#so if I have to do it myself that damn it I will

[mywritersmind]

JUST FRIENDS - LN4

summary : just friends…? in which lando and his best friend have a night out like any other, until a spicy song starts and lando can’t take it any more.

or: they make out to the song sports car

listen up : kissing! talk abt sex! tate mcraes new song sports car was on repeat so enjoy.

words : 1507

⋆｡‧˚⋆

I pull down the visor, the mirror greeting me as I swipe on my lipstick. I’ve gotten oddly good at doing my lipstick in fast cars, specifically, my best friend's fast car.

Lando shifts gears as I finish my last touch up and slap the visor shut, “Red’s a little bold, no?” He glances at me, his eyes hot against my skin as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel.

“When have I been anything but bold?” I blink, shutting my lipstick and handing it to him. I don’t miss the slight smirk at our routine.

He pockets it, shaking his head as we pull up to the club. Lando gets out first as I check out my nails, knowing damn well he’ll be at my door in seconds.

He opens it, looking at the people staring with a blank look. Then he looks at me, my skirt short and my heels high. I walk past him and straight into the club.

He follows me, his head down, probably an excuse to look at my ass. He slips his hand in mine as the crowd gets tighter, people screaming and saying hi to us left and right.

Our group is easy to find, all cheering as we arrive and immediately pushing drinks into us. The club is small and pretty private, but loud as fuck and filled with the smell of smoke, alcohol, and lust.

The dance floor is packed, the Dj raised along with little glowing stands which bottle girls and randos dance on.

I tug on Lando’s shirt, a white button up that’s already halfway undone, and offer him a drink. “Who’s gonna drive you home if i’m fucked?” He says plainly.

“Oh you’re driving me home, now? I thought you’d piss off with your new supermodel of the week.” I raise a brow and such on a lime.

His eyes flick to my lips, “I could say the same for you, love.”

“I am the supermodel, darling.” I wink, getting dragged away by my friend who’s laughing at the interaction and landing myself on the dance floor.

I’m two drinks down when I see him again, a girl flushed in his lap and his hat backwards on his head.

He’s talking and she looks absolutely fucking absolved in his words, probably drooling over his accent or his lips. Yet as he rattles off, probably talking about his new car or training, his eyes are set on me.

They practically burn my already hot skin, my arms going up as I dance with the music. It’s funny, really.

My best friend is Lando Norris. We get looks everywhere we go, yet the one look I can’t get over is how his eyes track me.

He’s got a girl in his lap and I've got a guy grinding behind me, yet I can’t seem to shake him. I watch his tongue sweep against his teeth, his eyes moving to my legs smoothly.

The girl puts her hand on the back of his neck, getting him to look at her. She’s not smart, if she were, she’d bother with a guy who’s actually looking at her.

He’s looking at me again, his gaze now flicking back and forth between me and the man behind me. I have a slight smirk on my face as I turn around to look at him.

He’s hot. Dark skin and eyes to match, I bite my lip before moving my hands to his shoulders and bring him in. He’s sweaty but the kiss is hot, I just hate that it’s so hot because my best friend is watching all of it.

Once the guy goes in for another kiss, I dodge it and make my way over to the bar, leaning up against the cold surface and wiggling my fingers at the bartender.

Lando is at my side seconds after I take my first sip of the icy drink. I pretend to not see him. “Lemme try.” He goes to take a drink but I swiftly pull my hand away, shaking my head.

“No way, Mr. Sober.” I grin as he leans against the bar, his head tilted slightly back and making his hair look godly. “Who’s gonna drive me home?”

“So you’re coming with me?” He stands up a bit straighter, “Not gonna find that guy?”

‘That guy’ in question is probably already fucking a girl in the bathroom. I laugh, “No. My best friend has separation anxiety, so.” I shrug as he grins and pushes off the bar.

“Dance with me.”

“Not a chance, Norris.”

His teeth catch his lips, making me look down at them. Fuck him and his fuck boy tactics.

“You’re Lando Norris!” a guy stumbles up to us, clearly pissed and far too excited to see Lan.

He mumbles about getting a picture and just as I walk away I hear Lando say, “Yeah, mate…”

I hand my drink off to someone, my hands in my hair as I groan and shake the feeling of Lando teasing me.

A few girls scream near me and I don’t realize it’s because of the song change until I hear the lyrics.

Hey, cute jeans

Take mine off of me

I laugh as someone pushes into me, not everyone knows the song, but almost everyone knows her voice. I find my friend, her hand tightening on mine as she pulls me to the center of the dance floor.

Before I know it, I'm screaming the lyrics that Tate leaked to me on top of the raised glass. My friend is messing with her hair and shaking ass as she sings along.

In the alley in the back

In the center of this room

With the windows rolled down

Boy, don’t make me choose

I laugh, throwing my head back and swinging my hips. I barely realize my friend is gone until her figure is replaced by Lando in front of me.

“You like this song?”

I raise a brow, “Yes?” I keep dancing, pretending that every part of me is aware of how close he stands.

I think you know what this is

I think you wanna, uh

I sing along still, until it gets to the next lyric, my mouth shutting as Lando watches me.

Oh, but you got a sports car

A grin takes over his face, cocky and completely evil. “I like it too.”

“Oh? You like Tate now?”

“I fuck with fucking and I fuck with cars… seems like enough to me.” His hand finds itself on my waist, pulling me tighter.

This is dangerously close to crossing our lines.

We could go again like three, four times

“Am I your type, Y/n?” He’s speaking into my ear now as butterflies hit my stomach, “Want me to fuck you in my sports car?”

I hold his arm in an attempt to not fall off this fucking stand. He looks way too good, his hat gone and his hair messy.

“Don’t get cocky now, Lan.”

“Oh, like you’ve been in other sports cars?” The quirk of his brow makes my heart beat faster.

I think you know what this is

I think you want a ride

I shake my head, “We’re just friends.”

“Friends who kiss other people in front of each other for fun?” He pulls me closer, staring down at me, “Try again, Y/n.”

While you drive it real far

“So what are we, Norris.” I stand him up, still not taller but my confidence building, “I dare you to tell me.”

He swallows, his adam's apple bobbing as his face leans closer, “How ‘bout I show you?” At this moment, I know i’m completely fucked.

Oh my guy-uy

You don’t wanna waste my time-ime

His hands are gripping me tighter as his head dips and his lips crash against mine.

Let’s go ride-ide

Let’s go ride-ide-ide

Oh, my guy-uh

My arms snake around his neck as his tongue parts my lips and slips into my mouth. It’s too hot, especially for the public to witness but I'm too kiss drunk to care.

He kisses me harder, his hands at my hips and dipping below my waist band so his fingers press against my bare skin. I bite his lip a bit and pull him in tighter against me.

Lando bites me right back. I whisper it against his lips, not holding myself back from the lyrics, “I think you wanna, wanna.” He kisses me again, his hand at my ass and his breath hot against me, “But you got a sports car.”

I feel his lips morph into a smile against mine, his kiss deepening as if he’s hungry for me. I move my hands to his hair, his groan vibrating against me.

“Let’s go.” He says over the sound of the music and people below us.

“Where?” I ask, still breathless and too close to him to pay attention to anything else.

That damn smirk is back as he tugs at my hand, “My sports car.”

[thearchaeologicalwitch]

Okay, I know Im old but hear me out.

Tiktok was very awesome for some cool reasons. It connected people and I really am grateful people enjoyed it. Fuck, I found myself laughing and nodding along with plenty of them.

What I didn't like was the un-flipping believable amount of psudeoscience on the damn thing. If I could have regulated anything about every GD social media site in this world, it would be a fact-checking thing. The world aint fucking flat, aliens didnt build the pyramids, and theres an overwhelming amount of evidence disproving Atlantis.

Y'all care about media literacy now because your platform is gonna be used by the fascist cheeto for propogranda. But yall sure as shit weren't upset with the lack of media literacy when billionaire conspiracy theorists, tradwives, and pop health influencers were selling yall psudeoscience by the bucketful.

As an archaeologist, this hits really close for me. Our profession is CONSTANTLY spending our time trying to deprogram pseudo archaeology from everyone we talk to. Why? Because people believe one conspiracy, they'll believe more - even contradictory conspiracy theories, and it leaves the whole damn country vulnerable to fascists.

-Gestures to the whole damn debacle-

But every time we try to put good information out there, we're buzzkills at best, and at worst, we're accused of censorship.

So yes. Be afraid. Trump will use every platform he can now to propogandize you. But do not be mistaken. This isnt a bug in the Tiktok system. (All social media in fact). It's a feature that was encouraged beforehand and is now being used to its worst effect.

the whole tiktok situation is EXACTLY why media literacy and education on propaganda is so important. the notifications about tiktok going down and then coming back use VERY propagandistic language, and with a literal fascist coming into power in the us tomorrow we need to be even more critical of the information we’re consuming and stay on the lookout for political stunts like this

[leo-interactive-fiction]

Dashingdon Shutdown

Hey all, I appreciate the large number of you that came here to let me know of the impending shutdown of the hosting site and your well wishes to see my game preserved. Rest assured I've already taken measures to backup my files and I'll be transferring them to the cogdemo site with hopefully little complication haha.

Dashingdon has been a cornerstone of this community not only for the readers eager to see the upcoming growth of new content, but for aspiring writers like myself. Without it, my work may not have reached a good number of you, and I wouldn't have had all of the insight and encouragement that I do now.

So, while this may be an ending chapter for dashingdon, it was a damn good run, and I'm grateful to have had a place as part of it. Once I've transfered my files and ensured they're properly working, I'll replace the links for Triaina: Academy.

[daeniradraconis]

Banter Between the Lines - Hughes Brothers

Author's Note: Hey, so here’s another quick chat-style piece! I haven’t had much time to sit down and write properly lately, so short and sweet it is for now. 😊 Feel free to send me some requests if you’d like! (You can check out the "rules" here: link). I can’t promise when I’ll get to them, but I’ll definitely find time soon.

Summary: A little fluff with a touch of smut (nothing too crazy, just some extra flirting). Quinn’s girlfriend roasts the boys while calling them out in their group chat.

Warnings: Nothing major, just some mention of 🍆.

It was one of those quiet Sunday nights where everything felt slow. You'd spent the evening catching up on your favorite shows, but it was hard to concentrate when all you could think about was Quinn. The constant distance between you two had become harder to ignore with each passing day, and as much as you loved how happy he was with his team, you missed him. And, truthfully, you missed the whole family.

You’d gotten close to Jack and Luke over the years, and now, with Quinn playing for the Vancouver Canucks and Jack and Luke together on the New Jersey Devils, the family dynamic felt a little more spread out than you liked. Sure, they’d all make time for you when they could, but it wasn’t the same as those days when you’d all hang out together.

Tonight, instead of a call or a quick text, you decided to turn to something a little more familiar. You opened up youtube and searched for their latest highlights.

All three of them were struggling on the ice, and it showed. It hurt to see them like this, especially when you couldn’t do much to help. So you did what you always did in times like these—opened the group chat and prepared to roast them into oblivion. If nothing else, it might make them laugh.

you: just finished your highlights. Quinn, congrats on being the saddest guy on the ice again 🥇. Jack, loved the mini tantrum energy 👏. Luke, did you forget which team you play for? because those turnovers were next-level.

Jack: wow, you really woke up and chose violence.

you: always. someone has to keep you humble.

