You’ve always accepted Sunghoon for who he is. Yet, he never truly did the same for you.

Your phone buzzes beside you, Sunghoon’s contact coming up with a text.

‘Where are you?’ It says.

You don’t bother answering, instead, putting your phone on the charger and turning it off.

You fall asleep with your eyes swollen and heart broken.

When you turn your phone on the next morning, it’s full of texts from Sunghoon.

You, again, don’t bother answering. You’re disgusted by last night's events.

You don’t have class thankfully, so you lounge around in your pajamas all morning.

It’s not until noon when there’s a knock at your door.

You mentally slap yourself for not checking the peephole, because once you open it, you regret it.

Sunghoon stands there, an evident frown on his face.

“Why haven’t you answered my texts?” He says, immediately.

You feel snappy, like the word nice is not in your vocabulary at the moment.

“Can I be honest? I didn’t want to talk to you.”

Sunghoon’s face furrows, “Why? What’d I do?”

You just begin to laugh. You don’t know if it’s the leftover pain morphing into anger or the fact that you’re tired.

“Why are you here Sunghoon? I don’t need your pity, not anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

Then, you’re shouting, “I heard you last night! You’re friends with me out of fucking pity and I’m honestly disgusted!”

Sunghoon’s face morphs from confusion to shock.

“I…you heard me?”

“I did.” You nod, “And honestly, if you were so fucking bored of me, you should’ve just ended the ‘friendship’ instead of dragging it along like this.”

“Y/N I…I didn’t mean any of that—,”

“Yes you did! You did because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t have said it.”

There’s nothing but silence from his end, like he’s trying to process everything while you’ve already caught up.

You can feel tears pricking your eyes again and damn if it isn’t embarrassing to cry in front of him, but at this point, you don’t care.

“You know what hurts the most?” You ask as Sunghoon looks up, into your eyes.

“The fact that I did so much for you. You wanted to go out? Fine. You wanted me to put myself out there in a place I was totally out of place at? Fine. So many times I made myself uncomfortable for you. But the very few times I asked you to do something with me, for me, you always said no. It wasn’t your thing. Do you realize how fucking pathetic I feel knowing my friendship was so one-sided?”

Sunghoon doesn’t say a word, tears gathering in his own eyes. “I’m sorry.”

You nod, “I’m sorry too. Sorry that we both wasted our time. Sorry, that I ever had feelings for you. Consider this ‘friendship’ over, Sunghoon.”

With that, you close the door in his face, locking it before letting yourself break.

You settle on your couch, curling into a ball, clutching a pillow as you cry.

There’s a few stray knocks, but he eventually leaves.

WONKIZZ 2025

[gutsby]

Fake It Til You Make It (Or Drown)

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: Daryl finds out you faked an orgasm. Instead of getting mad, he decides to get even.

Warnings: NSFW. Every TWD character is drunk in this. Unprotected p-in-v. Soiling Michonne’s decorative towels and almost drowning Eugene. Carol-mandated makeup time with Daryl turns to edging and angry sex.

And the Oscar for Best Faked Orgasm goes to…

“Y/N,” Daryl groaned, shooting his load deep inside you.

You arched your back and curled your toes, even let out a sultry little gasp for good measure. Forced your walls to clench around his cock then pulse, periodically—you counted a silent one, two, squeeze in your head every so often and tried to make it so your tremors felt authentic. You practically had this shit down to a science by now.

Women like you weren’t built for quickies. You needed more time to cum, no matter the occasion.

You simply couldn’t and wouldn’t ever make it to climax with fifteen seconds of foreplay followed by Daryl throwing you up against the counter and jackhammering you hard on the edge for three minutes max. This wasn’t a porno, and you didn’t have a clit made of firecrackers.

Men like Daryl couldn’t stand the thought of you not cumming every time you had sex, though, so you sought to ease his mind on the matter during times you knew it was a physical impossibility to reach bliss. A liar you were not, but an occasional teller of euphoric fibs? Hell, you might’ve been tempted to dabble every now and then.

You adored the way he looked down at you when he finished, chocolate locks matted to his forehead and a smile shining bright on his face. He was tender and sweet, always gentle to pry you off of the sink, and he’d be watching you with admiration all the while.

Rick and Michonne’s booze-fueled pool parties had that effect on you both—always scrambling for a spare room to fuck in the second you arrived like you’d forgotten how good the other one looked dressed in swimwear.

Daryl shimmied the bottom half of your lime green bikini back up your legs and patted your rear with affection.

“I think Rick would be proud,” he said.

“I think Michonne would be pissed.”

You glanced down at the lovely little decorative towels Daryl had used as a sweat rag and made a mental note to wash those back at your place. You yelped when Daryl dropped his hand back down to your heat.

“Still sensitive?” he smiled.

“Uh huh.”

You were already trying to slide past his frame toward the bathroom door, where the sounds of the party outside were growing louder each minute. In truth, you knew that spot where Daryl’s fingers had almost grazed would have been a lot more sensitive had you actually just came, and that tell alone would have given your act away. You couldn’t have that, so you quickly pulled him in for a kiss and pushed his hands back up to your hips.

Daryl’s tongue traced the seal of your lips and parted them for a far more passionate kiss than you’d expected. You let his tongue roam anyway, but inside, you felt slightly confused as to why your boyfriend was still so…horny when he’d just blown his load a minute ago.

You moved languidly toward the door as Daryl continued to kiss you. He was touching your waist a little strangely, the more you came to think of it. Maybe frisky from the whiskey?

Your hand reached the doorknob the second his did. Daryl pulled away and let the corners of his mouth twist almost cruelly in a grin before turning the handle and nudging you out.

You shuffled a few awkward steps past the door. Daryl was hot on your heels, hand at the small of your back when his lips returned to your ear—just for a second, this time. He leaned in close, now, and murmured real low:

“I know you faked it.”

Then he pushed you forward again, only for you to trip over your own two feet trying to turn and face him.

“What?” you hissed. Playing dumb.

But if you could play dumb, Daryl was more than happy to play stupid as fuck. He ignored your outburst altogether and waved at someone behind you, pretending not to see you staring up at him with exasperation painting your face.

“Eugene! Swim trunks look great.”

Across the room, Eugene extended a lengthy ‘thank you’ and told Daryl that he, too, was looking snazzy, and you knew better than to try and pry Daryl’s attention away. Reluctantly, you turned around and made every effort not to show your present emotions on your face. In truth, you were nervous as fuck wondering what Daryl might do now that he knew you’d faked your climax.

You could try and make it up quick. Minimize the fallout.

The second Eugene departed, and it was just the two of you standing in the kitchen, you shamelessly reached for the outline of Daryl’s dick in his shorts.

Daryl swatted your hand away.

“My penis only goes where it’s appreciated,” he told you quietly, feigning that same stupid smile that signaled to everyone else who might pass by that things were fine.

They weren’t. Daryl probably hated your guts right now.

His seed was still dripping from your cunt, and you longed for the feeling of having him inside you, whole. But you got the sense that that wasn’t happening any time soon, as Daryl promptly greeted two more familiar faces and obliged you to mingle too. You faced Rosita and Abraham with a thinly veiled look of despair, and you gathered that the former picked up on it pretty fast.

“What’s up?” Rosita asked, pulling you to the side while Daryl and Abe chatted.

“I fucked up bad, like— legitimately screwed the pooch.”

“What did you do?”

You pursed your lips and felt the burn of Daryl’s glare over Rosita’s shoulder, sensing then that you’d probably be better off just keeping your mouth shut.

Hurriedly, you said under your breath,

“IfakedanorgasmandDaryl’sreallymad.”

“Daryl’s mad at what? Why?” Rosita said, shrill as ever.

You wanted to clamp your hand over her mouth, but it was too late. Daryl was quick to find your form lingering on his periphery and took your waist in one arm in a lasso-like motion. You guessed you’d be taken off to the slaughter any minute now—which was just getting chewed out by Daryl or given a half-dozen grumpy looks. You almost would’ve preferred the knife to the throat.

Confirming your worst fears, Daryl raised a beer with Abraham and suggested you all go for a swim.

That sounded like a setup if you’d ever heard one.

Perhaps overwrought with paranoia and a few too many Twisted Teas, you found your feet shuffling as slow as you could toward the thick sliding doors and Rosita at your rear asking what the hell was going on.

You made a big, fat ‘O’ with your hands and shook your head, hoping she’d understand—and Daryl wouldn’t see. It turned out neither of your wishes were to come true in that moment, and your boyfriend only pulled you closer to his side while the four of you strolled outside.

“Real mature,” he muttered.

“You’re one to talk,” you retorted.

“Could we please talk at a level most humans can hear?”

That last interjection was Eugene, sidling up to the group with his floaties already strapped to his biceps. You eyed the man, then his beer, then his bright red flotation devices, and hoped like hell Daryl wasn’t about to start playing drunk trivia now that your genius friend was plastered. Or worse yet, encourage him to swim.

“How many lies does the average woman tell in her life?”

You really needed to start keeping your hopes and dreams to yourself. You glared at Daryl.

Eugene was already devising some half-baked formula in his brain, or else retrieving another far-removed factoid that he’d learned on a game show in 2005, and presently answered Daryl’s question with a quirk of his brow.

“I…can’t say it’s a gender-dependent question, my friend. If I were to make an educated guess I’d give—”

“A million more for men,” Rosita interrupted, flashing a wry smile at Abraham, “Most men lie like they breathe.”

“Amen!” Carol called from the tiki bar. You loved and you hated Alexandria’s grown-up parties sometimes.

“Well maybe— maybe men lie more to get sex, but women lie about sex.” Daryl shot the most conspicuous look in your direction, and you’re fairly certain Rick and Michonne shared a look of, ‘Ah shit,’ simultaneously.

Inside, the two were secretly hoping they’d catch wind from the babysitter that Judith and RJ wanted to be picked up, or else learned that a horde of walkers had laid siege on one of the outer-facing walls, because they knew from experience that these fights never ended well. The last time you and Daryl ticked each other off in public there had come a very loud and very obnoxious karaoke rendition of Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Silver Springs’ sung drunkenly between the two of you, and frankly, no one at the party wanted to see a repeat of that.

You wrested your arm out of Daryl’s hold and took a seat opposite Carol at the bar. Nodding when she offered to pour you some tropical concoction with a lot of rum, then pretending not to see Sasha eye Daryl warily.

“Whiskey dick give him trouble?” she murmured to you.

“You say his brother’s name in bed?” Rosita quipped.

“First off, he’s dead,” you said, before dropping your voice to a whisper, “Second, it wasn’t the whiskey or anything, I just…couldn’t cum, so I faked it. That’s it!”

You figured if Daryl was airing out your dirty laundry for the whole group to hear, you might as well beat him to the punch when it came to your closest friends. You could tell Sasha was trying hard not to smirk.

“That’s…that’s it?” she reiterated.

“Just now,” you mumbled, “Don’t tell Rick and Michonne, but we were holed up in the bathroom an—”

“Anyway, okay, no details but you told a little lie, so what?” Sasha proceeded without a hitch.

Carol waved the margarita she was making in vehement agreement and handed it over to you. Telling you to drink, now, with her eyes as soon as she caught a glimpse of Daryl’s disgruntled expression across the way.

“Yeah, so what? You told a fib to keep his ego intact, what’s the harm?”

“I’m saying!” You pointed to her before taking a sip.

“I think honesty is the best policy,” Daryl declared out loud like he’d just discovered the Atlantic.

At his side, Eugene eyed him up and down as if to say, ‘What the fuck are we talking about?’ You surmised that probably only half the group understood what was going on between Daryl and you, but most got the gist that the two of you were beefing. Again. Carol proceeded to drain her piña colada like her life depended on it, and Abraham and Rick suddenly gained interest in something inside.

Daryl wasn’t backing down. In fact, he raised his voice.

“And if she’s willin’ ta lie once, who knows how many other times she—”

“Be fucking for real,” you rolled your eyes, “I wasn’t faking most other times, and you know it.”

“Most times? So ya did it other times?”

“Folks, I cannot say with utmost certainty that this is a healthy coping mechanism for a relationship like y—”

“Shut up, Eugene.”

You could tell just how incensed Daryl was by the color of his cheeks. In a world that almost never raised the hue above a baby pink, you were alarmed to see him turn a shade or two shy of crimson. You knew something lewd or unkind was likely to flare behind those cobalt eyes any second now.

“How many times for Spencer, then?” Daryl growled.

He knew that shit was off-limits. A happenstance situationship that started and ended long before you’d ever dated Daryl. Now he was just being mean.

“Alright, guys, how about we take a second to cool off?” Michonne was using the same voice she assumed whenever trying to talk Judith or RJ out of a cranky mood. You saw Daryl already had the insolent pout of the children down pat, that was for sure.

“Maybe if you’d asked Leah she would’ve said the same,” you spat.

Daryl abandoned his beer and moved closer to you, just narrowly checked by Sasha’s warning touch and even more persuasive gaze. He paused for a second, crinkled his nose, and seemed to be considering something a moment or two longer before finally deciding to be petty.

“At least I didn’t have to ask Leah to swallow.”

That was it. You reared back and chucked your bright pink strawberry marg directly at Daryl’s head, unleashing a string of unsavory names as you did so. Daryl easily side-stepped, and the next in line to receive the airborne drink was Eugene. Completely defenseless, per usual, and not at all prepared to be hit in the face by a plastic glass filled with syrup, liquor, and slush, the man was a sitting duck.

He shrieked the second it struck him below the eyebrow. His hand clamped over his eye, and he stumbled back a few steps.

“Eugene!” came more than one voice, including your own.

The mulleted man wailed and spun perilously on his heels, trying blindly to make a beeline for the house but ending up walking straight into the pool ahead of him. Your whole party jumped to their feet and scrambled after him.

Apart from the aid of his arm floaties, the man was completely unable to swim—and still blinking fiercely through a sheet of strawberry-flavored ice as he flailed about in the water and cried for help.

Sasha, Rosita, Michonne, and Daryl didn’t hesitate; all four dove head first into the pool to save their friend.

Two hours had passed, and you and Daryl were still in time-out—courtesy of Carol and Michonne.

Deprived of your right to drink, smoke, fight, or fuck (at least not with condoms), you and your boyfriend had been placed in indefinite non-solitary confinement sitting perched outside the hot tub with instructions to make up, or else. So far, no words had passed between the two of you, and it had just started to rain.

Daryl waved to the kitchen window, where Carol was watching you both with narrowed eyes.

“Can we come inside now?” he groaned, motioning to the storm clouds overhead.

Carol gave him one emphatic thumbs down and turned to stir her broth on the stove.

This was your group-imposed “getting along” punishment: stay outside until you make amends. You kicked your feet in the bubbling water and cursed yourself for ever thinking it was a wise idea to stroke a man’s ego and fake an orgasm in the first place.

Then you lowered yourself into the water, seeing as there was not much else to do.

“Ya tryna be human stew? Get out,” Daryl snapped.

“Great, maybe Carol can throw me in her soup and I won’t have to continue this stupid fucking conversation.” You knew the dangers of swimming in a rainstorm, but you didn’t want to give Daryl the satisfaction of knowing you’d stop for his sake. You sank deeper into the hot tub.

Daryl slid across the wet slab of rock and concrete and reached for your shoulder.

“Quit bein’ difficult.”

“Quit being pushy,” you said with an ineffectual splash in his direction. His fingertips still seared hot on your skin as he touched you just above the shoulder blade.

“Oh, was I also bein’ pushy—” Daryl cut himself short.

You looked up, curious. Still refusing to budge.

“Pushy when?”

“When you took your pretty ass outta this tub before you got struck by lightning.”

Daryl received an unamused scowl in return. When you pressed again, he bent down and took you underneath both armpits, hauling you out of the hot tub with infuriating ease.

“Or when I…wanted to have sex and you clearly didn’t.”

Ouch. You jumped back in the water with an even deeper frown.

“I still wanted to have sex, Daryl! I just couldn’t get off as quick as you.”

“So you lied.”

You hastened to the other side of the mini pool when Daryl climbed inside. Your back flattened on the rock, and your eyes shot him a critical look as if to say, ‘I ain’t coming out.’

“Technically, you never asked,” you shrugged.

Daryl scoffed and straightened his own posture on the opposite end of the hot tub, feigning amusement but likely inflamed with irritation inside.

“I touched— I rubbed your pussy to see if you were sensitive. Don’t that mean somethin’?”

“Means you didn’t ask me shit. I never said I came.” You folded your arms across your chest in defiance, but deep down, you knew that a lie by omission was still a lie. Daryl’s facial expression communicated as much as he swam in your direction.

“So you couldn’t…ask me to wait a little longer to help you finish?” Daryl approached you close enough to graze your knees, so you felt obliged to press yourself harder against the wall, “Ya know I’d eat the cum out yer pussy if I knew it’d get ya off, sweetheart.”

Indeed, you knew. You should’ve known better than to accuse him of selfishness or inadequate communication—Daryl was a generous lover, and one who was always willing to wait, whether that meant delaying his climax or putting a pause on sex altogether. You felt an unlikely shiver in the boiling hot water when your boyfriend’s frame slipped between your legs beneath the surface.

“Even if I’d finished first, ya know I’d lick ya clean and make that pretty pussy cum all over my face an’ fingers. Ya do know tha’, right?”

He wanted to hear you say it. His hands had just started to trail a slow course up your legs as you released a shaky breath and nodded your head.

“I know, baby, I just— I just like seeing how riled up and sweaty you get when you fuck me for a quickie. You always seem so…satisfied pulling out I just hate to make you get hard all over again on my account.” Your voice was quieter then, breaking off in the gentlest whimper when Daryl’s knuckles grazed your heat.

Then, with the other hand, he moved your fingers to feel how hard he was under his swim trunks.

“Thought ya knew me better’n tha’,” he tsked you softly as he rubbed your hand up and down the length of his clothed erection, “I’m always hard fer ya, honey.”

You swallowed and sighed the second you felt him throb in your hand underwater. You wanted him now.

When your fingers fumbled for the drawstring of his shorts, however, Daryl nudged your touch away. Brought his own to the bottom of the bright green bikini you were wearing and slipped a digit underneath the fabric.

“This poor little clit,” he lamented, circling just lightly enough to draw breathy mewls from your mouth.

You spread your legs even wider to allow him access. When he pulled you to his chest, you felt his heart thrumming as fast as yours was. The light drizzle of rain overhead was growing heavier by the second.

This was not the makeup session Carol or Michonne had envisioned when they’d sent the two of you off to talk. You and Daryl just happened to make amends a little differently than most—semi-publicly, sometimes.

“Can’t imagine how bad it’s been achin’ since I last fucked that pretty little hole,” Daryl continued, index and middle finger now rubbing lazy circles over the spot where he’d pried your bikini to the side.

You sat, spread eagle with your mouth ajar and your eyes on his. Oh, how he loved you like this: partly supine and looking so pathetic. His fingers worked even faster.

“Been needin’ daddy’s touch, has it?” he teased before moving his digits to your slick entrance. Then, pressing just a finger inside and feeling your walls instinctively contract, “Now tha’s a believable squeeze.”

He smiled and you realized he knew a real clench from a fake one by now. That dramatized show you’d put on for him earlier almost made you feel ashamed now, gathering just how good a proper fingerfucking felt when you actually gave your boyfriend the chance to try.

He pushed another finger inside and curled them both with expert precision. You let out a helpless moan the second he grazed your g-spot.

“Baby, I need it,” you whimpered, “I need to cum so, so badly.”

