#lj writes

[itsokbbygrl]

Make Me Sweat.

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit, 18+//MDNI!!!!

WC: 6.8k (whoops)

Summary: Javi can't sleep. You can't keep it in your pants recently. Both of you find yourselves dripping on this sunny Saturday morning.

A/N: This is filth. I mean, it's written by me, so it's soft filth, sweet filth, but like, FILTH nonetheless. ♡ Written for my sweet new friend, Kricket @sugarcoated-lame for the @swiftiscruff friendship exchange, and inspired by P looking fucking delectable post-workout in that giant navy t-shirt. Thanks, bby boy. Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Tags: SMUT, PWP, reader understands basic spanish, author is requesting the reader to look up the minimal spanish used themselves if they can't figure it out with context clues, established relationship, f masturbation, sex toys, unprotected PIV, fingering, creampie, breeding kink, body hair mention, reader fits into Javi's oversized t-shirts, reader is able bodied and has female anatomy but otherwise pretty physically undescribed. i think that's it, lmk if i missed something egregious.

Javier woke with a start, heart racing, breaths coming quick and heavy. He closed his eyes and tried to slow, slow, slow it down. Concentrating on his breath, deep inhale, long exhale, again, again, until he felt the parasitic tendrils of his subconsciously derived nightmare recede. He sat up on his side of the bed and ran his palm down his face, the body-warm sheets pooling at the bend of his waist, the cool night air of the bedroom causing his skin to break out in gooseflesh. He peeked at the alarm clock on his bedside table. 5:43AM displayed in bright red light, the time taunting him. Too early to do much, too late to get much more sleep. Javi groaned to himself and decided to greet the day earlier than he anticipated. He leaned over to his side, dropping a soft kiss to the shoulder of his bed partner before lifting the sheets from his body and gently scooting out of bed to avoid waking her. 

Javi quietly moved around the room in darkness, grabbing a ratty old t-shirt and some athletic shorts out of a dresser drawer before moving to another to grab a pair of socks and clean underwear. He gently opened the door to the bedroom and padded down the hallway to the kitchen. He grabbed the pad of sticky notes and a pen from the junk drawer and left a note. Couldn’t sleep, went to the gym. Be back in a bit, amorcito. Te amo - Javi. He peeled the note from the pad and stuck it to the coffee maker, knowing that was the first place she always stopped in the mornings, sure to be seen, before grabbing his keys and wallet from the bowl on the countertop and heading to his car. 

“That’s it, mi amor, there you go. Just like that, cariño. Take it, take it, take it.” 

You writhed from your place below him, face buried in the sheets of your shared bed muffling your unabashed sounds of pleasure, hands gripping desperately at anything they could find. Javi’s hips smacked loudly against the flesh of your ass, his cock hitting you exactly how you needed as he pounded into you from behind. You felt your orgasm building, the coil of muscle in your lower belly tightening, cunt tightening and fluttering around him. 

“Can feel you, hermosa, she’s so tight, baby. You gonna come for me, hmm? C’mon, baby, come on it, need to feel you squeeze it like I know you can.”

You were right there, just a few more thrusts and you’d be tumbling over the edge. You tip your head to the side, wanting him to really hear it when you come for him. You let yourself be noisy, needy whines leaving your lips unbidden, tears springing to the corners of your eyes, the feeling of his thick cock so wholly overwhelming inside of you. You start to cry out in earnest as you feel your orgasm cresting, tears falling down your cheeks, pussy a tight, tight vice, gripping him so strongly you fear you may be torturing him just as much as he is you.  

“Javier! Javier! Don’t stop, don’t stop, please, please, please, ple–”

You wake with a start. Daylight is only just breaking over the horizon, the cool orange and blue glow of the morning shining through your bedroom window. Your brain begins to register where you are, when you are. You groan and reach over, feeling Javi’s side of the bed empty and cool to the touch. You remember your dream and sigh, wishing he was here to finish taking care of you. You look at your nightstand and see the time—just after 6:30AM. You sigh and wonder where he is this early. 

“Jav?” you call out. All that meets you is silence. You sigh and flop onto your back. You can try to get yourself off, but it’s never as good as when he’s there with you. You can be a proverbial teenage boy and take a cold shower to try to kill your arousal. You can try to push it from your mind and go make a pot of coffee and just start your day earlier than you’d planned. “Fuck it,” you say to yourself. You roll over to your nightstand and fish your trusty little vibrator from the drawer, turning to lie back and you shuck your wet panties. 

You scoot yourself back, propping yourself up a little, making the angle easier to reach as you turn on your toy and bring it down to your mound, teasing yourself a little, trying to ease your mind back into the place your dream had left off. You part your legs, spreading your folds ever so slightly, and you follow with your hand, touch featherlight, barely gliding the vibrator around the outside of your clit. You whimper and let your imagination wander. 

“There you are, cariño. Oh, she’s so wet, look at her drip. You’re getting our sheets so messy. That feel nice, baby?” you hear in his voice. You whine and nod to yourself, answering him. “Drag it lower, hermosa, hear how soaked you are?” You obey him, dragging the toy to your entrance, the vibrations meeting the sloppy mess there and causing an obscene splattering, crackling noise to reverberate through the room. You moan out loud at the sound, at how worked up you are. “Delicious, wish I was there to have a taste. Always so sweet when you wake up. Have one for me, baby, get it nice and wet and have a taste,” he instructs in your mind and you comply, dipping the toy inside and giving yourself a few shallow thrusts before pulling it out, viscous line of your slick still attached, snapping over your stomach and leaving drips of you behind as you bring the toy to your mouth and suck, cleaning it of the remaining stickiness and humming at the sweet sour taste of yourself. 

You bring your vibrator back down, placing it back down just next to your clit, not wanting to end things too soon. You let Javier’s voice filter back into your head. “Beautiful, baby. Look at you. Goddess in my bed, making herself feel so nice. Go, baby, put it on your clit like you want. Dámelo.” You use your other hand to pull the little hood back, fully exposing the button of your clit to the air for the first time this morning. The feeling sends zings of pleasure down your spine and you shiver, pussy clenching tight with desire. You move the toy to press directly on your button and you see stars behind your eyes, mouth dropping open, a whiny moan escaping your throat. 