Luke: humble? this feels more like a personal attack.

Quinn: what would you call it, then?

Luke: bullying.

you: oh, Lukey, don’t take it so hard. I tease because I care 💕

Jack: you literally plotted my ex’s demise last month. is that “caring” too?

you: first of all, it wasn’t a plot. it was more of a… fantasy.

Quinn: putting her in the ground “while she’s still breathing” doesn’t sound like a fantasy…

you: listen, if she hadn’t been such a manipulative little snake, I wouldn’t have had to consider it 🐍

Luke: terrifying. but honestly? fair.

Jack: I could’ve handled her myself, you know.

you: oh, really? because from where I was sitting, she had you wrapped around her finger like a puppet.

Quinn: she’s not wrong!

Jack: whose side are you on?

Quinn: hers. always.

you: damn right honey. and don’t worry, I’m not plotting her demise anymore… unless she tries to come back. then all bets are off.

Jack: remind me to never date again. you’re scarier than Quinn’s slap shot.

You grinned as the banter flew back and forth, but your focus shifted to Luke. His disastrous date still didn’t sit right with you.

you: okay, but seriously, Lukey. I've heard some gossip. how does a girl ditch you mid-dinner? you’re literally the sweetest human alive.

Luke: THANK YOU! finally, someone gets it.

Jack: don’t encourage him. he needs to toughen up.

you: excuse me? let him be sweet! not every guy needs to have your level of 'I’m too cool for feelings,' Jack.

Quinn: valid point.

Luke: thank you, Quinn.

you: honestly, Luke, I’ll never understand how she left. did you say something weird?

Luke: no!!! I was perfectly normal.

Quinn: “normal” is a stretch…

Jack: is this really the same guy who told a girl on a first date he’d make six different accounts just to sort himself into Hufflepuff six different times because he didn’t 'trust the algorithm'?

Luke: OKAY, THAT’S DIFFERENT. I was being honest!

you: oh, Lukey. you’re lucky you’re adorable because that is painful 😂

Luke: this is why I didn’t want to tell you guys.

Quinn: bro, it’s fine. just embrace the awkward puppy vibe. it’s clearly your brand.

Luke: I hate you.

Jack: ugh, why does he get the sympathy? roast him more guys!!! I can’t be the only one taking L’s here.

you: because Luke doesn’t put ketchup on his eggs like a serial killer, Jack.

Luke: yeah, what is WRONG with you? ketchup on eggs? really?

Jack: you people are so dramatic. it’s normal.

Quinn: nothing about that is normal.

you: thank you, Quinn. once again, the only rational person in this chat.

Jack: stop flirting with my brother. it’s disgusting.

Luke: seriously. I can feel the weird vibes through my phone.

You smirked, knowing exactly how to push their buttons.

you: you’re just mad because Quinn’s risotto is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

Quinn: best risotto AND lasagna. don’t forget!

you: how could I? it’s the only reason I keep you around. And of course your magic 🍆

Quinn: oh, not my sparkling personality? btw you're objectifying my body...

you: hmm… maybe that too. but i have my priorities straight!

Jack: 🤢 STOP. this is disgusting.

Luke: seriously. this is TMI guys!!

you: just jealous, you two can’t even scramble eggs properly.

Quinn: cooking skills = key to a woman’s heart.

Luke: ugh. golden child strikes again.

Jack: some of us don’t need to cook because we have charisma, thank you very much.

Quinn: does your charisma excuse ketchup on eggs? because it shouldn’t.

Luke: still the biggest red flag in this chat.

Jack: Y’ALL ARE SO DRAMATIC.

You smiled at their bickering, your heart full, untouched by their chaos.

you: okay, but for real… I miss you guys 💔.

Luke: aww, finally some love.

Jack: are you feeling okay?!

you: don’t get used to it. but yeah, I miss you. Quinn, risotto night when you’re home! Jack and Luke, you can come eat it too.

Quinn: deal. but I’m ignoring them for the first hour I’m back. i need my time with you!

Luke: RUDE!

Jack: gross. is this the flirting portion of the chat? can we not?

you: love you too, boys. even if you’re disasters.

Jack: love you too. now stop flirting with Quinn before I puke.

Luke: seriously. save it for your own chat.

Quinn: jealousy doesn’t look good on you two.

Luke: jealous of what? your cooking? maybe. your 🍆? absolutely not.

you: you should be Lukey! your brother got some great 🍆

Jack: I’m OUT.

Luke: same.

Quinn: good job hon. guess it’s just us now. you: just how I like it 😘

[harunayuuka2060]

Leona: ...

Leona: Damn shit- You're here too?

MC: *is working in the kitchen as a cook* *their mouth is sealed with magic so all they can do is glare at him*

Leona: I can't believe Kifaji would hire you.

MC: *throws a knife in his direction*

Leona: *dodges it* Why you- KIFAJI! THIS HERBIVORE IS MORE DANGEROUS WHEN THEY CAN'T TALK!

Kifaji: You attempted to kill a royal.

MC: So? I don't care. Just tell me where the prison is, and I'll go there myself.

Kifaji: ...

Leona: There's no money in prison, you stupid fuck.

Kifaji: Prince Leona.

MC: I can escape whenever I want to, you shitty head.

Kifaji: *breathes in*

Falena: *chuckles* Calm down, Kifaji.

Falena: Everything's fine now. *in the end, has decided to kick MC out (of course still paid them for their services)*

Cheka: Unca? Your food looks so good... Can I have some?

Leona: You have your own plate.

Falena: ...

Falena: *notices he's hogging the meat dishes cooked by MC*

Falena: I thought you hated that person?

Leona: I do. I never liked their attitude.

Falena: Then?

Leona: But they never mess with my food.

Falena: *laughs* What?

Cheka: Isn't that a love-hate relationship, Unca?

Leona: What do you know? You're just a kid.

Falena: Leona, please be nice to your nephew.

Falena: And let him eat some of your food too.

Leona: No.

[call-me-lemon]

Fuck it ill answer all of them in order

01: hah, no.

02: my cat

03: yup

04: Oh, very

05: Single

06: Im not picky

07: One single buttery round cracker

08: hah, no.

09: not anymore

10: hmm.. has to be several years ago now

11: yup.

12: Longer, even, just to prove that I could.

13: I hate several people.

14: I miss everyone.

15: Several!

16: My stomach hurts but my spirits are high. Im being very brave.

17: nope

18: Not as much as I used to be, but yes.

19: Nah, im good how I am. Things happened how they happened and theyre going to keep happening, so theres no point in meddling.

20: never snogged a day in my life

21: Exist and find joy in the moment. I never plan anything.

22: Nope

23: Nope, I only wear clipons.

24: uhhhh being gay.

25: A few, yes. My friends from elementary school (Primary for the brits)

26: Im not craving anything at the moment

27: I cant imagine so, im not desirable.

28: I can imagine so. My first bf was always flirtimg with anoother guy in front of me and when I told him it made me uncomfortable he just said "Dont worry about it" and we never spoke of it again. I think that counts.

29: Cannot confirm or deny, but its likely.

30: My feet kind of hurt.

31: I hope so.

32: Yellow. Pastel yellow, specifically.

33: Who can say for sure. I cant self-diagnose that kind of thing.

34: Trying to kill my mom in a fit of rage, but nothing I did had any effect on her and she talked down to me the entire time which only made the fit worse.

35: I dont remember.

36: Maybe. I dont like holding grudges, too much effort on my end.

37: for me, forget.

38: Who knows, its barely started.

39: probably either teen or preteen.

40: No.

51: (Fuck it ig we doing 50s now) Fetucinni alfredo

52: Probably not any reason higher than just the way the world is. There is no divine purpose and life is what you make of it.

53: I took my cat to the bathroom and gave her a piggy-back ride back into my room as was her will.

54: Nothing is black and white, but you'd better have a damn good reason or you get put into the pit.

55: Oh, very.

56: Like one or two at most and I did not do well.

57: Nope. In fact, I dislike the idea of having this one true love tied to you by fate. It takes all the choice out of the relationship. Either be with someone the strings of time have chosen for you, or be alone forever. Thats horrifying.

58: Snow and rain. Makes me sleepy

59: Love it.

60: I dont really care either way

61: Nope. I dislike that pet name even tho I use it personally for my cats, but it feels a little bit to demeaning to be used for a lover since in my experience its always been used from a position of power.

62: Living and being free to live.

63: I dont really like my name but I dont have anything I actually do like to change it to. I guess I just dont like being percieved.

64: I would rather kill myself actually.

65: God, I wish.

66: yes. Mostly. For the most part.

67: hermm... The owner of a warrior cats long term rp server.

68: I dont remember, I tend to say extremely deep sounding things at random. Im the stupidest bitch alive but it lets me spout sage wisdom once in a while.

69: No. Love is what you make of it.

70: I would die or kill for anyone I actually care about no questions asked.

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[gothcsz]

El Cumpleañero | Javier Peña x F!Reader | ~8.3k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: It's Javier's birthday, so you show up to his party and things get fun.

Tags: friends with benefits dynamic, jealous!javi (can't help myself), flirting, dancing, javi is a little ooc here but idgaf i need him (in my head he's a bit younger in this au), some untranslated spanish, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), back shots for days, a lil bit of exhibitionism on javi's part, creampie, one use of a degrading term (slut), some dirty talk, pussy pronouns, facial, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, little to no physical descriptions of reader, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: hiiii everyone! this is my humble submission to @yxtkiwiyxt's never have i ever challenge with my prompt being never have i ever woken someone else because i was too loud during sex 🙈 kiwi bb tysm for hosting such a lovely writing challenge for us, i hope you enjoy this smutty fic! oh, and i am dedicating this one to @letsmeetintheafterglow, amorcito, you left such me a juicy request in my inbox for javi that i just had to write! so, i merged it with the challenge prompt 🖤 hope you dream of him tambien ☁️ also, i couldn't help but project my fantasy of wanting to dance to corrido/banda music with javier. i feel like he's actually a pretty good dancer! swinging ya around to the beat of the song with his hand at your lower back and a modelo in the other. ugh. the song la niña fresa basically inspired the nickname javi calls reader 🍓 and just sets the vibes, i think. as always, let me know that you think and thank you for reading 🖤

The backyard is buzzing with the chatter and laughter of what feels like half the town, the smoky scent of barbecue wafting through the air and the twang of a corrido blasting from oversized speakers, making the ground shake.

You walk through the fenced yard, the southern breeze grazing your skin as familiar faces nod or wave in passing. Your eyes scan the crowd, skimming past clusters of people dancing and conversing, all of them gathered to celebrate someone who swore he didn’t want a fuss.

Of course his family didn’t listen. They turned his “keep it small” request into a blowout, like they always do, inviting anyone and everyone. Not that he could stay mad—he never really does.

When you spot the man of the hour, the corner of your lips lift instinctively and your feet seem to move on their own accord, pulling you toward him.

He’s by the bonfire, the glow of the flames painting his chiseled features in shades of gold and shadow. He stands with his hip jutting out, a cigarette balanced between his fingers, sharing it lazily with two girls you barely recognize.

They hang on to his every little move, trying to soak up whatever attention he might spare. It’s a scene you’ve witnessed too many times, and you really can’t blame them.

You’ve been in their shoes (still are, truth be told), waiting for even a flicker of his focus to land on you, and you know all too well where that desperation led.