Daryl nodded as though feeling your pleasure—and pain. He worked a vicious rhythm against your cunt and let a smile spread across his lips the longer he watched you writhe and moan amidst the hot, churning waters. When your stomach started to flutter and your entrance gave a warning pulse, you didn’t even need to inform him of your impending climax; you closed your eyes and prepared for the sweet bliss in expectant silence.

That was, until, Daryl retracted his fingers and climbed out of the hot tub.

Sorely misled ecstasy withered before your eyes.

You whined. Louder than you meant to.

“Daryl!”

Your boyfriend had taken up a spot standing at the side of the hot tub, pretending to be so overcome with heat exhaustion that he just couldn’t stay in a second longer.

He wiped his brow and watched you smugly.

“You say sumn’, sugar?” he asked as he sat down on the water’s edge to plant a kiss at the top of your head.

“You’re sick,” you muttered, dodging any additional condescending smooches by scooting over. When Daryl slowly leaned down toward the water, you scowled.

Then he patted the wet slab of concrete beside him.

“Jus’ want you to cum on my tongue. C’mon.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world—clearly he couldn’t eat you out underwater, so he was just being kind to give you a place to sit while he tonguefucked you silly.

You pretended not to notice the smirk twisting at the corners of his lips as you climbed out of the hot tub and reluctantly followed his motions.

Your legs spread just a little, now perched at the edge of the sauna while Daryl sank back in the water and positioned his head perfectly with your core. A sidelong glance to the nearest window showed that Carol had disappeared from the kitchen, but you knew you would have to make this quick.

Without ceremony, you yanked a tuft of Daryl’s wet hair and guided his face even closer to your heat. Far past the point of pleasantries, you pulled your bathing suit to the side and presented yourself, bare as ever, to Daryl’s eager tongue and lips.

Your boyfriend supplied you with both in an instant, dragging his tongue up the whole length of your slit with a groan. Wanting to savor the taste, were it not for your quiet pleas for him to finish this, please, Carol could be back any minute.

Daryl lapped between your folds, happy as ever, and left a series of suctioned kisses on the spots where he knew you needed him most. Gripped your thighs in either hand, pulled your bottoms so far he almost snapped the fabric in half, and practically devoured that needy cunt.

The man was a pussy-eating prodigy, to put it mildly. He dove deep between your thighs like oxygen was the furthest thing from his mind and sucked on your clit as if it were a lifeline. Your back arched out of instinct, legs clamping on either side of his head and chest rising and falling in stuttered breaths. You moaned and felt Daryl’s own grunts join the reverberations shaking your body; for a second, you thought you were almost seeing stars.

When Daryl inserted two fingers and swirled his tongue around that sensitive nub, you were certain that moment was soon to come.

“Mmm, just like that, baby, fuck,” you breathed, rutting your hips ever slightly against his face. Daryl, soaked with your arousal and waves of scalding water, just held his place and kept licking over, and over, and over.

Your grip fastened harsher in his hair the second a pleasant coil pulled tight along your tummy. You planted your calves on either side of Daryl’s neck, braced your body to the concrete, and felt a heady bliss make its second appearance of the night.

A quiet slurp marked the sudden disconnect between Daryl’s mouth and your aching core. You almost fell off the edge of the hot tub as your mind and body both stopped devastatingly short of full climax. This time, you almost shrieked.

“DARYL!”

“Got a tongue cramp. Sorry.”

Too bad he was grinning from ear-to-ear with no trace of a muscle spasm anywhere on his face. You splashed him with a massive wave and went scrambling to your feet.

“Fuck this. I’ve got a vibrator at home.” You were already pulling your panties back in place, muttering some less-than kind words under your breath, and kicking yourself twice for ever believing Daryl was mature enough to treat this as anything other than a game.

“Hey! Baby, wait!” Daryl called after you. Then he was getting up and getting out too.

“You blame me for fucking around, and you— you go and pull some shit like this?!”

You waved a silent, dismissive hand when Daryl started after you, trailing hot on your heels with a look that almost would’ve seemed apologetic had he not been fighting a laugh the entire time.

When his hands landed on your shoulders from behind, you moved to shrug him off and told him, with a finger supplanting your words, to get fucked. You groaned internally when Daryl pulled you in for a tight embrace.

“It’s called edging, sweetheart,” he hummed in your ear.

“It’s called being an asshole and shutting my orgasms down on purpose.” You wriggled to free yourself from his arms but found the man behind you unwilling to cooperate; in fact, the more you struggled, the more snug his grasp got. You battled against his far superior strength no longer than a minute or two before Daryl plucked you right off your feet and into a bridal hold.

“What do we say when we really wanna cum?” he asked, almost patronizing. Then, as if to put a finer point on it, he ambled toward the edge of the pool and swayed your soft, soaking frame over it.

“You’re fucking crazy!” you hissed, still wrestling against his chest.

You sensed that might not have been the wisest choice of words given your current predicament, but Daryl didn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

“Did I hear a ‘please’ in there?” he asked, rocking you back and forth over the water’s edge.

“Please put me down.” Your voice was low and importunate, eyes warning him just the same.

“O-kay.”

And down you went. Into the pool. Your boyfriend still cradling you in his arms while you thrashed and splashed and called him every profane name in the book.

You’d just swept the wet mass of hair from your forehead when Daryl pinned you to the wall. Your back was flush to his chest, and his breath was hot on your ear.

“Promise y’ain’t gonna fake it this time?” Daryl murmured through gritted teeth, one hand yanking your swimsuit bottoms to the side and the other pulling his own down his hips.

You gripped the side of the pool and cast a quick look to the kitchen. Carol was nowhere in sight, but who knew how much longer she—and everyone else—would be gone? You bit your lip when Daryl dragged the head of his cock between your legs.

“We can’t do this, Dar—”

“I said, are you gonna fake it? Pretty simple question.”

Your folds had already parted with his length in between them, hole pleading for his entry when all he had done was rut his hips in place and tease your slit. You pressed your ass right into him and tried hard not to whine as you sensed your cover could be blown at any moment. Daryl nipped at the skin behind your ear and repeated his question, this time enveloping your frame with his when he bent you over the side of the pool.

Your eyes flickered to the warm glow of the kitchen, and you felt the rain come down even harder—your vision, with the distance and the downpour, was almost totally obscured.

Fuck it.

“Promise I won’t— I swear.” Your voice now scarcely above a whisper.

That seemed to satisfy Daryl well enough. No more than a second later, he was plowing inside you, gripping your hip for support and your hand in his own for what seemed to be encouragement of sorts. You squeezed his fingers back as soon as the first influx of pleasure rolled through you.

“Quiet, quiet for me, baby,” Daryl warned close to your ear, gaze scanning the house for any new onlookers, “Jus’ stay. fuckin’. quiet.”

He wasted no time railing you from behind—an impressive feat for a man standing halfway underwater—and simultaneously kept a lookout for your friends inside. Before him, you’d folded like a lawn chair over the wet concrete, yielding to each thrust like you were born for this position and made to take his cock. Then your walls clenched around him, whimpers came loud and fast, and the rain beat a shrill cadence all around.

Daryl dropped a hand to your clit and smiled the second you whined and almost bucked him off. Finally, that sweet sensitivity was back.

He knew from two false starts and more hard edging than you ever would have liked to endure, you wouldn’t last long. You felt a pressure on your neck bringing you up to his chest and those same, ardent lips almost charring your skin when they pressed above your ear:

“Who’s a good girl?”

Another sharp thrust in your cunt.

“I am,” you cried, clawing at his wrist the second his fingers started tightening around your throat. Almost unable to bear it, but loving it all the same.

“Gonna be honest with daddy ‘bout those orgasms?” Daryl chided, “Make a mess of daddy’s cock like yer s’posed’a?”

You nodded as best you could with your throat trapped in his hold and your lips damn near turning blue the second he got to kissing them. Your back arched into his chest, and your body convulsed with pleasure the deeper he went. Daryl loved the way you watched him as he did.

That was what he’d missed. That was what he knew you couldn’t muster in your piss-poor performances of late, what had tipped him off to the truth of your euphoric state with times like today. This was what he needed to see every time he fucked you from now on—if he had to spend a lifetime or two trying to get you there, so be it.

Daryl caught your lips in a long, heated kiss before bottoming out inside you. The sharp nudge to your insides and the brush against your most delicate spot was more than enough to push you over the edge.

Bliss broke through your body like a bat out of hell, and your moans rang loud in Daryl’s mouth as he fucked you through it. And, sadistic motherfucker that he was, he actually smiled when your teeth sank through his lip and drew blood from the surface.

All he cared was that you came, no bullshit this time.

As a metallic tang and an ecstatic trance washed over you, your body went limp in Daryl’s arms. He pulled out, still hard, and rubbed a hand over your ass underwater.

You could feel him beaming with pride right behind you.

But, just when he moved to turn you around, a sight in the bushes sent your heart in your throat. One dark patch of foliage shook with unusual force a few yards away, and you heard some sticks break as someone, shielded by leaves, appeared to lose their balance.

Daryl’s grip on you locked, then tightened, then dropped altogether when a clumsy form came tumbling out.

“EUGENE!”

[gingerteafairy]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 (𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

Tangerine’s back, heaven can wait

tags n warnings: song!fic, dom!tangerine, language, face sitting, marking, harsh, overstimulation, praise/degradation kink, tie, teasing, begging, cum eating, unprotected piv, slight breeding, aftercare. word count: 2.6k. masterlist

Tangerine was far away, and your body was already feeling the effects of the distance. You were more distracted, sleeping more, yet still anxious, constantly checking your phone for a text or a call from him. You knew he was busy with work, so it wasn’t unusual to get a message at some random hour or even in the middle of the night, just him saying he loved you.

But today was different. Today was the day you’d finally see him again. You woke up to a text saying he’d gotten into town late last night and had to handle some things with Lemon before he’d be free to give you all the attention you’d been craving.

You: So, are we going out tonight?

Tan: Yeah, babe. Dress up real nice for me.

You: Ugh, my heart just skipped a beat. What time you coming by?

Tan: What time’s good for you?

You: Anytime that works for you, Tan.

Tan: Alright then, 6 o’clock.

The hours seemed to drag, and you couldn’t stop checking your phone, rereading his messages like some kind of lovesick fool. You kept second-guessing your outfit, your makeup, everything. What would you do when you saw him? Where would he take you? Tangerine always managed to surprise you, and it was one of the things you loved most about him.

By mid-afternoon, you were already dressed, slipping into the black dress he’d given you—the one he said looked perfect on you. It clung to you in all the right places, a little piece of him wrapping around you like a memory. You could barely sit still, and by the time the clock hit six, you were practically buzzing with anticipation.

When the doorbell finally rang, your heart leapt. Opening it, there he was—Tangerine, standing there with that cocky, lopsided smile and those piercing eyes that always seemed to see right through you.

“Damn, love,” he cheered, giving you a slow once over. “You get more gorgeous every time I see you. C’mere and give your man a hug.”

He opened his arms, and you didn’t hesitate, throwing yours around his neck as he pulled you close. The kiss that followed was nothing short of electric, the kind that left you both breathless, all the pent-up longing pouring out in one touch.

“My makeup’s gonna be ruined before we even leave,” you teased, though you didn’t sound like you really cared.

“You know how much i love to ruin you,” he replied, pulling you in for another kiss, slower this time, his hands settling on your waist.

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, feeling the smudge of lipstick on both your lips. You’d missed him too much to care.

“Got us a reservation at your favorite spot. What d’you feel like eatin’, babe?” he asked, leaning back just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing lightly over your lower lip as he tilted your chin up.

“I don’t know,” you responded, your eyes flicking to his mouth before meeting his gaze again. “What about you?”

He exhaled through his nose, his thumb tracing the curve of your lip again as his eyes locked onto yours. “You.”

“Oh yeah?” you whispered, your voice a little breathless, your chest brushing his as you felt the space between you shrink.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, his lips finding yours again, more heated this time, as he backed you into the house, kicking the door shut behind him.

Tangerine pressed you up against the wall, his body firm against yours as his hands traveled down, exploring every inch of you through the soft fabric of the dress, eyes lingering on your hips, waist and breasts.

“You look so damn good in this dress, love,” he remarked, his fingers tracing the hemline before sliding back up to your waist, his blue eyes drinking in every detail.

You smiled, locking the door behind you and slipping the key into his jacket pocket. “Still feel like going out to dinner?”

“Fuck the dinner, it can wait,” he replied, grinning as he pulled you in for another kiss, more desperate this time, guiding you further into the house to your room that never forgot his smell.

He pulled your neckline down, revealing your warm breasts and nipples already hard from the explosive excitement inside you. “There they are… my girls…” he breathed, palming the flesh in his hands, squeezing, cupping the weight, lifting them.

He rolled the small spot with his thumb, watching your body tremble at the touch. He licked his lips before brushing your mouths together, savoring the moment with his tongue massaging yours with his fingers on your nipples, giving a light tug before his palms calmed and pressed the skin again, marking it with red he loved to see.

“When you stop playing around, we can go to the main course.” You teased, the heat agonizing inside you, crying to have him filling you again.

“Manners, love.” He scolded softly, squeezing your face in his calloused hand and pulling you dominantly towards him. “You know the appetizer comes first, don’t try to rush my dinner.”

“I want you so much, Tan—please… it's been a long time,” You begged, trembling at the burning sensation between your legs, your eyebrows knitted together. “I want it so bad.”

He laughed at your desperation, moving one of his hands down to your thigh and slapping the skin before lifting his member to his waist. “Take off your clothes, ‘m gonna take care of you.”

He commanded, releasing your thigh and watching you do as he told, sliding the silk over your body, letting it fall to the floor, your skin covered only by the thin lacey panties. “Wonderful.” He praised, biting his lower lip.

You fought the urge to cover your body, you knew Tangerine could spend unbelievable hours looking at you. But this time, he just walked over to the bed, took off his blazer, loosened his tie and took off his shoes, lying down on the bed next.

“C’mere, love.” He ordered gently again and you followed him to the bed, standing on the side. He looked at you again and smiled. “Sit on my face.”

Your eyes widened briefly, the air leaving your mouth heavy at his tone. This was the appetizer. You hurried to take off your panties, placing your fingers on the hem. “Stop.” He interrupted and you looked at him. “Turn around and take ‘em off slowly.”

“Yes.” You replied sheepish, turning the way he wanted and slowly lowering the fabric, taking the opportunity to tease a little with your ass up, giving a sight of the small sticky strand stuck to your panties.

“That's it—that's right… yeah, like this.” he grunted and you heard the sound of his belt opening, followed by the sound of a zipper. You lowered it down your legs, taking your time on your heels, a little torture before throwing it on the floor and turning to Tangerina completely naked.

He knit his eyebrows together at the view, touching your thigh, moving up your hip and finally to your belly, going down until he touched the wet folds, making light circles on your clit. He grinned and looked at you, watching you place your knees on either side of his face before going down on his mouth.

“Shit— fucking delicious pussy…” he breathed, opening your folds, drinking in every detail with his eyes, lifting his head to touch his nose to your clit, shaking it.

“Tangerine...”

You gasped, looking at the scene and judging by his dizzy expression, he was loving it. Wiggling his nose once more before pulling your hips hard and burying his face there with his entire mouth along the length, sucking the spot. “Shit, shit.”

His tongue began to work on the spot with short and quick licks, drawing circles and eights figures, digging his fingers in the cheeks of your ass, holding them in place as you trembled in his mouth.

Tangerine looked like a starving man, grunting and breathing deeply, his face contorted with immense pleasure, his eyes closed.

“Tan… Tan… It’s so good, so good. Don’t stop, please.” You were a mess of moans, ultra sensitive, rocking your hips against his face and having to hold yourself with your hands on the mattress to keep from succumbing.

He slapped your thigh, pulling you closer to his tongue, getting faster and faster, knowing you were close. He opened his eyes, you shivered with the eye contact, getting closer and closer to that feeling, knowing full well that Tangerine wouldn't stop until you came and wet his whole face and neck as he loved to feel it.

Chasing this growing sensation, you pressed yourself on his lips, exploding in an overwhelming orgasm, almost falling, but he managed to hold you by the waist, not stopping his tongue for a second to prolong the sensation.

"Stop, Tan... Stop, it's too much—" you begged, shaking uncontrollably. He didn't answer, just touched his nose to the spot, breathing in the essence and licking slowly once more until he licked all the liquid that was spilled.

"You're so— fucking delicious." He murmured, pushing his face away and you fell onto the mattress, still in shock, watching him finally lower his pants and underwear, revealing his wet, veiny cock. "Like to feel your taste and scent on my face, remains on my mustache, it's fucking good."

He was aching. You didn’t need to touch him to know he was rock hard. Tangerine collected the wetness on his chin and moisturized his cock with it, pumping his length. His breathing was uneven, a glint of sweat on his forehead that he wiped away with the back of his hand, flashing you that signature smirk.

“All fours. Ass up.”

“Yes, Tan.” You spoke almost in a weak whisper, getting into the desired position with your head on the pillow waiting for his touch.

“Spread your legs for me, love.”

You did so, spreading them as wide as you could on the mattress, his blue eyes scanning you as he positioned himself between your legs, freeing himself from the tie.

“Your arms, please,” He added and you obediently lifted them behind your back, feeling the fabric tie your wrists. You were sure he was smiling. “Is it too tight, love?”

“No. It's—perfect, Tan.” You breathed, looking at him over your shoulder.

“I love seeing you surrender like this for me.” He commented, slapping your ass before burying his cock in your entrance all at once, eliciting a moan from you. “So beautiful f’ me, all open.”

“Tangerine, please…” you begged, grinding your hips on his pelvis, receiving nothing more than a slap in response and his hands holding you in place.

“Shhh, take your time.” He shushed, caressing the red skin with affection, lowering his face to your ear. “Wanna eat slowly. Savor it. You understand that, don’t you?”

“Yes— I do…” you agreed, nodding frantically, he clicked his tongue at that and bit your earlobe.

“Are you that hungry for my cock, darling?” He murmured, pulling his cock out slowly, making you feel every inch intentionally coming out of your soaked canal. “I can feel your greedy pussy sucking me inside. Is that what you want?”

“Yes, that’s what I want, please. I can’t take it anymore.” You whimpered, writhing on the mattress as he thrust in again, your back arching. “That’s it. Fuck— yes. More. More.”

He snorted, tugging on your hair, looking at your messy face. “What a cocksleeve you are. You just came on my face and you already want more?” He teased with his slow withdrawal again, laughing when you squealed, rocking your hips with just the tip inside. “You said you missed me, but you just wanted my cock fucking you dumb, don't you, my pretty little slut?”

“No, i missed you, Tan. Really— I did.” you gasped, grinding again, desperate for any contact. Ineffective.

“Really? That's not what i see…” he provoked, taking off his cock and slapping his tip on your tantalized clit. “Tell me what you want… Tell me, princess.”

“I want you…” you begged and he released your hair, pressing a kiss to your mouth before moving up again.

“I can’t leave my girl hungry, can I?” he cooed and finally penetrated her again, keeping a fast pace, as intense as the desperation you felt.

“Oh, fuuuck…” you screamed, struggling to stay in place without your arms. Tangerine noticed this and let go of your wrists, you immediately leaned back, crying when he angled his body to put only in the spongy spot.

“Oh, crying already?” He cooed, pulling you by the neck to press your bodies together without losing the rhythm. “You said you wanted this. So take it—fuck—fucking take it all.”