“Mierda, cariño. Tan hermosa. Come on, baby, rub her nice and fast for me, want to see my girl come,” you hear him say. You click the button to increase the intensity of the vibrations from the toy and start massaging it in tight, firm circles on your clit, the pleasure almost unbearable. You release the little hood from your hold and use your free hand to push up your sleep shirt, pinching at your nipples. The added stimulation was exactly what you needed and you feel your orgasm crash into you like a tidal wave. You cry out in ecstasy, thighs closing of their own accord as your pussy convulses, waves and waves of creamy slick sliding out of you and down to the sheets below. When the vibrations become overstimulating, you press a long click to turn the toy off and toss it to the side. You lie there for a moment, catching your breath and coming back to reality after so thoroughly rocking your own world. You let out a little giggle, happy hormones flooding your system after such a good orgasm. You snuggle into the pillows for a moment, grabbing Javi’s from his side and inhaling the scent of him that lingers there. The smell of him makes you melancholic for a moment, wishing he had actually been here to experience your morning pleasure with you. You give his pillow a squeeze before putting it back on his side of the bed, throwing your legs over your side and forcing yourself to get up. 

You head to your ensuite bathroom first. You strip off your sleep shirt and give your naked body a once over in the mirror, turning to the side and admiring the curvature you find there, a thing you despised for years, but have learned to love through the adoring gaze of your partner. You quickly clean yourself up and brush your teeth before walking to your dresser and grabbing a fresh t-shirt and pair of lounge shorts, throwing them on your body. 

Once dressed, you make your way to the kitchen. Daylight has broken over the horizon, bright sun warming the space. You yawn and stretch your arms up high over your head. When you open your eyes, you spot a hot pink square attached to the coffee machine. Curious, you walk over to see what it is and make a pot to share with Javi, wherever he is. You grab the bag of grounds, box of filters, and the measuring spoon from the cabinet above, setting them on the counter, and pull the sticky note away, giving it a read. You release some tension you didn't realize you were holding onto now that you know where Javier is, but you frown knowing he was struggling with sleep, hoping it was just a one-off bout of insomnia and not a symptom of a greater issue. 

You dump the requisite amount of coffee grounds into a filter, placing them into the brewing compartment of the machine, filling the water compartment and setting the machine to brew. You grab your favorite mugs—yours a, “World’s Best Grandpa,” joke gift from your little brother, his a vintage speckled cup you found while thrifting that he says reminds him of the mug his dad always used when he was a kid—and set them on the counter next to the brewing pot. You rest your hip against the countertop as the coffee percolates and think about Javier’s note, remembering the last time he dealt with insomnia. 

It was early into your relationship. Javier had been home from Colombia for barely a year, still adjusting to the new speed of his life stateside, working the ranch with his papá. He had taken you on a date to the drive-in movie theater and fallen asleep within the first half hour. You’d noticed he had looked tired recently, but weren’t sure if it was your place to pry yet, so you let it be, figuring if it was important, he would tell you. You let him snooze for a few minutes before you gently shook him awake. 

“Javier? Javi? Hey,” you softly uttered, rousing him. 

“Hmm?” he sleepily replied, smacking his lips and tongue. 

“You fell asleep. Is everything ok? Should we reschedule?” You ask, trying to convey nothing but genuine concern with your kind eyes and touch. 

“I…what?” Javier starts, confused. “I fell asleep?” He’s visibly embarrassed, cheeks reddening and eyes widening. You can feel his heart rate pick up from where your hand rests on his chest. 

“You did. It’s ok, I’m not upset,” you console him. “Just want to make sure you’re ok. Is everything alright? I know this,” you gesture between you, “is still pretty new, but, Javi, I want to know things about you. If something is wrong, I want to know, want you to tell me, want to help if I can. I really,” you trail off momentarily, “I care about you, Jav, a lot.”

Javier sighs and lets his head release, falling towards his chest. He takes a couple deep breaths before he meets your eyes. “I haven’t been sleeping. It’s been, fuck,” he swipes his big palm over his face, “a few weeks now? Can’t get more than a few hours at a time. I’ve been, umm,” he considers his next words. You wait patiently, soothingly rubbing your thumb over his chest. “I’ve been having these dreams. Or memories. I…they feel the same, I don’t know how to describe it. And I can’t, fuck, their faces, I can’t stop seeing their faces, cariño.” You feel something wet drip onto the back of your hand and look up, watching as two more tears fall from Javier’s eyes. 

“Oh, Javier, come here, baby,” you coo, wiping his tears with your thumbs before winding your arms around his neck, pulling him bodily to you and holding him tight, allowing him to cry into your shoulder. The movie was all but forgotten that night as you turned down the radio and listened to Javier tell you everything he experienced in Colombia. He told you later on how he was terrified he’d scared you off after that night, but when you asked to see him again the next night, he knew you were something special, someone he didn’t want to lose. You come back to the present, hoping this isn’t his PTSD rearing its ugly head again, but prepared to help him through it, whatever he needs, you’re a team. 

You decide to get a head start on breakfast, pulling the carton of eggs, the leftover stir fry veggies from your dinner a couple nights ago, and the cartons of strawberries and blueberries out from the fridge. You bend over to grab your trusty cast iron pan from the lower cabinet and place it on the stovetop, setting the temperature and turning on the oven. You reach for the radio that lives in the kitchen and set it to one of yours and Javier’s favorite stations, swaying to the beat of the music as you crack eight of the eggs into a bowl, using a whisk to whip them into a fluffy scramble before adding the leftover veggies. You season the mixture, dumping it into the pan, and placing it in the oven to bake, setting a timer to check it and fluff the mixture before it fully sets. You turn back to the countertop and grab a cutting board, preparing the strawberries when you hear the garage door open, signaling Javier’s return. 

Javier was frustrated. He’d slept like shit, had only a mediocre workout, hit just about every red light on the way home, and then realized he’d left his ear buds on the treadmill after he parked his car back at home. He wished he could start the day over. He took a deep breath and tried to re-center himself before making his way inside, not wanting to drag you into his bad mood. 

Javi expected to find you still in bed, the time just past 7:00AM on your day off, but he was pleasantly surprised to find you awake and puttering around the kitchen. He knows you heard him enter the house, but took a minute to admire you from behind while you worked, radio crooning one of your favorite songs, your hips swaying to and fro as you cut fruit for your breakfast. He knew he’d been staring too long already, surprised you hadn’t called him out on it yet, so he moved from his spot in the doorway over to you, gently removing the knife from your hand and winding his strong arms around your waist. 

“Morning, hermosa,” he said into your messy bed hair, taking a moment to hold you and reset his day. He felt your body relax in his hold, your hands resting over his own, tilting your head to the side and exposing your neck to him. Javier knew to never look a gift horse in the mouth, tilting his head down, nosing along the tendon there, leaving a soft kiss on your pulse point before continuing their descent lower, down your neck and across your shoulder. You sigh and he smiles. 

“You stink,” is the first thing you say to him this morning and it makes him laugh, the two of you long past pulling your punches around each other. 

“Went to the gym, did you get my note?” Javier checks. 

“Mmhmm, thank you for leaving it. Made me feel better, knowing where you were.”

“Mm good,” Javi replies, giving you a squeeze before releasing you to continue fixing your breakfast. “What’cha got going there, baby?” 