To his bed, on his tongue, his cock—you shiver at the memory, your nipples pulling taut.

He’s the kind of man who doesn’t have to try to make hearts ache; it’s just who he is.

A walking daydream wrapped in leather and indifference, with that devil-may-care grin that promises trouble and delivers every time.

You roll your eyes and huff sassily, detouring toward one of the coolers instead. You grab a drink, making polite small talk with a couple of acquaintances, though you can’t keep your gaze from wandering back to him.

He’s already looking at you.

It stops you mid-sentence the way his brown eyes are fixed on you, heavy with intention.

The cigarette is at his lips, the faint glow of its cherry pulses when he sucks in then lets out a ribbon of smoke. 

He makes it look so damn hot, it’s almost enough to persuade you into picking up the bad habit.

The curly haired beauty next to him is chattering a mile a minute, but it’s clear he isn’t listening.

His focus remains locked on you, sweeping slowly—mischievously—down the length of your body. You can feel it, as sure as a touch, lingering at the deep neckline of your sweater then on the way your jeans hug your curves. It’s shameless, but that’s him, isn’t it?

Your smile tilts into a puckish smirk. Lifting your hand, you wiggle your fingers in a small wave.

It’s like striking a match. His gaze narrows slightly as if he’s trying to decide his next move.

He hands off the cigarette with a casual flick of his wrist and shifts his focus back to the girl beside him. She’s still rambling, her words tumbling over each other in an eager attempt to hold his attention.

He doesn’t bother pretending to care. Instead, he lets out an indulgent chuckle, shaking his head like whatever nonsense just came out of her mouth is equal parts adorable and absurd.

You almost feel bad for her. It’s hard not to fall for that sleazy charm—especially when it’s attached to a man so fucking handsome.

When she swivels to chat with her friend, his eyes immediately find yours again. A cocky expression paints his countenance, one that practically asks: What the hell are you doing all the way over there?

You entertain the idea of making him wait, savoring the power in holding his attention hostage for just a moment longer. But who are you kidding? The magnetic pull he has over you is impossible to resist. It always is.

The small box tucked snugly in the back pocket of your jeans presses against you as you weave through the crowd, sidestepping a few overly tipsy guests and slipping past the fold-out tables scattered across the lawn. 

“Hey,” you say, sliding yourself effortlessly between the two girls, not caring about interrupting their conversation. Immediately, their sharp side-eyes practically stab you with twin daggers of irritation.

You don’t flinch. You’re not here for them, anyway.

You only care about the pair of deep brown eyes that make you feel like you’re the only person in the world when he looks at you. “Happy Birthday, Javier.”

A flicker of what looks like smugness and amusement crosses his face as he licks his lips, taking another measured drag.

He’s dressed in a variant of his signature look—a white button-up with a few buttons let loose to show off his neck and the top of his chest, despite the brisk autumn air, and a worn brown leather jacket accentuating his broad shoulders.

However, it’s the ridiculous tiara perched atop his head that catches your eye, and the sight makes you frown ever so slightly when you notice the matching glittery ones on his groupies, like it’s some inside joke you’re not a part of.

For some inexplicable reason—it rubs you the wrong way. You can’t believe you’re slightly jealous of it. How stupid.

“Thank you, fresita.” 

Ugh, that infuriating nickname. You’d been charmed by it at first, assuming it was something sweet and impish. It wasn’t until Chucho let it slip that it’s also used to describe a woman that’s spoiled and picky that you realized it wasn’t just affectionate; it was also dig at your finer tastes.

And so what if you are a little high maintenance?

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, even though he loves coaxing it out of you. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, letting a soft undercurrent of flirtation lace your voice as you ask, “Mind if I pull you aside? I’d like to give you your gift.”

His interest is evident in the way his brow raises and the girls bristle slightly, their expressions shifting to thinly veiled jealousy once they realize he’s no longer focused on them. You captured him the moment he saw you amidst the crowd.

“We were just finishin’ up,” Javi says casually, dropping the cigarette and crushing it beneath his boot. He flicks a glance at the two disappointed faces, his smirk widening. “Con permiso, chicas. Thanks for the smoke.”

As he steps away from them, you feel a little triumphant thrill surge in your chest. They look deflated, their pouty expressions almost comical as they watch him leave with you, muttering goodbyes under their breaths.

The curly haired woman stares you down, and you try not to let the smug victory of whisking him away be too obvious… though you can’t help but smile condescendingly before fully turning away. 

“Some fan club you’ve got,” you tease once the two of you are finally alone, near the entrance of the sun room that’s a part of the house.

He smirks, leaning against the siding and tilting his head, once more eyeing you down like you’re the finest thing he’s ever seen. “You jealous?” 

You scoff, shaking your head in mock disbelief. “Absolutely not.” It’s a little white lie, since you had felt a twinge of that pesky envy, but you don’t want him to know that. He’d either give you shit for it, or on the more extreme end, rethink this arrangement he currently has with you.

And you’d rather not lose it. Not right now, at least. You’re having too much fun letting Javier fuck your brains out on a consistent basis. 

Slowly, you close the space between you, your fingers darting up to flick the tacky tiara perched on his head. “Cute.”

Before you can step back, his hands are on you—big and warm as they grip your waist and pull you flush against his chest.

The force of it has you sighing out in satisfaction. There’s something wholly fucking addictive about the way he handles you.

His hands know exactly where to place themselves, his fingers applying the perfect amount of pressure to set the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy.

“No need to be, baby. You know you’re my favorite.” If your friends knew you were hooking up with the town slut, they’d definitely stage an intervention before you could finish your next sentence. Laying out all the reasons why letting Javier Peña into your bed was a one-way ticket to heartbreak city.

They’d call it desperation. They’d call it lowering your standards.

But what they don’t know is that standards start to feel awfully overrated when Javier has you pinned to a mattress, whispering filthy promises in your ear as his hands map every inch of your body. They don’t know what it’s like to have his full attention—his lips trailing worshipful kisses down your skin, his gravelly voice murmuring sweet nothings in Spanish that you don’t fully understand from how he slurs them together but feel all the same.

Being around him is electric, intoxicating, a high you’re not quite ready to give up.

So no, your friends don’t know. And as long as you can keep this thing between you and Javier your little secret, they never will.

“You gonna let me unwrap my gift or what?” His hand slides lower to cup your right cheek with shameless familiarity, giving it a frisky spank that makes you giggle.

This man and his obsession with your ass—it’s borderline ridiculous, and yet, you’re absolutely here for it.

“Later, maybe,” you reply with faux coyness, your finger dragging along his mustache then over to his pouty lips. He purses them, placing a kiss to the tip of your finger, “if you’re not too busy.”

His hold on your backside tightens, voice morphing into something more sultry, raspier, which is your absolute weakness. It makes your thighs rub together. “You know I always make time for you.”

You laugh softly at that. More often than not, you’re the one initiating while he only reaches out when it suits him. It’s not ideal at times, but you don’t get hung up on it.

You’re not about to ruin this by asking more of someone who doesn’t have it in him.

You reach back and pull the small box from your pocket. “Here’s your real gift,” you say, holding it out to him. Your voice softens, but there’s still a playful inflection. “Hope you like it.”

Curiosity fills those dark eyes as he takes the box, eyeing the tacky birthday wrapping paper with a soft smile. The sight of that grin on his face has your eyes morphing into hearts.

“You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I know,” you reply with a shrug. “But I saw it at the thrift store and just knew it had to go to you.”

You angle yourself to press a light kiss to the tip of his chin, your lips brushing against the stubble before you nip at it gently with your teeth. “Open it.”

His nimble fingers pull apart the crinkled folds of the wrapping paper to reveal the small box inside. When he opens it, you see his immediate delight, and your heart does a traitorous little flip.

The golden chain bracelet glints under the string lights strung along the roof’s edge, somehow making it look nicer out here than how it had been displayed at the store.

“Damn, this is nice,” he says, genuinely appreciative. The praise sends a faint thrill up your spine, your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you watch him lift the bracelet out of the box to inspect it.

You’ve imagined how good the gold would look while his wrist is flexing as he grips your thighs, holding you open for him. Or when he’s feeling you up, rough and greedy, fingers digging into your soft hips as he takes your pussy how he wants.

“Put it on,” he holds his wrist and the bracelet out toward you. His tone carries that easy confidence, like he already knows you’ll obey without question.

Which you do, obviously. You carefully clasp it around his wrist, your fingers brushing his skin as you secure it, and that little brush feels like you’ve just snorted a line of adrenaline with how amped up your body gets.

“Looks good on you,” you admire your handiwork, though the truth is; he’d make anything look good. Even a paper crown. Or, you know, a tacky tiara.

“Gracias, fresita,” he replies smoothly, that familiar nickname rolling off his tongue.

“Are you ever going to stop calling me that?”

“Nah.”

Before you can come up with a witty retort, he pulls you against him again, One hand at your lower back, the other tucked into the back pocket of your jeans. His lips capture yours in a kiss that’s eager and completely unapologetic.

“Easy there, birthday boy—”

“Can’t help it,” he cuts you off, his voice rough against your lips. “Been waiting for you to show up all night.”

You can’t help but chase after that tasty mouth of his, your tongue licking against his, teeth biting into his lower lip and the slight tickle of his mustache makes you shiver. Then his hips grind against your thigh, his erection prominent which in turn has heat flaring all over your body. 

“Let’s go inside,” he breaks away, tugging you toward the small steps leading into the sunroom.

You weren’t expecting to fuck him so early on in the night but you’re not about to complain about it. Every fiber of your body yearns for this man—but specifically your cunt. She’s obsessed.

The room looks like it’s in the middle of a renovation—a man cave in progress.

One wall boasts an unfinished bar, complete with half-empty bottles and shot glasses scattered across the surface. A brand-new pool table sits in the center of the room, its felt pristine, untouched by drunken games or spilled drinks. 

At the far end, a set of leather couches and a recliner face the large television set and entertainment center.

The double doors to the house are shut tight, leaving the room dim and private, save for the warmness of the string lights spilling in through the windows.

You’re caught up taking it all in when Javier sneaks up behind you, pressing hot, greedy kisses against your neck as his hands roam your body.

There’s nothing tentative about his touch—he cups your tits with both hands, squeezing them over your sweater as a deep groan rumbles in his throat. His need for you is palpable, a force that makes your knees weak even as he maneuvers you toward the pool table.

“Here, Javi?” you pant when he sucks at your weak spot under your jaw. “Let’s just go up to your room—”

“No,” he growls, spinning you around to face him, his dark eyes alight with lust. “Want you right here on this table.”

Before you can argue, his lips are on yours again. You let yourself melt into it, your hands reaching up to pluck the ridiculous tiara off his head and tossing it aside with a flick of your wrist.

His hair is soft under your fingers as you card through it, tugging lightly just to feel the way his body reacts, the way his kisses deepen in response.

When his tongue slides into your mouth, you surprise even yourself by wrapping your lips around it, sucking gently. You’re greedy and he loves it.

Javier’s grunt prompts your thighs to clench instinctively around him. His jacket hits the floor as he shrugs it off, lips trailing down your neck. You kick off your boots, his hands lifting you with ease to place you on the sturdy pool table.

Your sweater is gone before you know it. He’s in the middle of working on the button of your jeans, his fingers deft and impatient, when your eyes land on something that makes you freeze.