He pressed his hand on your belly, intensifying the contact while the other held your body by the breasts. His head went to your neck, licking and marking your skin, matching your entire flushed body with the red marks from Tangerine’s fingers and palms. His thrusts became more clumsy, you knew he wouldn’t be able to take it and neither would you. Knowing this, he doubled his efforts and turned your face for a sloppy and desperate kiss.

Your blurred eyes looked into his, who were determined to make you get there first, lowering your body again and fitting his face into your neck.

“Come on, love. Cum for me.” He encouraged, taking a deep breath as he felt his own orgasm growing and getting closer and closer with your pussy squeezing him.

“…Tangerine.” You screamed, spilling yourself, your pleasure mixing with his as he began to shoot long white ropes into your womb.

“Fuck, you’re perfect—perfect.” he murmured, groaning loudly as he released everything with slow thrusts. He lingered for a moment longer, moving up, kissing your shoulder, scapula, mid—back until he was completely straight.

Tangerine got down and stood on the bed while you collapsed on the sheets, turning to lie on your back. His eyes went to your entrance covered in his dripping seed. He sat next to you and touched his fingers there, bringing them to your mouth to taste it, then took it to his, closing his eyes.

You looked at him, taking in the sight—Tangerine, his skin glistening with a light sheen of sweat, his usual sharp edge softened by the tenderness in his expression. He looked so damn good like this, completely relaxed and completely yours. Moments like this were your favorite, the kind where it felt like the world outside didn’t even exist.

“Now I gotta redo my makeup,” you broke the silence with a teasing grin. “Pretty much my whole body, actually.”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head before leaning in to kiss you, his lips brushing yours gently. “You don’t need to. You look perfect just like this,” he murmured, his smile warm as he reached up to tuck your messy hair behind your ear, his thumb trailing softly across your cheek.

“What about our reservation?” you brought up, the thought suddenly crossing your mind.

He chuckled again, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back in that effortlessly charming way that made your stomach flip.

“Oh yeah, the reservation,” he repeated, his tone light as his eyes scanned the room before coming back to meet yours. With a smirk and a raised brow, he added, “Guess I’ll just call and move it to another night.”

“Can you even do that?” you wondered aloud, shifting closer to sit beside him, your shoulder brushing his arm as you settled in.

“I can do anything for my girl,” he said quietly, his voice low and smooth as he leaned in to give you another quick kiss, his lips lingering just long enough to make your heart race. “I just don’t wanna leave my baby alone. I'll stay, heaven can wait.”

[pickingupmymercedes]

Sexual love - Lewis Hamilton

Part of 1K Jukebox Event

song: Sexual love - Maeta - @goldenroutledge

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

genre: fluff (i know i said it before, but this one is really simp Lewis)

wordcount: +1k

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The room buzzed with activity, the air thick with the scent of hairspray and perfume as the stylists flutter around me, making final adjustments to my hair and makeup.

I can see the way they glance at me through the mirror, a few murmurs here and there about how the dress is coming along, but I’m honestly barely paying attention.

My focus is on Lewis—leaning casually against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing that exists in the room.

And maybe to him, I am.

I try to ignore the way his gaze burns into me, the warmth of it creeping up my spine, settling low in my stomach.

He’s always looked at me like that—since the very beginning. You’d think by now, I’d be used to it. That I’d have built some kind of immunity to the intensity in his eyes, the way his stare alone can undo me, piece by piece.

Yeah, no. It still makes me feel like I’m twenty again, like I’m standing in front of him for the first time, unsure if I can handle everything that comes with being loved by him.

The stylist steps back, brushing a few stray strands of hair to the right place, and I catch my own reflection for the first time since I stood up.

The dress hugs me in all the right places, a deep open back, with off white complimenting my skin tone.

But when I glance up again, catching Lewis’s gaze in the mirror, the heat in his eyes tells me he’s seeing something else entirely.

Something that’s making his hands twitch at his sides, his jaw clench like he’s holding back.

The corner of my mouth twitches up, a small smile breaking through. Oh, he’s gone tonight.

I take a slow breath, lifting one shoulder in a mock stretch, just to see what it does to him to see my back muscles. His eyes darken, and I feel a thrill knowing I still have that effect on him.

God, it’s intoxicating. I could have a whole team of people in this room, and it still wouldn’t matter. The only person who matters right now is Lewis, standing there, devouring me with his eyes.

I slide my hands down the sides of the dress, smoothing out the fabric, my fingers grazing my hips as I shift slightly. His gaze follows the movement, and I can practically feel the restraint in him.

His body language, the heat radiating from him, the way his eyes are glued to me—it’s all speaking loud enough.

“Y/n, I’m going to grab the other options for you,” the stylist says, interrupting my thoughts.

I nod, murmuring something polite, but my mind is elsewhere—on Lewis, on the way I can feel his presence like gravity pulling me toward him.

As the stylist leaves, I fully catch Lewis taking a step closer, closing the distance. His eyes flicker to my reflection in the full-length mirror, and for a moment, neither of us moves.

It’s just me, him, and the crackling tension in the air.

“You like this one?” I ask, my voice soft but teasing, knowing full well what his answer will be.

He doesn’t respond immediately, but his lips curve into a slow, appreciative smile. “You know what you’re doing, babe.” His voice is low, like he’s holding back something more.

I laugh, but it’s breathy, affected by the way he’s looking at me like I’m something to be unwrapped, savored. “Come on, Lewis. You’ve been staring at me for the last twenty minutes. If you have a preference, now’s the time to tell me.”

He moves in closer, his hands coming to rest gently on my hips, fingers skimming the fabric as he pulls me back against him. The warmth of his chest presses into my back, and I can feel the slow rise and fall of his breath, steady but charged.

“The dress is beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. “But it’s not the dress I’m looking at.”

I close my eyes for a second, biting back a smile as I feel his breath on my neck.

He’s impossible when he gets like this—when he’s so consumed by me that it feels like nothing else in the world matters.

“You’re supposed to help me pick, not distract me,” I tease, but my voice is softer now, more vulnerable, because despite the lightness of my words, there’s a part of me that’s overwhelmed by how much I still want him—by how much he still wants me.

“I am helping,” he says, his hands sliding down my waist, fingers tracing the curve of my hips. “This is me helping.”

I turn around to face him, locking eyes, and the way he looks at me—God…

His hands are gentle, but his grip is firm, like he’s holding onto something he never wants to let go of.

“You look incredible, Y/n. Like… I don’t even know how to describe it.” His voice is rough, a sincerity that he rarely lets spill out like this. “Every time I see you like this, it’s like I forget how to breathe for a second.”

I feel my heart skip at his words, and I try to keep my composure, but it’s hard when he’s looking at me like I’m his whole world. “You’ve seen me like this a hundred times, Lewis.”

“Not like this,” he says, shaking his head. “Never like this. You just get better, babe. And I still can’t believe you’re mine. That I get to call you my wife.”

And I know it’s teenager like but it amazes me, how even after all this time, he still sees me. Not just the surface, not just the polished exterior everyone else sees, but me.

The woman who’s stood by him, built a life with him, and even after everything, he’s still in awe.

I reach up, brushing my fingers against his beard, my voice softer now. “I’m still here. We’re still us.”

His hand comes up to cover mine, pressing my palm against his skin as he leans into my touch. “Yeah, we are. And I’m never going to stop being grateful for that.”

It’s just us—this moment, this life we’ve built together. And the fact that even now, after all the years, the highs, and the lows, he still looks at me like I’m everything he’s ever wanted.

“Come on, we’ll be late,” I say softly, though I make no move to step away from him.

He chuckles, his lips brushing against my forehead. “I don’t care if we’re late. Let them wait. Right now, I just want to look at you.”

And I let him—because in this room, I’m not just Lewis Hamilton’s wife. I’m his world. The woman who still makes him weak, who he’ll never stop wanting, and I know—because he won’t shut up about it—that I’ll always be that for him.

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TAGLIST - @saturnssunflower @xoscar03 @chocolatediplomatdreamerzonk @itsmrshamilton @vicurious28

@0710khj @thecubanator2 @neilakk @bigratbitchsworld @adriswrld

@fearfam69691 @cmleitora @goldenroutledge @timmychalametsstuff @jpgnsf

@priopp123 @strqirlhrts @hmmmmm-01 @bisexual-babygirl-mj @bebesobrielo

@hiireadstuff @f1-football-fiend

If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

[bg-brainrot]

More than Vampiric Charms (Astarion x Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Summary: After some banter between Astarion and Jaheira goes too far, you (Tav) take some time to remind Astarion that he is so much more than a pair of fangs.

Tags: POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Fluff, Comfort, Vampire Spawn Astarion, set in Act 3, Astarion is Bad at Feelings, Blood, Blood Drunk, blood as a coping mechanism

A/N: Thank you to everyone who voted for this banter in my last poll! This was a fun one c:

Word count: ~3.2k

Walking through the streets of Baldur's Gate is always an adventure with your group– a particularly fraught adventure on this day, as Jaheira and Astarion seem hellsbent on trading barbs.

It had started out playfully enough, with a snide remark from Astarion, "Oh that building used to be a delightful little sweets shop about a hundred years ago. Though I suppose the crone would remember that, wouldn’t she?”

Jaheira, used to remarks about her age, often being the one to start them, was ready with a quick quip back, “Was that before or after your hair turned gray? With my old age, I can never remember.”

Astarion visibility bit back a remark about this being his natural hair color when you glared back at both of them. “Could we focus a bit please? You two can reminisce after we’ve seen to this latest bloody basement.”

One trail of blood, a disgusting array of corpses, and a piece of clown later and the two of them were at it again.

“Jaheira,” Astarion had started in a light tone– a clear indicator that he had no intent to focus. “Have you considered taking on the role of Dribbles the clown yourself? The makeup might help cover all those pesky wrinkles.”

The druid had snickered, appreciating the comment, and shot back, “I think you would be better suited to the role, given you are already a fool.”

That time, Karlach had interrupted, “Don’t either of you dare! No one could replace this Baldurian hero.”

“Which is exactly why we’re helping to piece him back together,” you’d confirmed with a nod. “Besides, you’re both cranky enough to make the children weep.”

“Darling!” Astarion had gasped, an offended hand on his chest. “How could you say that about me?”

You’d ignored his question, instead choosing to deposit a quick kiss on his pursed lips. A soft, effective bandaid that left the man with crossed arms and a reluctant smile. 

Moments later, you were ushering the group out of the building and into the city. Insults forgotten, everyone began trudging the familiar path back to the Elfsong to clean up.

Now, along this very path, you hear Jaheira strike up a new conversation with Astarion– one that has your ears perking up, even as you continue to lead the way ahead.

“It seems that you and our leader are closer than ever,” the woman observes, a smile in her voice.

There’s a moment of silence, and you can practically see Astarion’s suspicious expression in your mind’s eye as he assesses the situation. “Yes, you could say that,” he finally replies. “What can I say? I am, after all, quite charming.”

“I am glad it is your non-vampiric charms our friend has fallen for, Astarion.” A short, thoughtful pause follows before she asks, “It is, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Astarion responds, his voice reaching a comically high pitch– one that almost makes you laugh. You want to hear this conversation more than most though, so not a sound escapes your lips. The vampire scoffs before he continues. "Is it so unbelievable that they would simply like me?"

There’s a clear hesitation as Astarion’s words hang in the air.

You wonder why Jaheira isn’t responding, what her expression must be– but before you can turn around to find out more, Astarion is speaking again.

“If you insist on prying,” he starts, clearing his throat a bit pointedly. “Perhaps you’d care to join us. And see how much we enjoy one another.”

The insinuation in his tone is almost enough to have you spinning around– teasing Karlach or Shadowheart is one thing, but Jaheira? Gods, you can feel the heat rising up your neck– “Why?” Jaheira snaps back. “Do you require some instruction on how the deed is done?”

“I’m sure even I could learn some new tricks from an old veteran such as yourself,” Astarion replies, mirth shining through in his tone.

Wait, is he actually inviting her?

You know you need to stop this conversation before it mortifies you any further. “Stop it, both of you!” you say, turning your head back, trying your best to keep a stern, not-at-all embarrassed expression on your face. “We don’t need the next installment of ‘Love at First Knife’ getting any more convoluted.”

There’s some grumbling from Astarion, an amused smile from Jaheira, and a chortle from Karlach, but otherwise your group makes it back to the Elfsong without tearing each other– or their clothes– apart.

__

That evening, Astarion slips away.

It’s not an unusual occurrence– some days his hunger is harder to ignore than others, on some you hadn’t found nearly enough evil to suck dry. Ultimately, he never wanted to take too much blood from you, so he chooses to forage as he has taken to calling it.

As a result, you think nothing of it at first, settling into bed after dinner with a book propped between your hands. After all, Cazador is dead, and Astarion is more than capable of taking down some of the most fearsome enemies in the city– he should take all the time he needs to himself.

But the hours pass, and Astarion has yet to return. The candles around you begin to dwindle, words begin to swim on a page you haven’t turned in quite some time, and sleep slowly but surely starts to drag your eyelids down.

It has almost claimed you when the door to your shared room at the Elfsong slams shut. You hear groans from around the room as those who were similarly drifting off to bed are shocked awake, everyone expecting yet another unwelcome visitor. You almost don’t have time to react before an armor-clad vampire lands atop of you.

You do react though, instinctively striking at the man with the spine of your book, a loud ‘thwack’ letting you know that your contact was true.

“Oof,” Astarion mutters, now fully splayed across your torso like a stretching cat. “Darling, must you be so violent?”

“Astarion?” you ask, putting down your book, shaking off the beginning throes of sleep as you realize what’s transpired. “Weapons down everyone, it’s Astarion.”

After a few affirmative grumbles from around the room, you turn your attention back to the vampire, “Are you alright? Did you get injured?”

“Mmm,” he murmurs, burying his face in your blanket, and rubbing at the spot where you’d hit him. “Nothing's the matter. Everything is perfectly dandy.”

His words slur though and something seems to be amiss. His movements are fluid, his body weight is completely and utterly relaxed onto you.

Almost as if…

“Are you… drunk?” you haven’t seen him like this since the bear he drank near the grove. When you’d asked him the question then, he’d shrugged it off– but it was certainly the closest to drunk you’d ever seen him.

“Not strictly speaking, no…” he drolls, tilting his head slightly to stare at you with one eye. His cheeks are flushed, a telltale sign of his recent feeding, and his eye is glazed over, its blissful sheen telling you all that you need to know.

“Have a good dinner, did you?” you ask, smiling down at him wearily. You can hardly fault him for indulging, especially after the couple of weeks you’ve had.

He chuckles, his one visible eye crinkling a bit. “Oh yes. A rather large bugbear. Hardly knew what bit him.”

You run a hand through Astarion’s hair, and respond, “Well done, my sweet, bloodthirsty vampire.”

Normally, such sweet words of unabashed ​​flattery would elicit a smile, a laugh, maybe even a kiss– but tonight Astarion freezes under your touch, his eye going wide before he tucks his face back into the bedding.

“Astarion?” you ask, your previous worry about injury now promptly replaced by a worry of a much deeper hurt.

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, voice sounding distant.

You scratch at his scalp, a bit, trying to encourage him back toward you. “Love, you know you’re a terrible liar. What’s wrong?”

He gives a soft, annoyed huff– an endearing, drunken noise were it not for the fact that he seems determined not to look at you. And continue to crush you with the full weight of his body.

“Astarion,” you say again, with a bit more emphasis, shaking his head a little with your next scratch. “If nothing is truly wrong, I will wake up Karlach. You know she would love to see you in this state.” As if to punctuate your point, a snore sounds from a few beds over, where you know the barbarian slumbers.

“Please don’t,” he murmurs, finally turning around to look at you fully.

You’re surprised to see his eyebrows furrowed, his lips turned down in a truly melancholy frown– always an expressive man, it seems that Astarion’s intoxicated demeanor is twice as exaggerated. Cute, you think. But also concerning. “Love,” you whisper, running a hand along his face. “Talk to me.”

Astarion hesitates, his watery eyes wincing as he debates his next words. Those same red eyes show an unexpected amount of vulnerability– all that bugbear blood is keeping his expression open, his entire face a rosy hue. His mouth opens, closes, his body shifts, and he fumbles with the latches on his armor as he thinks. You simply lay there, playing with his curls until he’s ready.

When he finally speaks, his words take you by surprise.

“You don’t just like me because I’m a vampire… do you?”

“What?” you ask, eyebrows raising in disbelief. Surely, you misheard him.

“You know,” he continues, waving a hand about the air. “My vampiric charms. The fangs. The blood sucking. The mysterious allure?”

“Why in the nine hells would you think that?” You reach a hand out to grab his, tugging on it gently to try to get him to sit up.

Astarion’s eyes drift away from you, but he does sit up, legs draping over your stomach. “Just… because of something Jaheira said.”

Oh. The conversation you’d been eavesdropping on.

“Do you mean what she said earlier? On our way back to the Elfsong?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Well, yes,” he mutters, still not looking at you. “Though I can’t help but notice you haven’t answered my question…”

“Astarion,” you start, releasing his hand, only to place it on the slightly flushed skin of his cheek. “No, I do not only like you because you’re a vampire.” Your words are firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

His eyes meet yours again, and still you can see so much doubt, so much unmitigated fear. “Are you certain? You truly do seem to enjoy it when I bite you.”

“Well, that’s true,” you admit with a small wince. It does feel rather… good when he bites you, it would be a lie to say otherwise and, besides, you’ve told him as much before. “But that’s not why I like you, you fool.”

Astarion’s bottom lip slips into a small pout and he moves away from your hand. “You’re not very convincing, you know? Especially when you call me a fool.”

You scooch out a bit from under him, leaving your legs under his. With all of the severity in the world, you reply, “If it makes you feel better, I’m a fool too.”

“You are?” he asks, curious despite himself– easily falling for your little trap.

“A fool for you.”

The noise that escapes him is half groan, half chuckle, and his mouth pulls into a lopsided little smile that you’re not certain you would have earned were he not a bit blooddrunk. “Gods, how the hells did I fall for you?”

“Now you’re asking the right questions,” you respond with a smirk on your face. When you place a hand on his knee, the smirk turns into a small smile. “But I’m being genuine– I don’t like you because you’re a vampire. And before you ask, I don’t love you because of your vampirism either.”

He gives a small huff. “Well, Jaheira made it sound as if there wasn’t much else to care for.” An uncharacteristic admittance from him– normally he would brush off such a statement with a proud declaration of how phenomenal he is. But it seems that Jaheira’s words cut deep– and that blood has loosened his lips.

“Jaheira, despite all of her many, many years of experience–” you enjoy the full laugh that elicits. “simply doesn’t have my refined taste. There are so many reasons to like you, love. In fact, vampirism doesn’t even make the list.”

“Oh, you’re keeping track, are you?” he asks, folding his arms and body over his legs and smiling up at you.

“Maybe,” you murmur, leaning forward toward him. “Would you like a sampling of reasons?”

The look he gives you then is hopeful, but more than a little dread slips through in his shining red eyes. When he answers, his voice is barely above a whisper. “Only if you mean them.”

This withdrawn, unsure Astarion isn’t a common sight to you, but, like every other facet of the man before you, he’s no less lovable. So you lean forward, placing a kiss on his pale forehead, and say, “I mean them with my whole heart.”

“Then… I suppose I ought to be lavished with them," he murmurs, and you spot the blush intensifying over his cheeks, now also coloring his ears.

Coupled with his fluid, inebriated state, his heart laid bare before you, you want to scream the reasons from the roof of the Elfsong, if only for him to believe you. But, as it is, the soft snores of your companions keep your voice hushed, your face close to his as you begin.

