#ok these tags ended up way longer than intended

[gothcsz]

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

Summary: A lot of firsts with Javi.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s he taking you, anyways?”

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

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

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

“Okay, I’m back.”

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe one day.”

This moment already feels charged for no reason.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sounds like you’re anticipating something unfolding.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh absolutely.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Figures. You’ve got that fire.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kiss me, Javi,” you murmur.

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

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

It’s all so new, so beautifully unhurried.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he goes and says something stupid like that. 

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

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

“I guess so.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I could quit—”

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

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

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

“Javi, please, think this through—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I guess we are.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘“I’ll be waiting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“An old colleague,” he says flatly.

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

“Woah, nena, take it easy—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Javier raises his brows at you. “Seriously?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Turn around, baby, let me see you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He groans low and deep, clearly savoring your reaction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You need to fuck this man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Javi! Fuck—fuck, yes, oh god—” 

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

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

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

Right, he’s got that pornstar stamina.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[a-lonely-dunedain]

feeling that terrible urge to make all my ace characters wear ace rings (so that's *checks notes* all of them) BUT those labels aren't defined yet in the setting they live in so ace rings aren't like. A Thing. tragic! might have them wear it anyway even if it makes no sense. like "hey does that black ring mean anything" "I just think it's neat!"

[sttoru]

♯ 𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊.

⟣ sypnosis. kento has been extremely busy lately, going on business trips and so forth. he decides to surprise you by coming back earlier than expected. that’s how you end up finding your lover on top of you, showering you in his affection at 3 in the morning.

⟣ tags. nanami kento x female reader. fluff, bit of angst, suggestive towards the end. reader gets called 'sweetheart, angel, dear' wc: 1.8k

⟣ note. okayokay finally an adition to my event heheh ive almost forgotten about it but then i saw this prompt & was like . ok nanami , i must write this rnnn no delaying anymore so here i am :3 its also very bad. i hate it sm LOL i hope u at least like it t_t

kento often asks himself why he had returned to the world he despised — the jujutsu society; his old high school. the sprawling curses everywhere are the main cause of his current misery.

he had been sent out on missions left and right, not catching a break in hopes of reducing any more civilian causalities than necessary. kento had even thought that maybe his previous 9-5 job wasn’t as bad as he had considered it.

overtime was every day for the sorcerer now. that wasn’t the worst thing - no - the fact that he was pratically living a long distant relationship with his beloved irritated him most.

a thought he had in his high school days reoccured in a moment of distress: ‘why not leave all those missions to gojo?’

you were still pretty understanding of his situation. kento appreciated that, though the guilt still ate away at him whenever he tried to sleep. an empty bed welcomed him each time he re-entered his hotel room — you saw the exact same scenery when returning home to your shared apartment.

both of you were adults; both knowing that life was unfair. the two of you being unable to see each other from time to time was a part of your life. kento and you still maintained a healthy relationship. that was all that really mattered in the end.

11:49PM. . . tonight wasn’t unlike any other night; you were preparing yourself to go to bed—changing into your pyjamas after showering, snuggling to a pillow under the covers and texting your lover one last message.

‘good luck on your mission as always! stay safe, i love you.’

you stare at your phone screen for a minute longer than intended. even if you tried to be mature about it — you longed for kento’s warmth and undivided attention. you want him with you, his strong arms holding you to his chest as you rest, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine in the best way possible.

you sigh defeatedly and put your phone down on your nightstand. just two days until you could see your partner again. you can hold onto that hope to keep you calm.

despite you trying to stay positive, you tossed and turned in your bed as you thought about kento’s safety. there was always a chance of him not coming home to you — always the possibility of that bed to be empty for the rest of your life.

all you could do was pray for his safety in your head whilst your eyes eventually closed from fatigue, your mind drifting off to a deep slumber.

03:14AM. . . kento opens the door he had wished to have opened way earlier. the door that lead to the place where his heart lays; the person who claimed his heart and soul for eternity. you.

he didn’t think he’d actually do it. kento had originally planned to finish his last job as soon as possible and then get home afterwards, but there seemed to be a change in routine.

the special grade sorcerer simply assigned the mission to ino — the person whom he could trust most to finish the job in one piece. as much as kento dislikes to put his juniors in possible risky situations, there are also situations where it’s fine to depend on them. besides, the mission could easily be done by a grade one sorcerer.

kento sighs. the familiar scent of your home was one he could recognise from miles away. one that could calm his nerves instantly. it was that same distinctive scent you carry; thus why your lover sometimes calls you his home.

‘i can’t wait to be home’ ‘i want to be home’ ‘i’m going home’ — all these sentences, which kento has uttered before in earlier conversations, weren’t referring to a place. rather to a person he held dear.

“oh, my sweetheart.” the blonde man whispers under his breath as his eyes catch the shape of your figure under the blankets. he quietly enters the master bedroom and closes the door behind him, not making a sound as to not interrupt your well-deserved sleep.

kento slowly undoes his dotted tie, along with the upper buttons of his blouse. he probably needs to go take a good shower before he could settle down with you — but that’d risk waking you up.

you look extremely angelic in his eyes. especially with your left cheek squished by the soft pillow your head rests on. you never once fail to convince him that you are indeed the woman of his dreams; the woman kento ever had and will have eyes for. it’s like you get more attractive to him as the days go on.

“mh,” your sudden and soft groan makes him realise just how disturbing his behaviour could be interpreted as. kento’s body was hovering over your sleeping one and he was just. . . staring at you with a soft smile. a smile which he didn’t even notice had permanently found its place on his weary face.

kento sits down on the edge of the mattress, callused hand gently tucking you in properly, putting the blanket over your shoulders to make sure you didn’t get cold. he can’t rest if you’re not comfortable— even if he himself was exhausted to the point his eyes were starting to feel heavy.

yet that exhaustion doesn’t last long. it never does when kento’s able to see you again after a tiring week of countless missions and other jobs. your presence alone grants him the energy to stay awake and take care of you. and himself. you’re the reason he keeps it going.

“i love you so much, my beautiful girl — my angel.”

kento sure was a romantic. even when you’re unaware and asleep.

he couldn’t help it; the feeling stirring inside of him. the feeling of adoration and love for you. you are simply resting, yet kento felt an urge to kiss you all over, show you the unending love he has for you. but. . that’d probably be disturbing your peace. you are sleeping after all. he

not that that would stop kento.

your eyes flutter open due to a sudden presence hovering over you. your entire face and neck area was feeling ticklish, like someone was placing tens of kisses all over the skin.

strands of blonde hair is the first thing showing up in your blurry vision. kento’s face follows afterwards as his head tilts back up, the warmth against your jawline disappearing along with it —

“ah, i’m sorry.” a low and almost guilty chuckle tumbles out of his sore throat. the visible confusion on your face makes him let out another, “shh, shh, it’s just me, sweetheart.”

your arms flew around kento’s torso the second the realisation dawns upon you. your heart went from a slow pace to one that caused your entire body to warm up immediately; the adorable reaction and increase in heart rate not going unnoticed by your lover.

you wordlessly hug him — almost still in shock by the sudden appearance. kento doesn’t fight off your tight embrace, instead, welcomes it with open arms. the delicate kisses on your skin continue, each being placed with precision whilst one of his hands keeps your head tilted a little — rough fingers being a contrast of the gentle grip they had on your jaw.

“i missed you lots,” kento murmurs, eyes closed as he basks in the warmth of your body, his lips refusing to let go of your neck, “i couldn’t wait anymore. i couldn’t be separated from you any longer or i’d lose it.”

his gruff voice sounded even deeper than it usually would. maybe due to the overuse of it during his missions. the lone thought makes you pout — the thought of kento working super hard just to provide for you both.

“i missed you more, love.” you mumble, bottom lip trembling a little as kento’s hug triggers a whole lot of emotions in you. his hugs were special, his muscular arms giving you a sense of comfort you couldn’t find anywhere. no one could hug you like he did, “you did well. you did so well.”

those were all the words kento needed. his lips come to halt right above your collarbone, his breath a bit heavy from how much he's holding himself back from doing more. one hand moves from your cheek to your waist, fingers toying with the fabric of your shirt.

“thank you, dear.” kento says. his words carrying a load of unending affection. your simple words of appreciation and encouragement makes him shiver in delight. this is what he longed for; this is what he did it all for.

it was clear. the answer to his question - of why he had returned to the jujutsu world, to become a teacher at his former high school - it was all for you. to be able to be with you, see you and hold you like this. to have someone like you appreciate all of his efforts.

“may i?” kento asks through a quiet whisper as he gently removes the blanket covering your figure, his eyes darting down towards your cleavage. he's asking for permission to cross that barrier — to cover you in the love you deserve.

you just stare at the blonde man above you for a second. you watch as he climbs onto the bed with you; the bed which was once empty and dull, now suddenly becoming your favourite place to be at. your fingertips graze against kento's sharp cheekbones. a habit you always did when you were appreciating his looks.

“go right ahead.” you answer with a confirming nod.

both of you were touch starved and had been deprived from each other's embrace for way too long. now was the perfect time to make up for all the time lost.

kento wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip past him. he smiles at you, a gentle and handsome smile, whilst a few of his blonde locks fall over his left eye — his hands already prying away the blanket covering your shape. it was time to show you just how much he has longed for you.

“hold on to me, sweetheart. i’m not stopping until you realise just how much i’ve missed all of you.”

[burberrycanary]

For the fic commentary game...I want to ask about so many lines, but ok. I've narrowed it down to three from Lost Vocabularies..., so you can pick—I'd be so interested to get your author's commentary on any (or all) of them! 💛

He will never forget nine months of stock prices from 1950.

(this is the one I'm probably least likely to get an answer to, which is fine, but I'm so very curious about what Steve did during those months in the past, and a girl's gotta try! 😜)

2. But he sure as hell doesn’t want them back, not so long as Bucky is willing to carry them, whatever they mean to him now—though Steve doesn’t like to think how Bucky must have found them and when.

(Basically, I just like to make myself sad about Bucky Barnes, so hey: talk to me about the dog tags!)

3.

“Why were you always signed up for something? You already took more vocational classes than about anybody.”

[…]

“Trying to impress my dad,” Bucky admits on a slow breath out. “But not in the way he wanted. ‘One of the laborin’ Barnes with a proper education,’ he liked to say. ‘Bastards won’t know what hit ‘em.’ He wanted me to live out that better American life he was chasing. Be respectable.” Bucky gives a faint dry laugh. “Sorry Pops.”

(I know this is more than one sentence...but I'm just endlessly fascinated by Bucky's (and Steve's) pre-war life and especially Bucky's relationship with his parents and how he feels about them now, after everything. So, if you'd be willing to elaborate on that snippet up there (I'm particularly intrigued by But not in the way he wanted), I'd be ecstatic!

(📦&🧼&◼&⬜-🔪)

2. But he sure as hell doesn’t want them back, not so long as Bucky is willing to carry them, whatever they mean to him now—though Steve doesn’t like to think how Bucky must have found them and when.

Crying into our beers over Bucky Barnes should be the name of our band. 😭🍻😭

The dog tags were such a distinctive element in TFATWS that I knew I wanted to use them in this post-Endgame fix-it series that ended up sprawling out to a bigger scope than I originally intended. But the first question from canon to consider is: whose dog tags are they, anyway?

In the surgery flashback from CATWS, we see that Bucky is no longer wearing his dog tags, which means they were taken away by Hydra. And this makes sense since Hydra was starting the process of completely stripping away Bucky’s identity. What Hydra does with Bucky’s dog tags depends on what kind of organization Hydra is, culturally and administratively. While you could write any number of stories here, especially since Bucky, as a specific known recovered asset, isn’t what the Japanese scientists in Unit 731 called “maruta” (“wooden logs”) or what the CIA-run black sites in West Germany under Project Bluebird called “expendables,” you could argue that Zola might keep Bucky’s dog tags for any number of reasons: spite, gloating, pride, or a perverse attachment to his greatest success. But the most rational course of action would be to destroy anything that could identify Bucky as a well-known American soldier—because this era of American history shows you could get away with not just murder but crimes against humanity as long as you played by certain bureaucratic rules. And this is the organization that Peggy Carter built, canonically, and the era that Steve returns to in Endgame—"the dark and bloody heart of the twentieth century [that] beat and maimed all the unsteadiness out of Bucky’s hands long ago." 

I’d argue these aren’t the dog tags that we see Steve wearing when he wakes up in the fake recovery room, which would have been replaced as part of the attempted deception, but instead the ones that he was wearing when he went into the ice, which would’ve been returned once the jig was up: 

Hanging around Bucky’s neck on a bright beaded chain are tarnished dog tags with the raised text turned, here and there, the pale green of copper eaten away by time.

I’ll admit I did look up the composition of WWII dog tags and scanned through some research papers on the corrosion levels in metal equipment used in the Arctic before deciding that I could just take a little literary license here and have Steve’s old dog tags be thematically “tarnished,” which in the text is explicitly tied to the theme of things being transformed over time, but the word also carries the connotation of something that’s sullied. For the dog tags, both meanings hold. 

My backstory headcanon is that Sam, who was the executor of Steve’s will and his chosen next of kin, invited Bucky to go through Steve’s surprisingly few personal effects for anything he wanted to keep before Sam donated the rest to museums. All Bucky took was the last, unfinished, mostly empty, little notebook and Steve’s old dog tags, which he restrung on a new chain. That’s it. That’s what Bucky is left with as a stranger in this strange land of the present. 

In the first glimpse Steve gets near the end of Still Left with the River, he interprets Bucky wearing his old dog tags as indicating that Bucky never stopped caring about him, which is true—Bucky kept on caring a whole hell of a lot. This is Steve’s “it taught me to hope” moment in the text that helps push him toward being honest with Bucky about how he feels after several decades of alternating between pining and grieving, pining and grieving. How many times has the worst already happened between them?

There is always an end to the line where the same big black pit is waiting. And eventually Bucky won’t crawl back out.

But the dog tags are deliberately ambiguous as a symbol, since they equally represent the grief that we see Bucky struggle with in TFATWS. They are Bucky’s chosen gesture of mourning when Steve buries himself in the past. It’s telling that even after Steve returns, Bucky doesn’t take the dog tags off or offer to give them back to Steve again. Whatever they mean, they’re Bucky’s now. And Bucky on some level continues to mourn a faith between them—ineffable and up to that point mutually committed to despite the worst the world could do—that Steve broke when he decided to go back to the past and which returning doesn’t unbreak. Because that’s the problem: “Time only moves in one direction.”

(“There’s a creepy stone somewhere that says otherwise.”

“Exactly.”)