Or better yet, someone. There’s a figure slumped in one of the recliners at the far end of the room.

Your breath hitches, your body tensing. “Javi, stop.” Your words falter into a moan as his lips find your collarbone, sucking on your skin.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs, barely pausing as he tugs your pants down your hips. Despite yourself, you lift slightly to help him, even as you frantically nudge your head toward the recliner.

“There’s someone here,” you whisper.

He stops, his head snapping up to follow your gaze. His expression shifts into a frustrated scowl when he sees the figure sprawled in the chair. “Goddamnit,” he mutters, reluctantly pulling away from you and heading over to investigate.

You watch as he approaches, his boots heavy on the hardwood. It’s his cousin Danny, completely passed out, his head lolling to the side and his mouth hanging open. Javier whistles sharply, snapping his fingers in front of his face. Nothing. He gives his shoulder a firm nudge once, twice—still nothing.

“Out cold,” Javier says, his tone both annoyed and amused as he turns back to you. “Took down almost a whole bottle of tequila earlier. He’s not gonna bother us.”

You hesitate, your eyes darting to the unconscious form. The idea of hooking up with someone uninvited in the room feels... complicated… exhilarating, maybe? You’ve never done it before.

But your reluctance evaporates the moment Javier closes the distance between you again, his hands sliding your jeans clean off, leaving you in nothing but your mismatched bra and panties.

He drinks you in, and the rest of the party—including the slumped figure in the corner—melts away under the weight of his attention.

No words are needed, not when he roughly tugs the cups of your bra down, letting your breasts spill free, nor when he dips his head, his stubble grazing your skin as his warm mouth captures one of your nipples.

Your breath catches, back arching your breasts into his warm, wet mouth. His tongue lazily circles and flicks over the hardened bud. Then he sucks harder, pulling a drawn-out moan from you before switching to the other side.

You bite your lip, determined to stifle the sighs of pleasure threatening to break. His knocked out cousin in the corner keeps you cautious, even as your body aches to let go.

Javier notices. Always does. He pulls away with a pop, a thin string of saliva connecting his pouty lips to your nipple. “Nu-uh,” he chides. “Don’t hold back.”

“I’m not trying to wake him up,” you counter, though your voice wavers from how good his mouth felt.

“You won’t,” he replies, almost dismissively, giving you a peck on the lips before he drops to his knees before you. He starts at your calves, leaving slow, deliberate kisses that send sparks dancing along your skin.

The faint scrape of his facial hair adds to the wonderful torment as his mouth works its way up, switching from leg to leg.

When he reaches the inside of your right knee, he kisses it almost sweetly, before dragging his tongue slowly in a hot stripe up to your inner thigh. You can’t stop the small shiver that ripples through you, your hands gripping the edge of the pool table for balance.

Javier finally reaches your pussy and you shudder as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to your clothed clit. The heat of his breath and the firm pressure of his lips through the cotton of your panties makes your back arch.

He hooks a finger into the fabric and pulls it to the side, diving in immediately. His tongue parts your folds, curling and slithering against your pearly clit before moving lower.

“Fuck,” you sigh, your hips bucking involuntarily, pressing yourself harder against his mouth.

He groans, enjoying how reactive you are, his fingers digging into the soft meat of your thighs while he holds you firmly in place. His mouth works with a singular focus, his tongue swirling and dipping into your entrance, then sliding back up to flick over your clit.

The feeling of his stupid mustache makes it that much better, scratching at your cunt lusciously. 

You can’t help it now—a soft, keening moan slips out of you, echoing faintly in the dimly lit room. Your head lolls around on your shoulders as pleasure coils at the pit of your stomach, the tension winding tighter with each stroke of his tongue.

“That’s it,” he practically purrs. “Let me hear you.”

His lips seal around your clit, sucking gently, and you swear it feels like you’ve been possessed—holding back is impossible. Another moan escapes you, louder this time, your thighs shaking in his grip as he devours you.

Javi pushes you over the edge so effortlessly that a cry of his name spits out of your throat before you can stop it, cutting through the room.

You're grateful this area of the house is directed away from the backyard, where the party celebrating him outside continues on, oblivious of his absence as he indulges in you.

Your orgasm settles like a heavy current, fingers nearly going numb from holding on to the pool table for dear life.

You’re still disoriented and flustered when Javier stands, looming over you, cupping the back of your head and bringing you in to passionately make out.

His mouth is coated in your tangy essence, making you taste yourself as he slips his tongue down your throat.

You whimper, clawing at his chest for more and he pulls away to turn you around, manhandling you onto your stomach on the table.

His hands are firm yet impatient as he grips one of your legs by the back of your knee and hooks it over the edge of the wooden border.

Javi stares down at your sex, partially exposed and glistening for him. Your panties are askew, one swollen pussy lip peeking out while a dark, damp patch spreads over the cotton where his tongue had devoured you moments ago.

“Fuck.” The lewd sight has him hastily undoing his belt and popping the button on his jeans, his dick hard and ready to bury himself inside your sweet cunt. 

Propping yourself up on your palms, you glance back at him over your shoulder, a teasing, blissed out smile playing on your lips despite the burning heat between your thighs. “I figured you’d want to savor me. Wait for later…” you coo, rolling your hips and causing your ass to jiggle, feeling giddy at how his eyes zero in on the motion.

“I savor you all the time, baby. Even during these nasty, quick fucks.” Him saying that has you over the fucking moon. “You can’t expect me to wait knowin’ this pussy needs me to fuck her real good.”

The hand adorned with your golden bracelet grabs your supple ass, kneading the flesh before landing a stinging spank that makes you jolt and let out a cry. The sharp sound echoes, making your eyes flick nervously toward the recliner where his cousin still lies, unaware of the debauchery happening mere feet away.

Javier seems completely unbothered, casually toying with your panties as though you have all the time in the world. He hooks his finger into the soaked fabric, dragging it back and forth against your sticky folds, smearing your slick across your pussy lips.

Your hips move on their own, chasing the friction, and you bite your lip hard, trapping the needy moan building in your throat.

“Can I come over later?”

His question is so nonchalant it nearly makes you laugh, but the way he teases you has you too far gone to do so. You grind back against his touch, desperate for more, your lips parting in a breathy moan.

“Yes.” The thought of him showing up at your doorstep at three in the morning, bourbon on his lips, just for you to sink to your knees and take him down your throat makes your pussy clench around nothing, crying out for his cock as more of your arousal leaks against your panties. “Whenever.”

He hums in satisfaction, stepping closer and reaching for your jaw, tilting your head to the side roughly and meeting you for a kiss. The fabric of his shirt grazes your bare skin and he tugs your panties to the side again while his mouth continues to hold yours captive.

His cock nudges against your waiting entrance, teasing, the flushed head dragging over the fleshy cleft of your clit in languid taps.

When he finally pushes in, there’s no preamble—just the yummy stretch of him filling you to the fucking brim, shoving a strangled whine out of your mouth as he sets a brutal pace immediately, not giving you even a moment to adjust.

Your palms slip against the velvet of the pool table as you struggle to hold yourself up, but it’s no use. The force of his thrusts sends you collapsing forward onto your chest, scattering the neatly racked pool balls across the table.

They clatter and roll in all directions, but Javier doesn’t slow for a second. His grip on your waist tightens, forcing you to fuck yourself back on his dick.

“Shit,” he growls hoarsely, already breathless as he watches your ass bounce with every stroke. “You’re makin’ a loud fuckin’ mess,” he hisses, though there’s no real malice there—just straight horniness.

In one smooth motion, he grabs both your wrists with one large hand, pinning them to your lower back. He then angles your pelvis so that your clit is grinding against the smooth wooden border of the pool table while your tender nipples rub against the green felt.

The effects of that are immediate, your body feeling like it’s burning from the inside out. “Mmm, fuck yeah, keep doing that,” you moan desperately. 

The raunchy sound of your ass clapping against his thighs fills the room, a filthy rhythm accompanied by the feeling of his heavy balls brushing against your cunt. 

The noise feels impossibly loud, your whimpers and his grunts reverberating off the walls. Surely, his cousin will wake up—surely, someone will walk in on the shameless display Javier is putting on with your body.

Or maybe not, since Javier keeps fucking you all hot and wanton, especially when he hits your sweet spot and your ribbed, gushy walls hug around his dick like a vice.

Your forehead presses against the table as you chant his name, your vision swimming.

You try to glance toward the recliner where his cousin is passed out, but your eyes can’t focus. Everything’s a blur—two of everything, indistinct shapes swimming in the haze of your arousal.

The only thing you can truly focus on is Javier: the way his cock breaches your most intimate spaces, the heat of his body against yours, the sharp bite of his belt against the backs of your thighs.

You’re soaking him, ruining the hem of his half-buttoned shirt. But you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s splitting you open so perfectly, his tight grip on your wrists keeping you pinned and utterly open for him to take.

Your sore clit continues to rub against the smooth wood of the table, now sticky from how shamelessly you’ve been humping against it while chasing your pleasure.

Between the stimulation on your clit, the rough scrape of the felt against your tender nipples, and the relentless pounding of his shaft brushing your g-spot—it’s all too much. 

Your body trembles, a loud cry ripping from your throat as your orgasm slams into you.

"Javi!" you spasm in his hold, nails digging into your palms as your wrists remain trapped beneath his firm grip. shoulders burning from his rough hold.

Your pussy clamps hard around him, wet and creamy as you come, soaking his cock and leaving no doubt about how thoroughly he fucked you.

Javier curses through gritted teeth, switching between Spanish and English as he ruts into you, his rhythm stuttering. “Fuck, fresita, you’re squeezin’ me so fuckin’ tight—just like that.”

He doesn’t falter, fucking you even as your orgasm settles over you like a heavy current.

He hauls you upright, pulling your back flush against his chest, his grip on your wrists unrelenting as he traps them between your bodies.

Both of his arms wrap tightly around your trembling frame, one hand sliding up to grab your tit, kneading it roughly while the other sprawls against your stomach and waist to hold you steady as he fucks up into you.

His mouth is at your ear now, his breath ragged. “Gonna bust inside this pretty pussy baby and you’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”

You nod weakly, biting down on your lip as your eyes flutter shut. “So fuckin’ willing to take my cum like a real slut,” the degrading name makes your clit twitch because he’s right—you are a real slut. Only for him. Always hungry and ready to please, to do anything to satisfy him and he knows it.

“You’re so goddamn perfect—fuck.” His hips jerk a few times before he groans deeply, his cock pulsing as he finishes deep inside you, his hold on your body tightening to the point where you wince but it hurts so good.

“What the fuck?”

The sharp voice cuts through the haze, yanking you back to reality. Your eyes snap open, and panic floods your system as you instinctively try to shield your almost-naked body.

Across the room, Danny sits up in the recliner, his hair a mess and his bleary eyes squinting in confusion. He looks like he’s been rudely yanked out of a drunken slumber, and unfortunately, it’s your fault.

Javier, of course, remains maddeningly calm. “Relax,” his voice still thick with that post-climax rasp as he mumbles in your ear.

Meanwhile, your body is burning—part embarrassment, part leftover heat from the sinful things Javier just did to you on this pool table.

You try to wriggle out of his grip, but his arms are like iron bands, keeping you firmly in place.

Danny rubs at his eyes, blinking hard as if trying to process what’s in front of him. His head tilts slightly, and for one horrifying second, you think he’s piecing it all together. But instead, he suddenly leans over the side of the recliner and starts retching, the sound loud and wet as he empties his stomach onto the carpet.