“Let’s see… should I start with the first thing that stood out to me?”

He hums in agreement, and closes his eyes, as if preparing to listen to the sweetest tune known to the entirety of Faerun.

“Well, it started with your first lie, I think,” you start.

Astarion gives a disapproving groan, but doesn’t open his eyes.

“My dear, you said you said you had a ‘brain thing’ cornered– I hope you know the smile on my face wasn’t from confidence,” you say with a new, fond smile at the memory. “I just knew from that moment on, you didn’t much care for what others thought of you, as long as your goals were met. A kindred spirit. Or so you said that day.”

At that, he reopens his eyes. “That’s not true.”

“We’re not kindred spirits?” you ask, an unexpected tinge of hurt blooming in your chest.

“That’s true,” he says, balming the hurt quickly. “It’s not true that I don’t care what others think of me. I do. Well, maybe not everyone.” His eyes dart toward Gale’s bed and you stifle a snicker. “But I certainly care what you think of me.”

You look into his crimson eyes, a bit clearer now than when you began talking– the blood seems to be working its way through his system. His words come from a place of honesty, not a lack of inhibition.

“Then, let me assure you here and now,” you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. “I think–” Another quick peck on his lips. “you’re the funniest–” A kiss to his nose. “the most deft–” A brush of lips against his temple. “creative, endearing, brave–” Each word comes with a kiss along his jaw. “man I’ve ever met.”

Astarion’s eyes look at you, his face still for a moment as he considers your words. When he finally speaks, it’s a quiet, choked up question, “Oh, is that it?”

“Would you like me to keep going?” you ask, lips perched just above his eyebrow, ready for another round.

He shakes his head ever so slightly. “No– no need or you’ll be here all night, surely,” he says, posturing as best as he can while still looking at you with fearful eyes. Almost as if your candid praise is simply too much for him to bear.

It may be too much, and you’re not one to push it.

“Very well,” you say, pulling back. “But I didn’t even get to how good you look covered in blood…”

The man gives a light laugh at that, some of his nerves melting before praise he understands– his appearance is a source of comfort, one that brings him back to himself. “Oooh yes, I do look dashing in red, don’t I?” he purrs, a content smile forming on his face.

“That you do,” you assure, with your own warm look. You wish he would accept all praise this easily, but you suppose this is all you can do for now.

So little of what matters to you is his vampirism, his looks… but for a man like Astarion, for whom a kind word felt like a double-edged blade for two centuries? Well, you’re reminded that regardless of how many times you may tell him, whether now when he’s a bit fuzzy around the edges or when you’re in your cups, he may never truly believe you.

No matter, you suppose. I’ll simply keep finding new ways to show him how much I care for him…

“So Jaheira was kidding, right?” Astarion asks, sitting up and finally beginning to remove his leathers.

You nod, moving to help him remove his greaves. “Naturally. I thought you’d been enjoying the conversation, actually.”

“I had been,” he replies, thoughtfully. “But the more I remembered how sinfully you shiver under my fangs…”

He’s dodging before you can so much as flick his ear. “Excuse you. Is that any way to treat your most reliable source of sustenance?”

Astarion smirks as he leans away from you in the bed. “Oh darling, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. After all, you can’t help it.”

“Astarion–”

“Ehem!” You hear from somewhere behind you. It’s followed shortly by Shadowheart’s annoyed voice, “Would the two of you please keep it down? Some of us are trying to rest.”

If by ‘rest’ she means ‘reach the end of her copper novel’, then you suppose she’s right. Either way, you whisper back, “Sorry, I was defending my dignity.”

“What dignity?” she murmurs back. “And in case you’re wondering, you’re both utter fools.”

Oh great, she’d heard everything.

“Shadowheart, were you eavesdropping?” Astarion asks, crawling over you to glare at her from the edge of your bed. He’s half-dressed and still somewhat out of sorts, so you just lean back against the pillows and accept your fate.

“Is it really eavesdropping if I can hear it all clearly?” the cleric says, and you hear her book snap shut. “Besides, Astarion, if you really needed someone to reassure you, you should have asked me.”

“You?” he asks, incredulously. “And why should I ask you?”

“Because,” she starts, and you can hear her wicked smile in her tone. “I can confirm without a shadow of a doubt that there’s no such thing as ‘vampiric charm.’ I’ve never felt less charmed in my entire life.”

You can sense Astarion is just about ready to light Shadowheart’s hair on fire, so you tug him back down from the divide. “Thank you for that clarification, Shadowheart,” you call, biting back a laugh. “And I’m starting to realize none of us really have private conversations, do we?”

“No, we do not,” you hear Gale reply from a few beds away.

With that, Astarion gives an exasperated sigh and the two of you finish removing his armor in silence.  When you’re both finally ready for bed and you whisper to him, “Goodnight.” Shadowheart, Gale, and Wyll all respond, “Goodnight!”

[angelofsmalldeaath]

you'll always find me in the kitchen at parties — a.h.b.

a/n: this is based on one of the songs mentioned in this interview. the prompt is "a song for when you're getting ready to go out, but you actually want to stay in"

cw: suggestive, kissing and making out

“red or pink?” i hold up two tubes of lipstick in front of him. he frowns. 

“neither,” he takes them out of my hands one after the other and hides them behind his back. “i’d rather you stayed.”

i click my tongue and look at him, exasperated once again. he’s been on our bed for the past twenty minutes now, watching me ritualistically put on my makeup, once step after the other like i’ve done for years. 

“baby, don’t be like this,” i get off the chair and stand in front of him, between his legs. then i cradle his face. “it’s a work thing. i have to be there…”

truth is i’d rather be anywhere but at the work thing. i know it’s going to be one of those events that goes on and on and on until every last person is sleepy and bored out of their minds. then there is shitty food. 

“will you return my lipsticks, please?”

“and what if i said no?” he puts his arms around me and rests his chin on my sternum, effectively trapping me in place. 

“i’d have to wrestle you for them,” i smirk, indulging him.

“you’d never win against me,” he declares, his voice all confident until i scratch his scalp with my nails. whatever words he was about to say dissolve on his tongue as he sighs, practically melting in place. 

“you sure about that?” i tease and drag my nails through hair once again. 

once his eyes flutter shut, he shifts, squishing his face in my boobs, tightening his arms around me some more. 

“i’ve got you now,” his voice is muffled, i feel the vibrations in my chest, “where will you go?”

the clock on the wall ticks, inching closer and closer to when i have to leave. the more the seconds tick by the more my feet feel frozen in place, my body rooted in his arms, my brain unwilling to do the ‘right thing’. i should untangle myself from his embrace and step away. instead i climb onto his lap. 

“oh?” he looks at me with renewed interest, mouth curving into a smug smile. 

i take my chance and reach behind him, closing my fist around one of the lipsticks. quickly i yank my arm back and hold it up in front of him. it’s the pink one, the one i didn’t want. “gotcha!”

he looks at the bullet then back at me, moving his hands from my hips to my waist. a confused frown makes its way onto my face. “what are you—”

i yelp before i can finish my question. in an instance i’m off his lap and somehow under him on the bed as he flips us both, faster than i could have imagined. the lipstick goes flying halfway across the room.

“gotcha…” he whispers, close enough that our breaths mix together. “do you still want to leave?”

no. no no no. i haven’t wanted to leave all evening, not when he looks at me with so much longing and want and love. not when he looks like that…

the other lipstick tube rolls against my thigh, within my reach now. instead, i place my hand on his cheek, crane my neck until i can press my lips against his.

barely a second passes before he deepens the kiss, moves his hand from my waist to my ribs. 

his familiar weight on top of me is comfortable, safe. i fist his t-shirt and giggle when he does the same to my dress, wrinkling it instantly. 

“you won’t let me go, will you?”

he clicks his tongue, kissing my jaw, “not a chance.”

“i should just tell them i got food poisoning, shouldn’t i?”

“absolutely. oh, you are deathly ill right now.”

i giggle again, letting him slide away the straps off my dress and kiss the bare skin of my shoulder. 

“for the record,” he murmurs, “i would have picked red.”

“yeah?”

he nods, pulling away slightly so he can look at me properly. “looks the best on you. looks the best on me when you kiss me…”

“and pink doesn’t?” i tease. 

this time it’s his turn to thread his fingers through my scalp. i sigh and almost close my eyes. “well now that you’ve decided to stay…” he swoops down and captures my lips in another lingering kiss, “we could test out all the shades.”

“i think that’s a good use of our time,” i laugh, and kiss him once again. 

[loslentesdepedrito]

Feliz Navidad

Javi gif by: Ggyussance My Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking Latina f!reader (No race, skin color, or nationality mentioned. I tried my best to include small parts of each Spanish-speaking Latin American country.)

Word count: 11.3k+

Summary: At every family reunion, the relentless interrogation about your love life becomes a tiring ritual. Fed up with the relentless questions and awkward setups, you turn to Javi, your best friend, and ask him to be your date for the upcoming family Christmas party. He suggests that you take it a step further by pretending to be a couple. Can the two of you play pretend, especially when, in reality, you both harbor secret feelings for each other?

Rating: 18+ Explicit content (MDNI) Tags and CW: slight angst, happy ending, fake dating, friends to lovers, jealous and possessive Javi, reader and Javi are in their 20s, not canon, just a smidge of idiots in love, reader wears a dress, lingerie, makeup, and is shorter than Javi, alcohol consumption, Javi being cheesy with your family, unprotected piv, cowgirl, use of a sex toy, oral (female receiving) reader likes to pull Javi's hair, creampie, slight cum eating, Javi loving his cum inside you.

A/N: I’m on vacation and meant to upload this on the 24th, but didn’t have time to add the translations. Sorry for the delay, tarde pero seguro. Enjoy! 

"Come on, Javi," you plead again, watching him chew thoughtfully. There's a sense of urgency in your voice as you desperately hope he’ll agree to be your date for your family’s Christmas gathering. "Please, I'm practically begging you. I'll get down on my hands and knees if I have to." This finally grabs his attention. Caught off guard while swallowing, he hears your words and can't help but let his imagination run wild. The image of you begging, not just for any favor, but for him – for his cock, fills his mind. With a sudden intensity, he forces the last bite of the torta cubana down his throat, triggering a fit of coughing.

Reacting quickly, you reach for the glass of iced water on the table, extending it toward him without a word. He accepts the offering from your outstretched hand, bringing the cool glass to his lips. In a fluid motion, Javi tilts his head back, the cup cradled by his fingers.

Your attention zeroes in on the man before you: The plushness of his lower lip curves around the rim of the glass; as he takes a sip, droplets of water cascade down, catching the afternoon sun and creating a glistening effect.

Mesmerized, you trace the path of those droplets, leading you to the delicate contours of his pink lips. Descending further with your gaze, you focus on his neck, where the rhythmic bobbing of his Adam's apple accompanies each sip. Involuntarily, you shift in your seat, a futile attempt to dispel the growing sensation stirring between your thighs.

Breaking the spell, he speaks, his voice rough as he clears his throat, "Okay, I'll be your date."

A wave of relief washes over you, and gratitude spills forth, "Thank you, thank you, thank you. You're so perfect. My family will love you."

A quizzical expression lingers on Javi's face as he asks, "Why don't you get a real date?" Despite knowing you could have your pick of anyone, there's genuine happiness in his eyes—an unspoken relief that you won't be taking another man to meet your family.

You sigh and offer an explanation, “I haven't met anyone, and it's pretty weird to introduce some stranger to your entire family on the first date. "Ya te dije (I already told you), my family keeps pestering me about getting a boyfriend. It's the same thing every Christmas, '¿nena y el novio? (baby girl and the boyfriend?)’ 'Mami, quiero que conozcas al sobrino de la vecina de mi comadre. (Mami, I want you to meet my friend’s neighbor's nephew.)’ '¿Mija, ya tienes novio? ('Mija, do you already have a boyfriend?)’ I love them, and they mean well, but I can't take any more of it. Hopefully, when I show up and say that we're just getting to know each other, it will shut them up until New Year's. But by then, I'll tell them we work better as friends, and they'll pity me, so I'll be off the hook for maybe two years."

A knowing look crosses Javi's face as he probes, "And this has nothing to do with the fact that Caleb will be there?"

You groan at the mention of your ex-boyfriend's name. "A little bit," you mumble, slumping in your chair as thoughts of him flood your mind. "He's probably going to bring some girl, and if I show up alone," you pause, giving Javi a sweet smile, "without my best friend, my family will find out I had a boyfriend and I kept it from them."

You didn't mean to keep your relationship with Caleb hidden. You just didn't want to tell your family you had a boyfriend, in case the relationship failed—and guess what, it did. Two months into your relationship, you found out he was still talking to his ex, and you dumped him before shit got worse. Fortunately, your decision to keep your family in the dark spared you from telling them about Caleb, so you didn't have to share the news about the breakup, which, unfortunately for you, meant you had to see him at parties since his parents were friends with your uncle.

"Why don't we tell them we're in a relationship? Like, boyfriend and girlfriend," Javi suggests, attempting to sound confident, though inwardly, he's praying you won't freak out and shoot down the idea.

You blink, momentarily caught off guard and unsure of how to respond. Javier panics at your silence and rushes to add, "I mean, they already know who I am, and we know everything about each other. It would be more believable."

Chewing on your lip, you contemplate what he's proposed. It would be convincing, you think.

“Are there any embarrassing moments that your family will bring up that I should be aware of, my beautiful girlfriend?” Javi teases, a playful glint in his eyes.

In response, you roll up a napkin, forming a makeshift ball, and throw it at him, the projectile hitting him directly on the forehead. Javi grumbles good-naturedly, a blend of irritation and laughter, and you purposely ignore the flutter in your heart. "No, you’ll never hear those."

“Okay fine,” Javi huffs, a mock pout on his face. “What’s the story then?”

"Story? For what?" you ask, genuinely puzzled.

Javi looks at you as if you're not making the slightest bit of sense. “The story we’ll tell your family. You know they'll ask us so many questions.”

He's right. Your family will undoubtedly bombard you both with questions, seeing as they only know him as your friend and not the guy you've been secretly harboring feelings for.

"I mean, in movies, they always seem to have background stor-" Javi abruptly stops, hoping you don't make the connection about the kind of movies he's referring to.

But, of course, you catch it. “¿Aww, te gustan los romcoms, Javi? (Aww, do you like romcoms, Javi?)”

"¡No!" He blurts out, his face turning a shade of red that extends from his face to the tips of his ears. "We've just- we need to establish a timeline."

Watching him stumble through the sentence, you decide to spare him further embarrassment. "Mmm... we can say we've been dating for a month. It's enough that they won't scold me for not telling them about the relationship earlier, right?"

"We can say I asked you out right after Thanksgiving, so that gives us a little over a month since Thanksgiving was on the 22nd."

"Okay, yeah, that sounds good. And are you okay with staying over at my aunt's house since we'll be drinking? Or do you want to drive back to your apartment after we say our goodbyes?"

"Wait, your aunt with the big-ass house is hosting Christmas for your family this year?" He asks, sitting straighter in his chair. Javi's excitement is palpable as you nod. "Yeah, I'm staying over," he declares.

“Trae dos mudas de ropa (bring two changes of clothes)," you instruct him.

“¿Pjs y algo para la recalentada? (Pjs and something for the afterparty?)” Javi guesses but needs confirmation, not wanting to make a fool of himself. In fact, he's determined to make a good impression on your family.

"Mhm," you hum in agreement and then ask him about his previous plans. "You said you weren't going to spend Christmas with your family. Are you sure?"

"My dad's going to Monterrey, and I didn't get my passport renewed, and it's too late now. It's fine; I like spending time with your family." I like spending time with you.

"You just want to get fed," you tease.

"How'd you know," he goes along with your teasing tone.

“Ya te conozco (I already know you),” you tell him, and Javi feels butterflies in his stomach.

Your phone vibrates on top of the white and blue plaid tablecloth. You pick it up and see a notification that your Christmas dress is ready for pickup. "Oh shit, I've gotta go pick up my dress." You scramble to get up and collect your trash.

Javi gently grabs your wrist and tells you, “Ve. Te tiro tu basura. (Go. I'll throw your trash away.)"

Your breath hitches at his touch, and you thank him. You drop your Coke can and take a few steps until you reach him. "You're the best. I love you." You lower yourself a bit to give him a kiss on the cheek. His heart races, and he's scared you'll see him turn beet red, so he stands up and envelops you in a hug. He's hit with your smell, and a groan nearly falls from his lips.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow at 8," he says in a shaky voice, whispering into your ear. Grateful for the long-sleeve shirt you decided to wear that morning, your skin breaks into goosebumps around his body. "That's still early, you know?" you object into his chest.

Feeling the lower half of his body respond to having you so close, he pulls away, not wanting to scare you or make you uncomfortable. “¿Entonces a las ocho y media? (So at eight-thirty?)” he asks, now standing a couple of steps away from you.

"See you then," you nod. Glancing at your watch, you realize you really have to get going.

"What color will your dress be?" he asks before you leave.

"Red," you smile, swinging your bag over your shoulder.

Javi gulps; red is his favorite color. He wonders if he'll be able to handle seeing you in it while pretending to be your boyfriend.

"Bye, te veo mañana (see you tomorrow),” you say goodbye one last time.

"Bye," he waves and watches you walk off. As soon as you're out of his view, he's left standing there, hands on his face, and he groans into his palms. Yeah, he doesn't know how he'll get through tomorrow night pretending he's in love with you because he is in love with you but can't show it.

Just as you apply the last coat of lipstick in your foyer mirror, you hear a knock on your door. Palms slightly damp, you start second-guessing taking Javi to your family party. You hear him say your name through the locked door and quickly tell him you're coming. With a slightly trembling hand, you turn the doorknob, your heart thudding in your chest at the sight of Javi. He's wearing a black leather jacket over a red cable-knit sweater, and God, he smells amazing—tones of sage, wood, and maybe some bergamot. All you know is that you want to push him against the door and put your mouth all over him—mouth, neck, chest, cock—you don't have a preference.

While you're busy ogling him, Javi is staring at you with his jaw near the floor. You're in a burgundy dress with black flowers all over, accentuating your beautiful figure. He makes a mistake when his gaze moves up, landing on your lips. Javi has to bite his tongue to suppress a groan at the sight of your luscious red-stained lips. They look so plush and enticing, and he twitches in his pants.

"Hi, Jav," you greet him in your sweet voice, making him look into your eyes.

The way your eyes sparkle, almost makes him lose his composure and profess his feelings for you. "¿Estas lista? (Are you ready?)" He says instead. 

"I just need to get my gifts," you point to the large gift bag you have set on the floor of your foyer. You only have two gifts in the much too large bag because your family does Secret Santa since it would be rather expensive to get each member of your family a gift. When you bend down to grab your things, Javi gets a perfect view of your round ass. He can't tear his eyes from you until he feels himself growing in his pants. He exhales trying to will his hard-on to go away. On his fifth breathing exercise, you turn around and tell him you're ready to go. Ever the gentleman, he signals for you to step out of your home first. 

"I just need to get my gifts," you point to the large gift bag set on the floor of your foyer. You only have two gifts in the much too large bag because your family does Secret Santa, as it would be rather expensive to get each member of your family a gift. When you bend down to gather your things, Javi gets a perfect view of your round ass. He can't tear his eyes away until he feels himself growing in his pants. He exhales, trying to will his hard-on to go away. On his fifth breathing exercise, you turn around and tell him you're ready to go. Ever the gentleman, he signals for you to step out of your home first.