Significantly, over and over, these fraught identification tags are described as occupying the space between Steve and Bucky:

Tipping Steve’s chin up with his thumb, Bucky kisses the blazes out of him while the old dog tags swing a little on their glinting new chain in the space between them.

How Steve left is still very much between them throughout this whole series. 

The scene where the dog tags are revealed as Steve’s is significant:

...Steve’s old dog tags swinging in the space between their bodies; then the warm tender weight of Bucky’s forehead, pressed just off-center against his chest, overlapping with the light touch of metal and the pooling chain; [...] Bucky pressed close, and his face hidden.

The contrary actions of Bucky pressing close but still hiding is how Bucky has chosen to deal with the complicated emotional situation Steve has put him in—the combination of intimacy and distance that shades through most of this series. Bucky is trying to both protect himself and give Steve a good-faith chance to do better. Bucky’s strength and generosity win out in the end, because that’s who Bucky is at heart: the bigger person in a way that has nothing to do with being tall or strong or healthy. But part of the problem of any post-Endgame fix-it is that no one fight or confession or “being shoved in a closet together” shortcut could solve these emotional sticking points. 

Steve really did that. Whatever his reasons or motivations, which this series digs into a lot in the subtext, in the moment Steve meant it. And there’s no way to undo the choices that have been made, not without recourse to an ethically flawed concept that’s the opposite of living: because trying to undo past losses is exactly what Endgame gets wrong by attempting.

Fuck Endgame: the only way out is through. And by “through” I don’t mean Steve passively playing white-picket-fence house with Peggy through the ugly back half of the 20th century and then getting some sort of science-fiction second chance for a life with Bucky, once all that’s over. That’s doubling down on the flawed ethics of Endgame.

Life is a process of making choices, over and over. And living with the consequences. How you live with them is another ethical choice you get to make, over and over. That’s the constant and inescapable ethical action inherent in being alive.

This series is deliberately full of minor characters with losses just as profound as Steve’s: loved ones gone, former ways of life lost, all the small gathered-together pieces that we each painstakingly build into a life vanishing, whether bit by bit or calamitously all at once:

Her face lights up. “Thanks, I make them myself. I’m thinking of going to fashion school, maybe. Textile design. I’ve already died—fuck being scared, right?”

Between war, the Blip and the Return, she has lost every member of what was once a huge family. And life just keeps going on.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Fuck being scared.”

Or:

“Been walking since Greenwood Cemetery. I can’t get to where any of my people are buried so you know what I’ve decided?”

Steve gives a hum, meaning what’s that?  

“I’ve decided to collectivize. Every grave on earth with the first name George is my boy’s. I’ve claimed every Elizabeth—in all forms—and Rachael, Robert and Joseph. Never cared for my husband’s people so I don’t bother with them. But I’ve got some favorites down in Greenwood picked out for my boy. ”

“I’m sorry for your losses,” Steve says, quiet, and thinking briefly of his own most recent dead. He doesn’t add, I know what it’s like to let grief triumph over reality. “So you visit.”

“Every day that I can. Lots of graveyards in this city. But Greenwood is nice. All the flowers and so forth.”

This is a story about grief.

Steve is trusted with great power to help set right wrongs the Avengers did during Endgame, setting all these other timelines on roads to destruction to save their own. And in the face of the temptation of that great fantastical power: the possibility of easy facile answers to unsolvably hard problems about change and loss so many people equally have to confront and hurt over and struggle with—all the time, right now, forever, constantly—Steve Rogers falters:

Preemptive—that idea is never going to seem right to him. But isn’t that what he’d tried to do when he’d stayed in the past? Get the preemptive good life by side-stepping the possibility of more loss? Because, for him at least, one way or another everything that mattered would have already happened.

And still the same old story at the bottom of whatever idealized notions got papered over top: trading other people’s lives for your own security.

He’ll never know whether, if his plan had worked, he would have stayed in the past for good.

And now he’s got to live with that.

If the dog tags in this story stand for anything, it’s living with the consequences.

You can make mistakes. We all do, individually and collectively. But there’s no undoing the past—not even in the MCU’s confused theory of the multiverse. All you can try is to do better: to make right what’s been put wrong as much as you can; or find things that are good and help them be better for more people.

There are deliberately four apologies offered in Lost Vocabularies: two from Bucky and two from Steve. But this is the climactic and closing apology that echoes the same language used to introduce the dog tags into the narrative: 

Pushing Bucky back, he touches the tarnished dog tags where the raised text has turned, here and there, the pale green of copper eaten away by time.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, meaning a whole lot.

Bucky’s response, “We got here,” deliberately sidesteps the question of forgiveness and is designed to be read in two ways. The first reading challenges the relative significance of the past—we reached here however that happened—while the second rejects the past more completely: all we actually ever have is right now.

The thing is, Steve has been angry his whole life and he’s trying so hard to be a little more grateful for a change. 

He’s been doing better and he’ll keep on trying.

But there’s still just so much to be angry about everywhere he looks, from the past all the way through to this moment, burning up in front of him right now: this crawling-forward world that should be better, and isn’t, and won’t be unless people step forward to shoulder the hard slow work with no one to punch and no climactic battle you win or you lose.

This sort of work requires the splendid terrible patience of the tide eating away at a face of rock: mighty and irresistible, but wearisomely slow.

You gotta do the work. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.

A Man Takes His Sadness Down to the River (The Consolation of Philosophy)

[hualianff]

Shadow hunter HC who tries to summon a major demon to do chaos on earth but accidentally drops a dirty sock on the pentagram so he ends up with XL, a little and peaceful soul collector demon.

Little does HC know, XL is indeed a major demon - he just likes to do lesser demon’s jobs and is considered the laughing stock of hell because of it. 

HC instantly calls summoning XL a mistake, asking how to send XL back ASAP.

(XL: “ok, what happened to hello? How are you?”)

But it’s okay because XL is a chill demon and is used to being ridiculed, so he ends up telling a tiny, white lie: he claims HC can’t send him back until XL fulfills a wish HC wants granted.

Except the problem is, HC can’t seem to think of one genuine wish he wants from XL. And he can only summon the demon he wants after sending XL back.

So, they’re stuck together for a bit.

Much to HC’s surprise, XL doesn’t use his powers much. Why in the world does XL want to learn how to cook without using magic as a shortcut? And clean? Do laundry? Who has the time for that?

HC refuses to bring XL on his side missions but after one goes horribly wrong in the blink of an eye, XL ends up showing up at the last second to help because HC wasn’t back in time for dinner.

XL insists on tagging along on missions after that.

HC is a much-wanted shadow hunter, therefore rogue demons often try to attack him. Possess him? Harm him. But of course, XL isn’t going to let that happen, not when the company - even if it’s forced - has been really nice.

Something makes him want to protect the shadow hunter. XL, who has always been told his soft spot for non-demons would be his downfall, does everything in his power to help HC. 

And HC begins to notice.

HC grows used to XL’s presence. Despite XL’s title labeling him as a low rank bottom-feeding demon, HC realizes XL happens to know much more than he lets on. He also seems to know all of the shadow hunter’s weak spots but fortunately hasn’t used them against HC or his fellow shadow hunters thus far.

Before he knows it, one month has passed, and he looks forward to seeing a smol demon flit around his kitchen, chopping vegetables up and adding them to a bubbling concoction on the stove. Or the surplus of plants that have made their way into HC’s living room, soaking up sunlight and adding a nice change of scenery to the space.

XL has also gotten hooked on a variety of dramas that HC himself was never interested in. Now, HC can’t help but watch over XL’s shoulder, and eventually sit down next to the demon to squeeze in a quick episode before bed.

Except that sense of peace is soon shattered when HC is reminded of the chaos he desperately wanted to. The other powerful demon, Bai Wuxiang, had visited HC’s dreams, offering a once-in-a-lifetime deal in exchange for his powers. 

(“Or has the vicious Crimson Rain gotten too soft?” BWX taunts, circling around HC in the dream. “Perhaps you never intended on executing your plan in the first place?”)

HC realizes he has been distracted from his initial goal, and the familiar emotions of anger and frustration with the world he’s a part of arise once more. Ignoring his conflicting turmoil, HC seethes at how dare XL sidetrack him from his carefully crafted plan to disrupt the corrupt bureaucracy of the higher ups that choose to neglect the humans they should be servicing. 

It’s all XL’s fault for making HC feel so content by just being in his life.

HC must quickly deal with this.

And so, the next morning, when XL is shuffling around the kitchen making breakfast, humming to himself, HC slowly walks in with a grim face.

“Oh, wonderful, you’re up! I made some simple congee for you,” XL says, stirring the pot. 

HC curls his right hand into a fist.

“…”

“I remembered your instructions to let it simmer for an hour longer than I’m used to, so the consistency has definitely improved-“

“Xie Lian.”

XL pauses his movements. He doesn’t fully turn to see HC’s expression, but somehow seems to know HC has something serious he would like to say. 

“You haven’t called me by my name in a long time,” XL says with a light chuckle. See, to prevent others from realizing HC has summoned an ancient demon by openly throwing around Xie Lian’s name, both decided it would be easier if HC called XL by a nickname - and Gege has sufficed. 

HC rounds the counter to stand a few paces away from the demon. He angles his chin down, looking down at XL with a stone cold exterior. He’s bracing himself in preparation for what’s to come.

“I’ve figured out my wish,” HC reveals quietly. XL stares straight ahead, refusing to meet HC’s eye. 

XL does, however, smile. 

It’s a small and sad smile - a knowing one. He fiddles with the dial before turning off the stove.

“You haven’t. You only think you have,” XL responds in a delicate voice.

HC inhales sharply. He takes another step towards the demon, the demon who he knew would be difficult. It’s so clear now, having shared a space with XL for a few months now. 

HC can’t even fathom how he thought XL was as useless and weak as he once concluded. 

HC shakes his head.

“You’re wrong. This is what I want.”

I want you to leave, remains unspoken.

I want you to leave and unbind yourself from me, something you’ve always been capable of from the moment I summoned you.

You are no ordinary demon. You are one of the most powerful and destructive demons who is mentioned in earliest shadow hunter records of demon kind. 

But you cannot give me what I desire. You will not, more so, as those days of violence and bloodshed are far behind you, and I refuse to keep you around to witness my heinous intentions come to fruition. 

I refuse to taint the simplicity of life you’ve chosen for yourself.

“Hua Cheng, I-“

“Leave, Xie Lian. Leave this place and never come back.”

The two are silent for a long moment. It feels like eons have passed in what was just a few seconds, but the damage has been done. 

XL nods once, then steps away from HC.

“Very well. I do not intend to overstay my welcome.”

XL raises his right hand, his thumb and middle finger touching. 

“Goodbye, Hua Cheng.”

With the snap of his fingers, XL dissipates into thin air. 

*** Prompt by @no-one-says-hi

[no1frogfan]

I couldn’t help but hear

Miyuki Kazuya x gn reader

Word count: ~500

Tags & warnings: sexually suggestive

Note: This is accidentally a commercial for Tylenol. In this au, the boys end up on the same team in college. As usual it’s much longer than I intended.

Continuation of this post

…ear buds…wallet…lotion…chapstick… Maybe the side pocket? Nope, that’s just keys. Maybe the locker…

“Miyuki?”

He jerks up and yelps when the bench connects with his knee.

“Are you ok?” You rush toward him in wide-eyed concern.

“I’m fine, I’m just…”

You’ve probably just finished hauling all the equipment in. That’s why you’re out of breath, and not because…

“You’re just…?”

He jolts when your warm hand grazes his forearm.

“Oh— ye— sorry I was just…uh…” I was just reminded of how you sounded last night is probably not an appropriate response, so his eyes dart around frantically “—I was just looking for this!” His hand plunges inside your backpack to retrieve— “Tylenol!” He forces out a chuckle. “Had a bit of a headache.”

“Oh. I could’ve gotten that for you.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” It seems you bought his lie, which is suspicious in and of itself. Under normal circumstances, you would see through him immediately, especially with the way he’s holding the bottle aloft as proof, like he’s some kind of Tylenol salesman. There must be more pressing things on your mind.

Out of nowhere, your knees wobble. He barely catches you before they give way.

“Whoa, are you ok?”

bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz bzzz bzzz bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

You look up at him, dazed, look through him really.

bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz bzzz bzzz bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

It’s the closest he’s ever been, pressed up against your chest and gently gripping your arms. The sharp citrus scent of your skin makes everything else fade into static.

“I’m fine! I’m fine. I need to go. You can keep the rest of the Tylenol.”

bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz bzzz bzzz bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Miyuki sways disoriented when you shove him off.

Wait.

bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz bzzz bzzz bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Something’s buzzing.

“Ready to g- oh, Miyuki. You’re here too.”

Yuuki startles you both when he rounds the corner to the clubhouse.

“Te- Yuuki! Yeah, let me just grab my stuff.”

bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz bzzz bzzz bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

“Don’t worry, I’m not in a rush,” he responds, fiddling with something inside his jacket pocket.

You let out a sudden squeak.

bzzzz bzzzz bzzzz bzzzz bzzzz bzzzz bzzzz

Miyuki arches a brow at Yuuki. “Nice of you to take them home.”

“Well, it’s important that everyone on the team is taken care of. Anyway, they’re close.”

bzzzz bzzzz bzzzz bzzzz bzzzz bzzzz bzzzz

You stumble toward them with a shaky smile. “Ready.”

If not for the brief eye contact Yuuki makes with you, Miyuki would’ve thought he was ignoring you, because instead of leaving, he becomes uncharacteristically talkative, asking about Miyuki’s new weightlifting and mobility regimen.

After some minutes, you finally tug at Yuuki’s sleeve. “Please? Can we go, please?”

The buzzing gets louder, almost drowning out your ragged breaths. Your knuckles are white where you clutch Yuuki’s arm.

“Hold on one more minute for me, ok?”

[lahooozaherr]

I Will Always Find You

Chapter 4

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: angst, fluff, yearning, pining, shooting a blaster with Mando (aaaaaay) vague description of dress on reader (listen, I said it was “traditional Naboo” dress but I don’t know if such thing exists I just love that dress Padme wears by the lake lol but I’m leaving it as vague as I can incase y’all want to imagine something else, I only describe having an open back) (wanted to give Mando some skin, ok), reader runs hand through hair and has strand brushed away but no actual description of hair, Din tries to not have sexy thoughts lol

MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI. AGELESS/BLANK ACCOUNTS WILL BE BLOCKED.

My tag list (instructions & requirements)

Summary: You and the Mandalorian spend part of your “hooky” day relaxing in a place special to you. Later, he helps you get ready for the festival. Both of you are full of conflicting emotions as realizations surface and the end of the week looms.