The sharp, acidic stench of vomit hits the air, mixing unpleasantly with the heady scent of sweat and sex. It’s enough to finally get Javier to loosen his hold.

He pulls out of you with a grunt, leaving you aching and exposed, and you both watch as his release starts to spill out of you, trickling over your swollen folds and dripping onto the table with obscene little plops.

But there’s no time to dwell on the mess. You scramble to grab your clothes, your movements frantic and clumsy as you yank your jeans up your legs and shove your arms into your sweater.

Javier’s doing the same, though far less hurried, like he’s still amused by the whole situation.

When you finally look up at him, his dark eyes are sparkling with mischief, and he throws you a roguish grin that almost makes you laugh despite yourself.

Danny, meanwhile, is still groaning and gagging, his face pale as a sheet. You feel a tiny pang of guilt, but before you can even think about offering help, Javier grabs your hand and tugs you toward the door.

“Aren’t you going to help him?” you whisper, trying to keep your voice low.

“Fuck no,” Javier replies without missing a beat. “Not my fault he couldn’t handle his liquor.”

He presses a kiss to the back of your hand, his lips warm and soft against your skin, and you can’t help but follow him.

You glance back over your shoulder as you’re being pulled toward the backyard, unable to stop yourself from throwing out a half-hearted, “Sorry!”

He doesn’t respond—he’s too busy dry heaving—but you and Javier are already sneaking out, stifling your laughter as the sounds of the party grow louder around you.

The music thrums through the air, its infectious rhythm pulling you in as your dance partner tightens his grip on your waist. His hands are firm, guiding you with confidence, but the musky cologne mixed with the sour tang of sweat is enough to make your nose crinkle if you focus too hard on it.

Still, you’re here out of spite, letting the sway of your hips speak louder than words as your body molds to his. The banda song carries you both across the makeshift dance floor, your movements fluid and natural as though the music itself has taken over.

Javier is just a few paces away, entangled with the curly-haired girl from earlier. His hands rest on her lower back, his body moving with ease. 

There’s a playful challenge in both of your eyes when your gazes finally meet, knowing how this little game of yours will end. 

Neither of you looks away, both determined to outdo the other, even in this small, ridiculous way.

Your dance partner spins you abruptly, breaking the moment. The move is smooth, you’ll give him that, and you find yourself face-to-face with him once again.

He’s not bad looking, honestly—sharp jawline, nice green eyes—but the cologne is killing the vibe, and his wandering hands are starting to push it.

Thankfully, the song winds to a close just as his fingers inch a little too far down your back. The music shifts, a different tune kicking in, and you step back, offering a polite smile as he thanks you for the dance.

“Got a number I can save?” he asks, hopeful and slightly cocky.

You grin, a little too sweetly, and rattle off your number without hesitation. You’ve got no intention of responding if he uses it, but you can’t resist the temptation to stir the pot. As he finally walks away, you feel it—a scorching stare burning into your back.

You don’t even have to look to know who it’s coming from.

“Baila conmigo.”

The familiar rasp of Javier’s voice cuts through the noise as he steps into your space. He takes a swig of his beer, his leather jacket gone, leaving him in just the white button-up that hugs his chest a little too well.

You cock a brow, crossing your arms. “What happened to your dance partner?”

“Sent her away,” he replies easily, his smirk infuriatingly smug. “Poor girl couldn’t catch the rhythm.”

You let out an amused huff, rolling your eyes. Of course, he’d say that. Before you can think better of it, you take his hand, allowing him to lead you toward la pista.

The moment you’re there, he pulls you flush against him, one large hand settling at your lower back while the other still clutches his beer. You fall into the simple two-step with ease, your bodies moving in perfect sync to the music. 

His thigh slots between yours, the friction sparking something electric, and you can’t help but press closer, your breaths mingling in the intimate space between you.

“Reminds me of that night at the club,” his lips brushing your ear. It’s a miracle you can still hear him over the loud music. “When you finally let me get between those pretty legs.”

The heat in his words, combined with the faint scent of his cologne and the alcohol on his breath, floods your senses. He smells and feels like everything your last dance partner wasn’t.

Whistles and cheers ripple through the crowd as you and Javi throw yourselves into the rhythm of the song, your bodies moving like two parts of the same melody.

You hadn’t expected him to be such a good dancer the first time you shared a dance—not until that night at the club. 

And just like his dancing, the way he fucked you afterward had blown every expectation out of the water.

The song comes to an end, leaving you both flushed and slightly winded, sweat clinging to your skin despite the cool night air. The cheers die down as a new track begins, and Javi’s lips quirk into a lopsided grin.

“C’mon, give me another one,” he urges, his voice still rich and sensual despite the exertion.

You laugh, shaking your head as you step back, hands on your hips. You hadn’t planned to stay this long, and now your body is screaming for mercy. “Raincheck, handsome. I gotta head home.”

Javi’s grin falters slightly, but it doesn’t fade completely as your hand drifts down his chest, fingers savoring the firmness of his body.

His broad shoulders and toned frame are just so enchanting, and you can’t resist indulging one last time before grabbing his beer. You take a long, slow sip, your eyes flicking up to meet his as you drain the bottle and set it aside on one of the plastic fold-out tables.

“Not gonna stick around for the cake?” he asks, that boyish charm in his tone as he steps closer.

You flash him a flirty smile. “Save me a piece.”

He opens his mouth to say something else, but the rowdy chaos of his friends and cousins cuts him off. They swarm him, loud and eager, tugging at his shoulders and shouting for him to take another shot.

He laughs, but his gaze finds yours through the crowd, his warm brown eyes locking on to you one last time.

“Enjoy, Javi,” you tell him with a wink. “You know where to find me.”

That familiar smirk is at his lips as he’s pulled toward the makeshift bar. You watch him for a moment before turning to make your departure.

You’re cutting across the lawn when you hear a voice behind you.

“Need a ride home?”

It’s the guy you danced with earlier, his cologne still potent even in the open air. His gentlemanliness would’ve been charming if it weren’t for the obvious expectation in his tone.

You decline politely, offering a quick smile before brushing past him and unlocking your car.

What you don’t realize is that Javi sees the entire exchange from afar. He’d caught the tail end of the guy trailing after you, his gaze narrowing as he watched you disappear into the sea of parked cars.

A flicker of irritation tugged at his expression, but he stayed rooted to his spot, letting his friends push another shot into his hand.

Instead of following, he threw himself into his own celebration, his laugh loud and boisterous as if he hadn’t seen a damn thing. But he couldn’t stop thinking about you leaving with that guy, and the glint in his eyes that had been so bright when you were there dulled just slightly. 

Still, he let it go, for now.

He knew exactly where to find you, after all.

“Oh my god,” you mewl, your back arching against the cold tile of your kitchen floor. Javier thrusts into you with a raw, animalistic need, his cock driving so deep inside you that it feels like he’s carving himself into your very being.

The absurdity of the situation is a bit funny—you’re still fully clothed, minus your sleeping shorts having been thrown haphazardly across the room, a stark contrast to earlier when you’d been bare and spread for him on that damn pool table.

Just as you predicted, he showed up at your door in the dead of night, his silhouette illuminated by the dim porch light. You’d barely made it to the door before his desperate, insistent knocking threatened to wake the entire block.  

It felt like he might break it down if you didn’t open it fast enough. Whoever dropped him off didn’t even wait to see if you’d answer.

No words were exchanged when you finally let him in. His brown eyes, dark and searing, did all the talking.

He’d cupped your face with one rough hand, the other holding a plate with aluminum foil covering it, precariously balancing it in his palm as he kissed you with an appetite that left you breathless.

You let him back you into the kitchen, setting the plate on the counter, his body crowding yours until there was nowhere left to go.

And now, here you are, legs spread wide, the weight of him pressing you down into the tiles, his jacket still on, smelling like beer and bourbon as he ruts himself against you.

“Givin’ your number out, huh?” he growls against your lips, his words dripping with bitterness. His hand snakes up to wrap around your neck, firm but not harsh, forcing your hazy eyes to meet his. You feel the subtle coolness of the bracelet against your skin and that only makes it better. “That’s all it takes, fresita? One fuckin’ dance?”

Each word is punctuated by a sharp, punishing thrust that has you gasping for air.

Your hands scramble at the back of his jacket, trying to find some sort of anchor while his dick fucks into you over and over, your slick cunt clamping helplessly around him.

If your brain wasn’t fogged with pleasure, you’d call him out on his jealousy, tease him for letting something so trivial get under his skin. At least you were better about hiding it.

But god, it’s too fucking hot—seeing him like this, so undone, so unhinged, all because of you.

Javier, the man who always carries himself with that cool, confident swagger, who never seems to let anything faze him, is now losing his composure right here on your kitchen floor.

And all it took was watching some other guy’s attention on you to make him snap. If anyone is picky and spoiled here—it’s him.

“Answer me,” he demands, his grip on your throat tightening just enough to leave you lightheaded, his thrusts never faltering. His free hand grabs at your thigh, spreading you even wider for him, the angle forcing you to experience every inch of him.

“I—it was nothing,” you manage to cry, though your words are almost incoherent as he’s driving into you. “Javi, I—”

“You what?” he interrupts with a curt laugh, his teeth grazing the underside of your jaw before he bites down gently, making you squirm beneath him. “You think I’m gonna let you walk around, lettin’ some asshole think he’s got a chance with you?”

The thought alone seems to fuel him further, his movements growing rougher and you swear you’re on the edge of unraveling.

And as he watches the way your body responds to him—your nails digging into his back, your moans turning into screams—he knows he’s making his point loud and clear. 

Javi’s grip around your throat tightens, cutting off your breath just enough to stimulate you. The pressure makes you feel lightheaded, and somehow, impossibly, even more turned on.

“He can’t fuck you like I can,” he grinds against you, his coarse and damp pubic hairs bristling against your sensitive clit, the friction of it almost too much. “No one can.” His face hovers so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your lips.

Your mouth falls open on instinct, tiny, wheezy moans spilling out as his nose brushes against yours.

Javier’s dark eyes feel like they’re boring straight into your soul, gleaming with hunger as he watches your every twitch, every little surrender. He leans in and kisses you all demanding and vehement. 

His lips claim yours like he’s trying to eat you whole, his tongue slipping inside to taste every gasp you give him.

“Listen to that,” he murmurs mockingly as he pulls back just enough to let his gaze drop between your bodies, watching your pussy swallow his cock. “Just listen to how wet you are, baby. Think he could ever make you sound like this?”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment—and arousal—as the obscene, sloppy sounds of his length plunging into you fill the air, amplified by his words. The drive of his hips is merciless, each stroke drawing you closer with dizzying precision.

Your nails dig into his forearms, bending your body beneath him as your vision starts to be blotched with white spots.

You can feel it, the winding of your orgasm at your core pulling taut, about to burst. When it finally does, your pussy flutters and squeezes as waves of smoldering intensity crash over you.

“Puta madre,” he snarls, his head falling back from how good it feels to have you come around him.

Pulling out, Javier pins you down with his weight to keep you from squirming away. His cock, flushed, drooling, and shiny with your juices, hovers inches from your face as you lay flat on the floor.

Your swollen lips part instinctively, the scent of your own headiness making your mouth water.