As you brush past him, he's hit with the aroma of your perfume, and the sweetheart line of your dress offers a perfect view of your cleavage. He has to close his eyes to focus on anything else. After you lock up, he leads you to his car, takes the bag from you, and uses his free hand to help you down the steps. He opens the passenger door, puts your bag in the back seat, and goes to his seat to start the truck. You watch as he reverses, placing a hand behind your seat's headrest. His single hand moves the steering wheel, and you have to physically stop a whine from slipping past your mouth by biting your lip. You feel the wetness accumulate between your thighs, and you don't know how you'll get through the night.

The car ride over was hell on earth for both of you. Javi had to resist the urge to reach over and place his hand on your perfect thighs and move it further up. And you had to watch as Javi handled the gear stick with his big hands and thick fingers. You're both relieved to make it to your aunt's house. Javi insists on opening the door for you, and when he helps you get out of his truck, he gives you his hand to guide you. Next thing you know, he's taking the items from the back seat. Javi swings a backpack filled with his stuff, including clothes, and the bag where you have your gifts. You take it from him without him noticing, and he takes out a chocoflan.

You hear the house door open, and people beckon you over. Javi closes the door and takes your hand in his. He leads you up to the entrance, and you hear gasps and mutters coming from your family.

“¡Ay, mi sobrinita! (Oh, my little niece!)" one of your uncles yells as you're inches away from the door.

“¡Tío!” you exclaim, happy to see him. Before you can say anything else, he gives you a bear hug. You slowly push off to turn to Javi, who is still holding your hand. “Tío, this is Javier, my boyfriend." Your uncle's eyes widen a little, but it's quickly replaced with joy.

“Javi, él es mi tío Nicolás, es el tío de mi papá (Javi, this is my uncle, Nicolás, he's my dad's uncle)," you explain to your boyfriend for the night.

Javi gently untangles your laced hands and extends his hand to your uncle. “Buenas noches. ¿Cómo está? (Good evening! How are you?)"

“Hola, Chavalo. Bien gracias (Hey, kid. Fine, thanks)," your uncle replies and shakes Javi's hand. "And you?"

Their handshake ends and Javi pulls you into his side. "Me alegra. Estoy muy bien ya que estoy con ella (I'm glad to hear that. I'm very well now that I'm with her),” Javi tells your uncle, giving him a dashing smile while he gives you a lovey-dovey look.

You don't know who is happier at Javi's response—your uncle or you. "Oh, here, I brought dessert," Javier hands your uncle Nicolás the custard dessert with a chocolate cake base.

“Come in, come in,” the older man ushers you inside the house.

“Miren quien llegó (Look who arrived),” your uncle's voice rumbles throughout the house. Footsteps make their way to you three, and your family's faces light up. Voices overlap, greeting you, but they seem confused over the man beside you.

“¡Hola!” you smile. "This is Javi, he's my boyfriend," you introduce, rubbing his arm.

Javi doesn't get a word in because your cousin slaps his back and says, “¡Habla, pe causa!” Javi smiles and tells him good evening.

Once your cousin goes away, you whisper to Javi, "That was César, and he said, 'What's up, man.'"

"I knew that," Javi lies, running his tongue over his cheek.

“¡Como que ya tienes novio! (What do you mean you have a boyfriend!)" a familiar voice screeches from the living room.

You cringe as you hear your mom's angry voice and your dad telling her to calm down. Fuck, I forgot I have to tell my parents about Javi, you think.

When your parents see Javi, they physically relax. "Javi!" She gasps. “¿Él es tu novio? (He's your boyfriend?)” Your mom asks.

“Él es mi novio,” you confirm. Javi's heart leaps because somehow in Spanish, you calling him your boyfriend sounds a million times better.

"¡Ay, qué alegría! (Oh, what joy!)" She says and clasps her hands. For a long time, she's asked you if you two are anything more than friends, and she's always disappointed when you say no.

"I'm happy for you, mija," your dad tells you, hugging you.

"Thank you, Dad," you say relieved at their quick acceptance of Javi.

"Tu mamá está muy feliz (Your mom is very happy). It's just that you told your aunt first, and she was blindsided," your dad fills you in, and you hear your name being called. You whip your head to the kitchen and see your aunt coming to you with her arms extended.

“Titi Yalissa," you muffle into her curly hair. Your aunt jumps up and down with you in her arms. "Oh, I missed you so much," she says and lets go of you once she remembers what you told her. "Where's your boyfriend?"

You grab Javi's hand and bring him closer to your aunt. "Javi, this is my aunt Yalissa."

“Titi, this is the guy I told you about. His name is Javier."

"Es un placer conocer al hombre que tiene a mi niña tan feliz (It's a pleasure to meet the man who has my little girl so happy)."

Javier smiles at your aunt's happiness and decides to comment on her house and thank her for the invitation. "It's my pleasure. Tiene una casa hermosa (you have a beautiful house)," he pauses to look over at you, “como su sobrina (like your niece). Thank you for inviting me." Your heart thuds in your chest at Javi's words.

Everyone around you coos and awws, and you feel your ears burn.

"Let me show you your rooms, so you can set your things."

You and Javi follow your aunt up the stairs and into the hallway. She comments on how good you two look together and how it's adorable that you're matching. Her observation catches you off guard, and you look at both of your outfits. Oh my God! Is that why he asked me what color my dress was? Did he want to match? While you're lost in thought, you miss Javi's charming words about how perfect you look.

"Javi, this will be your room," your aunt points at a room on the left side. She says your name and then points at the room at the end of the hall, "Your room is still untouched, and you have your clothes there if you need anything."

Someone calls her from the kitchen, and she apologizes, telling you to come downstairs when you're ready for some food.

When Javier hears her descend the stairs, he asks you, "We're not sharing a room?"

"No. She's kinda against pre-marital sex."

Javi shoots you a look that says he knows you haven't made a vow of chastity.

"Okay, she doesn't know that," you say.

Javi sets his backpack in his room, and you make your way to the small dining room.

"Nena (babygirl), how are you?”

“Tía Mercedes!” you scream once another one of your aunts comes into view.

“Every day you get more and more beautiful!” she says to you. “Oh, and where is that boyfriend of yours? Tu tío Beto me dijo que vos ya tenés uno (Your uncle Beto told me you already have one.)”

For what feels like the hundredth time, you introduce Javi. Your aunt gushes over him and is scandalized when she hears he hasn’t eaten yet.

“No puedo creer que no les han dado nada de comer (I can't believe they haven't given you anything to eat). Come here.” She leads you to where the food is laid out, and to say it’s a lot is an understatement.

"Okay, so we’ve got croquetas, empanadas, ceviche, tamales, pasteles, chuchitos, pan con pollo, carne asada, hallacas, chimichurri, tostones, hornado de chancho, pavo al horno, chipa, pan dulce, y no se qué más." Your aunt lists off the myriad of food, whether it’s side dishes or main courses.

“And to drink, there’s coquito, champurrado, atol, ponche, arroz con leche, café con queso, chocolate caliente. If you want something else, you can ask Beto. It’s probably in the kitchen.”

You and Javi grab whatever you crave and add it to your plate before heading to the larger dining room. Everything had been going well until you saw your ex. Javi noticed you tense up, and he followed your line of sight, landing on your ex-boyfriend, Caleb. With food and drinks in his hands, Javi couldn’t physically comfort you. A soft whisper from him, a simple “Hey,” was enough to unfreeze you, and you both walked to your seats, strategically far away from Caleb and his girlfriend.

Dinner went by smoothly. Your family was eager to learn about the new man in your life, and you explained that before becoming your boyfriend, he had been your best friend and someone you trusted with your life. One of your little cousins was curious about how he asked you to be his girlfriend. To your surprise, Javi spun an elaborate story about taking you stargazing and making it official under the night sky. He described the story with such vivid detail that it brought tears to your eyes, and your family found it incredibly heartwarming. Little did they know, part of those tears were tinged with sorrow, knowing that after this night, the charade of this "relationship" would come to an end. The other part of you felt pure love for Javi, appreciating the effort he was putting into making your family believe in your fake romance.

After clearing the plates and sharing the story, Javi couldn’t help but notice Caleb shooting daggers his way. Frankly, he didn’t care about Caleb's feelings, but when he saw him staring at you, Javi couldn’t suppress the desire to leap across the table and strangle him. Thankfully, one of your cousins interrupted and announced that a game of lotería would be played outside if anyone wanted to join.

You take your cup of ponche, and Javi grabs his cup of atol as you both make your way to the backyard, where a table is already set up for the game. Soon, the table of 25 is full, and some have to wait for the next round. With beans in hand, you eagerly listen for the first card to be called.

“Ahí les va la primera tarjeta (Here comes the first card),” Uriel, your favorite cousin's husband, warns. He shuffles the cards in the deck and flips the first one over.

“La Sirena (the siren).”

You squeal and instantly put your bean on top of the square where a siren is underwater. You hear groans from the people who didn’t have the siren on their cards. Javi, not having much luck, simply watched you with the biggest smile, reveling in your excitement over the lead.

Uriel flips the next card and announces, “La Luna (the moon).”

This time, neither you nor Javi has luck. Displeased, you watch as Caleb places a bean on his card.

“¡El soldado! (The soldier!)”

You look at your card—nothing. You look at Javi’s card—still nothing. A feeling of being watched makes your head turn to Caleb, and he’s smirking at Javi because he got another bean on his table. “Not good at lotería,” Caleb tuts, “is there something you’re actually good at?” he says condescendingly. 

You have half a mind to tell him all the ways Javi is perfect, even throwing in a few lies about your fake intimate life, but Javi rests his right hand on your thigh, and just like that, all your hatred bubbles away.

“Before I call the next one, does anyone have all three characters?” Whoops and cheers come from a few uncles, cousins, and family friends. “Okay, does anyone have a line nearly filled?” Uriel asks another question, and this time is met with silence.

“Bueno (Oh well),” he moves on and pulls from the deck, “La maceta (flowerpot).” You wish you had one of those to throw at Caleb’s head. Your wish is answered when someone yells, “¡Aguas!” You and Javi instantly duck, and much to your dismay (not), Caleb doesn’t, and the flying rag hits him right between his eyes. He groans in pain and starts to pick a fight with Marta, one of your cousins. Marta's fiancé stands up for your cousin, “Sos un hijo de remil putas. He told you to watch out. It's your fault you didn't listen." Everyone agrees with Flavia, and they tell Caleb he should've ducked. Your ex finally shuts up, and your family urges Uriel to draw the next card.

“El cotorro (the parrot)." Javi moves quickly and places the bean he's had in his hand for a while. You're so happy for him; that you nearly spill your drink onto the table.

A few more cards are drawn, and you haven't made as much progress, but Javi, on the other hand, has his card nearly full of beans. He needs four consecutive beans in a straight line, but he's missing two beans to win.

“La mano (The hand)." 

“Concha-tu-madre,” an uncle seethes in frustration as he doesn't have the hand on his card, but you know who does—Javi. 

“Ya me agüitaron (Ya’ll bummed me out). I'm going to put on music," your cousin, Darío, says, abandoning the game and hooking up his phone to the speaker. 

“El árbol (the tree.)” You sigh in disappointment as the last character Javi needs isn't called.

Music and various curse words fill the air, including but not limited to coño, jueputa, mamaguevo, japiro. 

"We have four potential winners," Uriel announces, "Y ahora... el gorrito (and now... the little hat)." 

“Mierda,” Javi's voice falls into a whisper because he doesn't have that card. By this point, he's memorized the entirety of his table, and when the hat was called, he knew it wouldn't be on his card.

You look around the table and see that Javi is among three people who need one more bean to win. 

"Let's see," Uriel says as he shuffles the cards. “El valiente (the brave man)” is yelled, and before you can react, Javi screams, "Lotería!" 

Everyone whips their head to your 'boyfriend,' and Uriel rushes to check Javi's card. You're filled with joy and practically bouncing in your seat. 

"We have a winner!" Uriel whoops, patting Javi's shoulder. 

"Beso, beso, beso (kiss, kiss, kiss)" your family chants, wanting you to celebrate with your boyfriend. Your breathing labors, and you don't know how to get out of it. Luckily, you get called to the kitchen, and Javi looks relieved. Your heart drops. He didn't want to kiss me. You excuse yourself and hurriedly make your way to the kitchen.

Javi's left in his seat trying to regulate his heartbeat. He didn't want to kiss you. Not because he didn't want to. God, he wanted to taste your lips, but he's scared that if he kisses you, he'll never stop.

In the kitchen, you scoop food into Tupperware for you and Javi, when you hear a man say, "You said he was just a friend,” the voice accuses. 

"Caleb," you spit with venom.

"You're with him now?" he asks hands in his pant pockets.

"I am. And I'm very happy with Javi," you say simply, adding rice to your blue Tupperware container.

"Come on, we were so good together. Don't you remember? We could be great again. Don't you want that?"

"No is the answer to every single thing you just said."

"What's so special about him? You didn't want to tell your family about us, but you bring him around?" Your ex is furious. When he saw you walk in with that dress and with Javi, hands intertwined and looking up at him like he was the best prize, he nearly lost it.

You turn around with your back to the entrance of the second dining room and point the spatula at your ex. "What isn't special about Javi is the better question. He's sweet, kind, determined, funny, and everything you're not. That's not all I love about him though; he makes me feel loved and heard, and he's my best friend. Javi is everyone's dream."

Caleb scoffs, and his only defense is, "What kind of name is Javi?"

You feel a possessive hand on your stomach, and it moves you back towards the owner's body. No, no, I can take care of this myself, you think, and then his cologne hits your nose, and you feel the warmth of his body, and your mantra of standing up by yourself evaporates.

"What kind of name is Caleb? Why don't you go back to your ex and leave my girlfriend alone?" Javier says, voice deeper than usual, making the rat of your ex retreat with his tail between his legs.

"Want me to kick his ass?" Javi questions.

"Nah, I have a feeling it'll ruin the holiday spirit. Thank you for that though."

You realize he could've heard your conversation with Caleb and ask, "How much of that did you hear?"

"When he made fun of my name, which is fantastic, by the way," he responds.

"Javi is a fantastic name," you assure him, "Javi," you say his name, testing it like it's the first time saying his name.

Javi nearly facepalms himself because hearing his name falling from your lips is making him harden again. Not to mention how you defended him to your ex. He's never heard kinder words about himself until you. Lately, Javi has felt like a failure. He failed to get into the DEA academy, and it was terrifying to think he would feel like that for the rest of his life. But when he's in your presence, everything else just melts away.

"How was my family while I left you unsupervised?" You ask, resting your head on his chest.

"Great. One of your cousins talked about the fact that the Christmas celebration was a pagan holiday and another about companies making a fortune based on Christmas. Your uncle, Ramon, I think started talking about los terrenos y le quitaron la corona (inherited land and they took away his corona beer.)”

"Oh god," you sound horrified, "I'm sorry about my family."

Javi slides his hands up and down your arms, "you have nothing to be sorry for. Mi familia también es así o peor (my family is like that or worse)." He knows he shouldn't say the words but can't help himself, "Our kids will have the biggest family."

Your mouth drops in surprise, and your mind flashes with images of you having a family with Javi, and your heart feels like it can explode.

"Your cousin was behind you," Javi says, looking past you.

A wave of disappointment washes over you. "Oh."

Javi lied. He didn't say that to convince your family about your relationship; he said it because he meant it.

The clock strikes 12 AM, beginning the 25th of December, and you all have to give out hugs to every single person at the party. Thankfully, it won't be awkward since Caleb and his plus-one left an hour ago. You get hugs from your entire family, and they each tell you how much they love you and how proud they are of you. When you reach Javi, you go for a side hug, but he pulls your face into his chest, and you exchange ‘feliz navidads.’ His smell is so comforting you want to stay there forever. You don’t pull away until someone announces it’s time to open gifts.

You take out the large wrapped box inside the bag you brought and give the gift to your little cousin, Gio. You bought him plenty of Hot Wheels and a racetrack that will take up a significant amount of space in his living room. Gio leaps into your arms and tells you you’re the ‘bestest cousin in the world.’ Your older cousin tells you she’ll give you her gift before going upstairs to the balcony to see the fireworks.

When Sandra leaves, Javi calls your attention. "Amor ven," the nickname falls easily from his beautiful lips; it makes you swoon. He pats the seat next to him, and in a few seconds, you’re next to him.

“I got you something,” Javi says nervously reaching into his pants pocket. He retrieves a square box and hands it to you gently like he’s scared you’ll move your hand and drop it.

You take the box fully into your hand. You lift the top, and your eyes begin to water. You scold yourself internally that this shouldn’t make you cry, but the beautiful necklace makes it impossible not to. It’s not because it’s a pretty necklace but you’re tearing up because of the letter attached to the gold chain – a J for Javier.

Javi misconstrues your tears for hatred. “I can exchange it for something else,” he’s quick to spit out."

“I love it, Javi,” you promise, words dripping with sincerity. “¿Me lo pones? (Can you put it on me?)” you ask him, getting ready for him to clasp the necklace.

His fingertips make contact with your nape, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You briefly wonder if that will happen every time you make the slightest contact tonight. Javi adjusts the necklace and clasps it, ensuring he doesn’t accidentally get some of your skin, which he was afraid he’d do because his hands were developing a thin layer of sweat.

“Done,” he tells you breathlessly, and you turn around to show him.

He feels ridiculous that seeing his initial on your chest makes him go crazy. Yes, part of him feels beyond happy that you liked your gift. When he was shopping, trying to find you a gift, he stumbled upon a jewelry store, and he knew he had to get it for you. He didn’t buy it to ‘brand you’. Javi genuinely wanted you to carry a part of him, just like he always carries you everywhere he goes.

You hear the first fireworks go off, and Javi says, “Ya es hora para los cuetes (it’s time for the fireworks).” He helps you get up, and everyone makes their way up the mahogany stairway. You meet Sandra on the 2nd floor, and she gives you a white and red striped metallic-wrapped box. That childhood excitement of opening presents is still there. You feel giddy and tug at the taped ends to rip the paper. Once you’re able to see a sliver of the actual gift, you hold it to your chest.

“Sandra! You did not just gift me a sex toy!” You whisper-yell, the shock and embarrassment evident in your tone.

Sandra was known for being direct; she was your older cousin but more of a big sister. She had been a reliable source of guidance, especially when it came to your body, relationships, and intimacy. In fact, you had learned more from her than from your mandatory sixth-grade sex Ed class. You'd often sought her advice, grateful for her non-judgmental attitude. Sandra was always there to help, whether it was explaining innuendos or first-period crises. You remember when you got your first period, you ran to her after your mom called her for moral support. So, in a way, you shouldn't have been surprised by the gift when you complained to her about your trusty wand giving up on you.

“I recall getting a phone call telling me one of your favorites was no longer working. But with that boyfriend of yours, I don’t think you’ll be needing this, so I can take it back,” she smirks, enjoying making you flustered and sputtering on your words.

“A gift is a gift. You can’t take it back,” you argue, hugging it further into your chest. With the night you’ve had, you’re 100% certain the toy will have its grand premiere.

“Ooo using it with your man tonight to spice things up, I like that.”

You turn around and see Javi standing there with his hands by his side. His pretty lips are parted in an ‘o,’ and you can’t believe he just saw your cousin gifting you a sex toy for Christmas.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Sandra gives you a peck on the cheek and slips past you to go to the stairs and up another floor.

“Woah. That’s certainly a gift,” Javi states.

You want the ground to swallow you whole. Here you are hugging a fucking sex toy in the middle of the hallway with the man you love staring at the gift.