A/N: Welp, this is getting done later than I intended. I recently visited my grandpa who is in the dying process. I had a good weekend with him and my family and tbh I thought I would be writing/reading in my spare time then but it didn’t end up happening, but that’s ok! I was able to come up with more things I wanted to add to it before so I hope everyone enjoys it. I promise we’re getting close to the smut lol I just have story building I gotta do. Also, I realized I already messed up the timeline I was trying to work with so look forward to me fixing that when it becomes more relevant. And by timeline I mean, it def takes more than a week between this and the flashback opening of the first chapter, so I’ll edit that. I’ve also been doing my best to leave reader and some other things as vague as I can but if that starts to sound weird pls tell me, I just want anyone reading to be able to see themselves in this. I also fixed the series master list banner since I kept have nagging feelings about the pictures I originally chose lol.

Song Inspo: Unfair by The Neighborhood

Inspo Playlist

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Read it on AO3

Din only really has himself to blame for getting himself in this position, he tells himself.

He was almost immediately mesmerized by you, and he let his heart and not his mind take the reins. That was mistake number one.

He went from experiencing loss, trying (and failing) to cope with that grief, to here. With you. He knows he has to face his feelings, because meeting you has flipped his inner world upside down. 

Every night he leaves you, images of you replay at the forefront of his mind’s eye. At first he’d brushed it off, chalking this up to some playful banter with a bored princess. But then he entertained it, learned more about you, watched you, and found himself enchanted by you. 

Somehow you had made your way through the cracks of his armor. Not exactly his Beskar, but the one he built around his heart. 

He hasn’t slept much tonight, opting to use this time to reflect and at least try to gather himself. He can no longer ignore what you do to him. How the sound of your voice has become music to his ears. How your touch sends electricity throughout his body from your delicate squeezes in the spaces of his arm that are not covered in Beskar. The way your eyes almost always find his own, despite the helm covering.

When he saw you help that lost child, when you opened up to him about your own mourning and conflicted emotions about your position, he almost snapped. Something possessive, or maybe more so protective, wanted to wrap himself around you. Prevent you from having to do this anymore. He could tell you didn’t want this. Maybe you wouldn’t say it, and he couldn’t out loud, but he could feel it.

He doesn’t know what to do with his own life and hasn’t for a really long time. Now, he’s coming to terms with his feelings, and desire, for you. 

But the life he leads isn’t a life for you. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself. This life is dangerous…..and lonely. He knows he couldn’t ask you to become his just as much as you can’t, or won’t, abandon your position. It’s easier to accept that answer over the latter.

He’s let this go too far, but he can’t help it. You bring something out in him that he tried to forget he had. It’s like he simultaneously knows he can’t make you his, and that’s he’s too scared to. Which is saying a lot; a Mandalorian afraid? But not just over anything. Over experiencing that kind of love and then losing it. He can’t go through that, on top of the rest, it’s too much. 

Yet Din ignores his instincts and indulges in you. He wishes your affectionate glances were reserved for only him, and no one else. 

Catching you yesterday was almost the final straw, taking every fiber of his being to not rip away the garment bag that separated your bodies. His helmet picked up on the wild thrum of your heartbeat; and maybe he wasn’t certain how you felt but it had to mean something, right? Even if neither of you can say it. 

For now, he will force himself to settle for what he has with you until this job is done. 

—————————————————————————

“Mando?”

Din is wrenched out of his head, coming back to himself. Both of you are on a small boat steered by a droid, him across from you. He must have been lost in his thoughts on the short sail to the area you spoke of. 

You wave a hand across his helmet’s eye-line, “hey, are you in there?”

He cocks his helmet, turning back to you, “where else would I be?”

You let out an amused huff but your eyes search his helmet, concerned but observing. Returning your hand back to your lap, “is something wrong?”

“No, Cyare.”

Your face heats up, looking away quickly thinking he wouldn’t notice. It brings him instant satisfaction, the way he flusters you sometimes. The boat comes to a stop as you stand to gather the basket you brought with you. 

“One of these days, I’m going to find out what those names mean.”

Din carefully stands in the boat, stepping over the side to the dock as it approaches, “you can sure try.”

Although, the thought of you finding out has Din’s face heated, another moment to be thankful for the helmet. 

He steps up onto the dock, connected to the other side of the lake you departed from. An expansive field full of greenery and flowers, surrounded by a forest in the short distance. It was tranquil and private, just like you had described to him. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” You remark, maneuvering your way out of the boat until his hand drops in front of you, offering help. You stop first, looking up to him to smile before taking it. His strong arm helps lift you out of the boat, effortlessly.

“I would come here to just be alone,” you continued on as you adjusted the basket and yourself. You decided on wearing a simple set of a tunic and leggings for this portion of the day, saying you’ll change later. The combination hugged your body’s curves in a way the dresses didn’t and Din certainly didn’t mind. 

He mentally scolds himself for wandering towards such thoughts. 

He follows you as you trek through the field, heading deeper towards trees that provide shade. Picking a spot, you drop the basket and plop down next to it. Sighing and stretching your legs before settling to lean against a tree, you close your eyes and inhale. Din lowers into the spot next to you, facing the view. 

Several quiet moments pass before you speak up again, “my mother found this place.” This caused Din to look at you, waiting for you to say more. You look into the sky, tightening your lips, not quite smiling and not frowning either.  

“It means a lot to you,” Din states. At this point he could tell how sentimental certain things were to you, he has very few things like that for himself. 

“It’s special to me, there’s a lot of good memories here. Time spent with her, many books….the first place I learned how to shoot a blaster.”

Din snorts before he realizes he’s even done it, you smile, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“You? You can shoot a blaster?” He teases, emphasizing the first ‘you’.

“Are you underestimating me, Mandalorian?” Batting your lashes at Din. He can hear his heartbeat in his helmet while trying to conjure an image of you, aiming a blaster in hand.

“No….” He trails off. Your eyes trained on him with a determined expression. “I just don’t expect a princess to know how to shoot.”

“Well Mando, it looks like there’s even more for you to discover about me.”

“Alright, prove it,” he shifts to stand. He offers his hand again and you take it, firmly. When you completely stand, you're closer than he had originally intended and he can feel the tense air between you. He brushes a thumb across your knuckles before letting go. 

You give him a sly grin while motioning your hand towards him, “alright, hand it over.”

“Hold on, let’s find a better spot.”

The two of you don’t stray too far, walking into the small forest behind the tree you were previously leaned up against. Din stops and points to a different tree just a few feet away, “hit the middle of that one.”

Usually, Din wouldn’t be so keen as to just hand anyone his weapons. But, you weren’t just anyone, were you? He sets the blaster in your hand, switching off the safety. 

“Thank you,” you mutter, situating the blaster in your dominant hand, with the other coming up to steady it. 

Raising your shoulders, you assume your stance and level the blaster for aiming. He watches from behind, arms folded and observant. So far he could say you’re doing everything you’re supposed to and is already impressed, not that that shows. 

Taking a deep breath through your mouth and out your nose, your supporting hand drops and your finger twitches on the trigger. In a split second, the blaster fire perfectly hits the middle of the tree. Lowering the blaster, you let out a “Hah!” You puff your chest with pride, looking back at Din for his reaction. 

If Din didn't think he was in trouble before, he definitely is now. He hadn’t realized just how attracted he would be to a trait like that in YOU, and suddenly the armor is too hot for him.

He almost can’t bring himself to say anything in response, it feels like his heart jumped into his throat. A self-satisfied look on your face as you set your other hand on your hip, “you seem…speechless? Hard to tell.”

You were right, and that was saying a lot for Din, considering he’s not much with words to begin with. He quietly clears his throat and reaches to take the blaster from your outstretched arm, “Count me impressed.”

You beamed, but this time it’s shy as you try to look away from him as he takes the blaster. He’d tell you that was cute if that wasn’t so out-of-character for him. 

“What made you take this up?” Din asks as you return to your spot on the grass. 

“Father said ‘pick a form of self defense’ and that was my choice,” you mimic your father’s voice and shrug. “I just happened to hit it off with blasters, and now I prefer them.” 

“But have you ever actually had to use one?”

“No. I guess, fortunately?”

A silence falls, you fidget with your hands as he settles next to you, once again. 

“I know that part isn’t impressive,” you add, dejectedly.

“It’s not bad. I’m glad you haven’t had to yet,” Din then turns his head towards you. “Any more surprises?”

Your lips curl at the edges, biting your lip and stifling a giggle, “for now.” You wink at him and turn to dig through the basket you brought with, setting out various fruits. 

Din’s eyes focus on the food but says nothing. 

“Don’t worry,” you assure him, while taking a bite out of one you’d chosen. “It’s just in case you want it. I felt rude not at least trying, I can give you privacy if needed.”

Din mulls the thought in his head for minutes, considering the setting. He feels a twinge in his stomach, anxiety coming up as he shoves it back down. He’s grateful for how understanding you are when it comes to his boundaries. He hasn’t been given a lot of that when it comes to his helmet and his creed. The galaxy so far has insistently been against him when it comes to those. 

“I appreciate it,” he says. 

—————————————————————————

You choose for today, and just today, you’ll pretend. Pretend your obligations don’t exist, that you’re not a princess. That you’re just you, someone capable of being so much more than what she’s just been slated in life. Capable of being more with Mando. 

That’s when the realization finally sets in, just how deeply you’ve found yourself in love with him. You realize it’s only been several days since you’ve met him, you haven’t even seen his face! But that didn’t matter to you, you have never felt so drawn to and comfortable with someone before in your life. 

You also can’t say you didn’t let it happen, and it’s tragic almost. It didn’t help that the two of you had almost immediately fell into a rhythm together. Two stars in sync with each other’s gravitational pull, becoming a careful dance.

You can’t be with him, and he can’t be with you. But that’s assuming he feels the same way, and that you’re not really sure of. It might be better to not know. You can’t abandon your life, and he shouldn’t have to worry about you.

It hurts immensely. 

“Here, I’ll do this,” you say, shifting your body to sit back to back with him. “I can’t see you this way, and I won’t look.” 

Mando says nothing at first, visor trained on the spread you’d set out. His lack of response causes you to feel insecure. 

“I’m sorry, maybe that’s too much-“

“No. You’re fine. It works.”

You give him a small nod before turning back to face away from him. You focus your eyes on anything else; trees, hills, the sky. You hear a hiss escape from where you feel him shift to lift his helmet and your heart stops. How would it be to see that face? But you would never betray that trust he’s just displayed. 

Mando doesn’t completely remove the helmet, just lifting it enough to take bites of the fruit you’ve laid out. Fair enough, though. Whatever works for him and makes him feel most comfortable is more important to you. 

Moment’s of peaceful silence pass as you take in the sounds and scenery around you while partaking in some of the fruit you snagged. Beautiful, lush green forest and fields, a clear and beautiful sky, the silent chewing from your armored companion. You wish you could live in this moment forever.

Reality finds ways to drift back into your thoughts though, always somewhat present and hard to escape. You let out a quiet sigh, leaning your back against his. You feel him tense up, subtly. But before you can think twice about it, he relaxes back into it, giving you a small amount of physical contact. You’re relieved he allows you this.

‘I’m glad we did this,” you break the silence. “I needed a break, as brief as it may be.”

“Thank you for including me,” he says in his unfiltered voice, helmet still lifted. Your heart in your chest speeds up from hearing it. As much as you love his voice with the modulator, the actual, naked sound is music to your ears. His voice is still low but with a rich timbre. 

Worrying your bottom lip, you lean your head back onto his shoulder. He allows for that as well, maybe indulging you. It’s comforting, but also sad. 

“There’s a chance I could not become a senator, like my father.”

Mando stills, “Is that so?”

“Sort of,” you begin to explain. “We still have democratic elections. There’s a possibility of me not being elected.”

Mando gives a low hum, “What would you do then?”

A million ideas including him run through your mind at that question, but you don’t say. “Technically I’d still be serving in some capacity, it’s how our family has always worked.” Part of you had hoped he'd have something to offer, more to say to that.

It’s quiet again, this time more somber. You’d been thinking about this detail for a while, and it still felt like no way out, and you feel ashamed for even trying to look for one. Mando doesn’t respond yet, replacing his helmet to its normal position. 

You sit up and turn back to him, looking into his visor. Helmet already trained on you. 

“Thank you,” he all but whispers, barely picked up by the modulator. You give him a gentle smile in response, “Of course.”

After the afternoon had worn on some more, and some comfortable quiet moments had passed as the two of you relaxed together, you signaled it was time to go. 

Your heart tightens in your chest at the thought of every minute passing, becoming less and less time with him. You’ve tried hard to not focus on that, nor show that emotion. You want to enjoy the time you have left.

—————————————————————————

You and Din return to your suite at the palace, stopping just before the door. He assumes his regular place in front, waiting to watch you disappear inside for the time being. 

But you don’t go inside, you stop just at the threshold. You stop in your tracks, seemingly contemplating something. You turn back to him, avoiding his gaze but also not as you start to run a hand through your hair. 

“You can come in to wait for me…..if you want.” 

It’s silent again, but tense. Din can feel his heart in his throat now, mouth dry as he tries to swallow it back down. His resolve crumbles enough for him to step forward, towards you. In his usual fashion, saying nothing, he strides past you into your living space. You step to the side to allow him in and he nods to you on the way. 

Upon entering your temporary living space, he takes in the details of proof that you’ve been there. One side of the room is a luxurious, wide bed with accompanying side tables, a couch sits at the end of the bed. Across the room from there is a table with books, a rack of clothing, a vanity and dressing screen for your privacy. 

“The couch is probably the most comfortable,” you mention as you saunter past him. “Make yourself at home.”

Din does so, looking out-of-place as he cautiously sits in the middle of the soft couch. Posture straight and gaited, he looks as stiff as he feels. He is painfully aware of the effect of the whole situation on the inside of his flight suit. It’s not that he’s uncomfortable, he just never expected to be in such a private setting with you.

It’s been too long since he’s felt this kind of need and genuine desire, and that also scares him. He feels like a doomed man, mentally cursing to himself that if only you had met under different circumstances. 

You press a button on a panel on the wall near the dressing screen and all lighting in the room fades to a softer, yellow hue. You step behind the screen, bending to start removing your shoes. 

Din has to suppress the almost audible gulping sound that leaves him when he realizes he can see your silhouette through the dressing screen. He doesn’t know if you know he can see you like this and is too stunned to even say. 

“I’m happy we happen to be here right as this festival is happening,” you state. “I haven’t been to it since I was a teenager.”