He watched you pick up the knife and deftly get back to work. “Have a frittata in the oven, slicing up some strawberries, figured we could throw them in with the blueberries since they’re getting old and need to be finished. Made us some coffee, too. Your mug is out on the counter if you want a cup,” you turn your head and nod in the direction of the mugs. He walks by and kisses you on the cheek before grabbing his mug and the full coffee pot, pouring himself a cup. 

“Want me to make you one?” he asks, watching as you shake your head in response. 

“That’s ok, thank you though. I’ll fix my own in just a minute, want to finish this first,” and as you finish your sentence the timer beeps. Javi leans his hip on the counter, watching as you bend over, giving him a prime view of your juicy behind. Far too invested to care if he gets staring, he notices your cheeks are bare, loose legs of the shorts doing little to conceal what lies beneath as they ride up just enough while you’re bent over the oven, fluffing the eggy mixture of the frittata. He changes the angle, leaning further to the side and tilts his head to get a better view, fully perving on you now, and he catches a peek of what he’d hoped he’d find. Your sweet, soft, wholly bare pussy greets his eyes. Tan hermosa, Javi thinks, loving the way he can see wetness lingering on your lips. He whistles low and soft, causing you to turn to face him, shutting the oven door and resetting the kitchen timer. 

“What?” you chuckle, crossing your arms over your chest, inadvertently drawing his eyes to your breasts beneath your shirt. 

“Just enjoying the view,” Javi replies, taking a slurp of his coffee, casting his eyes down to your now hidden pussy, before lifting them back to meet your gaze. He watches as your breath hitches ever so slightly in your chest, eyes growing wider. He knows you know you’ve been caught, thinks it’s sweet that you still find it a little scandalous being caught bare around him after how long you’ve been together, everything you’ve been through together. He glances at the timer, 10 minutes remain, he can work with that. 

He sets his mug down and moves forward, caging you between his broad chest and the countertop. He’ll never get over the way you look at him, how much want he finds in your eyes. He still can’t believe he gets to call you his, permanently, that you’d wanted to keep him forever just as much as he wanted to keep you. Javier brings a hand up to cup your face, brushing his thumb along your cheekbone and feels you nuzzle into his palm. “You’re a naughty little thing, aren’t you, cariño? ¿Dónde están tus bragas, hmm?”

He feels you smile against his palm. When you speak, you’re looking directly into his eyes. “Had to take them off, they were all wet.” He anticipated your dirty mouth, but didn’t expect you to say that. He shakes himself out of the stupor. 

“Oh?” he starts, softly dragging his hand along your jaw, briefly pinching your chin between his forefinger and thumb before they continue their journey down, down, down, over your neck, between your clothed breasts and lower, over your stomach, the muscles jumping at his touch. “Why’s that, baby? Something happen while I was gone?” he asks, touch feathering where he knows you're desperate for him before taking mercy and cupping his wide palm over your heated sex. 

“Might’ve,” you sigh, teasing him right back. He loves this about you, you always give just as good as you get, keeping him on his toes. 

“Yeah, cariño? What happened? Tell me, baby,” he requests, pushing the heel of his hand up, giving you more of the pressure you’re craving. He feels you tuck your face into his neck, grinding down into his touch, your arms winding around his neck to keep him close, as if he would ever pull away from this, from you. 

“I had a sexy dream,” you start. “I, mmm, I—you were railing me, Javier, so fucking good,” you take a second to rub into him, breath hot and damp against his neck. He’s going to get light headed with how fast the blood is rushing to his cock. “You had me face down, ass up. You were, ahhhh, so fucking deep, stretching me so good, had me screaming for you, and I, fuck, I woke up right before I came,” you finish, fully whining now, grinding with his hand in a slow, syrupy rhythm. 

“Ángel, mierda,” Javi says. “Need me, baby? Need me to touch that sweet, neglected little cunt?”

“Not that neglected,” he hears you mumble into his neck. 

Javi drops his voice to that deep timbre he knows works you up like nothing else. “That so? ‘M I gonna be spoiling her? Giving her this much attention? Sounds like you took care of her already, hmm?” 

He feels you shake your head and hum a “uh uh,” sound. You peel your face away from his neck and tilt your head back, leaning up to whisper in his ear. “Made her come once, but she needs you, too. Please, Javier, amor, te necesito.” And how can he ever deny you when you ask so nicely?

“Jump up,” he requests, grabbing you by the waist to help guide you as you hop up to sit on the counter. He reaches to the hem of your t-shirt, dragging it up your torso. “Lift,” he instructs, and you comply easily, raising your arms overhead as he finishes pulling the garment up and off you, tossing it to the side, using both hands to gently knead at your breasts. You smile and sigh at the feeling and he hums in approval, wanting nothing more than to please you. 

Javier grabs your hands, cock twitching in his shorts at the sheer size difference between you, and brings them to pick up where his own left off. “Touch, feel yourself, cariño, there you go,” he encourages, watching as you squeeze and pinch and flick at your own nipples, little quakes traveling through your body at the feeling. He slides his palms beneath your shorts, pushing them down, caressing his hands over the swell of your ass as he goes. You lift yourself up helpfully as he tugs the garment down and off your legs. You’re a vision from his place at your feet, gorgeous tits in your hands, your cheeks heated, breathing heavily, eyelids fighting to remain open. He watches you shiver and he gets an idea. 

He reaches behind his neck and tugs his own sweaty t-shirt away from his body. He flips it around and bunches it up in his hands. “Arms up, hermosa,” he commands. You release your breasts from your grip and look at him, eyes glazed over in pleasure. You give him a slightly confused look, but comply, once again raising your arms above your head. Javier carefully guides your arms through the holes before pulling the shirt down over your head. 

“Winnie the Poohing it in the kitchen on a Saturday morning. Casual,” you joke, giggling, and it lights his heart on fucking fire. So sexy, so smart, so silly, all rolled into one perfect package for him. He sends a thanks to the heavens, assuming his mamá pulled some strings up there to bring you to him, unable to explain it any other way. He chuckles with you, easing the tension slightly, cooling you both off a little before things get too hot too fast. 

“Always so fucking sexy in my clothes,” he remarks, unable to help himself. 

“Trying to get me in the shower with you, amor? Could’ve just asked,” you retort cheekily, gently tugging the sweaty t-shirt away from your body. 

Javier hums. “No, mi ángel, s’not that…know I’m about to be covered in you—my fingers, my mouth, my cock are going to reek of your sweet pussy, might never be able to get the smell out.” To drive his point home he reaches his hand down to where you’re absolutely weeping for him and drags two of his thick fingers through the wet mess he finds there, coating them thoroughly in your juices before bringing them up to his nose and taking a deep inhale, groaning at the scent of you, before stuffing them in his mouth, sucking and savoring the taste of you. “Wanted you to reek of me, too. Fair is fair.”