“I’m going to put this in my room,” you say robotically and make a run for your room. Oh my god, oh my god, he did not just see that. With the box still in your arms, hoping you don’t run into anyone, you open the door to your room just enough to slip inside and shut the door. Your heart is beating erratically, and you consider staying in your room for the rest of the night, but you know they’ll be calling for you soon. You finally unlock your arms and take the gift into your hands. There’s still wrapping paper covering the gift, so you take it off and take in the toy for the first time. You mistook the handle for a dildo. It wasn’t a plastic dick you thought you received; it was a clit stimulator. Color? Red.

After you placed your new gift on top of your bed and covered it with a sweater, you found the courage to face Javi. You opened your door and found Javi with his fist raised as if he was a second away from knocking.

“Let’s go,” you croak, hoping he won’t ever bring up what happened a few minutes ago.

Javi wordlessly agrees, and you both walk to the stairs in silence to go to the balcony. As you approach the final stairs, you hear more fireworks go off, but their timing isn’t consecutive, so you know the big event is yet to come. Once you’re outside, near the entrance, there’s a table with drinks that range from alcohol to traditional beverages to a mix. You take a Corona, and Javi picks up a glass of coquito. The balcony is packed, but it's big enough that you don’t feel like packed sardines. Music is blasting on the speakers; some of your family is off dancing, and some men are huddled around talking about work, while your younger cousins are playing with their new toys in a corner. You still haven’t talked to Javi, and it’s slowly killing him. He didn’t mean to embarrass you by walking in on Sandra giving you your gift, but when he overheard the term 'sex toy,' it was as if an invisible force nailed him to the floor. Javi racks his brain for how to start a conversation with you. He knows the firework show will commence any minute now, and he won’t be able to get a word in.

"You look beautiful," he blurts out before his brain can catch up with his mouth. Okay, not what he wanted to start off with, but it’s definitely not a lie.

“Thank you,” you say sheepishly as the fireworks start going off one after another.

“I mean, you look beautiful every day,” Javi says in the midst of a chrysanthemum exploding in the sky.

"What?" you reply, struggling to make out his words over the resounding explosions.

Once the sounds die down, your aunt Odilia passes by, catching sight of you and Javi standing closer, facing each other. “¿Como están los enamorados? (How are the lovebirds?),” she says with adoration before moving on. Her statement prompts a few head turns from your family, who go on to comment about how cute you look with your boyfriend.

"I said," Javi begins, lowering himself to your ear, "You look beautiful. You always do, but tonight..." He stands up straight, locking eyes with you. Javi delicately strokes your cheek with the back of his fingers. “Es como si me hubieras puesto bajo tu hechizo (It’s like you’ve put me under your spell),” he confesses softly, his voice filled with adoration.

You find yourself unable to conjure a reply. Your entire focus is consumed by him—the way he smiles, the dimple on full display, the stray curls tousled from dancing, and the warmth of his fingers against your cheek. His nails graze your skin ever so slightly, leaving you questioning if it's a figment of your imagination. A fleeting thought crosses your mind, wondering what it would be like to feel his nails embedded into your hips as he guides you in rhythmic movement. Taking a deep breath to regain composure, you inhale his scent, causing your head to spin. In the midst of your reverie, Javi's voice pulls you back.

"Your family is expecting a kiss. May I?" he asks, breaking the spell.

"What?" you respond, dumbfounded. While you heard him, the question leaves you in disbelief.

“¿Te puedo besar?” he repeats, his heart seemingly pounding out of his chest, laying his intentions bare.

As you nod and rasp out a breathless "yes,", Javi cups your cheeks with a gentle urgency, bringing his lips to yours in a passionate collision. It feels like heaven with his mouth molding seamlessly with yours. His taste is a delightful concoction of coconut, Don Q rum, cinnamon, and condensed milk—remnants of the coquito he had earlier. In the intoxicating embrace, you clutch his shirt, pulling him closer, savoring every fleeting second because it could be the first and last kiss you'll ever share.

Opening your mouth wider, you send a silent invitation, and he responds, his tongue tangling with yours, the passionate sounds blending harmoniously with the distant fireworks. Amid the explosive bursts in the night sky, the sounds of your fervent kiss are almost lost, and worked up and lost in the moment, you can't help but whimper into his mouth. When the sound of your own desire reaches Javi's ear, he knows he should pull away before the intensity escalates. Reluctantly, Javi breaks the kiss, mindful of the familial audience surrounding you. Both your chests rise and fall in tandem, the shared breathlessness lingering in the air. The post-kiss silence is punctuated by the distant echoes of the ongoing fireworks.

Separated but still entwined in the magic of the moment, you catch your breath. You admire the way Javi's brown eyes reflect the vibrant colors bursting in the sky. Javi gazes back into your eyes, marveling at the way they brighten with each explosion in the sky. It's a parallel to his own feelings as if miniature fireworks detonate in his heart whenever he looks at you. His earlier realization holds true; having kissed you, he never wants to stop.

"Okay, well, I'm going to bed," you say, gesturing toward the door, your eyes avoiding his gaze.

“Buenas noches,” he replies, a tinge of sadness coloring his voice.

You steal one last glance at him and urge yourself to get to your room before you throw your friendship down the drain for another kiss. So that’s what you do; you open the door, whisper one last goodbye, and shut the door. Javi closes his eyes, scolding himself for making things awkward. As he goes to his room, he focuses on thinking about what to do to fix your friendship. One thing he knows is that he can’t lose you.

Inside your room, you press against the wooden door. You have no idea how you’ll get through tomorrow, much less through the rest of your life. our eyes wander around, taking in the familiar walls of the room. You’ve had your own room at your aunt's house since you were a little girl, and there are some things that have remained the same. There's a shelf against a wall that contains a few of your stuffed animals from your childhood. You took down your posters from when you were a teen but kept the same paint color of dark red because you knew you couldn’t have your room all black. 

Realizing you still wear Javi's jacket, you gently remove it, placing it on your bed. You hate that it looks like it belongs in your room. You sigh and go to your bathroom to get ready to toss and turn in your bed.

In the midst of removing your makeup, having already brushed your teeth, a soft knock interrupts the quiet solitude of your room. Confused, you quickly dry your face and rush to open the door, wondering who it could be. It’s Javi. He's outside your door, his hair a mess like he ran his hands through it repeatedly.

"Can I come in?" he asks, his eyes searching yours.

"Javi! They'll kill me if they see you in my room," you whisper.

"Please, cariño?" 

His tone is filled with a vulnerability that softens your resolve. You take a quick glance down the hallway and find it deserted, so you quickly pull him into your room and shut the door quietly. As you assess him, clad in grey sweats and a black long-sleeve compression shirt, a rush of desire floods your body. Thoughts of peeling off his clothes and kissing him all over stir a wetness between your legs, leaving you certain your underwear is ruined after spending the day with Javi. 

"I'm sorry," he interrupts your dirty thoughts, and confusion crosses your face.

Sorry? Why is he sorry?

He sees the confusion written all over your face and continues, “I’m sorry for kissing you.”

What?

“If I knew it would make you uncomfortable, I wouldn’t have done it. Your friendship means the world to me. I’m sorry I ruined it. Cariño, what do I need to do to make us go back to normal? I’ll do anything,” Javi pleads with you.

You shake your head furiously. “No, Javi, you didn’t ruin anything. It didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you promise.

He breathes out a sigh of relief after you tell him he didn’t mess up the best thing that’s happened to him. “Why did you shut down after… after we kissed?”

“I don’t know, Jav,” you shrug, looking away. You feel your eyes sting at the tone of his voice. He sounds hurt. You've hurt the person you love, and you want to take him into your arms and apologize.

“Please don’t do that,” he implores, reaching for your hand. “Dime (tell me).”

A wave of apprehension washes over you; confessing your feelings is a leap into the unknown. You worry about the potential shift in dynamics, but you sense that Javi believes your withdrawal stems from him. “If I tell you, and you don’t like what I say, promise me we’ll forget this conversation,” you request, your lip caught between your teeth.

“What’s so bad you can’t tell me?” 

“Promise me, Jav,” you repeat, aware of the simplicity but needing that ounce of reassurance.

He nods solemnly. “Te lo prometo (I promise you).”

“Javi, I like you. So much,” your voice falls to a whisper. The ball is now in his court, freeing you from the weight of what-ifs.

Javi's reaction is priceless. The tension that once knitted his eyebrows together dissipates, giving way to a radiant smile that stretches from ear to ear. Leaning in, he cradles your chin in his hand and kisses you, a taste of mint lingering on his lips. This time, the kiss is tender, and gentle—a dance of shared feelings that leaves him dizzy and his stomach aflutter. As he withdraws, his forehead presses against yours.

“I like you too. For a long time now,” he confesses, the words clear and resolute.

“Really?” you ask incredulously, feeling like you're walking on air. This moment, a culmination of countless fantasies, was the very last scenario you expected to become reality.

“Yeah,” he affirms with a nod. The truth lingers on the tip of his tongue. “De hecho, te amo (In fact, I love you).”

“I love you too,” you reply with a smile, your hands slowly tracing up his chest. One hand passes his broad shoulders and reaches his nape. A gentle brush of your hands against his skin sends a surge of warmth through him. Your fingers run through his hair, eliciting a low groan from Javi, and you yearn to hear more.

“Javi, te necesito (Javi, I need you),” you murmur with half-lidded eyes.

He doesn't want to risk embarrassing himself with words, so he gently takes your hand off his hair and guides you towards your bed.

Walking with playful curiosity, he asks, "Am I the first guy you've sneaked into your room?"

"Mmm... I plead the fifth," you decide to answer coyly.

He narrows his eyes, "That's a yes then."

"¿Si te pones celoso, porque me preguntas? (If you get jealous, why would you ask me?)" you question him playfully as you hit the bed.

Javi's jaw ticks, and he says, "I'll make you forget about them."

His tone stirs a needy feeling in you, and you reply, " Sigue de perico, y no vamos hacer todo lo que quiero (Keep talking, and we won't be able to do everything I want)."

Tugging down on his shirt, you give him the signal. He promptly takes it off, treating you to your very own private show.

"Oh my god," you groan appreciatively when you see him shirtless—tan skin, toned stomach, and freckles on display. The grey sweatpants hang low on his hips, showcasing the V line and a dark patch of hair.

Javi revels in the effect he has on you. ”Turn around," he commands with dark eyes.

You instantly comply, spinning around so he can reach your zipper. Instead of tearing your dress off, he hugs you from behind.

“I don’t know if I told you before, but I really love this dress,” Javi says, running his hands over the velvet material. “Do you know how many times you made me hard tonight?” He confesses to having excused himself to the restroom multiple times to handle his hard-on discreetly.

"Javi," you whine impatiently, the revelation only intensifying the sticky mess between your thighs.

He pulls your zipper down, but you turn around, reaching your shoulders to slip the dress off, letting it pool on the hardwood floor.

"Dios mío (My God)," he exhales with a shaky breath.

"¿Te gusta? (Do you like it?)" you ask, referring to your lingerie that matches your dress. You're wearing a burgundy thong and a matching bra with lace material, revealing pebbled nipples. His fingers twitch, and he pulls you by the waist.

"Me encanta (I love it)," Javi whispers in your ear. His voice makes you slump against him as he unclasps your bra. “Why did you wear this?” he asks, his kisses trailing down your bare shoulder, devoid of judgment or ill will, just curiosity.

"You know what they say, 'to hope for the best, plan for the best.'"

"I don't think that's how it goes, baby," Javi chuckles into your shoulder and then presses his lips on your neck.

“Oh,” you say dumbly, savoring his kisses.

"Thank you for the outfit, my beautiful girl," he says, instructing you to get on the bed. As you settle on the mattress, you watch as Javi begins to remove his pants.

You watch in awe as his swollen cock presses against his stomach, and an undeniable desire to have it in your mouth engulfs you. Can a dick be pretty? God, his is so beautiful, you think to yourself. Javi gracefully crawls onto the bed, his hand reaching for your unclothed breasts.

“Mmm… so beautiful,” he hums, popping one of your tits into his mouth.

“Oh!” you exclaim, a mix of shock and pleasure coursing through you. Your arms extend onto the bed, and in the throes of passion, you accidentally hit something. The noise prompts Javi to lift his mouth from you and remove the blue sweater that conceals whatever your hands came in contact with. To his surprise, he discovers the present your cousin gifted you earlier.

“Clit and nipple stimulator,” he reads off the box.

Embarrassment washes over you, even though he just had your nipple in his mouth. Before you can say anything, Javi tears the box open and retrieves the toy. He presses the 'on' button, and it comes to life with a soft hum.

“Mi color favorito,” he says with a smirk.

Your brain struggles to form a coherent sentence. Javi sets the suction toy beside you and resumes attending to your nipples with his mouth. Lost in the sensation, your head falls back onto the bed. Suddenly, you feel a vibration around your other nipple. Lifting your head, you see Javi using the red wand on your right nipple.

“Oh God, Javi, I need you inside me,” you moan.

His response is muffled by your soft breasts. Gripping his hair, you lift him off you with a bit of force.

“I need to taste your pussy first,” he says with blown-out eyes.

“No,” you protest, craving him desperately.

It's not what he wanted to hear. “Please?” he insists. “I know I’ll cum embarrassingly fast, and I need to give you something before that happens.”

No. I want you now, you beautiful man. “Just a little bit,” you compromise. Normally, you'd eagerly jump at the prospect of him expressing a desire to eat your pussy, but you're so unbelievably turned on.

He toys with the band of your thong, and you lift your hips to let him remove it. Soon, they're in his hands, tossed aside on the floor. Laid bare for him, you're naked except for your jewelry. The gold 'J' nestles between your breasts, the left one still wet from his saliva, while your pussy glistens with slick accumulated throughout the night.

“Eres tan hermosa. Nunca he visto nada como tú y nada se compara (You're so beautiful. I've never seen anything like you, and nothing compares),” he confesses sincerely. Seeing you laid out before him, looking at him like he hangs the stars, leaves him breathless. He kneels on the floor, gently pulling your legs to be on either side of his face. Javi wastes no time as he begins to lick your cunt.

You gasp, placing one leg on his shoulder for added support. Responding to your silent request, Javi lifts your other leg onto his opposite shoulder.

“Ahh!” you cry out when his mouth presses closer onto your pussy, and he begins to devour you. His tongue explores, collecting all of your wetness into his mouth. Fuck, she tastes so good. I've been waiting to have her in my mouth for so long.

“So sweet, baby girl,” he murmurs between your thighs, causing vibrations that intensify the pleasure. You're already sweating and out of breath, unable to believe how quickly his mouth is bringing you to the edge.

He momentarily stops licking your folds and wraps his lips around your pearl. Your legs jerk, and you can't help but scream out his name. Javi quickly shushes you, urging you to be quiet, though his own noises betray the arousal he feels. He promises himself that once he can take you to his place, he'll never ask you to quiet down.

Opening your eyes, you're captivated by a sinful sight. Javi's intense and piercing gaze meets yours, the obsidian of his eyes seamlessly bleeding into the rich brown of his irises. Simultaneously, his tongue delves into your entrance, a sensation so electrifying that you can no longer endure the sweet torture.

“You’ve made me wetter, Javi, please fuck me.”

“No,” he objects.

“Javi por favor. Mañana podemos hacer de todo, pero te necesito ahora mismo (Javi, please. Tomorrow we can do everything, but I need you now.)”

He chides, “terca (stubborn girl),” but relents, releasing your legs. Taking matters into your own hands, quite literally, you guide him onto your bed, pushing him to lie back as you straddle him.

He believes he's died and gone to heaven, with you on top of him—a dream come true. “Condom?” he rasps out.

“I’m clean and on Nexplanon,” you nod toward your arm. “Are you okay with that?”

Feeling his cock pulse at the thought of being with you without a barrier, Javi nods vigorously and says, “Me matas bebita (you kill me, baby girl).”

His words draw a smile from you as you reach behind, feeling the velvety skin of his arousal in your hand. With deliberate slowness, you stroke him up and down.

“Uhh… fuck!” Javi groans, tossing his head back onto your pillow. The raw, guttural sounds escaping him become music to your ears, encouraging you to keep stroking him. Precome coats your hand, and you use it to slickly spread the moisture over him as makeshift lube. Javi continues panting, and you decide it's enough.

Rising on your knees, you guide him to your entrance. His head breaches you, and an involuntary whine escapes your lips.

“Oh,” you gasp, squirming on his lap. 

“Mmm!” Javi’s jaw drops, unable to believe that you're creating such intensity with just his tip inside

You ride him to open up, moving yourself on his head. “God, Javi!” your body burns as you straddle him. 

“Told you…” he pauses, gritting his teeth. “I should've s-tretched you.” 

You shake your head. “I can take you. I just- uh! I just need some time.” Javi is big and thick, prolonging the process, but you'd rather struggle than have him prep you.

As you keep bouncing on his tip, Javi thrusts up into you, causing both of you to moan. He places both hands, previously gripping your sheets, on either side of your waist, helping him fit more of his cock inside you. You rock back, feeling yourself open up, and you lower yourself down.

Your mouth hangs open, and you wail as the thickest part of him is embraced by your walls. Javi groans heavily and embeds his nails on your waist. You moan at the small ripple of pain and work yourself to sink down some more.

“I-I thought- ah! que me querías calladita, (that you wanted me to quiet down) and look at you…uhh louder than me.”

“You feel s-oh!” Javi can’t finish his response because you fully sit on his cock. Your hips are flush with his, and he swears he can cum this instant. 

“Hold on,” he tells you, breathing heavily, eyelids closed, and stilling you.

Once he feels he’s regained some composure, he lifts you off him. You slowly start to rock back and forth, chewing your lip to keep from screaming out. 

“Does it feel good?” Javi asks, eyes open once more.

You meet his dark eyes and moan, “Mhm, s-so good… Oh! Javi," you whine, "So big… you’re so big.”

He pulsates inside you, a low groan escaping his lips. "You can't say that," he mutters, shaking his head, not to express disagreement but to calm himself. Not yet, not yet, he chants. 

“Why not? It’s true.” You argue, throwing your head back at the pleasure coursing through your veins.

“Shit, you’re gonna make me cum if you keep going. Then I won’t earn first place for the best sex this room’s ever seen,” he laughs lightly to mask his mortification because he knows he’ll be cumming soon.

"You're so much better than anyone else,” you assure him, seeing through the self-deprecating comment he made.

He lights up at your praise. "Yeah?”

"Yes! You make me so full,” you sigh, bouncing on him a little faster. Your hand movement transitions from his hips to both hands sprawled on his abdomen. Pressing your body closer to him at an angle, both of you shake with pleasure. You keep rocking against him, and all he can do is watch. Javi takes in the way your breasts bounce and the way your necklace shines. Overcome with desire and possessiveness, he sits up suddenly, making you whine when you feel his sweaty and hot body against yours.

Javi seeks your mouth, and you eagerly comply. Your mouths crash, and it's all tongue and teeth. He's moving you slowly against him, but it's still a delicious sensation, and you can't help but moan into his mouth. The air in your lungs is slowly decreasing, so you pull away, and your head falls onto his shoulder. With your mouth away from him, he's able to wrap his arms around you and rock up, up, up with intensity. His pace ignites something within you, and you bite his wet tan skin to muffle your cries. Javi feels you tighten on him, and he pants out, “How are you so perfect? No entiendo (I don’t understand.)”

You can't answer him; you just bounce on him, feeling the telltale sensation of your lower stomach nearing the finish line.