He watches your shadow begin to undress, slowly peeling off your layers one by one until you’re in your underwear. Your hands move to undo the clasp on your chest band, causing an audible ‘snap’ noise. You move sideways, emphasizing a perfect outline of your front and back. He imagines your breasts must be as soft and enticing from their outline in the shadow. 

He feels a twitch in his flight suit pants then immediately seeks to contain that by resting his ankle on his knee, bouncing it repetitively to keep himself ‘busy’. He almost jumps out of his skin as you walk to the edge of the screen, only to stop just before the end and reach your hand and naked arm to the rack where the garment bag you picked up yesterday hung, plucking it.

It’s certainly not out of place for him to have nothing to say, because at the moment he can’t even muster a word. He’s way too distracted now and hopes you’re not looking for a response.

You maneuver yourself into the dress, swaying your hips side to side to slide the fabric over your body. Din unconsciously flexes his hands, imagining how those hips would feel beneath them. 

When you finish fitting the dress onto yourself, you emerge from behind the screen. When you notice him, your expression is curious and he fears he’s been caught until you ask, “are you ok?”

Din crosses his arms and stands abruptly, guarding the subtle expressions of his body language as much as he can. Give offers a curt, “Yes.” He immediately notices how flattering the dress is on you, laying perfectly with your back being the most exposed. 

You narrow your eyes at him briefly and turn to seat yourself at your vanity. Din takes the opportunity to roam the small space, observing the table of books and reading material from the event that had been unceremoniously placed there. 

You adjust yourself in the mirror of your vanity, fixing your hair. You look back at yourself with a determined look, twisting your arms to place your hair where you need it. Din watches your meticulous routine from behind, eyes flitting between your actions and yourself in the mirror. You can see him in the reflection as you work. 

“It won't be too long, but it’s a process,” you murmur, moving to grab various pieces of makeup to apply. 

Din can barely manage to offer any words as he imagines what it would be like to casually approach you, placing reverent kisses on the back of your neck and shoulders. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he finally says. 

You shoot him a questioning look where you see him in the reflection of the mirror, “are you sure you’re alright?”

Din forces himself to visibly relax, it’s uncanny how well you’ve been able to pick up on his mannerisms since you’ve met, “everything is good with me.” He feels like he sounds unconvincing and your lingering eyes in the mirror don’t help. You shrug and return to your tasks.

That companionable silence has returned as Din watches you apply your makeup, you mutter to yourself absentmindedly here and there as you move to each next piece. Some time passes before you set down your items and pat your lap, giving yourself a last look over in the mirror before standing. 

The way you look takes his breath away. He was almost shocked when he first saw how casual you’d chosen to be today but loved it all the same. He loved seeing another side of you and right now is no exception either. He felt domestic just from being allowed to watch you put yourself together. 

He wants to take you apart. 

—————————————————————————

“Well?” You query Mando as you turn side to side to get a good look over yourself in the mirror. “Do I look alright?”

He’s paused then steps closer behind you, looming over your shoulder at your reflection, you look at him. You feel your heart rate quicken under what feels like his eyes raking over you. It takes everything in you to resist the urge to turn into him and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Beautiful,” he offers the one-worded response, but that's all that needs to be said. 

You turn to him, smiling, staving off a heat that threatens to take over your cheeks, “thank you.” He cocks his helm to the side in response. 

You stride past him, noticing his helmet visibly follow. You sway your hips ever so slightly as his visor scans you up and down. Getting closer to your door, you look back and flash him a grin and gesture with a nod, “I saw that.”

“No you didn’t,” he throws back at you, sarcastically. You snicker in response, “Come on, shiny man.”

Mando stalks towards you and stifles a chuckle, “I get a nickname too?”

“I tried, not sure how I feel about that one.”

“Not as fun as mine, mesh’la.”

—————————————————————————

The festival is bustling, vendors sell their wares and trinkets while others offer delicious and exotic street foods. There are large displays of flowers and accompanying decorations across the town and performers scattered entertaining the masses. 

You point out these things to Mando as you stroll through, your hand back in its place in the crook of his elbow. He doesn’t have much to say but you know he’s invested in your excitement and what you say. 

Here and there you'd explain the meaning behind certain displays and performances to educate him. You figure you can do the same for him as he’s done for you when he’d allowed you to poke at him about Mandalorian customs. You’d share similar traditions from your own planet and how they coincide with each other. 

You tried your best to be in the present and stop worrying about tomorrow, when you’ll inevitably have to say goodbye to the Mandalorian. You’re going to miss the camaraderie the two of you had unknowingly built together in the short amount of days. You’ve never found someone so in sync with you. 

Regardless if he has similar feelings, it’s heartbreaking all the same. It’s too scary at this point to ask. If you’ve learned anything about him this past week, it’s that his actions speak louder than his words. Although it seems he reserves many of those words and actions just for you. A self-indulgent thought you keep tucked in your heart. 

Day slowly turns into night, the sun giving way to a beautiful, pink setting in the sky. You finish up a snack you’d bought earlier as you nod at Mando, “fireworks should be soon, we should find a good spot.”

“Fireworks, huh? They really go all-out here.”

“It’s Naboo,” you laugh. “What do you expect?” 

“Do you have a spot for that too?”

You scoff in response, “of course I do.”

And that you did. It’s a bold move, but you offer him your hand, “follow me.” He takes your smaller hand in his gloved one, and it feels warm. Safe. 

You lead him along, navigating through other festival-goers until you find yourself in front of part of the forest that lines the city. He doesn’t question it though, and you bring yourselves to a small path in. When you’ve arrived, you’re at a small clearing on the side of the larger lake the show will display over. 

“I never doubted you,” he proclaims. You feel like you can ‘hear’ a smile in his tone. You turn your nose up with a ‘hmm!’. You hear a faint chuckle that barely escapes his helmet’s modulator. 

The sun is finally set, giving way to a beautiful, clear night sky. You take in a deep breath of air and admire it, smiling to yourself. You look down and notice he’s still holding your hand. You don’t say anything or move it, for fear of ending the small contact. He doesn’t try to break it up either. 

One by one, lights lift into the sky and explode. The fireworks are bright and loud and your spot is the perfect and more private place to view them. You instantly become entranced in them, their reflections flash in your eyes.

You suddenly feel a familiar shift in energy, one that you’ve been feeling all week. From the times you feel his eyes on you for long periods of time. Sometimes even when his helmet isn’t exactly pointed towards you. A feeling almost hard to explain, you just know. But you don’t turn to face him just yet, preening under what feels like his warm gaze, while you can. These last few moments are difficult to approach, no matter how hard you shove back the emotions.  

What will it be like after tomorrow? Will you feel a hole in your chest? A part of your heart that knows and wishes to know him that will forever be empty? Will you always spend the rest of your life asking “what if”?

You finally turn to him and he does the same. But there are no words. You’re both silent, save for the sounds of fireworks in the background. You look into his visor and admire the reflection of the bright, colorful explosions that play out on his helmet. It’s beautiful. 

A tension builds between you, again. But what could be said? It’s too painful to say out loud. You’ll have to speak through your actions, just as he does. 

You slowly lift the hand you’re still holding, cautiously bringing it to place over your chest where your heart pounds. You fear it might be too much when his hand stills, but then relaxes in place underneath yours. You just want him to feel your heartbeat, and he acquiesces. 

But he surprises you again, after a moment passes, holding his hand over your heart. He brings his other hand up to remove his glove, carefully plucking from his fore and middle finger, sliding it off then placing it in his pocket. 

With his now bare hand, he gently tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. Instead of bringing his hand back, he caresses the side of your face. You can feel him hesitate at first, hovering slightly above your cheek, seeking silent permission. You oblige by nuzzling into his palm, relishing the feeling of his bare skin on yours.

The setting is calm but the storm in your chest is otherwise and you wish you could remain like this. Tomorrow is coming too soon, it’s too much. But you know, and he knows. 

When the show ends, the two of you remain that way for a short while after. You can’t bring yourself to end it any sooner but after some time, you decide to rip off the bandaid. When you slightly move from his hand, he returns it to himself but without putting the glove back on. 

When you return to your room, after a solemn and quiet walk back, you swear you can still feel the warmth of his skin on yours. It’s all he can give right now and you’ll hold it dear to you. 

—————————————————————————

Settling down for the night, you walk around the room to fade the lights back to the yellow hue. You sit on the couch as you read the last of a book you’ve had your nose in for the last hour. You glance up, down, then quickly back up again when you notice the silhouetted shape of something from behind your dressing screen. 

Hurriedly putting the book down, you set for the screen to investigate. Behind it is the pile of clothes and one of your suitcases that had made up the shape. You realize, to your mortification, that anything behind casts a shadow than can be seen.

That means. That earlier. That he could. He could see- Oh MAKER. 

Mando'a Translated:

Mesh'la = Beautiful

Cyare = Sweetheart

@dindjarinsmut @impala1967666 @kittenlittle24 @angel-with-a-heart @leithatnight @i-usually-main-bards-tho @dins-riduur-anthe @fatima-marisa @lalalalemonade11 @n7cje

Next Chapter

[acherontiarchivist]

Omg okay! It’s my first time asking stuff and I’m super nervous and hope I’m not bothering in any way😭

I just love how you write for Gabriel so much. He’s so underrated and I love vim so much! I was wondering if you could write something for him with a chubby s/o who struggles with self love and always looks herself in the mirror, always feeling discouraged at what she sees. It’s a struggle I have everyday and I’m trying my best to get over it💛 can be SFW or NSFW thank you, and sending lots of love!💛

First of all thank you for this ask because ALL OF THIS SAME, second thank you for your patience :')

This took me a while to write but I think it has been a great journey and has made me feel a little bit better myself, so I hope it does the same for you! Sending lots of love back your way! 💜

Also, this turned out to be almost purely NSFW :^)

MINORS DNI! NSFW UNDER THE CUT

Content: body checking, discussion of body image, cunnilingus (receiving), fingering (giving and receiving) let me know if I should tag anything else!

Word count: 1.3k

You have a routine you like to stick to most mornings: make your bed, meditate for 10 minutes, eat a light breakfast while scrolling your social media feed, and so on. Mornings with Gabriel, however, are always a little bit delayed. He keeps you in bed longer, clinging to you under the warm blankets and fussing if he senses you try to get up. You've come to accept the morning cuddles– it's much better than meditation anyway. 

Today marks a full week that he's slept with you and stayed over most of the day, so suffice to say he's learned all of your daily habits. He has also taken notice of your habit of taking your measurements and recording them everyday– mostly because he loves to see you naked. The first time he saw you taking your measurements he had plenty of questions, especially since you were reluctant to let him watch and wanted to do it in privacy. Gabriel doesn't understand why you do it in the first place. He gazes at your reflection in the mirror each time, wondering why you always look so disappointed with yourself when all he sees is your glowing beauty. It's nearly impossible for him to wrap his head around it when he finds your body so fascinating.

There can never be enough excuses for him to feel your bare skin, especially your thighs. It was only now, after the second time he has watched you pull the measuring ribbon around your hips that he saw the golden opportunity.

"Let me help you with that," he sinks down onto his knees beside you and gingerly tugs the ribbon from your loose grip as you record your hip measurements. Before you even know it he has lifted your leg onto the side of the bed and snaked his soft hand around your inner thigh with one end of the ribbon. The sudden sensation sent chills up your spine.

"Oh, fuck," your free hand shoots out to brace yourself against the wall.

"Sorry," he can't help but giggle a bit.

"It's ok, I just… wasn't expecting that is all." You try to play it off, but the blush at the sight of him on his knees and cornered between your leg and the wall is too strong to fight back. He knew what he was doing all along and doesn't intend to stop now. However, he does drop his ruse, letting slip the ribbon to the floor as he nibbles his way up your thigh.

"Hey! You didn't tell me the numb–"

"Shhh. It's not important."

"It is to me," you struggle to get out between the pricks and tickles he leaves with his teeth. Though the closer he gets to your core, the more you agree with him.

"What's the point anyway? What are you doing? Is it fun? It can't be more fun than this."

It is so not fair that he can speak so freely without having to stop. You are afforded no time to gather your thoughts through his 'help.' Instead your mind wanders, focuses on his touch, your free hand tangling in his hair. All remaining pretense is thrown out the window when his tongue graces your bud and two fingers ease their way inside of you.

"Does it feel good?"

"God, yes."

His laugh crackles through the speakers of your alarm clock radio, "That's not what I was talking about. We were having a conversation, remember?"

"Fuck you."

"It's not my turn yet." His pace quickens and his other arm reaches around your leg to squeeze your ass.

"You wanna bet?" Your grip tightens around his hair in preparation to pull his head back, earning a rare vocalization to escape his throat. His moan is something special. Steady in your new shift of mood your hand leaves the wall to instead lift his chin and force eye contact. Gabriel's full attention had now shifted from eagerly finger-fucking you to following your every word. Honestly, he didn't think he'd get this far and failed to plan ahead. But he loves it when you take control. It's amusing how quickly he goes from smugly and confidently knocking down your walls to falling into putty in your hands.

"Get on the bed." Just as soon as you release your grip on his hair he climbs over the edge of the bed, not even bothering to stand up first. You follow just behind him, not bothering to let him find his balance, your hands reaching around him to undo the button of his pants and pull down the zipper. He falls forward (backward?) and rests his head on your shoulder; moaning, drooling as your fingers slip beneath his underwear. You have no idea how he manages it without pain, but his hands find their way to your breasts. His arms nearly become trapped between your bodies as you try to pull him closer. "That has got to be uncomfortable," your breath ghosts his ear.

"I don't care. I just love to feel your body," he pulls his arms out and instead squeezes your hips.

You blush at his comment; you know it's only a sweet nothing, but it's exactly what you needed to hear, and coming from him it means the world to you. Your fingers work their circular motions with more care and deliberation from then on, unraveling him in your arms. One arm holds him close while you leave bites and kisses on his neck, all the while gradually picking up your pace and increasing the pressure on his bud. You're so lost in the sound of his moans and whines that you barely notice him writhing underneath your touch. His hips jerk and his legs grow noticeably shaky making you hesitate for a moment, trying not to overstimulate him.

"No, no, no, don't stop, don't stop," His voice fades in and out of the static on the radio and you brace yourself– you know the feedback is going to come through loud when he finally spills over. Once he does, he falls back on the bed to catch his breath. You take the opportunity to straddle him and squeeze his ass.

"Not fair… I initiated, I was supposed to make you cum first."

"You snooze, you lose," you stick your tongue out at him playfully.

"Fuck you," he sticks his tongue out back at you to the best of his ability.

"Hmm. Yeah, I think it is my turn now." You lay down on the bed beside him, "As you were, then." He wastes no time crawling between your legs to finish what he started, though this time he jumps straight into the pace he had been working up before.