“Tongue out, baby,” he commands, his voice rough but coaxing.

You obey, sticking your tongue out lazily, your half-lidded eyes locked onto his. The sight of you like this—wrecked, pliant, and waiting for him—is enough to undo him completely. His hand pumps his cock, the golden accessory on his wrist jolting with each move. 

With a low, rasping groan, he spills over you, thick, hot ropes of cum splattering across your face and tongue.

You moan softly, savoring the warmth, licking your lips and swallowing whatever lands in your mouth. The taste of him leaves your tongue and throat buzzing, and you revel in the messy intimacy of it.

He uses his fingers to wipe the remnants of his release from your cheeks, then pushes them into your mouth without hesitation.

“Suck,” he orders, and you comply, wrapping your lips around his fingers, swirling your tongue over them with eager enthusiasm. You get carried away, your tongue flicking and sucking greedily, and he chuckles darkly.

“Jealousy looks good on you,” you can’t help but tease, your voice carrying amusement as you both come down from the dazed fucking.

Javier sways a little, his inebriation finally catching up to him. He stumbles, but he steadies himself smoothly, like the world itself wouldn’t dare let him fall.

He wipes a hand down his face before meeting your gaze, still kneeling on the floor. “Not a fan of people playin’ with what’s mine,” he says, the statement edged with that possessiveness he tries to pretend isn’t there.

Usually, a line like that would have you rolling your eyes and telling the guy to take his ego down a notch. But with Javier? You don’t mind. At all. Something about the way he says it—like it’s a fact, not an opinion—makes your stomach flip in the worst (or best) way possible.

“Yours?” you challenge, sitting up on your forearms and arching a brow at him. “I thought this was casual.”

“It is,” he says without missing a beat, bringing his fingers up to caress the side of your face, more calm and sure, like he’s completely unaware of how contradictory his behavior is.

You narrow your eyes slightly, refusing to let him off the hook that easily despite melting under his touch. “Casual hookups don’t go into a frenzy after watching the other dance and flirt with someone else.”

He doesn’t even flinch at your words, doesn’t even bother to defend himself. Instead, he smirks—because of course he does—and stretches his arms over his head like the entire conversation is nothing but a minor inconvenience to him.

He straightens up stands, extending a hand to you, his palm open and inviting, the gold band of the bracelet glinting in the low light.

You let him pull you up and let out a sound of exertion, your muscles still a little tense from rolling around on the hard floor with him.

“Dance, flirt with whoever you want. When I want you, I’m gonna have you.”

That’s possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. “That so?” You try to sound unimpressed, but your voice betrays you, just the tiniest bit giddy.

“That’s so,” he concedes vaingloriously. “Don’t forget who makes you feel like this satisfied.”

As if I could ever. “Cocky bastard,” you mutter, but the words lack any real bite.

He leans in, kissing you gently, then his voice drops into that deep, velvety murmur that makes your pussy tingle. “Yet you keep coming back.”

You don’t respond because, let’s face it, he’s not wrong. Especially not when he pairs those words with ana affectionate kiss.

Instead, you finally roll your eyes, the most predictable move in your arsenal, and step around him to grab your discarded sleeping shorts.

Sliding them back on, you make your way to the counter, where the lonely styrofoam plate of half-smashed birthday cake waits for attention. Without a word, you pull it closer, grab a fork, and dig in.

Javier watches you with a grin still plastered across his face, leaning his hip against the counter. “Didn’t even offer the birthday boy the first bite, huh? Real cold.”

You stab a piece exaggeratedly, lifting it to your mouth, and chewing slowly, giving him a look that says cry about it.

But when you see the faint pout pulling at his lips—a deliberate act, no doubt—you sigh, scoop up another forkful, and hold it out. “Fine. Even though technically it’s not your birthday anymore.”

He leans in, not breaking the eye contact, and takes the bite straight from the fork, his lips brushing the tines with an unnecessary amount of flair.

You swear he’s showing off, but you don’t call him out on it, not when he groans softly in appreciation and you can’t help but admire him like this, playful and flirty in your kitchen.

“Feliz cumpleaños, Javi,” you say after a moment, softer now.

He swallows, his smirk shifting into something a little more genuine as he meets your gaze. “Gracias, fresita.”

For a moment, the air between you shifts—gentler, almost intimate. Then he reaches for the fork still in your hand and steals another bite, flashing you a look that drags you right back to reality.

i have a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

@almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiamore . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @persephone-girl . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @almostfoxglove . @thundermartini . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @picketniffler . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @penascigarette . @bunniboo0015 . @kirsteng42 . @ivuravix . @joelmillerisapunk . @theestorm . @pasc4lfuzz .

[echo-riot]

Hear me out, ambessa x reader who will defend her?? Like let’s just say someone is being disrespectful towards her and before she can put them in their place the reader does it for her.

-🖤🖤🖤

✞⛧ Defending a lioness (ambessa x reader) ✞⛧

The council chamber was filled with the usual tension—arguments over trivial matters Ambessa had little patience for. Her arms were crossed, her expression sharp and unreadable as she watched one of the more vocal delegates drone on about the Medarda family’s “controversial” influence in Noxus.

It wasn’t the first time Ambessa had been subjected to such disrespect, but before she could open her mouth to silence the fool, you beat her to it.

“Why don’t you shut your damn mouth?” Your voice cut through the air like a blade, making every head in the room snap toward you.

The delegate sputtered, caught off guard by your interruption. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, I heard you just fine,” you shot back, stepping forward, your eyes blazing with unrestrained defiance. “You’ve been flapping your gums for the last ten minutes, insulting my wife like she doesn’t deserve to be in this room. Let me make something clear—Ambessa Medarda has done more for Noxus than you could even dream of in your miserable little life.

The man’s face turned red, equal parts rage and embarrassment. “How dare you—”

“How dare I?” you cut him off, a sharp laugh escaping your lips. “No, how dare you. You think your cowardly little insults mean anything? If you had an ounce of her strength, you’d be too busy accomplishing something worthwhile to sit here and whine.”

Ambessa’s lips twitched in amusement, though she kept her expression carefully neutral. She didn’t need to intervene—watching you eviscerate the man with nothing but words was far more satisfying than doing it herself.

“You’re speaking out of turn!” the delegate snapped, desperate to regain control of the situation.

“And you’ve been speaking out of your ass,” you retorted without missing a beat, folding your arms. “So, what’s your point?”

A few of the other council members coughed awkwardly, clearly stifling laughter. Even the room’s guards were struggling to maintain their composure.

The delegate opened his mouth to respond, but you silenced him with a glare so fierce it could have rivaled Ambessa’s. “You will not disrespect her again. If you have an issue with her leadership, say it to her face like a real Noxian instead of hiding behind veiled insults. Or are you not man enough to do that?”

The room fell into an awkward, stunned silence. The delegate, utterly humiliated, sank back into his seat, muttering something about “temperamental spouses.”

You turned back to Ambessa, your face softening into a proud grin. “Handled it for you,” you said casually, as if you hadn’t just turned the chamber upside down.

Ambessa leaned back in her chair, her lips curling into the faintest smirk as she regarded you with a mixture of pride and amusement. “I could have handled it myself.”

“I know,” you said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to her cheek. “But it’s more fun this way.”

Ambessa chuckled—a rare, low sound that sent a ripple of shock through the room. “Indeed, it is.”

[uluvjay]

New look- K. Dach

Kirby Dach x fem! Reader

In which Kirby comes home sporting a new look and you can’t keep your hands to yourself!

Warnings?: SMUT, road head (unsafe but this is fictional!), reader takes off seatbelt (I do not support if you are in a REAL car), oral m receiving, kissing, cursing, hair pulling, sorry if I missed any errors!

You hadn’t thought twice when Kirby gave you a kiss and said he was going for a haircut, you kissed him back and reminded him to be home in time for your dinner reservations.

An hour and a half later you were seated at your vanity when you heard the door open and arms soon wrap around you while Kirby’s head tucked into your neck.

You could feel the tickle of his scruff the trimmed hair leaving a delicious tingle behind as you pulled away to greet him properly.

“Hi bab-your hair, what did you do to it?” You cut yourself off noticing the usually styled and slicked back locks were loosely placed on his forehead and relaxed.

“I trimmed it but he was out of the gel I like so I just said I’d style it at home.” He shrugged.

“Don’t” you rushed out, cheeks heating as he looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Why?” He smirked.

“I-I like it, looks good like that.” You blushed even darker from being put on the spot.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm”

With a shrug and a nod of his head Kirby pulled away placing a kiss to your head before he disappeared into the walk in closet thoughts running through his mind.

You however sat there with a dull throb beginning between your legs, if there was one thing you loved on Kirby it was his messy hair. Something about the way it looked after your fingers were tangled in it all night or how it fell perfectly on lazy days at home when he used no product.

You knew keeping your hands to yourself tonight would be a struggle especially since Kirby always requested a private booth at the restaurant where no prying eyes could be on the two of you.

Soon the both of you were dressed and heading out the door, Kirby’s dark green sweatshirt hugging his toned arms just right.

He made sure to walk behind you on the way to the elevator to grab a sight at the way your ass looked in your skirt, the tight material hugging it in just the right spots.

He couldn’t help himself from slapping the curve of your ass as he opened the door of his G-wagon for you.

“Kirby!” You scolded but the smile on your face showed you didn’t really mind.

“Sorry baby, couldn’t help myself.” He teased before shutting your door and rounding the car to get in on his own side.

The feeling was mutual it took everything in your body not to lock him in the bedroom and say fuck the reservations when he walked out of the closet in that damn sweater, his expensive cologne filling your senses, the watch you bought him for his birthday sitting pretty on his wrist.

You both behaved on the way to the restaurant light conversation filling the car as he told you about all the prep the team had planned before their long road trip coming up.

Once you two got into the restaurant the host was quick to guide you to your usual booth in the far back of the restaurant away from the normal restaurant.

Kirby slid in first and you quickly followed both of you looking over the menu despite already having a good idea of what you wanted.

It was kinda cheesy to some people that you two went to the same restaurant for date nights a lot but it had became a part of your routine and when the foods that good, nothing beats it.

“So Rob thinks I need to dye my beard.” He spoke up.

“Why?” You questioned confused as to why his Barber would suggest that.

“When he was trimming my beard he said the parts around my mouth are lighter than the rest, like they’d been bleached or something.” He smirked.

“Oh my god.” You were positive you were as red as a fire truck, humiliation, embarrassment, but also amusement flowing through your bones.

“He didn’t ask why did he?” You cringed.

“No and I acted clueless, didn’t really wanna tell the guy it’s from eating my girlfriend out a lot.” He laughed.

Your hands flew to cover your face as a soft laugh fell from you as well, “That’s awful Kirby.”

“Hey at least he didn’t know what it was from.” He shrugged.

You looked up at him to find him already staring at your with a look of pure amusement, however the curls on his forehead once again caught your attention.

His polished but messy hair look really doing numbers for you, and that familiar throb was back between your thighs.

“What?” He asked, his own cheeks turning red from your heated stare.

“Nothing, just admiring how handsome you are.” You smiled leaning up to kiss his jaw softly before returning to your menu.

-

The rest of dinner went teasingly well, Kirby’s hand lingering high on your thigh his thick fingers occasionally slipping under the material of your skirt earning him soft gasps here and there.