“Amor,” he groans. The word sounds like sweet honey coming from Javi's lips, and it makes you gasp. Javi catches on and asks you, “¿Te gusta cuando te digo así? (Do you like it when I call you like that?)”

“Sí,” you confirm. He adjusts the angle of your legs, causing the wind to knock out of you, and the only words you're capable of saying are, “Amor, amor, amor…” This is the first time you've ever called Javi ‘amor’, and it does something to him. He knows he’s got a minute max before he blows his load.

Frantically, he takes one hand off your body and scrambles to find something on the bed. Lost in ecstasy, you don't notice, but then you feel a vibration on your pearled nub, and you jump from surprise. In an instant, you look down and see Javi has the red toy and is using it against your clit. Your eyes begin to water as you reel in the feeling of the man you love inside you and the delicious sucking of the toy.

You don't warn him; you don't even process the thought yourself, but you begin to shake on top of Javi. You feel every nerve in your body— all seven trillion of them—explode. You come in silence with your mouth into a perfect ‘o’. 

Javi doesn’t let up his ministrations; he keeps thrusting his hips upwards and using the red wand, prolonging your high. “That’s it, amor, you look so pretty cumming for me,” he whispers full of adoration. “Good girl, good girl,” he chants as he works you through the most intense orgasm of your life.

Javi bites his lower lip, determined to make this moment last longer; he never wants it to end. Once your vocal cords start functioning again, you cup his face with one hand and, with desperation, you tell him, "Ven, amor, relléname (Come, my love, cum in me).”

Javi feels like fireworks are going off in his body. He keens at your words filled with love and desire for him; he has no choice but to obey. The dam in his abdomen breaks, and “Ahh!” he groans, voice broken and raspy, letting go of the toy. You feel his hips stutter as they lose their steady rhythm, and he pulsates and spasms, the warmth of his seed fills you as he climaxes in ropes. Your body is overworked and sensitive, but you keep bouncing on him to milk every drop. You can't look away from him. His eyelids are heavy, his mouth is parted and panting as he moans and growls hoarsely, his neck is extended showing all the veins, and his skin is flushed in a beautiful red hue. Javi repeats your name over and over as his high washes over him. You caress his nape and run your fingers through his hair as he comes down from it. His spend and yours drip out of you and onto Javi.

"Holy fuck, that was amazing," Javi laughs, and you feel the rumble in his chest.

"Yeah?" you ask coyly.

“Best of my life," he sighs and rolls you over so you're underneath him.

You laugh and crane your neck to give him a peck on the corner of his mouth. God, that sound, Javi thinks. "I love you," he says, knowing he'll never stop telling you those three words.

"I love you," you echo. "Come on, let's sleep," you tell him.

"I've got to clean you up first," he says, climbing off and pulling out of you. You whine at the loss and miss him inside of you already.

His expression looks pained as he looks between your parted thighs, seeing his seed seeping out of your puffy cunt. Javi fights with himself as he debates leaving you with his cum inside. His index and middle fingers are taken by you and guided to your opening.

"Push it all inside," you command, knowing he doesn't really want to wipe it away.

"But your bed and—"

“Me vale (I don’t care)," you interrupt. Javi has always been concerned about how his actions affect you, and you find it sweet. However, you want this. You know he won’t give in to his desires if he thinks you don’t want this. So, you have to convince him you do. “Please,” and just like that, he’s collecting the creamy liquid around your labia and pressing it back inside you. 

You're oversensitive, but you melt at the feeling of his thick and long fingers inside you. Gripping onto his bicep, you savor the sensation as he makes sure most of the sticky substance goes back inside you. Whatever remnants are on his fingers, he sucks them and closes his eyes at the taste. You stare up at him and swear you could go another round if he didn’t fuck the energy out of you. 

“Should I go back to my room?” Javi asks. He doesn’t want to, but maybe you’d rather sleep alone.

“Please stay,” you tell him, gripping his arm tighter.

He nods. “Okay, baby, I’ll stay.” You sit up on your bed and undo your covers. Javi walks across the room to turn off the light, and when he comes back, you’re underneath your quilt. He climbs in next to you and extends his left arm so you can snuggle to his side. 

“Buenas noches, amor,” he whispers.

“Good night, amor. I can’t wait to wake up next to you,” you tell Javi before you drift to sleep.

In the silence, he admires your features and says, “I can’t wait to make you my wife and wake up next to you for the rest of our lives. Feliz Navidad, mi vida”

Extended A/N: I wrote this when Frankie didn’t exist yet; I promise I just don’t write for Javi! 

The last chapter of IYW should be out next week if I’m able to recolor the gifs I need. Thank you for reading!

[dahliaslove]

⭑ DAVE MUSTAINE WITH A BIMBO / GIRLY GF

⭑ authors note: here are some random headcanons because i love channeling my inner karen smith (mean girls) and elle woods to write these

⭑ warnings: lots of kisses, dave is a smug asshole, small descriptions of sex (like two paragraphs), i got carried away with these hc’s because i’m delusional

⭑ pairing: dave mustaine x fem!bimbo!reader

- if we’re talking late 90s / 2000s dave?? this man will treat you like a princess, he will endlessly spoil you in kisses and gifts, i just know it. he’d be so gentle on you too, like he’s the type of guy that will never not have a hand around wrapped around your waist ( this is very effective when it come to him stoping you from tripping on air )

- constantly sitting in his lap and just playing with his hair as you talk about whatever happened to you that day or about a particular new line of makeup, he would not understand a single word you’re saying but is very supportive and nods along as you try to explain

- same goes for you whenever he talks about things you don’t understand, he’ll try to go in depth with his explanations untill you understand <33

- he’s possessive as hell, especially because you’re a little unobservant when it comes to the world around you, and he just wants to make sure nobody’s treating you wrong, it works too because dave is low key a little intimidating so i feel if he sent someone a glare they would back off pretty quickly

- thats not me saying that you can’t defend yourself though! dave has absolutely seen you tear into any pervy or downright disrespectful men and he loves that you’re not afraid to stand up for yourself or sacrifice a heel to throw at someone

- but he is a softie for you that will back you up and cuss anyone out if they try to mess with you :)

- speaking of him being possessive though . . . this man will absolutely cover you in hickeys, he doesn’t care if you complain about you having to use a lot of foundation to cover it. On days where you don’t have the time or patience to cover it he’ll walk next to you all smug and happy all day

- dave lowkey has a right being so smug though because i know he’d treat you so well in bed, like he’d give it to you any way you want it just cause you’re his girl ‘n he loves you so much

- if you want it rough? dave will have you bent in half beneath him with your legs thrown over his shoulders and your mascara running down your face as he thrusts his hip up into you at a bruising pace

- you want it soft? he’ll slowly rock his hips into you from behind as you watch a movie cuddled up on the couch. and he’ll shush you whenever your whines start to get too loud and tell you to focus on the movie.

- either way when you’re done he’s wiping away any of your tears and planting a sloppy kiss on you that smudges up your lip gloss even more.

- if you gave him bracelets to match with you he would wear it forever, like imagine seeing dave walk around in his black heavy metal tees while wearing a bunch of bright pink bracelets with hearts and glitter all over them that you made for him.

- and if the bracelets break or fall off, he’s coming to you with pouty lips and begging you to make another one like ‘baby, please make me another one? i didn’t mean to break it, i swear!’

- i swear sometimes you be thinking he’s the princess in the relationship because at least 80% of the time there’s some residual lipstick marks on his neck or his lips would constantly be at least a little pink from your lipstick rubbing off on him when you guys kiss

- oh my god . . . sitting with him while he practices on his guitar too, you’ll sit there all patiently while making more bracelets or reading some fashion magazine and when you’re not doing that you’re only ever watching the way his hands glide and pluck at the strings on his guitar ( he gets smug and teases you about this because he’s an ass and he loves the way your voice gets all whiny in pitch as you try to defend yourself against his teasing )

- and he’d never not have some sort of pink hairband or clip stored in his pocket for you but it’s fine because he knows you always carry things for him in your little pink purse like guitar picks or an extra water for if he gets thirsty :}

- in conclusion, someone get this man a silly little bimbo girlfriend who will always lay kisses on him !!! (i volunteer)

[hopelesslyromanticgay]

Playing with her hair - Vada Cavell X Reader

Y/N's POV:

"Why are people in horror movies so dumb!" my girlfriend Vada complains, "Like in the real world no one is stupid enough to do ANY of this. Like, no one would even pick up the phone in the first place!"

"Uh huh," I say to the girl sprawled out across my lap and the rest of the couch, not fully paying attention to what she's saying. I'm more focused on counting her freckles. A while ago, the question of how many freckles she had started to interest me and ever since it's been hard to get the idea out of my mind.

68...

69...

70...

"Y/N/N, are you listening to me?" she asks, breaking my trance, "am I rambling again, I'm sorry."

"Don't be! You're cute when you ramble," I reassure her. She looks over at me, a huge smile creeping over her face, her beautiful brown eyes shimmering in the dim light.

"In that case, I'm gonna keep going," she tells me, "what kind of dumbass decides it's a good idea to let their younger than six year old kid go out of the house alone on a rainy day!"

"Bad ones, I guess," I say absentmindedly. We keep on watching the movie we have on, neither of us really focused on it. without even thinking of it, my hands make their way to her hair.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

"Messing with your hair," I admit.

"Oh my god, are we acting like a normal couple?" she gasps.

"Do you not like it?"

"No!" she exclaims, "please don't stop."

"Oh my god, can I style it?"

"As long as it's not too fancy," she insists. One of the first things I ever learned about Vada is how much she hates looking fancy. She doesn't like the tight fitting "feminine" clothing, or the way makeup feels on her face. She hates the way her hair gets tightly pulled into an uncomfortable style, and then gelled into place. What's even worse is if she has to do all three of those TOGETHER. So I'm making it a point to keep it fairly informal, but still neat. 

I run my fingers through her dark brunette locks, trying to get the various knots out.

"Ow!" that one hurt!" she squeals.

"Sorry, oh my god are you okay?" I apologize, hoping I haven't hurt her too bad.

"I guess," she says sadly.

"Will this make it better?" I ask, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

She looks up at me smiling, "so much better." I brush a few strands of hair out of her face before continue styling it. She climbs into my lap, facing away from me so I can better access her hair.

I start parting her hair, so that there's an even amount of it on each side of her face.

"Oh my god Beverly get out of that house!" Vada screams, practically jumping up at the television, "I swear these people are so dumb."

"Vada, baby, you need to sit slightly still for this to look good," I say softly.

"Fine," she pouts, "why is you doing this kind of relaxing?"

"Maybe I just have that effect on you," I suggest.

"No, normally you make me so excited and happy, like a little kid seeing a bunch of candy and a lot of stuffies!"

"Aww, that's cute," I smile, my face getting warm.

"You're the best girlfriend ever," she compliments me, "I don't know how I wound up with someone as beautiful and funny and all around amazing as you."

"Maybe it's because you're the best girlfriend ever," I suggest.

"No you are!"

"No you!" We continue to argue about who's the better girlfriend, eventually realizing that we'd never get the other to agree with our opinion.

I end up sorting her hair into two neat braids, not too fancy, but presentable. 

"And voila!" I say, snapping a photo of the brunette to show her how she looks. She turns around quickly to view the photo.

"I look like Wednesday Addams if she had severe PTSD," she laughs, "but seriously, I love it."

"You do look like that!" I cackle, "what a funny coincidence!"

"Thank you, Y/N/N. I love it," she smiles softly, a blush creeping up on her cheeks.

"Sure thing, it was probably more fun for me than it was for you," I giggle.

"Well you can play with my hair anytime," she offers.

"Haha! You're gonna regret making that offer," I tell her.

[po3tbbygirl]

La La Land 🎞️

CHAPTER 1 (Remus Lupin x fem!oc)

content warnings: industry pressure, burnout, self-doubt, mental exhaustion, career struggles, substance use (drinking and hella smoking), anxiety, unhealthy habits. The weather was dreadful.

a/n: just a lady with micro bangs

"I don't know, Marlenne," the brown-haired woman sighed, lighting her second cigarette of the day with shaky fingers. She flicked the lighter closed, its metallic click sharp in the silence of the room. "The entire crew is going mad! The production company is breathing down my neck about the new script, and no actor wants to work with me. No wonder, though—I can barely pay ten pounds an hour!"

"Blair, I'm so sorry things are going south..."

Blair exhaled a cloud of smoke, staring at the crumpled coffee cup on her desk. It was still half-full, but she hadn’t touched it since the morning. She appreciated Marlenne's attempts to comfort her, but after so many reassuring words, a part of her wondered if she was truly cut out for this industry.

"Marlenne," she sighed again, her voice quieter now, "I love you, but can we continue this another time? I have class in half an hour, and my car broke down this morning."

"...You're taking the tube?”

Blair didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she set her phone down on the table with an audible thunk, her delicate wrist brushing the edge of the chair. Twisting her hair into a messy bun, she left her bangs to frame her gaunt face, the angles of her cheekbones more pronounced than she remembered.

"Yikes," Marlenne muttered on the other end before the line went silent.

[◉"]

Blair stared blankly at the page in front of her, her textbook open to a discussion on color theory.

"…Directors and cinematographers use color palettes intentionally, employing techniques like color grading to enhance visuals. For example, vibrant hues might represent fantasy or optimism, while desaturated colors evoke realism or bleakness…"

She sighed and ran her hand through her hair, her bracelet sliding loosely down her wrist. The paper felt impossible, and her stomach churned slightly—not with hunger, but from the coffee she’d been sipping since morning. Tossing her pen aside, she stepped onto her small balcony, cigarette already in hand. The chill of the evening air seeped through her thin shirt, brushing against her skin like a reminder of how much the temperature had dropped.

Suddenly, her apartment door slammed open.

"Hey! We're leaving in ten—what the fuck?!"

Blair turned her head lazily to look at Marlenne, who stood wide-eyed in the doorway. "What?" she muttered, blowing out another puff of smoke.

Marlenne waved the air in front of her face dramatically, coughing for effect. "How many of those have you had today, Blair? Jesus. The balcony’s practically a chimney."

Blair rolled her eyes, tapping the ash off her cigarette. "Second one," she said flatly.

Marlenne raised a skeptical brow. "Second one since I got here, maybe."

Blair ignored the comment, blowing another stream of smoke into the cool air.

"What do you mean, 'what'?" Marlenne mocked her tone with exaggerated indignation. "I told you I’d take you to meet some people!"

Blair’s posture stiffened. "What?! No, Marlenne! I can't! I need to finish this assignment, get Minnie’s project done, and get my shit together before the prod company meeting—"

Before Blair could protest further, they were both tearing through her closet, pulling out clothes at a frantic pace. Blair found herself frowning at a pair of jeans Marlenne tossed aside—ones that used to fit better than they did now. Eventually, they settled on a backless top paired with dark-wash jeans. Marlenne handed her favorite Mary Janes with a smirk.

"For luck," Marlenne said with a wink.

Blair muttered something inaudible but allowed herself to be swept into the bathroom. Marlenne expertly fixed her disheveled hair, applying quick but flawless makeup.

"Who even are these people?" Blair asked, watching her friend in the mirror.

Marlenne froze mid-swipe with her mascara wand, giving her a blank stare. "Did you even listen to me earlier?"

Blair blinked and offered a sheepish smile. "No..."

Marlenne rolled her eyes. "You’ll thank me later."

[◉"]

"So... what's this nutter plan of yours again?"

"You know the guy I told you about from my childhood?" Blair glanced sideways at Marlenne, her expression curious.

"Jace?"

Marlenne rolled her eyes dramatically, flicking her hair over her shoulder. "James. It's James, not Jace, okay? Anyway, I saw him recently in a coffee shop, of all places. You know how I am, right? I can’t keep my mouth shut for more than five minutes, and of course, he’s the same way. We started talking, and I couldn’t stop asking about what he's been up to. And it turns out, he’s been working with some people who would actually be really honoured to work with you."

"Yes, honored. They saw your Dreamer thing—"

"The Dreamers? No one saw that!" Blair laughed, incredulous.

"Hey! Four thousand views on YouTube is not ‘no one,’ alright?" Marlenne shot back, half-laughing herself as they rounded a corner and neared the entrance to Seb's place. "You have no idea how many people in this industry would kill for that kind of exposure. Four thousand’s a decent start."

Blair shifted her weight, still unsure, but Marlenne didn’t seem to notice as she pressed on. "Anyway, Lily and Sirius—remember them from the old neighborhood? My other childhood friends—are both desperate to get into the industry. They’d do anything to break in. I’m telling you, they're perfect for this. And listen, I know how much you value your creative freedom, but there’s this other guy, Remus. He’s an amazing writer, seriously.” 

Blair rubbed her chin thoughtfully. "And James?"

"Well, James, yeah. He said he can help with... whatever you need, really. He’s got connections, knows a few people. He can open doors for you, if you give him the chance."

Blair stopped for a moment, looking hesitant. She didn’t like the sound of it—something felt off, but Marlenne’s enthusiasm was contagious.

"Look," Marlenne continued, her voice a little softer, trying to reassure her, "he’s just a rich kid who doesn’t want to live off his dad’s money, alright? He wants to prove he can do something on his own. He can help finance some of your stuff. You need someone with a little money to throw around if you’re serious about getting into the industry, and he’s a good guy, Blair. Just... trust me on this."

Blair stared at her for a moment, eyes narrowing, before letting out a sigh. She didn’t like depending on anyone, especially not someone she barely knew anymore. But Marlenne had a way of making things sound so simple, even when they weren’t.

"Alright," Blair muttered, pulling her jacket tighter around her, "I’ll think about it."

"Good!" Marlenne grinned, proud of her persuasive skills. "And trust me, you won’t regret it."

[◉"]

“And all of that is going to be… a musical?”

Remus was stunned, to say the least. His eyebrows furrowed, and he leaned forward slightly, as if trying to understand what had just come out of Blair’s mouth.

Blair didn’t notice his shock at first. She was busy chatting with the bartender, her usual easy smile on her face as he served her another drink.The rest of the group at the table was in full celebration mode, laughing and talking excitedly about their new project. As Blair had explained what she wanted the movie to be about, they had all eagerly jumped at the chance to work on it, their enthusiasm palpable. But Remus seemed a bit... taken aback.

“Yes… a musical," Blair said, finally turning her attention back to Remus. She tilted her head slightly, a playful glint in her eyes, "Marlenne said Sirius has some decent writing skills, and if we cut some expenses, we can get someone else to work with him. Make the project work, you know?"

Remus nodded slowly, still processing the idea. "What are they called, then?"

Blair’s lips curled into a slight, almost secretive smile. "Huh?"

“Your characters… what are they called?”

Blair looked around the dimly lit pub, her gaze lingering for a moment before it found the bartender, who was adjusting bottles behind the counter. She smiled at him, a brief flicker of familiarity in her eyes, then turned back to Remus. "Oh, um… they’re Mia and,” she hesitated, before adding, “Sebastian."

Remus couldn’t help but let out a short, surprised laugh. Blair's grin only widened, clearly enjoying his reaction.

"Really?" he asked, a little amused. "Sebastian? As in..."

Blair shrugged casually, almost nonchalantly. "Yep, as in my favorite bartender. I thought it had a nice ring to it." Her slender fingers wrapped around her drink with ease, a small movement, but one that caught his attention. Her posture, too, leaned just slightly, as if too comfortable in her own skin.

Remus chuckled again, his eyes lingering on her for a moment before he spoke, charmed but still processing. "I see. So, Mia and Sebastian... sounds like a star-crossed love story, huh?"