"Ahh," you hiss, "you in a hurry or something?"

"This is your punishment for interrupting me," he didn't need a verbal response to know how much that turned you on; he could feel it in the way you contracted around his fingers. You sing for him anyway.

"Oh, fuck, Gabriel," you wrap your legs around his waist and squeeze. His words of encouragement are drowned out by your own moans. You reach blindly to grab the radio and drag it closer, desperate to hear his voice.

"You're so close, I can feel it already. Cum for me. Scream for me. I want you to feel so, so good." Every word pushes you closer to release until his fingers push on that sweet spongy spot in your core. All of your senses momentarily go fuzzy and distant as you recover from the high. Soon you feel Gabriel scoot up to your side. You roll onto your side and pull him close, earning a sigh of contentment.

"Hey," he speaks up, pulling your leg over his body and  idly rubbing your thigh, "Next time can you sit on my face?"

"Sure thing," you laugh and kiss his forehead.

[spacecatbowtie]

Say it, Darlin

AO3 link

Explicit

Joel (The Last of Us)/Reader

Joel (The Last of Us)/OC

Summary:

The plan did not go the way it was intended. He was faster than me and caught me before I knew it.

It excites me, but I won't admit that to myself, let alone to him. I don't want to boost this old man's stupid ego.

MINORS DON'T INTERACT, DO NOT READ IF BELOW 18

Notes:

So I just wrote this.

Irl this is not ok, I would call the police on this. Even though she actually wants this, this is not consensual. Especially at the beginning.

So for the peeps new to sexual stuff irl. This is not ok, maybe only for roleplay if you set up boundaries before hand.

Anyhow, enjoy if ur into reading this shit. :)

Tags below:

Tags:

Dark Joel (The Last of Us), Rough Sex, Pining, Bondage, Knifeplay, Spit Kink, Forced Submission, This is not healthy, Unsafe Sex, this is NOT okay, minor description of blood, Hair Pulling, POV First Person, no description of oc other than being female, no mention of oc name, joel is alone, Touch-Starved Joel, Degradation, dyslexia so tell me if i misspelled something, cum, p in v, Kinda cute ending, joel does not know how to show emotions, joel actually wants to be loved, Porn, porn with little plot, Dom Joel

I'd been waiting for the man to fall asleep. For hours he sat by the fire, cleaning his weapons, eating the meat he grilled and just staring in to space.

As the sun sets, the chirping of crickets grows louder and the temperature drops. The bush I decided to hide in offers no protection from the wind. Thank god it's spring, otherwise I would have frozen to death from sitting still on the moist forest floor. Still my body feels stiff from the chilly evening air.

At some point I must have dosed off, because when I startle awake and look at the small fire, the man is gone.

Shit!

I search through the darkness in the trees. He is probably just going for a wee.

Something hard pokes my back. By body freezes, I know what it is without turning around.

"What the hell you spying on me for?"

I did not expect his voice to be this low. The threating tone sends cold shivers down my spine.

"Say somethin, dammit." He snarls.

"I'm sorry!" Is the only thing I can think of to say. I try to turn around, but that only causes him to jab the barrel of his gun harder in my spine.

After a while the pressure disappears.

"Turn 'round."

Slowly I obey and face him. He keeps the gun aimed at me, but he has taken a step back. The light of the campfire barely reaches him at this distance, just an orange glow sparkles in his eyes. Up close he looks even more rough and wild.

"Please, I am just looking for some food," I mutter, keeping my hands up as a sign of surrender. "I saw the fire, and wanted to ask you if you perhaps had some food to spare."

He just looks at me for a few seconds until he finally speaks again. "Spread your arms and put your feet wider."

When I just look at him in confusion he sighs. "I'm gonna search you for weapons."

I take in a quick breath, but do as he says and take a wider stands, spreading my arms.

He keeps the gun in one hand as he comes closer. "If you move, you're dead."

I give a curd nod.

Starting at my arms, he makes his way over my clothes. I close my eyes and hold my breath as his free hand feels down my body for any hidden weapons.

With a grunt he steps back and I try to hide my sigh of relief.

He holsters his gun. "I can give you something to eat." With his head he motions for me to go to the fire.

Even though it's a relatively warm night, the flames feel nice as I take a seat across from him, the fire between us. The dead tree trunk is slightly damp and moisture soaks through the fabric of my pants the longer I sit down.

He digs through his bag, retrieving something wrapped in beige paper and throws it at me to catch.

Salted meat! Immediately after opening the crinkled wrapping, I stuff my face. Savoring the taste, I look up at the sky and let the salt devolve on my tongue. We usually don't have this kind of food.

When I open my eyes, he is looking at me with an expression I can't decipher. "Thank you, sir!" I smile at him.

His gaze softens slightly. "It's alright. Don't gotta call me 'sir'. Just Joel's fine."

We both eat in silence, as the adrenaline from our encounter before slowly seeps away. Gazing into the dancing flames of the campfire, I refrain from engaging in further contact with him.

When we've finished the delicious but small meal, I look at him again. "Would it be alright if I stay a little longer and sleep by the fire?"

There is some hesitation on his face, his thick brows furrowing.

Giving him my saddest puppy eyes, I continue. "Please, its lonely and kinda cold out there."

"That's fine." He sighs and tosses me something from his bag. A flannel shirt. The fabric is rough in my hands, but I'll do the job as a makeshift blanket.

I fake a yawn and stretch, before covering myself with the large flannel and curling up next to the fire, facing away from him.

"G'night." His back pops as he stretches.

I don't respond, pretending to have dozed off already.

He settles in himself. And after what feels like a little more than an hour, soft snores fill the air. I wait another two hours to make sure he is in deep sleep. The crickets have become silent, only the occasional mysterious forest sound can be heard every so often. A few times I'd jumped at the sound of his voice, thinking he was awake, but it turns out he talks in his sleep. What exactly he is saying is unclear, but I can make out the name 'Sarah' a few times.

My body aches when I silently get up. I retrieve the small pocket knife hidden in the hem of my jeans. Thankfully he'd missed it when searching me.

The sleeping man lays on his side, head on his arm as I approach. He looks so peaceful, it's almost cute. Sadly that ends right here. I place the knife on his neck and am about to cut his throat when a large hand forcefully grabs my wrist.

I yelp when he jumps on me, pinning me to the ground. The knife flies from my hand some ware along the way.

His dark eyes are so cold and so dangerous that regret accepting this job in the first place. Not that I had a lot of choice in the matter.

"Yea, knew you were not gonna let me sleep peacefully." He straightens up and kicks the knife out of my reach.

I try to get up, but he presses his foot painfully in the middle of my chest, pinning me to the ground. I feel like I'm unable to move, unable to breathe.

"Now, what the hell did you think you were doing?" He lightens the pressure on my chest a little so I can talk.

But I stay silent and try to shove his foot off me. When that does not work I just look up at him with the angriest face I can muster.

"C'mon, don't act all tough now." He leans closer, putting more weight on my chest, causing me to cough and wheeze. "From the goodness of my heart I let you sit by the warmth of the fire, I shared my food with you, and this is how you thank me?"

The look in his eyes sparks fear in me. Kicking my legs I try to get away from him, even though I know it is futile.

"Stop it!" He digs the toe of his foot harder in my body. "Least you could do is tell me why you tried to kill me."

Fine

"I needed the supplies. Dont act like you haven't done things like this to survive."

"Maybe I have, maybe I haven't but that does not change the fact that it makes no sense for a lonely little girl like you to kill a generous man like me."

He knows.

Panic surges through me. I try to reach for the knife he'd kicked away. I need to try. I have to try.

"Stop fighting me!" He crouches down and pins my hands down. Straddling me, he immobilizes the rest of my body on the ground. "Explain to me why you thought it was necessary to kill me."

I close my eyes, and try to keep my breathing steady.

"Look at me."

I do. His face is so close.

"Answer me. I know you're hiding sometin."

Thrashing and pulling my arms, but his grip only tightens. I give up with a frustrated sigh. "I am just trying to survive in this shit world."

That was the truth.

"Yeah well, you could have just asked to join me. We could have struck a deal, worked together to survive in this shit world." He pins both my wrists in one hand, with his other he reaches for the knife on the ground. Brining it to his face, he inspects it. "Like I said, you are a girl all alone in the woods. It doesn't make sense for you ta' kill me."

His dark eyes pierce mine and he leans closer again. "Or you're not alone at all."

"Let me go." With all my strength I try to fight against his grip. Now he has my wrists in one hand, I should be able to pull free. For a moment I think it works, because his grip loosens, but quickly he unbuckles his belt and pulls it from the loops of his pants. With rough hands he binds my wrists above my head and attaches the end of the binds to the large log, leaving me unable to move my arms.

I press my lips tightly together. The fact that he is tying me up seeps ice-cold fear from my chest to the rest of my body. Simultaneously, my body is starting to react to his vicinity. It has been months since I've had any release, and the need for some intimate action burns low in my stomach.

"Look hun, i don't want to hurt you, but you were gonna take me out of the game, so i can't let you go either." He must have put the knife down at some point, because the rough but warm hand slides feather-light down my neck.

I try to suppress the whimper that forms in my throat as a reaction to his touch, but it is too late, it sounds desperate and needy. Curse my body for being weak. Wurming and pulling, I try to escape his grip. But he keeps me in place with his weight.

It feels so good.

NO! stop. I need to get away.

The stare in which he looks at me warms my whole body with a tingly heat. He leans even closer, almost burying his face in my hair. "Shhhhh. Don't struggle." His warm breath tickles my neck.

I tremble underneath him. "Fuck." I curse as my body betrays me. Trying not to give in to my desires, I turn my face away from him.

"C'mon, it's okay." His thumb strokes the soft part of my throat. "Just let it happen." He whispers. "I'll be good to you, you can trust me." His hand slides lower, running his thumb over one of my breasts.

Another whimper escapes me and my cheeks burn. I hate how responsive I am, but from the state of him, I guess that he is just as touch starved as I am.

But I don't want to give in. I need the supplies. I need to kill him for it. Without further hesitation, I lift my knee, kicking him between his legs.

He groans in pain and he falls forward over me, but catches himself. "Son of a-" Before I can execute my second step of my 'plan', he reaches for the knife again. For a quick second the blade flashes as it reflects the light of the campfire, but then it's on my throat.

"You should have slit my throat when you had the chance." He begins to press the knife down, breaking the skin, but not deep enough to do any major damage.

My eyes widen, my body trembles. I try to keep still, not daring to move in fear of the blade cutting deeper. Something swirls inside me, something that I haven't felt before, something I don't understand.

He stares down at me, his eyes just as cold as his voice when he speaks. "You're a viper. You know what happens to vipers in this shit world?" He lowers his voice to a whisper. "They get stepped on."

The reality of the situation starts to kick in. This man that is way stronger than I am, has complete control over me. He has a knife pressed against my throat, threatening to kill me.

I feel tears forming, but I try hard to keep them from spilling over my face. I dont want him to see how scared and desperate I am.

A small wicked smile forms on his lips. "Now, you're gonna tell me why you found the need to try and cut my throat."

"I told you, I needed the supplies and I did not want to share." My voice is weak. As I talk the knife cuts more in my skin, making me wince.

The pressure of the blade dissapears and finally, I dare to breath again. He grabs on the front of my shirt and pulls me towards him, lifting my upper body a little from the ground. "Do NOT feed me that bullshit story again."

"It's not bullshit!"

"Then what else." He releases again, making my head hit the ground. The pressure of the knife is back again, the blade digging in my skin. Something warm and liquid seeps down my neck.

I am not telling him I'm not alone, that I am with a group of people and that they send me here to pretend to be a weak, helpless girl.

But I see in his eyes that he is starting to realize that. The knife pushes a little deeper, I fear it almost hits a vital spot.

"Fine." I sigh and My body freezes when the sting in my neck gets worse. "I am part of a group. They send me to kill you and steal your supplies."

"Is that everything?"

I nod and close my eyes. He is surely going to kill me now.

He is right next to my face again, so his next words are whispered directly in my ear. "Tell me one more thing."

Desire floods through me as his breath tickles my neck. "What else do you want to know?" I manage to say in a voice that sounds angry and not totally deprived.

Softly he smiles at my tone. "Do they treat you right?"

His tone is so seductive now, almost purring. "And don't think about lyin again."

I am debating on not telling him. But the sting of the knife in my throat takes away every bit of bravery I have left. I want to shake my head, but the sting of the blade makes that impossible. "No..." I breath softly, It's almost a sob.

"Hmm." He hums in my ear and breaths in, the tip of his nose against my throat. "Now, give me a good reason not to kill ya."

The way he overpowers me, makes me feel a thousand things at the same time. "I..." I try to come up with a good reason for him not to end my life right here and now. But I can't think of a good reason. It would be the logical decision. I had tried to kill him, I know his current location. If he lets me go, I'd just run of to my group and tell them about him. I know all the details of him, his weapons, some of his belongings, his strength.

"Well? Give me one good reason, or I'll kill you with your own knife." He slides the blade down over my collarbone, leaving behind a trail of stinging pain. "Any reason, give me any reason."

I close my eyes tightly. "I.. I can point you to the location of my group, you can steal their supplies."

To my surprise he lets out a slight chuckle. "Oh, I already know where your little group is." He grabs my jaw roughly, and the flat blade of the knife is pressed to my cheek. "I mean, tell me a personal reason. Because now it sounds like you're tellin me that there's no good reason to keep you alive."

"What do you want me to do? Just name it. Tell me what I can do." I feel my cheeks burn from shame at my begging.

"That's just the thing, sweetheart. I want you to offer me something." He leans back, and the knife is back on my collarbone, dragging even further down but now not deep enough to cut the skin. "Aint gonna give you any hints." He moves his hips, rolling them into mine once.

I dont care about the world anymore. It does not feel real to me anymore. The only thing that feels real is this man on top of me, pressing his body into mine. There are so many things I want him to do to me, but I remain silent and just look him in his eyes. Does he notice the desire in mine?

Keeping his gaze on mine, he suddenly stabs the knife in the soft forest floor next to my head. With one hand he digs in my hair and pulls my head back, exposing my throat for him.

"I want you to say it, darlin." His nose runs up the unwounded side of my neck. "I can't read minds now, can I?" His lips are dangerously close to mine. "C'mon, it can't be hard. Can't think of one thing?"

His hips buck into mine once more, making me groan involuntarily. Hot breath tickles my face. "You want it, don't you?" He whispers as his lips trail down my jaw without kissing. "You want me."

My body shudders underneath him as his lips touch my skin. A strangled moan escapes me. My heart pounds in my chest and my breathing speeds up even more than before.