But you didn’t let his actions go without consequences as your own hand rested on his thigh, manicured nails scratching against the inside of his denim covered thighs.

Needless to say by the time you two were standing to make it to the car you were praying you didn’t have a wet spot on your skirt and Kirby’s was adjusting his jeans the best he could to hide his bulge.

However your games didn’t end in the car your hand quickly resumed its spot on his thigh however this time it rested right below where he needed you most.

Kirby could feel his breathing hitch every time one of your nails inched a tiny bit higher doing his absolute best not to thrust up into your touch.

“Baby?” He spoke up.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to move your hand or I’m gonna cum before we even make it home.” He panted.

You looked over at him heat flowing taking over your body at the sight of his flushed face, hands gripping the steering wheel so tight they were white.

Taking false pity on the man you moved your hand down just a bit using the other to unbuckle your seat belt.

“What are you doing?” He questioned.

“Just stay still and pay attention to the road Kirby” you instructed.

You noticed you were about ten minutes from home and that’s exactly what you needed to get what you wanted from him.

Reaching over you unbuttoned his jeans before pulling down the zipper, Kirby lifted his hips out of instinct to help get the material down enough for his cock to spring free.

“Oh fuck” he gasped feeling your cold hand wrap around the base of his cock before you stoked him slowly.

Kirby thought he was going to explode at the feeling of your lips leaving wet open mouthed kisses on the tip of his cock venturing as far down as you could before you returned to the tip.

This time your tongue poked out to slowly circle the tip, moving deliberately slow earning a deep sigh from the man above you.

He drops one of his hands from the steering wheel to tangle in your styled hair and when he pulls on the roots just enough to tell you to knock your shit off your mouth swallows him.

Your movements are hungry and desperate, your hand still wrapped around his cock moving in sync with your mouth squeezing the base just the way he likes.

Kirby was doing his best to keep his eyes open and focus on the road ahead, his chest heaving in and out as his soft grunts of pleasure filled the car.

Thank god for tinted Windows the Canadian thought.

“Fuck baby, getting close” he panted.

He laughed softly as you gave him a thumbs up but it was quickly cut off when he felt your lips back on the head of his cock.

His sounds grow louder as your mouth drops back down, wet mouth moving with hunger as your hand follows right behind with a tight hold.

Kirby doesn’t mean to but he pulls your hair hard enough to guide a moan out of your throat and the simple vibration of your throat is what sends the man over the edge.

“I’m coming.” He chokes out in a warning.

He groans loudly from the pleasure flooding his body his body heaving as you continue to stroke him through his high, only coming back up once you know he’s done coming.

And right as you sit back in your seat he’s pulling into his reserved spot in the parking garage.

“What in the hell was that?” He smiled over at you with a look of shock.

“Couldn’t help myself, you looked too good over there.” You smirked.

He shook his head before moving to tuck himself back into his jeans, getting out of the car he moved to your side and opened the door for you.

Pushing you against the cold doors he dipped his head down he made sure he was eye to eye before speaking up.

“You get a head start, I want you in nothing but your bra and panties when I get up there.” He instructed handing you the keys to the apartment before stepping back.

He laid a swat to your ass and with that you were off and running for the elevator.

Needless to say neither of you got much sleep that night and neither did the neighbors next door.

-

[jimmy-buffet-babe]

☆they don't let go☆

☆her eyes seem to glow brighter than before, staring into the judgments☆

{The Sister. You came all the way here, rode for god knows how long inside of a train with FOUR demons, didn't kill anyone, didn't get yourself killed. And now you stand before me, with your light slowly dying. And you hugged me. You have never, without thought or humor or in just in general, initiated or participated in a hug with me. Stop lying to your damn self and tell the truth. Or so help me, I'll send myself back through the restoration process! I haven't gully healed yet, i'll do it! }

☆the care is his expression had quickly been replaced by sternness☆

The sound of an approaching train can be heard. Grab your tickets, hold em tight. It's gonna be one hell of a ride!~

Mr time

Mrs Earth

Ms judgement

Mr Hyde

Ms Octayve

Hm....guess they lost theirs

Ah!

And Mr Gecko.

ALL ABOARD!

[sgiandubh]

Prophetic

Every single time things look hard to decipher or farcical (and this is one of those farcical times), I remember a long post by @hardblazesong, dealing with BTS aspects and the intricacies of this cesspool of a fandom. I am yet to read something more clear and more bravely stated than the things she wrote almost eight years (!) ago, even if I do not necessarily agree with everything. Especially as far as SC's sexuality is considered and examined, for example - but that is secondary, to me.

Every word in this quoted passage was confirmed by what happened next, for example. And then, some more, if at all possible:

This is exactly what happened, rinse and repeat to oblivion. 'No one above D level status', with the odd lap dancer/Hooters waitress thrown in, for variety. Gross? Effective on the short term perhaps, to quench thirsty/insistent/too close to the real thing rumors and found tidbits, yet damn penalizing on the long run. MPC's dwindling subscription figures are testimony to it, as are the mediocre projects coming his way. And now he sorely needs a seriously good one to keep his rep at a decent level. You see, the entire kilt-cladded, warrior daddy imagery/fantasy is also quietly wearing off, as OL is coming to its merciful end. But believe it or not, S will survive even this life-changing experiment with fame. The key question here is 'how' and I have no definitive answer to it. But I am confident, and this Soroptimist approach of mine will always be my guilty pleasure, as far as S is concerned. Perhaps the only one, since the guy won't ever make me turn my head for him in the street. Not even sorry about that. But as I have already told you, I do like an underdog and know how to spot them, when I see one.

Now, as far as C is concerned, the 'low key thing' turned into the perfectly artificial farce we all know about. It is my sincere belief at least 85% of her Taliban Stan crowd is simply paying lip service to what they chose to believe and are constantly being reminded of by their trolling Sopranos. So much so, in fact, that it all reeks rather of Pollyannaism than critical thinking, no matter how brutal or self-assured they may sound. And at this point in time, with zero communication on the topic and C who apparently DGAF about narrative continuity when it comes to this, it's only fair to say more oil is being quietly, constantly thrown onto those embers of suspicion and legitimate, logical doubt.

As for going political, we all saw what happened with S's Gaza comment, didn't we? Case in point to never cross obvious red lines and allow your own emotions get in a mix you cannot control and which must not have been addressed, to start with. Especially when you are, above anything else, a media product manufactured on purpose for reaching the widest potential audience. MAGA Mommies crowd included.

Also, this:

Again, this is exactly what happened, and consistently so. Proof of this are the multiple times I had to excuse myself to powder my nose in the middle of a Zoom call or meeting, whenever my cellphone was blinking with concerned messages about this or that insignificant turn of an apparently endless, boring and disingenuous AF narrative. Shippers are worried and potentially even hurt every single time a Fitness Harem representative shows up on the roster. S knows that - how could he not, he is part and parcel of it? Trolls know that: in fact, this is their bread and butter in this fandom. And the reason this happens is an unnecessarily cruel and by now pathetic bout of schizophrenic trivia deliberately being thrown in, from time to time, for... eh... for reasons. Whether this is for 'protection' (complete quiet would be way more decent and effective, I think) or diversion, or remaining relevant, or even shits and giggles is entirely secondary, one more time. These allow to address all the factions of this fandom at once, using what are by now some lazy, well-tried and accessible plot devices (SM twisting reality, cheap pap walks, timeline innuendos, etc). Again, this is wrong and harmful, in the long run. It is refusing to see the forest for the trees and completely ignore the fact this is building the wrong persona and the wrong brand. Back to that sore need for a really good project I have mentioned before and own reasoning nicely tied in, thank you.

As for how SC feel about us, shippers, I suppose things are clear. I don't think they like us, and to be blunt, how could they? Mistakes have been repeatedly made, especially when it comes to projecting going completely, tastelessly out of control, the hyper sexualization and objectivation of both S and C (naively dirty fanfic, anyone? come on, we all read it!) and the liberties some took with decency, as far as C is particularly concerned. And by this, I don't mean stalking - that is pushing Covfefe Pics really too far and being a perfect hypocrite about it, when we know the entire faction was demanding proof, on many tones & in many ways and kept on pressuring for something along those lines to happen. To me, however, the most toxic part of it was definitely Jess' unfortunate drooling all over someone else's love story. It definitely had an impact and it was definitely been used as such, until it wasn't. The rest of all that obsessive approach are just spin-offs, but the bad seeds were gleefully planted there and then.

Before landing here, I carefully weighed in my options. And I chose to be primarily interested in business and legal paperwork simply because it so happened that an irritated reaction while on an Athens taxi ride prompted my arrival here. Then I realized it was the only way to bring something new to an already stalling body of public lore and keep it simple and real. What I did discover and what the trolls across the street chose to dismiss as trash is, in fact, evidence enough of the chasm that exists between what people are being served and supposed to gobble up, no questions asked, and a reality that certainly is more nuanced. This is what really makes me tick and this is why I am still here, while there are so many more useful and enjoyable ways to keep myself busy.

Rest assured, though: I am not going anywhere, even if from time to time life and a very strenuous job take precedence. I hope you can understand this. In the meanwhile, you have been so many witty, kind and warm people coming along my path, that I would feel like betraying you (and myself!) if I went away. And no, I have never felt more sure about SC than probably now, even if this 'SC' doesn't necessarily coincide with your own version of that saga.

Newbies can read the entire @hardblazesong's post here: https://www.tumblr.com/hardblazesong/678440162606350336/the-time-has-come-shipsters-to-write-a-lengthy?source=share

Thank you for reading this very long comment, summing up all the thoughts that nagged me while I was simultaneously translating and slaloming between my two mother tongues, while in Tunis. I am rather good at compartmentalization, you see. This post is also a clumsy homage of sorts to all the brilliant, brave and bold women, past and present, of The Shire, who have tried and managed to see beyond the thick veil of deceit this entire #shitshow is. The fact so many of us, across so many cultures and personal circumstances, saw the same damn thing and questioned it with integrity and wit, should be arresting evidence there are more things.

PS: I think we can all agree on the fact the Biggest Troll in this fandom is 'Erself, the Flip-Flop Blue Nailpolish Goddess. But that's a different story.

[your-unfriendlyghost]

mentally prepping myself for another 9.5 hr shift tomorrow…might end up committing a few minor crimes after but we’ll see

[animamii]

lockedup!Toji calling you out of the blue after a few months of radio silence.

It's a random number, not the Corrections number or anything like that. So honestly, you're confused as hell since you don't give your number out to anybody but friends or family.

"Hello? Who's this?" You ask as soon as you pick up.

"It's me, princess. Who else?" His voice is raspy, and you can hear him exhaling like he's smoking.

"Toji??" You already know it's him, no one else's voice has that drawl to it.

"The one and only, baby." Oh, you could melt at that if you weren't so damn mad and confused.

"This isn't the prison number... Whose phone are you calling from?" You check the number; it has the same area code but it's a regular cell number.

"This is my number. Save it. Preferably under 'daddy' with one of those cute lil emojis you use," he chuckles, and you could just imagine that little side smirk he does.

"You got a cell phone in prison?"

"Actually, I've been out for two months now," his voice is casual as if he didn't just admit to being fucking free for two whole months now.

"Two months?" Your voice is more incredulous than questioning. "You mean to tell me you've been released for two months?"

"Yup," he gives you a once word response. Ohhhh that just set fire to your ass.