Your smaller hands dart out from where they had been holding his shirt, grabbing his face and hauling his mouth to yours. The kiss is feverish, desperate, teeth knocking, tongues aggressively searching each other’s mouth. Javier brings his fingers back to your cunt, gathering your wetness and coating them thoroughly before teasing one at your entrance. The feeling makes you gasp, pulling back from the kiss enough to nod, before he sinks his finger inside you. The tight warmth he finds within your body is incomparable. You both look down to where his finger slides in and out of you, watching the obscenity of it, the beauty of your creamy slick coating the single digit. He gives you a few pumps before adding a second finger. He can feel the stretch of your walls, working to accommodate him so graciously. 

“Good girl, baby. There you go, just relax and let yourself feel it. S’nice, so fucking wet, cariño, look how creamy you are today.” He hears you groan at that, your breathing picking up as he explores you from within, curling his fingers to rub against the soft spongy spot he knows makes you see stars.

“Think I’m, shit, think I’m ovulating. Or close, or something. I’ve been so needy, can’t get enough of you. Need you in me, on me, around me all the time,” he hears you say and it almost knocks the wind out of him. You’re not done yet though and you continue, “Honestly, I’m not even mad about the shirt, think the fucking stink of you is making me drip. Pheromones or some shit. Had to shove my face in your pillow this morning after I came,” you finish. 

Javi uses his free hand to push his shorts down, finally freeing his hard cock to the warm air of the kitchen. He’s leaking, tip shiny with pearlescent wetness. He uses his free hand to swipe it from his head onto his fingertips, and brings them up to your mouth. “Open for me, hermosa. Taste me, take me inside you like this first, baby.” You’re looking at him like he hung the moon just for you, and maybe he did. He would. He’d do anything for you. You open your mouth for him, so soft and sweet and plush, and he feeds you his own slick at the same time that he removes his soaked fingers from you and brings them to his mouth, getting another taste of you, feeding each other in the most primal way. 

Javier grabs his thick cock in hand and gives himself a few strong pumps to take the edge off, loving having your eyes on him like this. He steps back towards you and grabs your right leg first, bending it at the knee, opening your hip wide, and placing the heel on the countertop, messy pussy on full display for him in this position. He swipes his cock through your wet folds, coating himself in your slick again and again. He rubs his head against your clit over and over and over, nerve endings alight, zipping pleasure through both of your centers. 

“Javi, baby, fuck, please, please, I need you inside me, please put it inside me,” you beg. And who is he to deny you when you ask like that, his earth angel. He notches his cock at your entrance and starts pressing forward, the wide head of him popping through the tight opening of your sex, both of you moaning aloud at the feeling. He’s overcome with the feeling of being inside you like this. You’re so wet and tight and hot—the temperature of you something he can never replicate on his own. 

He presses forward firmly, but gently, knowing he’ll always be a stretch for you to take. “Doing so good, hermosa, keep breathing for me. There you go, let me in, baby,” he praises, having learned his words do wonders to help you focus on the moment and keep your muscles relaxed. He uses his thumb to rub soft circles into your clit, watches as you shiver at his touch, feels you soften further, sweet pussy dripping more slick around him to help him slide forward. Before he presses all the way inside, Javier draws his hips back, cock sluicing out, and presses back in. He repeats his slow, shallow thrusts a few more times, obsessed with how your cunt is coating him in thick creamy wetness, the squishing sound it makes with every movement intoxicating. 

He looks at your face as he presses in deeper, extending each of his next thrusts until he’s fully sheathed. Your eyes are closed, mouth agape, lips bitten and kiss swollen, your eyebrows raised in pleasure. You’re breathing heavily, chest rising and falling visibly as you let out the most beautiful noises he’s ever heard. You’re unreal, a goddess divine, and he will gladly worship at your altar until the day he dies. 

“Baby, ángel, mi amorcito, eres toda mi vida, me tienes para siempre,” he lets the words fall from his lips prayerfully, immediately making good on his promise. 

“Javier, javier, fuck me, amor, fuck me harder,” you gasp out to him and who is he to defy the will of the divine? 

“Hold onto me, amorcito, gonna give you what you need.” Javi feels your hands slide around his sides under his arms as he continues to thrust in hard and slow, wrapping your arms around his back and holding onto his shoulders before wrapping your legs around his hips, locking your ankles in the dip of his lower back. “There you go, baby, so perfect for me. Stop me if it’s too much, ok?” He lifts your chin with his finger, meeting your eyes to make sure you’re both on the same page. You look wrecked and he’s sure he’s no better off. He leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss far less debauched than the last. 

You break away and rest your forehead against his, the gesture releasing a thousand butterflies within him. “Ok, I will, I promise,” you reply sweetly, and Javier lets himself go. He immediately pulls almost completely out of your wet clutch before throwing his hips forward, hard. It punches the air out of your lungs on a scream, so he does it again, and again, speeding up with each thrust until you’re nothing more than an animated moan. Your fingers are clutching at his shoulders, half moon divots of your nails leaving him branded with your pleasure. 

Javi knows you’re doing well, that you feel good, but he hasn’t made you make that sound yet, the one he knows so well, the one that makes your eyes roll back and body go limp. He changes the angle, bending his knees and tucking his hips under to get leverage towards the front wall of your soaking cunt. 

“JAVI, there, there, there, oh fuck, please, baby, don’t stop, please,” you cry out, your pussy squeezing him so hard he fears he may come right then. You start to whimper, breath hitching over and over and he knows what comes next. You can’t help yourself when it gets like this, he knows, so it doesn’t scare him anymore when he sees you start crying, tears streaming down your cheeks. He knows it’s a way for your body to release, ease the tension that’s been building within you. He moves the hand bracing himself against the cabinets to your cheek, wiping away the tears as they flow, giving you the comfort he knows you need when this happens. 

“So beautiful, amorcito, so sweet for me, soft little pussy doing such a good job, baby. She’s holding me so tight, so nicely,” he babbles, listening to the way your pussy absolutely squelches for him. He wonders if you’re right, if you’re ovulating right now. The thought sends a shiver down his spine. The most primal part of his brain ignites, making it hard for him to think about anything other than pumping you full of his spend, his seed, letting it take. You’ve talked about it, you’re both open to the possibility and decided to let nature run its course. If it happens, neither of you will be upset about it, and now, he wants it to happen, wants to be the cause, strut around with his chest puffed out, showing the world that you’re his, his goddess incarnate creating life through nothing but your love and pleasure. 