"I.. no.. i dont.." Even I hear how pathetic my voice sounds.  "Get off me!"

A low chuckle. "You don't need to lie. I already know the truth." His fingers pull harder at my hair, holding me in place. "Don't struggle." He hisses. "Now, say it!"

"Fuck off -" i get cut off when he bites softly in my neck, and then licks from my collarbone up to the sweet spot under my ear.

I feel him smile against my skin at the sounds I make when he bites softly. He nibbles a path down my throat, probably leaving indents. "Just relax." Now that he has had a taste of me, he dives in for more, biting harder at my skin.

"Oh my god" I moan when his hand slides over my heated body. I arch, so my chest presses in to him.

He pulls back enough to look at me. "We are both human. We have needs, desires. Sometimes you just need to let go."

My struggling ceases. I stop trying to kick him, I stop trying to rip my arm from his iron like hold. Wide-eyed I look up at him, waiting for what he will do next.

He slowly releases my wrist. "Thats a good girl."

His eyes are so dark when he stares in to mine, they look like black holes, sucking me in, hypnotizing me. "Are you afraid of me?"

My brows furrow at the question. I shake my head no, causing a painful pull on my hair where he has his fingers tangled in.

"I can see it your eyes, darlin." His gaze is on my lips now. "It turns you on, doesn't it?" This is less of a question and more of a statement.

A warm hand travels down my chest, feeling my waist and thighs. The hand wraps around my waist, pulling me even closer to him.

The burning hot frustration turns into fiery desire that sends a thrill through my body. I realize that the fear is part of what turns me on this bad. I want him to ruin me, but at the same time I want to get away, run away, flee from this animalistic man.

At my silence he laughs condescendingly, the soft snicker rumbling through his chest. He makes me feel like a freak for letting this situation effect me like this.

Fuck him.

"You are just an old man. I am not afraid of you, and I am most definitely not into this." I try to keep my voice steady and strong. "You are the one that is turned on by pinning down a defenseless girl."

"You are a terrible liar, darlin." He releases my hair to push himself back, distancing himself from me. His full weight is heavy on my hips. "And you are most definitely not defenseless. remember trying to kill me?"

This brings a triumphant smile to my face. I had almost had him, if he had reacted one second later, he had bled out by now, a deep cut in his throat.

"I'll make you submit to me."  His tone is low and gruff.

After a few seconds of staring down at me, he speaks again. "Take of your shirt." His voice is low and calculated. There is something to it. Is this his way of asking for consent? Will he stop if I say no?

I realize that I am almost disappointed at the thought of him getting off me, not having his hands touch me, not having his body caging me in.

"Make me, old man."  

Something sparks in his eyes, something dark as I am not plainly refusing him. He leans back in, hands on the ground on either side of my head. "Don't challenge me, girl." His thumb caresses my jaw. "Now, take of that shirt."

"No." A smirk creeps up my face, despite the fact that I try to keep the frown .

He has had enough.  

"You are not making this easy." He pushes my shirt up to expose my bra. Eyes ravage the skin that gets exposed, his fingers slipping over my stomach and over my covered breasts.

Leaning over me, he reaches for the knife and pulls it from the ground. He wipes the sand on his pants before he hooks the blade underneath the bra in the middle of my chest.

I struggle and try to get from under him. But with my hands tied and his weight on me. "Dont you dare rip my bra" I threaten, trying to sound convincing.

In a swift motion he cuts through the fabric, my breasts spill out as the broken bra falls to my sides.

"fuck you asshole!" I try to kick him but he keeps but his weight keeps me down. I feel my desire grow in my stomach and i feel my body becoming sensitive to his touch. As the air touches my nipples, I automatically arch in to him, basically presenting my chest to him. The tension for what is about to happen stretches every second, it'll have to burst sometime soon.

"That's right, you're not gonna do anything." The knife is discarded again.

I am about to give him a witty remark, but he presses his palm to my mouth. It muffles the moan that escapes when his fingers lightly trail over the swell of my breasts.

"Nothing to say now?" His thumb brushes over my nipple, making me buck my hips against him.

"There we go, that's more like it." He leans in, his lips against my neck. "I know exactly what you want." A low whisper tickles the shell of my ear.

I bite his hand.

He pulls away, a smirk on his face. "Ouch."

"Is that what you're into? biting? you could just have told me, hun." Leaning in, he traces my throat with his nose, breathing me in. "You want me to bite you?"

I moan softly. But quickly I press my lips on each other, stopping myself from making more noises. His hand slides lower over my stomach, traveling a path to where I need his touch the most.

Then he sinks his teeth in my neck, deep. Not like nibbles from before, but full on biting down. The pain is blinding, white stars spread across my vision.

"Stop! You fucking monster!" I wiggle under him, but it only causes more strain at the place where he sunk his teeth in. I let out a sob. The biting hurts a lot. But at the same time it turns me on, more than I would like to admit. The way he dominates me makes me tremble in pleasure. I let out a whine as his fingers trail the inside of my thigh.

"God, daring. You like it rough don't ya?"

"No it fucking hurts. Let me go!" Tears of fear and frustration roll down my face. "I hate you." I turn my head away from him, his breath now warms my neck.

"No, you want it." His fingers travel further, gently rubbing the fabric of my jeans over my clit. "You just don't want to admit it. You hate me because you want me, don't you?" He gives small bites up my neck, and then bites down again, above the place he bit before.

I let out a scream, and he quickly covers my mouth with his hand. "Can't find your words?"

More tears drip down my face as I shake my head. My body burns from humiliation and desire. I want him so bad, he feels so good as he touches me, but I dont want him to know that.

"You can lie to me, but you can't lie to yourself, darlin." His hand dips under the waistband of my jeans, digging in to my wetness. The groan he lets out as he feels how wet I am is utterly primal, a low rumble in the back of his throat.

With his hand he squeezes my jaw hard. He forces my mouth open with the tight grip of his hand. He leans over me, keeping eye-contact, he spits in my mouth. My eyes roll back on how filthy it is. Never have I been more turned on than right now.

No.

I refuse to fuel his ego. Giving him a death stare, I spit everything out on the ground.

"You can't fool me. Your body is telling me everything I need to know." The fingers between my legs start a slow pace of rubbing and circling the sensitive spot there. Every now and then he goes to tease my entrance, before returning to my clit again.

I close my eyes and remain silent, not able to handle this amount of lust or the way he turns me on.

"You know what you are.. you just wont admit it. You are just a filthy whore." He says to me with a low, his face frustrated at my silence.

I wince from the insult, but makes something hot swirl in my lower at the same time. He must see it in my features, because he grins at my reaction.

"Oh, you like that too? being degraded? You really are a dirty girl." With his hand he brushes surprisingly softly over my cheek, eyes serious as they pierce mine. "I want to hear you say it, tell me you want me, admit it."

"Make me," I say again. "Old man." I hope to provoke him. I kinda want him to be harsh with me, I want him to get frustrated, I want him to take his anger out on me, use me.

"You wanna play rough?" His head tilts slightly. "We can be as rough as you want, sweetheart." Finally he plunges inside me, two thick fingers at the same time. They reach further than my own fingers ever could reach in the last few years. I gasp at the intrusion and tense around him, sucking him in deeper.

He keeps them inside as he curls his fingers, causing me to throw my head back in a strangled moan.

"There we go, that's what I like to hear." Slowly he moves his fingers in and out again, setting a teasing pace.

He keeps moving his hand in a delicious way. I cant talk anymore, I can't even think anymore. The only thing i can do is moan and mewl at what his fingers do to me.

I tense when he dives in the crook of my neck again, but instead of biting, he gives small, soft kisses along my neck and jaw. Already I can feel the burning knot grow tighter in my lower belly. Never have I reached this point so quickly by myself.

"That feel good?"

The 'no' from my mouth is a lie through my teeth as I try not to make too many pleasure noises. I don't want to admit how incredibly good he makes me feel.

I make a desperate sound of protest when he pulls his hand away, having almost reached my peak.

Straightening up, he quickly pulls off my boots, and rips off my pants. I lift my hips a little to make it easier for him. He moves his hands to the fly of his own pants, but then changes his mind and unties my hands. Not knowing what to do with them, I just place them on his legs on either side of my hips.

"Comon darlin, say it." Now he undoes the zipper and reaches in. He pulls himself from his pants and the only thing I can do is stare. He looks so hot. I want him so bad. Settling between my legs, he kneels over me, his hands on my thighs.

"I am not going to say it. Never." I say.

He chuckles darkly at that. Then he moves closer, angling his hips to press the head of his cock against my wetness. Slowly he settles himself inside me. I cant keep down the moan that escapes me from the stretch he is giving me. God he feels good. This is what I have needed for so long.

His pace is fast right of the bet, seemingly unable to withhold himself any longer. the feeling that has almost become unfamiliar to me spreads through my body again. I had forgotten how good sex felt. I'm in heaven.

He grabs my jaw and forces his fingers inside my mouth. Moaning, I lick at them. He seems to like that for he leans over me while still snapping his hips against mine, thrusting himself inside of me again and again. His pupils are blown as he keeps my mouth open with his wet fingers and spits. The warm liquid drips on my tongue.

He pushes my mouth closed again. "Swallow." While looking in his eyes I obey. This causes him to make a noise in the back of his throat and his pace stutters a little.  "You're such a whore for me." Then he kisses me. Hard, sloppy and wet. I kiss him back, my hands digging at his shoulders and in his hair.

When his thumb rubs between my legs my whole body tenses in pleasure. The pleasure rushes at me and hits unexpectedly, almost like a punch in the stomach. I can't breathe for a few seconds. And then I moan loudly and my body shudders and shocks. I just had the best orgasm of my life.

He grabs my legs and pushes them against my chest, so he has an even deeper angle. It kinda hurts, but in a good way. I cant stop the loud, high-pitched sounds from escaping at the overstimulation. My fingers grabs and claw at his arms, as if it could provide me with some support.

"Knew you liked it rough, filthy girl. so disobedient, and likes to be punished for it." His fingers trail through my hair, down my cheeks and to my throat. They leave a wet trail behind, his hand still glistening from my desire.

"It's been a while, tell me you want it." He breaths in my ear. "Say it. please." The last word is so soft, I'd almost missed it.

It sounds almost desperate. All this time he had asked me, ordered me to admit that I wanted him. I thought he just wanted to dominate me, show me who was in charge, but maybe it had always been me that had the upper hand. Maybe he wanted to be wanted, maybe he longed to make someone feel good. He doesn't know how good he makes me feel, how much I want him, how close to my fantasy this scenario is.

I pull at his hair, forcing him to look at me. His eyes are half lidded, just like mine, but there is something of desperation in them. The warm brown irises engulfing me, my soul. "I want you to use me to get off. From the moment you pinned me down I have wanted you." Whispering the words, through my gasps at every one of his thrusts, I finally let him know how much I crave him. "I need you to cum because of me."

His eyes roll back as he closes them. After a few more thrusts he swiftly pulls out and he cums all over my stomach and chest. The warm liquid quickly cools in the evening air. With a few strangled wheezes he catches his breath.

Getting up, he puts himself away and fixes his clothes. The connection I had just felt before is completely gone now. In contrast with him opening himself up to me and begging me, he is cold and stoic like before.

"Get dressed." He hands me my pants as I pull down my shirt and try to fix my cut-up bra. After a while, I give up and just hope the cups will stay put underneath my tight shirt.

Joel is sitting by the fire again, throwing pieces of wood in that he must have collected before. The wet branches have trouble catching fire in the almost dying fire, but after sputtering, some of them get engulfed in the bright orange flame as well.

What is he thinking? Does he regret it? There are undoubtedly some issues underneath the surface. But who hasn't in this shit world.

When I come closer, he immediately turns to me, tension in his shoulders, as if he had been watching me from his peripheral vision. "Put on you shoes, you'll catch a cold."

This sudden act of seemingly concern surprises me. There had to be a soft side of him, hidden beneath the years of terror. I guess the same can be said for me.

I take a seat across from him like before, on my own dead tree trunk and put on my shoes.

"This... does not change anything about our situation." He throws a last branch in the growing fire. "I should keep you tied up."

"What?!"

"I don't want you killing me or going back to your little club so you can attack me." He drags his hand through his hair, the messy curls springing back in place. "Maybe I should offer them a trade. You in exchange of supplies. I bet you have loads of medicine and food there."

As I tie my last shoe I scoff. "They won't even give you one can of food in exchange for me." I pick up his flannel that he gave me a few hours before and wrap it around myself. "They sent me on this 'assignment' knowing full well that you could just have killed me at first sight."

He is silent for a while as he stares in the flames. "If they don't value you, then leave, go alone or with me. Without this group you don't have a reason to try and kill me anymore."

was that an attempt at a joke?

"They will come after me, after us. Not to get me back, but for revenge. They dont take well on deserters." I shiver on the thought of what happened to the last person to try and leave this cult.

"Then we'll have to be quicker than them."

[ronanlynchbf]

hi, i wanted to ask what did you mean by the og format of the dreamer trilogy being discarded (in the tags of that opal story post you make about a week ago)? i keep missing all the behind the scenes info on these books :(

HIII hello <333 i'm putting this under a keep reading cut because it ended up being quite long

so in a tweet i think? or actually it might've been a fansign event of sorts i don't rlly remember which one it was but anyway maggie said that originally the dreamer trilogy was set to be further in time, with all the characters in their 20s, and the moderators (worst part of tdt imo) were never actually intended to be in the story AT ALL, from which we can conclude that the story of tdt would've been different bc if u eliminate the moderators there's LOADS of stuff that would change. maggie also said somewhere that - especially when writing greywaren - she had a lot of anger inside of her over being so sick that she put in the book initially but eventually scrapped and redid for some reason or the other (personally i think cdth & mi touched on that anger & frustration she felt abt being sick, but i can't rlly see it anymore once i get to greywaren). maybe she felt it was too personal, maybe she was advised to change it idk but she described it as "an angry draft" or something like that and mentioned having to rewrite a lot throughout tdt after that first greywaren draft/outline. she didn't rlly go that much into detail and i don't remember everything, but considering what she did say and what she implied, the dreamer trilogy originally had a different look and format and setting and outline/story even and tone and also different titles!! the og titles she was gonna go with was this:

which i personally think are very cool and also all corresponding to each other, like the three titles are in the same theme whereas call down the hawk, mister impossible, and greywaren have little to no correlation. ANYWAY i don't have any actual links to when she said this i'm soooo sorry but like bottom line. the dreamer trilogy's story was originally different (though maggie didn't specify as to how or how much difference there was) and sans-moderators, it was more heavy and raw on how tiring and hard and frustrating the reality of dealing with chronic illness is, the characters were originally all supposed to be fully adults (adam was also originally more in tdt but that was also cut), and the titles (and i assume overall theme/tone of the story) were different, so the dreamer trilogy that we now have is likely quite far from the dreamer trilogy we could've had/maggie originally wrote. i for one would LOOOOOOOVE to see the original draft of tdt even if all the books are published already and the story has basically come to an end (i personally believe that, had maggie stuck with the og outline, the epilogue would not have been what it is now, which like. atp i'd take anything over an "it was all good" ending four years later but maybe that's just me) OK ANYWAY this is wayyyy longer than i had intended it to be but that's what i meant with my tags; there's nothing in the world i'd love to see more than that original angry draft of greywaren that maggie changed to - i presume - satisfy the masses, genuinelyyyyy would give anything to get that version in my hands but either way i hope i explained it sufficiently!!! and i hope u have a great rest of the day 💗💗💗 ❗

[late-to-the-fandom]

I posted 2,812 times in 2022

That's 2,812 more posts than 2021!