Blair let the question linger, her lips curving into something playful but unreadable. "Maybe. Or maybe it’s not what you think at all." She gave him a look that made it hard for him to tell whether she was teasing or just keeping him on edge. She leaned back a bit, the edge of her shirt falling loose at the sides, and Remus couldn’t help but notice how it subtly hugged the lines of her frame.

He gave a little smile, though a part of him felt slightly intrigued by her quiet confidence. "You like keeping people guessing, don’t you?"

Blair didn’t immediately respond, and instead, she took a slow sip from her glass, her eyes meeting his with a calm that only deepened his curiosity. "Maybe I just like to keep things interesting."

There was a long pause. Remus opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could get another word out, Blair was already moving away, slipping through the crowd without another glance.

He stared after her, unsure whether he should follow.

[tsotf-fic]

♚ chapter 1 - when stars collide ♛

ii. birds of paradise

The Royal Family departed Cantham House for the Imperial Palace right as the Coruscant sun began to set. Within the speeder, nobody dared to speak under the looming shadow of Imperial surveillance.

Y/N leaned up against the transparisteel window, wistfully looking upon the planetwide city. Coruscant was unlike any other metropolis planet; as far as the eye could see, there were absolutely no traces of life that weren't artificially transplanted from somewhere else. To many, including the Organas, it served as a cold reminder of the effect humans had on the galaxy.

If planets were considered living beings, she pondered, Coruscant would certainly be considered a droid.

"Be careful not to smudge your makeup, dear," Breha said, breaking the silence and snapping Y/N out of her daydream.

To the untrained eye, Breha maintained an air of queenly confidence and serenity, but her family could tell she absolutely radiated with anxiety.

Bail gave her hand a gentle squeeze and smiled. "She'll be fine, my love. We all will."

Feathers rustled as Leia shifted uncomfortably in her dress. "I still have a bad feeling about this," she muttered under her breath.

The speeder landed on the platform just outside of the Imperial Palace, where a crowd of dignitaries, politicians, and socialites from all corners of the galaxy rushed to enter the party first. Each person seemed desperate to outperform the other with their custom-made costumes commissioned from the best designers in the galaxy. The costumes themselves included animals, historical and legendary figures, and various other symbols of planetary cultures.

Leia scoffed. "I bet the materials used to make those are worth more than entire planets in the Outer Rim!"

"I doubt anyone else here cares," Y/N replied, subtly gesturing towards a gaggle of visibly intoxicated politicians.

"Girls, please do not stare at your colleagues," Breha said under her breath with a fake smile plastered on her face.

Bail stifled a laugh as he watched none other than Representative Binks trip over the tail of his blarth costume. "How he manages to stay in power is certainly one of the galaxy's greatest mysteries," he whispered to Y/N and Leia, earning a glare from his wife.

"Perrin! This is a formal celebration, not an excuse for you to get drunk!"

Mon Mothma's husband stumbled out of the crowd. Sparkling, crystalline triangles jutted out from his outfit at all angles, and one could only assume it was meant to mimic the crystal cliffs north of Hanna city, albeit a very gaudy version.

"I jus' wanted to have a li’l fun before the party starts," he slurred, completely oblivious to his wife's anger at the spectacle he was causing. "It's a celebration! I'm celebrating!"

"Not like that," Mon retorted, practically dragging him by his collar. Whether intentional or not, her costume directly contrasted his with its organic, blossom-covered branches twisting elegantly around the lush green fabric of her dress. "If you plan on acting this way the whole night, don't even bother returning to the embassy!"

Most bystanders turned away in embarrassment as the Chandrilan senator berated her husband. Mon did her best to maintain her composure, but she was clearly on the edge of tears; it didn't help that Perrin's inebriated friends loudly tried to egg them on.

Breha and Bail exchanged sympathetic, knowing glances, almost as though they had an unspoken secret language–they were practically Lorrdians when compared to their Chandrilan counterparts.

Perrin wriggled out of his wife's grip and turned around to point an accusing finger at her. "And you wonder why your daughter hates you!" He hobbled off, leaving Mon standing there, flustered and humiliated. However, something about the way she quickly regained her composure told Y/N that she was happy to be rid of him.

Mon’s tear-pricked eyes lit up when she saw the apprehensive Alderaanian girl.

"Y/N, dear, how are you? My, you look so beautiful," she said, placing a hand on the side of Y/N's cheek, her face glowing with pride.

"It's so nice to see you, Auntie Mon! But I guess the situation requires that I refer to you as Senator Mothma," Y/N laughed.

"Oh, please, there's no need for that. People are already judging me for that little fiasco, so what harm would it do for us to drop a little formality?"

With that, the senator immediately drew in the younger woman for a tight embrace, albeit yielding enough to prevent their costumes from being crushed together. Y/N didn't know if it came from the flowers on her aunt's dress or a perfume on her skin, but something about the warm, delicate scent made her feel so calm, so at home. Perhaps it was just a reflection of its wearer's personality: gentle and elegant, with hidden strength beneath the surface, everything Y/N aspired to be. It pained her so much to see someone she held in such high regard be treated so poorly.

"We're here, too, you know," Bail's voice rang, interrupting their embrace.

"I figured as much, Your Highness," Mon playfully retorted. She pulled away from Y/N, giving her one last smile as she wiped the remnants of tears from the corners of her eyes, and went to greet her colleague. "It's always a pleasure to see the Royal Family."

After exchanging bows with the Viceroy and Queen of Alderaan, she turned to the young princess and her eyes lit up again, although not as bright as they were for Y/N.

"Ah! Matching costumes, how charming! I wonder whose idea that was." She turned to look at Breha, who let out an uncharacteristically loud laugh.

"What better way to compensate for our lack of costumes than by showcasing Alderaan's loveliest young ladies?" The queen responded, resting her hands on both girls' shoulders.

"I still think a costume would have suited you well, mother. You and father would have made for quite the pair of swans," Leia said with a tinge of sarcasm behind her voice as she patted her mother's hand.

"Well, perhaps you're right, but I'm afraid there are more pressing matters than us arriving at the ball as a flock of birds."

"I would have liked to be a bird," Bail chimed in, earning a chorus of laughter in response.

Y/N laughed along with the group, but something about the whole conversation felt stilted, awkward, especially considering how well they all knew each other. Perhaps it had to do with the discomfort of her being a mere noble in the presence of planetary leaders; as much as they tried to include her, she never truly fit in among them. They couldn't help that, though, none of them could. It was just the way things were. So, she continued to smile as she always did.

fanfiction by @kaleidoscope1967eyes

[jaketswine]

an embarrassment

1.3k

warnings: angst (hurt feelings, anger), language

summary: after a snarky comment thrown your way effectively ruins your day, you turn to the only person you know can help— jake.

Swinging open your apartment door and slamming it shut, you blew out the angry breath you had been holding the whole way home. You dropped your bags and slumped to the ground, allowing the wall behind you to hold your weight.

This was very abnormal for you. You were never anything but level-headed, gentle, maybe even a bit too nice at times.

But today you just couldn't take it anymore.

You’d been having such a good day, great even. The sun was finally shining, not a cloud in the sky. The coffee you had ordered was made perfectly, you loved the outfit you'd picked out– enough to put a little makeup on with it as well; you had even gotten the report you were working on ready to turn in way before your boss had asked for it.

You had been so productive and incredibly proud of yourself, which didn't happen often.

But of course, the one coworker who always seemed to have it out for you, had to make some snarky remark.

You just couldn’t do it.

Hearing your outburst sound out over the melodic tune he was playing, Jake quickly jumped to his feet, rushing down the hall to make sure you were alright.

He wasn't expecting to find you doubled over on the ground though. Clutching your knees to your chest. Taking deep, heavy breaths.

He stood for a few moments, trying to decide on the best way to handle this situation.

Timidly, he approached, kneeling down in front of you.

“Baby?”

Not wanting angry words to spew out of your mouth, you kept it shut, shaking your head no.

Fully seating himself on the floor, he reached out his hand, wrapping it around your calf. “Is it okay if I sit with you for a minute?”

You nodded, his touch already beginning to calm your racing heart. “Please,” you shot back weakly, tears beginning to well up now that you'd had a moment.

The small plea from your lips made Jake’s heart ache. He wanted nothing more than to help you through whatever it was that was causing this.

Sitting in silence together for what felt like hours, you finally worked up the courage to speak.

“Am I embarrassing?”

Startled by the question you'd just asked, Jake’s head shot up, looking at the top of your head with concern written all over his face. Wanting to make sure he had heard you correctly, he asked, “What did you just ask me?”

Still not willing to look him in the eye, you mumbled into your knees, repeating your question again.

In all honesty, Jake was completely dumbfounded, not sure of any answer he may give. You’d never asked such a question to him, and it was very rare that you let any insecurity affect you this much.

Using your love of physical touch to his advantage, he moved his hand from where it had been tracing shapes on the back of your calf, up to your chin. He lifted it slightly so you could look him in the eyes.

“Why would you ask me a question like that?”

Becoming frustrated that he wouldn’t just give you a straight answer, you snapped at him, “Just answer the damn question Jake.”

He startled slightly at the rise of your voice, knowing you to be a characteristically very soft speaker.

“No, y/n. You’re not embarrassing.” He cast a saddened look your way, “It bothers me that you could possibly think that of yourself. Will you please tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

He was practically pleading at this point, just wanting to know what he could do to help.

Wanting only one thing right now, you raised your head fully to look at him, striking a deal, “I’ll tell you; I want to- just.. Please.. Can you hold me while I do?”

At that, Jake placed himself next to you, with his back against the wall, maneuvering you to sit between his legs, curling into him with your head resting against his chest. Once you got comfortable, he wrapped both arms around you, resting one on your hip, the other moving to run his fingers through your hair.

He let you sit in silence for a minute before prodding, “So what happened doll?”

You began telling him about your day, rattling off every good thing you could remember. He listened intently, still not quite sure what had made you so upset.

When you finally took a breath, he chanced his question, “Everything you’ve told me has been great, but what caused-” You reached a hand up blindly, placing your finger over his lips, halting his words.

He huffed a laugh, hearing you lightly snap again, “I’m getting there Jake, trust me.”

You quickly launched back into your explanation. “Everything was going great, one of the best days I’ve had in quite a while, actually. Then that coworker– you know, the one that doesn't seem to like me at all? Well, we’re finishing up a meeting with some new prospective clients, and as I go to stand up, I accidentally slosh my coffee a bit, some of it landing on the sleeve of this stupid fucking shirt. And in front of these people that I've just now met for the first time, she goes, ‘Shaky hands, huh? That’s embarrassing y/n.’” You could feel tears beginning to prick your eyes. “And I know that sounds like such a stupid thing to make me so upset, but it did.”

You took in another deep breath, trying to calm the rising anger so you could finish your thought. “It just made me start to think about everything I’ve ever done, and if I really am an embarrassment to everyone. I had to rush out of the room so I didn't start crying right then and there.”

Letting the room fall silent, you looked up at Jake, finding that he was already looking down at you with fondness in his eyes. When he still didn't say anything, you reached up and poked his face, hoping to at least get some form of a response.

He smiled, leaning forward and placing a kiss on your forehead. “I love you so much. I love all of your little quirks, clumsiness, gracefulness, everything that comes along with you. And I want you to know that the last thing I ever think of you as is an embarrassment.”

You had begun to cry as you finished your story, and had to hold back your sniffles as he continued to speak.

“Your coworker is nothing but a bully who knows you're better than her. I know it's easier said than done, but I don't want you to listen to a single negative thing she ever says to you.”

Moving his hand off of your head, he wrapped both of his arms around your waist, clasping them together, pulling you even tighter. He still wasn't done though.

“I do have to say I’m glad I wasn't there, because I would have grabbed that coffee out of your hand and thrown it right in her–”

“Jake!” you laughed at him as he gave you a cheesy smile. “You can't say things like that. Be nice!”

He lovingly rolled his eyes at that, nuzzling his nose into your neck just enough to make you giggle, “Oh my sweet, sweet girl, how could anyone be mean to you?”

You shook your head, leaning back onto his chest, “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Listening. Loving me. I think I just needed this right here,” you gestured to yourself in his lap, “you’re all I needed.”

Reaching a hand up, you grabbed his jaw, tilting his head down until your noses were touching. He closed the distance for you, letting his lips slot together with yours in a tender, loving kiss.

You pulled away first, “But I also need food, may even need a bubble bath.”

“Of course,” he placed another kiss on your forehead, then your nose, “anything for my girl.”

[helluvabun]

Val's daughter Headcannons 2

Darker edition

TWs and A/N: mentions of grooming and unhealthy relationships. Mentions of eating disorders if you squint. This was written in one go at 2:30am. not proof read. I can't stop thinking about her. She has my heart. (I'll edit her name in whenever voting finishes I just couldn't wait to write another tiny something for her)

Part one

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ I don't see incest being a problem but Valerie does have an unhealthy attachment to her Valentino, including talking about XXX topics

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ She does also still do things like call him 'Daddy' and 'Papi, sitting on his lap, and kissing his cheek, but neither see them as an inappropriate gestures

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ She's only been in one serious relationship that wasn't a publicity stunt by Vox, and ruined it by being possesive (texting 500 times a minute, calling over and over) Otherwise just prefers sleeping around, so much that it's part of her branding

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ Due to the mix of her dad's power and being half succubus, she does accidentally manipulate almost everyone she finds attractive without thinking. She thinks everyone just happens to also be attracted to her

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ She works with Vox as an actress, working in horror films primarily as the bimbo sterotype. Since it's Hell horror movies are primarily... practical effects. And she's the most extreme masocist ever. This combo is the main reason she's so popular

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ She's is a nepo baby to the bone. Very nice girl but what's the big deal about having a soul contract? Didn't you choose to sign it silly? On the plus side any souls she have are very well taken care of, Mainly being used as attendants, makeup artists, and 'besties'... if they're not completely left alone to go about their life as normal

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ She definitely thinks lolita is a love story

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ Because of seeing the women Valentino works with, and due to off hand comments her father made (never about her but about his employees), she had alot of body insecurities during puberty and still now (though now she handles it a lot better)

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ Valentino doesn't mind seeing her flirt and hook up with men; They often go to the clubs together so it's impossible to avoid. He does draw a line at Vox, and doesn't have patience for men who keep pushing after hija has already said no.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ It wasn't normal to be a child in Hell, so she was pretty lonely, which she copes with now by being the life of the party

[oddballwriter]

The EMH crew and the MH crew with a reader who is an SFX artist?? I took schooling for creating fake injuries for film! Blood effects, cuts, corpsing, bruises, burns, frostbite, guts- All that! I love to hear about gruesome details. I’d never pull a prank like pretending I was injured though, just fyi. Also a horror film junkie. ^^ Most people are surprised by all that, being a short, incredibly soft-spoken and polite lass.

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Warnings: mentions of wound makeup effects and looking like you've been attacked (obviously just makeup)  

Author’s Snip: I know you said that you wanted the EMH guys too but I could only have my brain think up for Evan so I hope that's okay.

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦

Jay

He thinks it's pretty cool that you can do SFX makeup wounds

He would be interested in the whole process of making a base and doing the details of the effect

Jay would probably recommend you to some other film friends just in case they wanted someone who could do that type of makeup

I wanna say that he would let you practice so makeup effects on him so that you can get used to having putting it on a actual person

Though I feel like he'd hate the feeling of the process since usually the thing you are placing on him is wet and feels funny

Alex

He fucks with this so hard

He doesn't seem like the type of make a film or something that involves your work and skills, but similar to Jay, if he knows someone who might need that, he'd recommend you to them if they don't have much options

One of his favorite things to see is when he walks into your place and he sees you doing the effects on yourself

It's so weird, in a funny way, to just walk through the door and he just sees you sat at a desk with makeup junk scattered around and you look like a bear just went ham on you but are acting totally fine

Like "Hey, Alex." "Hi... (y/n)."

Brian

He wants you to have him be your model for when you practice a new effect or something

Please let him be your test model

He can't really sit still sometimes since some of the brushes tickle and it makes him giggle

But otherwise, he tries his hardest to be still so you can do your work

I honestly imagine you two being that one photo of the girls where one of them is doing the others makeup

You know the one

Tim

He thinks it's pretty neat and likes to watch you do the effects and all that

You do scare the shit out of him sometimes cause he'll just come to your place and you look like a walking murder victim

It's like "Hey, y/N. How's it g-HOLY FUC-oh... oh never mind. You're fine."

And then he just kinda laughs it off

He's okay with you looking like that once he knows that it's just makeup but one thing that he hates is when you're taking it off and you're like... peeling it off

Idk he thinks that's just... unsettling to watch

Evan

He also fucks with it and thinks it's rad as hell

"Ew" /pos

He loves it when you work on new effects

Honestly would love to be a test model like Brian but he's a little more squirmy

This boy can't sit still, he just can't

You have to look him in they eyes and tell him to stop moving so much

You guys are also the picture of the girls

Would honestly try to kiss you while he has the stuff on and it's still drying

[tragicomedys]

sage, camellia, chamomile & taro

sage ⇢ what ‘medium’ of art (poetry, music, fiction, paintings, statues etc.) is the most touching to you? why do you think that is?

oh this is such an interesting question... i think all mediums of art touch me in different ways, but perhaps the most effective is film/animation because they're visual, auditory, and use storytelling as well. kind of the whole bag. i love both literary and visual forms of art so the fact that film and animation mix those two is kind of perfect. i also imagine stories in my mind played out like a show, as in, i see characters and put them through a story in my mind so i think film and shit is most similar to the way i think. i think thats also why ive always been very drawn to animations specifically, i love how they combine drawing with storytelling, and i wish there was more of a variety in animation styles and stories even tho its been better than before (THANK you spiderverse). specifically i like 2d animation more than 3d, 3d usually has an uncanniness or SOMETHING that im not into (even good ones like the bad guys and big hero six and the mitchells vs the machine), the only 3d animation ive been SUPER into has been spiderverse. whereas i think sooo much 2d animation is beautiful and emotionally effective

camellia ⇢ what were you like when you were younger? do you think you’ve changed a lot?

so when i was a child i was very hostile, pissy, angry. was a very temperamental child and i used to bully my twin brother for fun. so i think i changed a lot from that. i think ive become much more inhibited especially in expressing anger. but when comparing myself to me as a younger teen, i can see many similarities; i was anxious, always felt out of control, always down to meet new people and make friends, intellectualized my problems, etc. and i think i can still do all these things. the biggest change ive gone through since then is that ive overall become more and more accepting of the situation im in, and am willing to wait to become myself, which is something i was extremely upset about kind of all the time when i was younger... ive changed and gotten smarter, but honestly not all that much

chamomile ⇢ what kind of things do you like receiving as gifts?

aw this is cute! honestly i should probably make a wishlist bc i just like it when people get me what i was thinking of getting myself one day... specific makeup, shirts, merch, etc... i also like cute little thoughtful gifts somebody would want me to have, like a unique plushie, keychain, bag, whatever it may be... if the gift is practical or i will physically use it somehow thats even better. so i also like soaps and shit like that from bath n body works or whatever. i think one of my fav things would be getting merch related stuff bc i dont have much merch at all!

taro ⇢ if someone called you right now to catch up, what’re the things you’d tell them about?

:] i would tell them about how i moved a year ago and what ive been up to with college lately probably. maybe some shit ive watched and some new interests. probably how ive been feeling lately if we wanted to get a bit deep. theres been a couple new things in my life recently so ive got a couple things to say...