He’s brought back to the present when he feels you rocket through your orgasm. Cunt squeezing him so tightly he thinks you might push him out. He hears you scream his name as he continues to drive hard into your favorite spot, fluttering walls of your pussy massaging him from the inside. “Javi, javi, oh shit, fuck, I’m–Javi, I’m gonna—” he hears you get out before he feels a splash against his lower belly and he looks down just in time to see you squirt all over him and the kitchen floor. 

“Cariño, mierda, gorgeous, so fucking amazing, look at you coming for me. You’re unreal, mi diosa, mi cielito,” Javier praises as he slows his thrusts, knowing you need it softer after such an intense experience. He strokes his hand over your hair soothingly, petting you gently before bringing his hand to your cheek, tipping your head to look at him and he smiles when he meets your eyes. “There you are, baby. Did so good. You ok if I keep going? I’m close, promise, I’ll be careful with you.”

You smile back at him and his heart clenches in his chest. Your smaller hand comes up to cup his cheek, mirroring him, stroking your thumb along his cheekbone as he did for you. “Go, baby. Want you to come for me. Want you to come inside me,” you encourage him. Not for the first time this morning, Javier feels time stand still. 

“But you said,” he starts. 

“I know, I know what I said. Do it. Come inside me, Javi. Dump it deep, make it stick.”

Your words rattle around in his brain on loop, it’s all he can think about as he picks up the pace again. He tucks his arms underneath your knees, lifting them up and pressing them back towards your shoulders, opening your sweet center to him fully. He looks down, watching his big cock disappear and reappear over and over again, shiny wet and covered in your come, the thatch of hair at his base coated in your thick white creaminess. He’s going to do what you asked. He’s going to come so deep inside you that it can’t help but take. He’ll give you whatever you want, would give you his own life if you asked. 

You must feel him tensing, knowing he’s close, because he feels you sweetly push his sweaty hair back and lean forward, leaving a soft kiss to his damp forehead before giving the wet beads there a little kitten lick, giggling cutely as you taste the saltiness and curling your tongue back into your mouth. Content little menace, teasing like you didn’t just get fucked within an inch of your life, he thinks. It works for him though, spurs him on as he thinks about more of you, little yous, in the world. He groans and feels his balls pulling up, knows he’s right there. 

“Come, Javi, please. Want it, fill me, baby. Come on,” you chant, moving your arms down to grip his ass, pulling him into you. He moans loudly, giving you one, two, three more strong pumps before he releases. He convulses with the force of it, spurt after spurt of thick come coating you from the inside. You hold him tight, stroking your hands gently up and down his back soothingly. He feels cherished here in your arms and he can’t imagine being anywhere else right now. 

BRRRRRRRRRING, BRRRRRRRRRING, BRRRRRRRRING, BRRRRRRRRING

You laugh and Javier feels it from inside you. “Eggs are finished cooking,” you say nonchalantly. 

“Yeah, hopefully,” Javi says under his breath. He grunts softly as he pulls himself from the warmth of your body. He notices you move to get down and get the eggs and he stops you immediately. “No, you stay right there. And keep your hips up, need all the help we can get,” he says as he nods towards the devastating mess of your pussy. 

His words send a shiver through you and you whimper quietly, staying in your position as he requested, reaching a hand down to cup your mound and hold in as much of his come as you can. The sight makes him feel feral and he growls. He leans over and kisses your forehead, lingering for a moment before he pulls away to get the breakfast you so kindly prepared for the two of you out of the oven. 

“Mmm, smells delicious, cariño. Thank you for cooking for us,” Javier praises. 

“It was nothing, really. Easy recipe. It’ll be a good one to use with kids actually, can use it to trick ‘em into eating their veggies, too. Just load it up with cheese,” you chuckle in reply. Javier looks at you with stars in his eyes, the way you’re already making considerations for an expanding family. He can’t help the way he pulls you in, kissing you with everything he’s feeling, how thankful he is for your presence in his life, how deeply in love he is with you, how excited he is for your future together. You give it to him right back and he knows. 

“Thank you,” he reiterates, leaning his forehead against your own. 

“Of course, Javier. Can’t imagine doing it for anyone else, with anyone else. Now can you please run to the bedroom and grab me a pair of panties from the drawer? I’d like to be able to use this hand at some point today,” you laugh and he laughs in return. 

“I’ve got you, hermosa. Un momento.” Javier scampers to your bedroom, grabbing your favorite pair of comfort panties before making his way back to the kitchen. He holds them up and you smile at him in a way that lets him know he made the right choice. He helps slide them up your legs and over your behind, using his fingers to flatten the waistband around your hips. “Here, let me grab your t-shirt,” Javi says, moving to grab your discarded clothes from the floor. 

“No, Jav, it’s ok. Want to wear this one,” you reply, nuzzling your face into the shoulder of his dirty, old t-shirt. He swears his cock gives a feeble twitch at the sight. 

“Ok, baby, that’s fine. You can keep that one,” he confirms and holds out a hand to help you hop off the counter. 

“Good,” you reply, hands dusting off your thighs, the shirt fitting you in your favorite way, as you’ve told him, just covering your panties. “It makes me feel sexy, I can’t really describe why, but I do. You’re just so fucking broad, baby, your shirts hang off me, it’s hot as fuck,” you’d told him once and he never forgot it. 

“We’ll have to get you some more, make sure you have plenty of options,” Javier started. “Need you to be comfy while you cook,” he finished, reaching a hand out to casually graze against your lower stomach. He looks up to find your jaw dropped open, eyes getting that faraway, glazed over look, and he knows what’s coming next. “Baby, your breakfast,” he reasons. 

“Fuck breakfast, we have a microwave. Can you go again?” you ask, reaching out to palm at his semi-soft cock. 

The feeling of your hand against his sensitive skin makes him shiver. “For you, cariño? Always.”

Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment or reblog to support fandom authors!

[ljandersen]

Pairing: FemShep/Kaidan Alenko

Available: AO3

Summary: It’s a hard time of year for Shepard. This year especially. Since losing her family on Mindoir, she’s come to dread Christmas.Kaidan can’t take it away, but damned if he won’t try. This year he has an idea.

Excerpt: 

Kaidan opened the glass slider to the balcony. Winter air hit him in the face. Light snow -- barely snow at all, more like flecks of crystal -- shimmered in the hazy moonlight, suspended over the city lights and the gray ocean in the distance.

“What are you doing out here?” He stepped out in bare feet. The icy cement sent a cold shock up his body, and he reached back inside for a blanket.

“Just . . . sitting.”  Shepard sat on a bench with her back to the wall. A hand resting on her stomach, she gazed out at the hazy, dark skyline.

“It’s freezing out here.” He came over with arms full of chenille.

“If you’re not wearing a shirt, it’s going to be cold anywhere.” She glanced up at him.  