"And you're now just calling??" A hand goes to your hip, a scowl on your face which you wish he could see.

"Yeah. I got a new bed, wanted to know if you wanna help me break it in," you just know he has the biggest grin on his face as he so flirtatiously asks you that, not even caring how shocked or mad you are at him.

"What the fuck did you just ask me??"

"I got my own place now. It's in a shitty neighborhood but one of those recidivism reduction programs set me up with a cool lil spot. Got a new bed. Wanted to see if you wanted to break it in with me, if you know what I mean."

"It took you two months to call me, and this is what you ask me??" Another incredulous scoff leaves your lips.

"Hey, I wanted to get back on my feet by myself this time," he spits on the concrete as he leans against the front of his shabby apartment, "Show ya that I can do it on my own. I hate that I always have to rely on you, ya know? Wanted to prove myself, ma," his tone is a little more serious, none of that playful, flirtatious bullshit he always does with you.

A soft exhale leaves your lungs, you were always so empathetic towards Toji, and couldn't help but try to understand where he was coming from. "Fine." You finally say after a beat of silence, "I'll go see you but I'm not breaking in no damn bed, got it?"

"Mmmm got it, princess. Whatever you say," he drawls out in that gravelly tone. He already knows that your thighs are pressed together in excitement. No matter how much you try to pretend you don't want him, that bed is getting broke in.

✧��°――♡――✧˖°✧˖°――♡――✧˖°✧˖°――♡――✧˖°✧˖°――♡――✧˖

Honestlyyy this is based on a conversation I had with my Madre lol one of her coworkers said her baby daddy got out of prison and called her to tell her he got a new bed and that's it. She didn't even know he was released it reminded me of locked up Toji so muchhh. I'm rewriting this as a smut though, so be on the lookout for that soon xoxo love y'all bebecitas

[muletia]

I'M BAAAACKKKKK

Here, have some angst written at 3 am

:3

A headcanon of mine is that Optimus is so obsessed with keeping you safe because he has already lost Elita, and he'll be damned if he lets his second love die as well. Optimus probably gets horrible flashbacks anytime when you're in danger :c

Do you know about that TFP deleted scene? The one where Optimus punches Ratchet after an argument about his decision-making skills? Imagine you just happen to pass by, and you hear:

"Where's Elita now?"

*BLAM!*

You've never seen Optimus lose control like that. You let out a gasp, and only then does he notice you're in the room with them. You decide to give Optimus time to calm down so you leave.

A few days later, after the whole Synth-En problem has been dealt with, you visit the autobot base. There's an awkward silence between you and Optimus, and when you finally ask:

"Who's Elita?"

What happens next? Well, I'm not sure, but Optimus sure knows one thing...

War took the love of his life once. It won't happen again.

Anyway, I love making myself sad :)

hello there Leri <3

oooooohhhh love me some overprotective angst deluxe

It’s a shame they decided to cut that scene, but honestly, it doesn’t fit Optimus’ character in tfp. He would never hit his friend knowing they were under the influence of space crack (bayverse Optimus, on the other hand...).

Ahhh, so many uncertainties swirl in Optimus’ processor after you witnessed his loss of control. Will you be afraid of him? Will you hate him? He wouldn’t be surprised if you wanted to sever your bond with him, no matter how much he wishes to nurture it further.

So he gives you space for a few days. He doesn’t show up at your driveway during patrols, and doesn’t message, though his worry about the future of your relationship eats him alive. The fact that he can’t actively protect you also weighs heavily on his processor — especially after your conversation about his late beloved, who lost her life in exactly that way. Because he failed her.

Pathetic, unworthy. A disgraceful Prime. A stain on honor to all his predecessors.

It’s easy to spiral into self-loathing, but more than punishing himself, Optimus wants to see you alive. He must focus on the present but also the future if he wants to weave it with you. He will protect you. At any cost, from any danger. Will not make such a terrible mistake again.

Ahhhh, the question about Elita — ugh, that will be so hard for him. But a conversation about a deceased ex, lost on the battlefield, with the one who now holds his heart can only be handled properly by Optimus. It won’t happen without regret over broken promises and guilt about things left undone. Maybe even tears if you’re at the stage where Optimus allows emotions to seep through the cracked mask of the Prime. But he will certainly make it clear to you that he will protect you at the cost of his own life.

He will never allow any harm to come to you…

[flugerr]

I will NEVER do animations again.

Geez, I'm definitely going to k!ll myself if this doesn't become popular. I SPENT PRACTICALLY 1 DAMN WEEK ON IT:'

I wanted to add 2 more frames, but I didn't have enough sound and nerves for them, so be content with what you have.

meh

[kteezy997]

Beyond Business- part eight// t.c.

Warnings: cursing, kissing, mention of sex, secret relationship,fake relationship

In the hours that followed, Timmy and his three friends hung out in the living room area. His hairstylist came, publicists and managers showed up. It became quite crowded and loud. Much to the contrast of the way it was when it was just the two of you.

Kylie nor any of her entourage came, not that you expected her. She usually just showed up to the venue without him, waiting inside while he walked the red carpet. People thought that was honorable of her, to not take his spotlight. But the truth was that it was the way Timmy wanted it. He never was one to walk the carpet with a girlfriend, ever.

He never intended for his personal life to be so mainstream, sometimes overwhelming his career accomplishments. But he soon realized that it came with the territory in Hollywood. He didn’t wish to exploit himself even more with Kylie Jenner on his arm, posing for photos when all he wanted was to promote the film he had dedicated so much of himself to.

You kept up with your assistant duties, ordering lunch for everyone, getting drinks, and catering to Timmy when he needed.

It was getting close to time to leave, so you approached him. He looked dapper in his Tom Ford suit and blue tie, worn more like a scarf.

“Timmy, can I do anything else before I go get ready?” you asked.

He pursed his bottom lip, shaking his head, “No, I don’t think so. Remember what I said about your hair, though.” he winked.

You rolled your eyes playfully. Then his phone started buzzing, you looked at the screen in his hand. Kylie was calling, he gave you a look that you couldn’t quite decipher before walking away with it. You saw him put the device to his ear, answering with a simple “hello.”

You resigned to Timmy’s large bathroom to get ready for the Globes. You put on some burgundy and black eye makeup to go with your dress, and a neutral-colored lipstick. You curled your lashes, brushing them high to the heavens with your best mascara.

You gave yourself a blowout, making sure your hair was as fluffy and flowy as you could manage. Then, it was time for the lovely dress. You felt so grateful Timmy picked it out for you. You wondered if he ever had a say in anything Kylie wore to events. Probably not.

You put your everyday rings and necklace on, along with a couple spritzes of your favorite perfume and you were officially ready.

You opened the door, walking out to find your heels that you left in the living room.

“Ayyyyeee!” you heard Timmy hollering when he saw you. “Aiden, get some photos of her.” he instructed his photographer friend.

“Damn, y/n, you look hot!” Aiden exclaimed, “Now, come pose for me.”

“Oh, no, no that’s okay. I don’t really like pictures of myself.” you attempted to object, but to no avail. You put your high heels on.

"Over here," Timmy instructed pointing near the window in the living room, where he wanted you, "where the light's coming in."

You had never posed for photos alone before, and the boys could tell, so they were very helpful and encouraging. It was kind of fun, and you noticed the smirk on Timmy's face as he kept scanning his eyes up and down at you.

.........

Later, on the way to the Globes, Timmy instructed his friends to ride in a separate car, as you and he needed to "go over some things."

Once you were alone together in the car, he grabbed your face, and started to devour your neck, suctioning his lips there. He moaned against your skin as he held your jaw.

You placed your hand on his arm, giving it a squeeze, "You're insane. You are literally on the way to see your girlfriend."

"You don't have to call her that. And I am nominated, you know. That is why I'm going, it's not to see her." he gazed at you, shaking his head slowly. "Fuck, you look amazing." He leaned in, kissing you on the lips this time.

His lips were soft, but the feeling of them was overshadowed by the tickling of his mustache on your top lip. The sensation made you feel like you could almost sneeze, so you pulled away with a giggle.

Timmy grinned at you, "What?"

"The 'stache." you explained, running your finger over the whisper of hair on his upper lip.

He blinked, realizing, "Oh." Nonetheless, he kissed you again, laying his hand on your thigh. "Mm," he pulled away, "will you stay over at my place tonight?"

"Are you sure? Will she find out?"

"Yes, I'm sure, and no, it's none of her business anyway." he brushed the subject off, as usual.

"So, you don't ever sleep with her?" you cringed at the thought.

"No," he rolled his eyes, "I haven't in months."

You felt relieved knowing that there wasn't a chance of him overlapping you and her. You hoped he hadn't recently been sleeping any woman for that matter. "She's not suspicious about you and other women? Does she know about us?"

"She doesn't ever say anything. And besides, I don't care what she does; she can go screw her baby daddy, or her bestie Stassi, or whoever she wants to. I really don't give a shit, so it's none of her business what I do."

"Do you think that's fair to her?"

"Why are you so concerned about her?" he put his arm around you, "She and I just keep up an image, that's all."

You shrugged, "I don't know. I mean, I don't care for the way her family flaunts their money or the impossible and dangerous beauty standards that they set. Not to mention that she has copied clothing designs from smaller businesses, but at the end of the day, Kylie is just a girl, the same as me, you know? She doesn't deserve to be hurt any more than the next person."

Timmy nodded, "Yeah, but it is no more serious to her than it is to me. So, stop worrying." he pressed his forehead to yours.

"Okay." you whispered, unable to stop the smile that crept on your lips. You felt butterflies in your stomach when he touched your forehead.

The car came to a stop, and you could hear people yelling and cameras snapping outside. The driver got out, and Timmy said, "Alright, assistant, time for the show."

…….

You weren’t nervous on the red carpet, because it wasn’t about you. All eyes were on him. Fans shouting, cameras flashing, famous actors, directors, producers, all making a point to get Timmy’s attention and talk to him.

This part of your job was always a bit of a whirlwind, but you always enjoyed the rush. You would follow a few paces behind him, he would hand you sweet little gifts given to him from fans that you would always take to the car to keep them safe. You would look through them all together later.

You made sure to get pictures of him with fans and some celebrities, to send to his mother. She always loved seeing them. Some photos would just be keepsakes for Timmy as well. He trusted you with that sort of thing.

After about an hour of red-carpet photos and happy conversations, you knew it was time for Timmy to head inside. He had previously handed his phone over to you, and you noticed that Kylie had texted him several times. You didn’t want to bug him as he was doing his own thing, but you knew that the woman was restless. So, you showed him his phone with all of the notifications, and he sighed.

“Okay, let’s go. I’ll take you to your table.” he leaned in close to your ear, “I’ll have to kiss her tonight. But don’t be upset. We just have to sell it.” he whispered.

You knew how the machine worked, and you understood. “It’s okay.” you said to him.

He grabbed your hand, innocently leading you through the sea of people to get inside the venue.

January 24, 2025

@gatoenlaciudad @thebetawolfgirl @musicandbooksaremyhappyplace @softhecreator @tchalamss @lixzey @bitchyunknownuser @ducktapebar @aoi-targaryen @yukideadinside @elloise0 @thatoneweirdgirl17 @mel-vaz @sammy-halpert @iwishchalamet @that-one-fangirl69 @jindongdongie @briefkittenearthquake @imnotoverlyobsessive @timhalchala