312 posts created (11%)

2,500 posts reblogged (89%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@shipping-through-eternity

@velvethopewrites

@zmwrites

@akindplace

@writingpotato07

I tagged 474 of my posts in 2022

#renathal x maw walker - 169 posts

#my writing - 157 posts

#writing games - 140 posts

#ask games - 126 posts

#fanfiction - 68 posts

#prince renathal - 53 posts

#tag games - 47 posts

#spotify - 29 posts

#writing - 29 posts

#31 days of halloween playlist - 29 posts

Longest Tag: 118 characters

#i'd give anything to be a mage irl so i could just conjure up some mana thing and never have to think about food again

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

I hope its ok to send asks, but for some reason i don't quite think the op of the xymox and painsmith post is coming to the discussion in good faith. They just seem needlessly mean about it. for some reason ppl find it hard to get their head around the fact that not everyone likes conventionally attractive characters. I really am not a fan of such dunking on people over fictional characters paraded around as humor. Especially ones that barely have any content as is.

Like yeah xymox is a bit out of there, but there's a lot of people who like robots like A LOT.

So I’m not the OP of that post, and I’m also terrible at reading context and intentions. All I can say is I for one didn’t take it as demeaning, just funny and I certainly hope my comments didn’t sound demeaning to anyone who finds either of those beings attractive. I knew the Painsmith had stans, but Xymox was a new one on me.

But I will also say that as someone who is almost always in the same boat of “finding the random dude with no art attached to them attractive” I feel the pain of that situation. I’ve spent many a sleepless night trolling the far corners of the internet for Grandmaster Vole art and was sadly disappointed 😂

20 notes - Posted October 20, 2022

#4

Glad we mapped this out

21 notes - Posted November 15, 2022

#3

Heads Up 7 Up

Tagged by the ever sweet @writingpotato07

Tagging: @velvethopewrites @shipping-through-eternity @diaryofomellas @mousterian-writes @kyofsonder @lady-grace-pens and open tag

7 lines from Eternity which should be posted in two weeks (as the writing god allows).

Renathal, hovering restlessly by the door, did his best to swallow his rising panic. If she was truly ended, surely the healers would display more concern?

As it was, the Sin'Dorei was pulling several large books from his bag and laying them on the bedside table one at a time, while the other, smaller creature hoisted itself onto the bed and sat comfortably on the edge. It hadn't stopped talking the entire way to the room, a fact the other healer endured with an expression of longsuffering. Neither seemed in any rush to even glance at the Maw Walker’s unnaturally still figure.

After minutes that stretched like eternity, Renathal could contain himself no longer.

‘I certainly don't mean to tell you how to do your work, but...  do you intend to heal her anytime soon?’

25 notes - Posted October 8, 2022

#2

Incorrect Quotes!

Tagged by the ever sweet @writingpotato07

Rules: use this quote generator & list as many quotes as you like using characters from your WIPs, then tag as many people as quotes you listed.

Tagging: @crunchypuff125, @scourge-lover, @velvethopewrites

Pretty sure each of these is a direct quote from my Renathal/Maw Walker series. It’s actually spooky how dead on this is.

Maw Walker: What’s up? I’m back.  Renathal: I literally saw you die. You died. You were dead  Maw Walker: Death is a social construct.

----

Renathal: Truth or dare?  Maw Walker: Truth.  Renathal: How many hours have you slept this week?  Maw Walker:  Maw Walker: Dare.  Renathal: Go to sleep.  Maw Walker: I don't like this game.

----

Renathal: Are you ready to commit?  Maw Walker: Like, a crime or a relationship?

----

41 notes - Posted October 3, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

131 notes - Posted October 6, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

No surprises here 😂

[heretic-altias]

I'm about to start writing for ffxivwrite but since I am bad at posting about my OCs they might hit some people out of left field. The characters page on my blog has more in depth backstory details (even if it's a little outdated, Altais's pictures still have her old glam and hair and I'm sure there's new stuff I haven't added) but for a quick and easy reference I'm going to put a short bullet point style write up on my main three OCs here and link it before every fic I post this month. Under the cut so it stays nice and short looking lol.

An important distinction to be aware of right away is not all these characters exist in the same universe!!! Altais and Akku are written in Solarverse, a group WoL universe with my friends and so you'll see references to more than one WoL. Any character you don't recognize mentioned in their stories that isn't canon is more than likely another friend's WoL. A'kito is written in his own solo universe though, anything written about him has him as the only WoL. There are a couple side character OCs of mine I've introduced in his universe, so characters you don't recognize written in his stories are probably those. Ok now the basic really fast character bullet points:

Altais Narluu

GNB and MCH are canon classes with a little bit of SMN (researched and incorporated into her weapon designs)

Genius weapons engineer, current research focuses on combining magitek with magic in a way Garleans can't since she can use magic. Summoning magic is of particular interest.

Accidentally corrupted by a new primal thanks to said summoning research, it's a new incarnation of Bahamut but with her own Issues mixed into the summoning so he doesn't look quite the same as the original.

Grew up with terrible no good mother who left her to care for herself very young, not very trusting and quick to fight when threatened.

Essentially had a found family type arc with Solar and they're the people she really trusts now

Akku Ephos

Just a little guy really. Super friendly, quick to trust, and tries really hard to befriend everyone.

Started out as a NIN under Zelda's (the leader of Solar) training, but was never a very good fighter. Found his purpose as a healer WHM later on.

His echo also comes with the ability to see dynamis on people. So he can literally see emotions as an aura around everyone.

Tries to be Everyone's Therapist bc of this, while hiding his own feelings bc he doesn't want to upset them and see their sadness when he's struggling.

Grew up in Gridania with his brother, an incident when his brother was drunk ended up with him fleeing home and ending up in Limsa where the rogues took care of him until he met Solar

A'kito Noro

Grew up in Bozja, adopted by a Hrothgar father as a baby. Has an adoptive Viera brother named Kotah.

Goes by Kito usually even though A'kito is his full name since he never knew the tribe the prefix came from.

DRK was his class until the end of EW using a sword/soulstone inherited from his father. At the end of EW he hung up his father's sword and now uses a RPR/DRG combo essentially.

Accidentally bound his soul to Twintania freeing her from allagan control after the binding coils. Think Inheritance Cycle dragon rider type bond between them.

Loves botany. Studied it until the Bozja Incident sent him into a DRK depression spiral. Talk to him about plants pls he will love you.

His brother was evil for awhile but got better in ShB

Ok yeah this is longer than I intended but shouldn't be long if you're just referencing the character you're reading about. Feel free to ask me anything about any of them though! I haven't really done OC tags in the past, but I'll start tagging their names from now on so you can quickly find fics about each one as xivwrite goes on if you want to.

[weedcloud]

PantherClan Cats - Blackbreath

I am going to make a series of posts about the cats from my fanclan I had as a kid. This is completely for my own amusement so if you want to blacklist these posts you can blacklist the tag "pantherclan" . I will put this one under a readmore (and probably all of them) since I don't know how long it will be. Most of this will be kept the same as I remember but I will be tweaking it a bit as I see fit

Blackbreath - large black she cat with green eyes, small ears, long muzzle, and shorter than average tail

(PantherClan is made up of my plush cat collection. Blackbreath is actually a panther plush)

Blackbreath was born in ShadowClan and trained as a medicine cat sometime after the canon series (the newest book at this point was probably Eclipse so anything past that wasnt taken into account). She has a unique power to heal any wound using a wispy black smoke that she is able to exhale (thus her name). She can even heal her own wounds this way. However, her power deteriorates as she ages and healing her own wounds takes longer and longer. At one time she had an eye injury and was blind in one eye for several moons, but it did eventually heal. (I had some tape over one eye but it kept falling off so eventually I gave up and said it healed lol). She eventually died in a natural disaster, I don't remember if it was a flood or a rock fall. She also has a strong connection to StarClan which leads to another supernatural phenomenon I will explain later.

She is a grumpy but passionate cat. I think her personality might have been based off of Yellowfang (intentionally or not, I don't remember).

She trained a medicine cat apprentice, Amberears. At some point, she had kits with a kittypet named Snowball. The evil leader of ShadowClan, Wolfstar, banished her for this once her kits were weaned. Her son Stripekit ran away after this but her daughter Nightkit stayed. Her nephew Tigerpaw also ended up leaving ShadowClan.

After leaving ShadowClan, she eventually meets up with Tigerpaw (now Tiger) and learns that Stripekit disappeared from ShadowClan, and her daughter Nightpaw was apprenticed to Wolfstar and treated very poorly, culminating in Nightpaw being banished at a gathering. It is unlikely that either of them survived. Stricken with grief, she gets to work trying to contact them. At this point she and Snowball are no longer mates but are still friendly. He does not want to leave his housefolk, and life as a kittypet does not appeal to her.

She and Tiger eventually meet a blind gray tabby loner living on his own but doing very poorly. They offer to let him stay with them and he begrudgingly accepts. He has no name, and Blackbreath names him Jaywhisker, reminiscent of a great blind medicine cat she had heard legends about, Jayfeather. (As a kid I did just called him Jayfeather, but I've decided now to give him a unique name). She trains him as a medicine cat.

I dont remember how exactly, but Blackbreath manages to open a portal to StarClan with the intention of bringing her kits back to life. She manages to find Nightpaw, but Stripekit is nowhere to be found. Since the portal is open longer than intended, more cats end up being resurrected than she intended.

All of these resurrected cats are aged up 6 moons from when they died, but no longer age and still faintly sparkle in the moonlight as StarClan cats do. These resurrected cats are still susceptible to injury, disease, starvation, etc. (I was like 9 or 10 ok? Don't ask questions). She gathers all of the resurrected cats and it is now that their are enough of them to be a clan. However, there is no official leader at this point, with Blackbreath still sort of leading the group despite only considering herself a medicine cat. Some of these cats (especially Tiger) are hesitant to live in a true clan anyway since their previous ones failed them.

As time passes a few more loners and kittypets join the group. Another group of cats about a days journey away form a similar group (aka my friend's stuffed cats) and they occasionally hold gatherings (we have sleepovers and bring our plushes).

Jaywhisker wants to take Moongaze, another cat from his own clan, as his mate, but Blackbreath refuses to allow this. She tells him that medicine cats are forbidden from having mates and it will only lead to ruin, remembering her own experience and irrationally projecting. Jaywhisker thinks this is ridiculous, as this isn't even a real clan. He, Moongaze, and a few other cats (some of which are from the other group) run away together to some mountains. However, from here they can see that their old territory is beginning to flood. They return to help, but Blackbreath is injured in a rock fall. At this point, her powers are almost completely deteriorated and she is unable to heal herself. She apologizes to Jaywhisker and Moongaze and makes peace with them before she dies. Jaywhisker, Moongaze, and the others decide to return to their respective clans.

After her death, the clan she founded is named PantherClan after Blackbreath's panther like appearance to honor her.

[merrymorningofmay]

ok EXTENSIVE FOLLOW UP bc i had like 3 people express interest (@weirdcharacter  @mothball47 @twinrockets hope it’s okay to tag you too??) so here goes!!

basically what i wanna say is that tolkien has a very specific beef with the concept of power and this beef is a bit more complex than “christianity says hubris is bad”

see, tolkien cares a lot about Things Being Themselves (good) and Things Being Not Themselves (bad).*

why is technology sus? yea yea ww1, but like, what exactly is the problem with it? well, it’s that (according to tolkien) technology is artificial, and rather than relying on a tool, you’d be better off developing your natural talents and becoming You-er instead.

why is evil magic evil? because it turns things into other things: hobbits into gollums, elves into orcs, galadriel into the cooler galadriel, hot twinks into giant eyeballs, etc. what does the ring do when you wear it? it makes you invisible, strips you of any selfness at all. by contrast, why is elvish magic good? because it’s not a tool, it’s more of an auspicious vibe that makes elvish ropes more ropey, elvish bread more bready, elvish weapons more weapony, etc.

why is tom bombadil such a utopian figure? because he’s so himself that there’s literally no other way to define him (quote, "don’t you know my name yet? that’s the only answer”).

now, power, in the sense of domination, is effectively me inflating my own “I” to unnatural proportions to incorporate you, erasing your “I” in the process. if you are mine, you are no longer yourself, but neither am i.

sauron has been stuffing himself up in this way so much he’s lost any personality besides desire for power at all; meanwhile tom bombadil, full of personality and an entirely unique one at that, is a master who doesn’t rule.

galadriel is sorta sinister because she does have a desire for power (and deliciously parallels sauron with her all-seeing mirror, as observation is a form of control), but stays good because she’s able to keep her desire in check and give up the ring, and then lorien.

gandalf is not here to be the awesome saviour – he treats his time in middle earth as service, as a job, and as soon as the job (sauron) is done, he won’t move a finger to help the hobbits win the shire back. we stan, honestly.

aragorn isn’t even all that keen on becoming a king (plus he’s gotta sacrifice his relationship with arwen to do that), but he has to, because an aragorn who is not a king is not fully aragorn and a gondor without a king is not fully gondor.

my favourite example of this is actually the way the happy ending happens: the characters’ actions made it possible, sure, but it wasn’t like they set a big goal and grinded their way to success. the ring gets destroyed accidentally, saruman is killed by grima on a spontaneous whim – the victory is not a triumph of anyone’s will, riefenstahl reference intended. agency matters a lot, but the good kind of agency only gets you so far.

finally, it’s worth noting that if you read “on fairy-tales” tolkien will tell you that the problem with the modern world is that we own it too much, and the purpose of fantasy is to show it as strange and unusual so that we can let go of that ownership and recognize the world's autonomy, which is supposed to be healing for the both parties. i personally think there is something to it

anyway if you got to this part THANKS FOR READING!!! (i promise it’s all very structured and not hectic at all in the actual paper lmao)

*then he went and wrote a 500k words epic about coping with loss of self due to trauma, which is not only a “frodo doesn’t feel at home in the shire anymore” thing and not only a war ptsd thing, and i can talk at length about that too, but that’s for another time

thinking about jrr tolkien and his revulsion towards power and how in lotr it’s the “powerless” who bring about the happy ending and the king is good not because he can kick ass but because he’s compassionate and the good powerful characters gandalf and galadriel are made good by their readiness to limit their own power and the entire tom bombadil and

[hourcat]

Your posts are so funny with your tags. I am laughing! But it gave me a prompt idea too. Basically chain/cross porn but without the porn. Keep it PG-13, kids!