Her loose white T-shirt and baggy sweatpants were hardly a step up in winter wear.  She was having a hard time fitting the clothes she already owned, too stubborn to commit to maternity wear yet.

He dropped down onto the bench beside her and wrapped her in the blanket. “When you see your breath, it’s cold by anyone’s definition.”

“Especially to a guy without a shirt.” She shrugged the blanket up higher over her opposite shoulder and held it out to him with her other arm, like a chenille batwing. “Share some body heat?”

[fantasywriter19]

3, 23, 33 💛💛💛

Thank you for the asks ♥ I actually love that they're all in threes - a good lucky number honestly.

3. How would you describe your writing style?

Hmm... I guess I'd say it's ever-shifting depending on each character's point of view.

I can get it straight to the point at certain areas, and during others there's some flowery description... and that's also purely dependent on how that character views their surroundings.

23. Dialogue or description? Why is the other one so hard?

I have always been better with dialogue. Heaven knows why when I'm terrible at it in real life 🤔.

Description has generally been one of those things that I skim over even when I read, because my imagination insists on going in its own direction. Though I've gotten better at it through reading books where the writers aren't so overbearing with their descriptions, and I try to incorporate that into my own work.

33. Give your writing a compliment.

My writing has improved to where it doesn't embarrass me later, so that's something 🤣. But it is also unique as I've heard from a lot of people - possibly as part of my own strange inner voice ah ha - and that's definitely something I'm proud of 💛

[psychmerchant]

[plumadesatada]

just remembered a fic on AO3 (or more likely LJ because it had that distinct late 00's experimental vibe) that appeared double-spaced oddly, in that some paragraphs would be spaced normally and others would have double or even triple spaces in between. it was about one half of the otp getting over the other's death (or coma, can't remember which), so all the comments were about how poignant the use of visual spacing was as a means to convey all the emotional holes in the character's life.

and then the author replied like... *giggle* guys it's NOT double spaced. try selecting the whole text

and we were all like "no WAY"

but we selected the text, and yes!!!

the "holes" in the story? they were actually lines and actions from the dead/coma character's ghost, rendered invisible to the eye by the simple trick of coloring the text the exact same as the background, revealed by nothing more than a click and a drag of the mouse

a story about the profound loneliness of losing your the partner of your life and having to make do without them, without anything to fill the holes they'd left behind, suddenly became a story about the profound helplessness of seeing someone you love suffer from your absence while you are right there, unable to do anything about it, unable to communicate that you love them enough to suffer unseen and unheard with them, just to keep them company they'll never know about

it was then that I truly realized how *superior* the digital medium is to plain printed paper, how the medium and the format can add to a story.

I think about that fic about once a year. I wish I could find it again

EDIT: FOUND IT!!!! UPDATE HERE

[otrtbs]

southern lily evans with josephine as a middle name and her mom calls out "lily jo!" from the back porch when it's time for her to come home for supper send tweet

[azeutreciathewicked]

Heads up! Wattpad Purge is happening now - check the megathread on reddit for information.

From the post, a quick summary:

What's Happening?

The past week or so, there have been reports of user's stories getting shadow-banned (delisted from rankings) and sometimes even removed. This is due to Wattpad's recent deployment of an AI-powered tool used by their support team. (Source) The tool is designed to aid Wattpad in flagging guideline-breaking content with manual reviews of the stories flagged. When a story gets flagged, it is "shadow-banned" (i.e. removed from rankings and searches) until it's been reviewed by staff.

If your story has been removed, you can contact Wattpad Support to appeal the decision.

Also important: Wattpad's "age of consent" rule has been updated. Previously, it followed the Canadian federal law of sixteen (16) years or older. On April 15th, 2024, the guidelines will be updated to reflect the new age of consent requirements of 18+.

That means for content including sexual acts between characters, both characters must be eighteen (18) or older. More tame acts (i.e. kissing, holding hands) between underage (16+ years old) characters is still fine and sex can be alluded to, but may not be described. Please review the News and Updates channel for the full text.

Also, LGBTQ+ content may be getting disproportionately targeted. (surprise, surprise) I do not publish on Wattpad nor have any connection to the platform. But I support free speech and creative works. I am also someone who was there during the Livejournal Strikethrough of '07 and know what happens in these purges. Now there is AI, which is notoriously bad at accuracy, as well as new puritans across the political spectrum who don't distinguish between art and advocacy.

[zahmbie]

Hi! Love your writing! If it’s okay, can I request Jeff, Toby, and Jack (separate) in an argument with their s/o and their s/o asks if the creeps are gonna hurt them?

Jeff, (Eyeless) Jack, and Toby’s reactions to their s/o asking if they’d hurt them

Notes: the fight isn’t elaborated on but it is implied

(edit: just realized I read jack and assumed you meant eyeless jack, let me know if you meant LJ!)

Toby

It doesn’t matter how upset he was during the argument, no matter his emotional state he drops it immediately. His first focus is making sure you’re okay. He’s a fairly goofy and upbeat guy but he’s still a serial killer with fucked up hobbies, he knows he can be scary and the last thing he wants is for you to think he’d hurt you, he’s had nightmares about that!

He forgets whatever you guys were arguing about unless you bring it up again, his only concern after that is making sure you’re okay and you know he loves you.

Jeff

If Jeff is pissed enough he’d reply with something like “I fucking might if this keeps up.” Then he looks and sees you genuinely scared and realizes he might be the asshole here. He’s not quite ready to admit that though so he’ll mumble something that might’ve been an apology and head into his room for the rest of the day. He simmers in anger for a while before he finally calms down.

Jeff finally comes out of his room to find you the next morning. He’s not great at apologies, but he actually seems genuine. If you sit down to talk things out with him he’ll discuss it with you, but otherwise his default is to apologize and then pretend the fight didn’t happen after.

Jack

He’s not quite ready to drop the argument like the other guys are, but he very quickly tones it down. He’s a little hurt you’d think that but he doesn’t blame you, he’s generally pretty chill but he knows he’s a monster. He was also, admittedly, getting a little more heated then he normally would in an argument. 

He might need a few minutes to cool off and clear his head, but when he comes back he’ll sit down beside you to sort out whatever you guys were fighting about. He’ll also stress that he’d never even think of hurting you. Even in his more feral demon-y state if you even look scared it’s enough to bring his more rational brain back to him.

[ellzilla]

Two brothers on a lovely stroll :) Surely nothing bad will happen between them :D

[jessequinones]

Stop Using Slurs in Children Stories!

I bet that caught your attention. You might be thinking, what stories use the N-word, or the F-word, well...none that I found. However, there are two slur words that are often used in writing mainly in children's literature because I don’t think enough people know them to be slurs. Those words are cripple and savage.

Before I begin, I need to address a few things. First, I'll only use these words in full for educational purposes so nothing gets confusing. Secondly, I’m not hating on any of these authors. I genuinely think these people might not know cripple and savage are slurs. However, I still need examples of what I’m talking about to explain how common these words are used in writing as well as explaining why it’s a bad idea to use them, so I’m using these authors, not as targets but as examples based on the books I have.

Both of these words (cripple and savage) have a lot of history behind them, and while I strongly suggest, not using them, if for some reason, they have to be used, you need to hire a sensitivity reader who’s a part of the communities that has been affected by said words before you publish your story.

Cripple:

Before I begin, please understand I’ve consulted with a disabled person who’s well knowledgeable in this topic to help smooth out my points. I’m not apart of the physically disabled community. As I’ve been told there’s a big debate going on within the disabled community in regards to if mental disabled people are allowed to use the word cripple or not. This is beyond my understanding of the word, and the community so when I mention the word cripple, I’ll be referring it to the physical disabled community and not the mental one. Everything I’m about to say has already been said by the physically disabled community. I’m not adding anything new or talking over them. If you would like to know more about the language of disability, please read Cy-Cyborg’s article on the matter: https://writingwithcycyborg.blogspot.com/2024/02/LanguageOfDisability.html

Cripple is a world that’s defined one of three ways, to either describe someone who can’t function properly, to describe a situation that’s overwhelming, or to describe an object that isn’t working.

Example one: DragonFire: Sphere of Eternity (book 1)

“I mean, this morning, no offence, you were crippled.” (Describing a person.)

Example two: “The economy was crippled.” (Describing a situation)

Example three: DragonFire: Age of Legend (book 3) (describing an object)

The word cripple, even when it was used in a medical sense has always been a word to punch down and insult the physically disabled community. It was used to attack them and point out their disabilities. It became a common replacement for the word injured because it has a more of a punch. Instead of calling someone “severely injured” use cripple instead, it’s shorter and a lot punchier of a word. Over time it became part of normal vocabulary to use it while describing something as severe, despite it still being used as an insult at the same time. Let’s look at an example of how it’s being used to describe an injury in Robert Vane's A Dragons Chains: Book one of the Remembered War

“I moved my three non-crippled legs…” In this example, the dragon has an injured leg. Why did the author use the word cripple instead of injured? I think it’s because of shock value. Is it cheap shock value? Yes, but shock value for the reader is still shock value. Tell me, what’s the difference would be if the author replaced the word cripple with injured? “I moved my three non-injured legs...” Does using the word cripple add to the sense of urgency? Add to the sense of how injured that character's leg is? Or was it merely just a place for shock value?

But how often is this word used? Let’s take a quick look at the DragonFire series. There are currently four books in this series at the time of writing, and the word crippled is used twelve times throughout four books. Knowing it’s a slur...that’s a lot.

Some of the examples in which it was used are in things such as DragonFire: Fallen Star (book 2) where it reads:

Or

“...he yelled, his scythed tail coiling round, only for the far less crippled dragon to kick him off.” DragonFire: Order of Enishra (book 4)

It’s not just the DragonFire series which does this, other examples include, The Last Monster on Earth by LJ Davies

Which uses it four times in one book with examples such as “Lock these two in the truck with the cripple…”

Warriors: Forest of Secrets (book 3) has this line. “As Fireheart said goodbye to Yellowfang and went back to hunting, he felt a new surge of determination to bring Tigerclaw’s guilt into the open. For the sake of Redtail, murdered; for Ravenpaw, driven from the Clan; for Cinderpaw, crippled...”

And even Wings of Fire, one of my favourite book series uses it.

Here’s a question for you. Is it ok to use that word if the impact is meant to be insulting? In the Wings of Fire example, Queen Scarlet defeats Dune in combat, and is about to kidnap the main characters. Dune, still breathing can barley move upon which Scarlet killed him. Scarlet is one of those pure evil types of characters, this is something I could see her saying, but let’s take a step back and put your eyes in the eyes of a disabled child.

Here you are, a disabled child. You already know what the word cripple is, and it’s been used against you (don’t act like this doesn’t happen). You read Wings of Fire and you come across that sentence. What is the intent behind that sentence in the eyes of a disabled child? Are you supposed to be scared of Scarlet? Angry? Or are you upset, because even in a fantasy book with talking dragons, you can’t escape from real life or that word?

Some of you might say, “What if only the villains use that word?” While I can see Queen Scarlet calling Peril a stupid retarded motherfucker. It’s not something you want in a children's story, so why does cripple get a past?

I hope you’re getting the picture, it’s a very commonly used word, one which the disabled community has begged able-bodied people not to use. The word injured gets the same point across and it doesn’t have a history of it being a derogatory term. While replacing the word cripple with injured or severely injured isn’t a perfect fix, it’s at least getting rid of the other word which is a start at least.

Now before I continue with the other slur, I can hear some of you say you’re aware disabled people are using cripple to describe themselves. Why can’t able-bodied people use it? Here’s the thing. Not everyone in the disabled community is doing this, and it’s not a monolith. The word cripple has been used as an attack against the disabled community for decades. It targets them, puts them down, and it’s only used against them. You only use the term to refer to something as injured so there's no reason to use it on an able-bodied person. The community in which it was used against is taking that word and trying to empower it amongst themselves. You’re not gonna complain if someone who’s black uses the N-word, so why are you upset when disabled people use the word cripple to describe themselves but are saying you can’t? That word belongs to them and their community, not yours. Also, one more thing before I go, not everyone in the disabled community uses this word or wants to hear it. There have been plenty of disabled people who are fine using that word to describe themselves but won’t say it around others if other disabled people express they don’t want to hear it. So be mindful if you’re gonna use it and please hire a sensitivity reader.

Savage:

This word...I have a lot of history with it because it’s a word that’s used against my community, (indigenous) people. And yet, just like the word cripple, it’s used all the time and while it’s a very common occurrence where indigenous voices aren’t heard, we’ve been telling everyone to just drop this word. Unlike the word cripple, we aren’t trying to claim this word, we just want it gone.

The definition of this word is an easy one to understand. It’s to describe a person, object, or an action as barbaric, wild, aggressive, unintelligent, or barely even human.

Example one: “They’re savages, savages, barely even human” Disney, Pocahontas (1995). (Used against people)

Example two:DragonFire: Age of Legend (book 3) by LJ Davies

“I opened my muzzled to respond, but another savage roar drew our attention…” (Used as an action)

Example three:

(Used against a group of people)

Example four: “Savage weaponry” (Use to describe an object)

I’m gonna be using the series DragonFire a lot for my examples, because out of all the books I got, that series uses the word 19 times throughout books one, two, and three. It was used twelve times in book three and I guess someone told LJ Davies about this problem because it doesn’t appear in book four. But it DOES appear in the spin-off series “Tales of DragonFire: Rebellion” twice, and THIRTEEN TIMES in “The Last Monster on Earth”. Overall, that's THIRTY-FOUR TIMES in the course of five books, all meant for children.