HELLO BESTIE THANK YOU FOR THIS PROMPT!!!!! i definitely took a more alternative route than u probably intended lol BUT. my piarlie duty to write cross fic has been completed <3 and like....ok....so it's a little blasphemous at the end but....hm....im going to hell already so like. o well!

enjoyyyyyyyyy

(word count: 2,186)

“I win again,” Charles cackles, dropping his controller to the carpet as Pierre huffs beside him. He gently kicks at his best friend’s knee. “You literally have had a week to practice, Pierrot, you knew what we would be doing when you got here.”

Pierre grunts, amused. “I knew what else we would be doing when I got here,” he points out. “Some of us think about more than Call of Duty on vacation, you know.”

Charles snorts, shaking his head as he reaches down to retrieve his controller once again. “Yeah, like sex,” he deadpans, and Pierre just cackles. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

“You say that like it doesn’t benefit you personally,” he mumbles. Charles just ignores him in favor of focusing on starting a new game. “You enjoy killing me way too much, Charlito.”

Charles laughs, clicking buttons that Pierre is no longer focused on. “You’re just a sore loser,” he insists, kicking at Pierre again, and that’s it—Pierre jumps him, wrangling him successfully for a moment to steal the controller from out of his hands. “Pierre!”

“We’ll see who the sore loser is, huh?” he laughs, feeling the way Charles’ shoulders are shaking against him in his own amusement. With one arm hooked under his shoulder, Pierre uses the other to swat at Charles’ right hand until the Xbox controller finally falls from out of his white-knuckled grip, drawing a yelp from his best friend.

“You are a fucking cheater—” both hands freed, now, Charles twists under Pierre’s grasp and fights back, fingers bunched in his shirt and digging into his shoulder. It’s amusingly familiar to what Pierre had actually planned for: Charles grunting under him, hands pressed flat to his chest, laughter bubbling right into Pierre’s ear.

It’s just a little different. “I thought you worked out,” he taunts, and Charles grunts as he catches Pierre in a half-formed chokehold. “You are really—oof—"

In his surge upwards, the mess of Charles’ summer hair has caught the gold cross that hangs Pierre’s neck. “Ow.”

“Ah, shit—” Pierre tugs a little and earns a hiss from his boyfriend, who’s now stilled under his grasp. “Okay, okay, truce, mon cheri,” he mumbles, and Charles nods gently, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Okay, easy, let me—don’t move, let me just. I can unhook this, just—” with one hand, he threads his fingers through Charles’ hair, petting a little at his scalp. “Just be patient.”

“Pierre, this should not take this long—”

“Maybe you should’ve gotten a haircut before I came, hm—” he presses down into Charles’ head and uses his free hand to twist the gold cross from the lock of hair it’d gotten coiled around. Fortunately for the both of them, Charles’ hair isn’t densely curly—it only takes a gentle pull after being mostly freed up, and Pierre almost tumbles backwards onto the couch as Charles twists away from him in relief. “There, there we go.”

Charles tosses him a scowl, although it breaks into a smile almost immediately. “And you say I am the one trying to kill you.” He rubs at his head in mock-hurt, pouting at Pierre as he scoots back into Charles’ space. Like he doesn’t love this when Pierre gets a hold of him. “Why don’t you get that chain shortened? It would probably do less damage.”

“That would mean I’d have to take it off, Charles.” He tugs at it casually, shakes his head. Charles raises an eyebrow at him. “Besides—this way, it’s as close to my heart as it can be without it being a crime against fashion.” He cracks a smile, although it’s not really meant to be that funny. The chain is a perfect length, if he’s being honest—it sits right at the center of his chest without being unbearably dramatic. Any longer and he’d run the risk of being a fifty-something woman trying to accessorize—anything shorter and he’s moving towards choker territory, which is a little blasphemous.

“And because I can put it between my teeth when you fuck me.” Charles’ grin is catlike as he says it, braced against the couch invitingly. And, well—he’s right, of course, because there is nothing prettier than Charles glistening in sweat, light catching on the cross between his teeth, making pretty breathy noises as Pierre fucks into him again and again.

But he can’t actually admit that. It feels like a violation of a couple pretty cardinal rules in Catholicism. “That is incredibly inappropriate, Charles,” he says, mock-chastising. Charles sticks his tongue out but wiggles closer to him, elbow digging into his side. “You are so…” he ducks in a little, presses a barely-there kiss under Charles’ ear. “Mmmmm, maybe tonight.”

Charles giggles, turning towards Pierre so that their noses bump. “What are you, a Valentine’s candy?”

“Mmm, you do think I am sweet,” he purrs. “So maybe.”

Charles laughs, nuzzles at him again. “Disgusting,” he teases. But he curls a little closer to Pierre anyway, head leaning into his shoulder. Their game is forgotten—the colors flash across the screen in Pierre’s peripherals but he’s got an entirely different focus, now. He presses another kiss to Charles’ head, then combs through his tussle of curls again, drawing a quiet noise of pleasure from him. Charles burrows even closer, snaking a hand up Pierre’s chest.

His fingers close around the cross hanging at Pierre’s neck, though. “Pierrot,” he murmurs after a beat of comfortable silence. The night has filled Charles’ bedroom almost entirely, now, streetlights glittering distantly below them.

“Mmm?”

Charles makes another soft noise and thumbs at the gold-plated cross in his fingers. “Do you pray for me?”

Huh. A question he hadn’t necessarily expected out of him, but it’s not like they haven’t talked about this before. Pierre is more than religious enough for the both of them. “All the time, cher,” he chuckles, planting another aimless kiss somewhere on the exposed skin within his reach. “Why do you ask?”

Charles hums contemplatively as Pierre’s mouth traces languidly across his skin. “Can you show me how?”

The Frenchman pauses his half-formed assault on Charles’ neck. “Of course I can,” he answers after a beat, running his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair. “Of course, mon cheri.” He covers Charles’ hand with his own, thumbs at his knuckles. “First, I put the crucifix to my lips once.” Pierre purses his lips a little, a mock-kissy face, and Charles laughs under his breath.

But he does as Pierre says nonetheless; their fingers brush as he lifts Pierre’s cross to his mouth and kisses it once, a small smile on his face. Something warm curls in his chest at the sight—at Charles’ eyelids fluttered closed ever-so-slightly, attention entirely on Pierre. It’s not burning desire, not like usual when he has Charles this close; it feels like something deeper.

Like Pierre has never been closer to God than he is right here.

“And then?” Charles’ voice is barely a whisper, gaze still entirely fixated on him.

Pierre returns to his body, then. “Ah,” he chuckles, “so you are serious.”

Charles’ eyebrows knit together. “Of course I am serious, Pierrot.” He tsks. “Now tell me what next.”

Something swells in his chest at the devotion in Charles’ voice. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay, mon cheri, just repeat after me.” Charles nods imperceptibly. Pierre closes his eyes, turns his head up a little like he always does sitting in the back pews during church. “Lord, please watch over Charles today.”

Charles’ voice is quiet as he echoes Pierre’s words. “Lord, please watch over Pierre today.”

Pierre’s eyes open, at that—but Charles is steadfast in his mimicking of Pierre, his own eyes closed, head lifted. That warmth in his chest seems to stretch wider. “Keep him steady in your hands, let him drive without burden.”

At that, another soft laugh tumbles from Charles’ mouth, although he clearly doesn’t mean to. “Keep him steady in your hands, let him drive without burden.”

Pierre can’t keep his eyes shut any longer, though—quieter moments like this with Charles are rare, and Pierre himself is nothing if not indulgent. “Let him fly with the wind without fear of falling, for you will catch him.” Charles echoes him, fingers still curled around the cross. “Remind him You will catch him, Lord, so that he will always know safety in Your hands.” Charles’ face softens as he repeats this, too; mouth curved upwards ever-so-slightly, he says the words and Pierre can feel the way they’re meant for him. That Charles is praying for him. “Let him always know Your love. Let him feel the sun on his skin and know it is You, Lord, watching over him.”

Charles rests his free hand on Pierre's knee, tender, as he repeats the words back.

"Amen," Pierre whispers, throat tight with emotion. Charles is beautiful, so beautiful like this—the low light of his living room casting a heavenly glow around him, making him look like the angel Pierre often thinks of him as. He looks born for Catholicism—something he’s teased his boyfriend about a lot over the years, how he has the guilt and the cheekbones to belong in a church sculpture. Pierre loves every piece of him, always; but here and now, with his own hand cradled on Charles’ still clutching at the crucifix hanging around his neck, Pierre thinks this is something beyond anything they’ve shared before.

Charles’ eyes open slowly, like he can tell Pierre is analyzing him. "Amen," he echoes, kissing the cross again and catching Pierre’s fingertip in the process. The action isn’t seductive or sexy, not by any means—but full of love. His eyes are sparkling with it.

Pierre is breathless with the knowledge. Speechless, almost—at how earnest Charles is, how earnest this all has been.

A reminder, of sorts, that Charles is watching out for him, too.

Pierre can’t help himself—the moment their eyes lock, he closes the short distance between them and kisses Charles full on the mouth. There’s no heat driving him, no dangerous instinct to rip off his sweats and take him here on the couch: just mindless affection.

Charles kisses him back easily, of course, like always—pliant, soft, he makes a soft noise against Pierre’s mouth as he opens up, tongue swiping across Pierre’s bottom lip languidly. “Mmmm,” he murmurs as they part for a breath, eyes still closed. “Pierrot, is this how all prayers end.”

Pierre laughs quietly, chasing his mouth once again. “Oh, yes,” he teases, biting at Charles’ bottom lip a little before dropping a kiss to the drawn bow of his mouth. “We Catholics are very slutty at church, you know.”

Charles breaks away from his mouth to laugh loudly. “And you said I was being blasphemous!” He exclaims, face pink. Pierre shrugs, unable to swallow the grin Charles seems to always draw out in him.

“You are not Catholic, mon cheri, I am—it is a perk of the church,” he insists, and Charles slaps his chest at the blatant lie. “Okay, okay, fine.”

“You are unbelievable,” his boyfriend chuckles, pressing his hand a little more just over Pierre’s heart. The crucifix digs into his skin at the contact even through his shirt, but Pierre can’t really be bothered to care. Charles leans forward again, catches him in another kiss. He’s warm, he’s firm, he’s so perfectly fitted against Pierre’s body even here on Charles’ not-quite-comfortable loveseat. His leg is hooked over both of Pierre’s, somehow, keeping them locked together—in a moment he’s all but entirely straddled in Pierre’s lap, still kissing him languidly, palm flat against the cross and warm over Pierre’s heart.

“Charles,” he mumbles between exchanges, and Charles mutters something against his skin as he trails kisses across Pierre’s jaw.

“Mmm?”

“I am not going to fuck you on the couch.”

Charles sags on him, face now entirely buried in the crook of Pierre’s neck. “Mean,” he pouts. Pierre can feel the warm heat of it right at his pulse and swallows, hard.

“We literally just prayed together, calamar.”

“So?” Charles’ grin is cheeky, and he rocks a little into Pierre’s hips to clearly tease. “You do not seem to be that against it.”

Pierre groans. “Please, mon chat, you are making this so difficult.” He rests a hand on Charles’ lower back, stroking him a little through his thin white t-shirt. “Let us cool down—and I—” he chokes on the rest of his sentence as Charles kisses at his neck, pout now turning dangerous the way it always seems to. “Later. Later, I pro—” Charles sinks his teeth in, pushing all of Pierre’s buttons at once like a child in an elevator. God dammit. “Fuck, you are impossible.”

Charles bites at the chain around Pierre’s neck. “You love me,” he mumbles, teeth bared.

He does. “Come here, Charlito. We can call this—fuck—we can call this communion.” Pierre slips the cross between Charles’ teeth. Charles whines.

Oh, he is so going to hell for this.

[shivology]

ok more kenrava thoughts first. these tags. exactly.💜

second. kendall is not normal about rava in a way that, like, could for sure benefit from a smidge of self-awareness and a few months of DBT. not to project on the obscenely wealthy white man but i do say all of this from personal experience having been at each end of the kenrava type dynamic lol, like he does need her more than she needs him but he needs her, like, very viscerally and in a way that can be uncomfortable to someone who doesn't form borderline insane (pun intended again) and unstable attachments to people . like "you're the only reason why im not dead/self-destructing/actively using/etc etc" is Not Actually A Very Nice Thing To Hear (and if not Literally hear, have implied) from anyone, let alone from someone with a very fluctuating unstable sense of self and a history of addiction issues. that's an intense amount of pressure to put someone under and one that i think was on rava throughout this whole relationship, where she felt compelled to like, put him first and take care of him because like. he depends on her so wholly and completely. or like. just knowing you can kick someone many times and they'd still come back? is uncomfortable. like having that much power over someone even IF you wouldn't exploit that power because you possess basic human decency still isn't a healthy foundation for any relationship.

so i think All That made rava resent kendall quite a bit. adding kids to the equation probably made her resent him even more, because now she's got to provide the stability they should both provide on her own. adding the fact that she married him when they were fresh out of college/quite early on in her life which means that her sense of functioning adult relationships will probably always be fucked up. i think there's a lot of anger and disappointment there too because she wants him to stand up to his dad to do right by her and the kids etc etc and he never does. and at some point the love she has for him was on the surface enough that she was willing to put up with it for him but its not anymore. it's like. you love something but it reminds you of someone you're no longer friends with and. you still love it, it just makes you feel bad and leaves a bad taste in your mouth and, functionally, you don't think you love it anymore. so yeah. i don't think i love you anymore. or like. the love *is* there, it doesn't go away, but its buried so so so deep under resentment and hurt and anger and jealousy and

anyway. rava is the love of kendall's life. kendall may not necessarily be the love of rava's life, but we know she's the love of his life. and if ur kenstewy pilled, rava knows him in a way stewy never will and stewy knows him in a way rava never will and they probably resent each other for it.