LJ Davies isn’t my only example. Chester Young, used it nine times throughout books 1 and 2 of the Celestial Heir books Rowan Silver, used it once in Eyes of Silver: Dragons and Skylines (book 2) And Robert Vane, used it once in the Remembered War series in book 4

Let’s start by showing off some examples and the impact they have and please note, that this might be something you’re just not experienced with. So just like with the disabled child, try to imagine yourself as an indigenous child. You’re fully aware of the word savage, it’s been used against you, and your people. So when you read a text like “Trade with the savages...they wouldn’t understand the concept!”

It feels awfully familiar to lines you read in your history books about your people. Keep in mind, that you wanted to read a story about dragons so you could get away from real life.

(From the Last Monster on Earth by LJ Davies)

I know the United States called the Native Americans savage monsters while stealing their land, it was used as a way to justify their actions, make the natives appear barley even human or in most cases, not human at all, let’s not forget, for a good majority of the building of the United States, those founding fathers didn’t see anyone other than themselves as humans. Reading text, asking how people became savage monsters overnight should remind you how people labelled indigenous people in the past and still do today.

"To confirm the princess’s words, yes, there is an army out there whose numbers vastly exceed our own. Nevertheless, they are a crude mockery of the noble kind they once were, and they are now nothing but savages….There was a series of grunts and nods at that statement...” (DragonFire: Age of Legend, book 3)

I think, this text is a great example of what I’ve been trying to say. In this text, the character who is speaking and the grunts and nods are all dragons with human-like intelligence. They're a stand-in for us. The Elder (who spoke in said text) has been seen and viewed as one of the good guys. He calls his kind noble, and he’s working with a princess, (let’s not forget our history books on how the royal family treated indigenous people). He calls his attackers “nothing but savages”. In translation, their monsters, who are no longer noble or righteous. There’s an agreement with his statement, as if what he says is right and we should be agreeing with him.

In that sentence, understanding everyone is of human intelligence and is a stand-in for humans. We have an old white knight, calling the enemy savages while the royal family are the heroes who are trying to protect their land from those filthy, disgusting, savages. You can kind of see why I’m saying we really shouldn’t be using this word.

“Yellowfang will be allowed to stay here until she has recovered her strength. We are warriors, not savages…” Warriors: Into the Wild (book 1)

Savages...indigenous people, they aren’t warriors, they would’ve killed Yellowfang, and left her to rot in the wilds, Thunderclan is better than those monsters. Am I making my point clear enough when it comes to the history of this word, who it’s targeted against and how it comes across when reading in children's media?

You might’ve noticed I’ve mainly been using examples when it refers to a group of people, not necessarily showing off how commonly it’s used as either an action or an object because honestly...those are just kind of dumb. A savage roar? What does that mean?

Ah yes, because we really needed the use of the word “savagely” to get the point across that Misuk just destroyed a person's skull. The “turning his head into a bloody pulp” wasn’t enough on its own. Without the use of the word savagely how else could we get the aggression and power across? When savage is used as an action it’s mostly because said character loses control of their humanity. They become savage when they attack and the end result is a bloody mess because that’s the only way indigenous, I mean, monsters, I mean barbarians, I mean savage people know how to fight. You often see these kinds of moments when the good guy who’d never hurt a fly loses control and unleashes hell, they turn into something that’s not themselves, they turned into a savage and these moments are meant to be shown as shocking as the character forgets who they are for a couple of seconds.

Indigenous people were savages, with savage strength, and a savage kind of culture. They scalp people, beat them to a bloody pulp, and ate your children. Those monsters needed to be killed. Whenever you use the word savage, it circles back to a group of minorities who were just trying to survive. This word has been used so much, that I don’t think many people realise the history behind it, which is why I said I’m not hating anyone who uses it, but please try to get a sensitivity reader. Get disabled and indigenous sensitivity readers, even if there’s no indigenous or disabled representation in your books, the words you use, still affect us and it’s a good thing to be aware of the words of which you speak and write.

Please be aware of these words, especially if you’re writing stories meant for children because the more children see these words, the more normal they’ll think it is and the more often they’ll start repeating it. I think there’s a time and place for these words, but saying them as an excuse to make something more shocking, isn’t the time or place.

[creeps-and-pasta]

Laughing Jack spent 13 years locked away, never knowing if he was going to escape. As each day went by he was forced to become familiar with the concept of eternity, the idea that this might last forever. It was quite possible he would spend forever trapped inside that box.

I think Jack has never spoken about his past to anyone. Why would he? Who would he tell his story to? Jack looks back on his former self with disgust, with hatred for a creature innocent and naive and loving enough it would willingly let itself be trapped.

Jack wraps himself in the chains of his past and drags it with him everywhere he goes. He thinks it's a necessary precaution. He can't afford to forget or forgive what happened, because he's terrified of getting hurt again. Jack has to hate humans because what if love makes him naive again?

Jack doesn't tell anyone about Isaac. But there is not a day that goes by he doesn't think about the boy he was built to love.

Because if he stops thinking about Isaac, if he stops remembering Isaac, then no one else will. Jack is the only person left alive who knows of Isaac Grossman. And if no one is left to remember him, did he ever really exist? Does a man die when his last breath leaves his lungs or when his name is uttered for the last time?

He was with Isaac for 3 months, and the grief lasted 200 years. Jack is no longer in his box, but he's still trapped by his self-imposed suffering

Jack was built to love Isaac. He was built to love humanity. And he learned to hate it instead. Or maybe he learned that suffering is good, that pain is happiness. Isaac taught him that. Isaac was taught that, by his father and his mother.

Maybe when Jack killed Isaac, it was his last love letter to his dear friend.

Or maybe he just hated the fucking guy, I don't know. I don't think Jack knows sometimes, either.

[itsokbbygrl]

Just Stay.

- A GN!Reader x Jackson!Joel Miller story

For my wonderful, lovely, kind, hilarious friend, Jo (@morgaussy/@merci-killing), who wants nothing more than to worship that old man. I hope this is to your liking ♡

Tags: 18+ MDNI, explicit content, BODY WORSHIP, slight size difference (reader is described as shorter than Joel), reader is generally able bodied and has hair but is otherwise not described, oral sex (M receiving), heavy petting, lots and lots of kisses, body hair appreciation, domestic fluffy smut, two goobers deeply in love, kink discussion (daddy kink, and per jo's request, "A secret barely there splash of mommy kink"), grief mention, TLOU2 Jackson Era (post-Ellie run away era, pre-snowstorm)

WC: 4.6k

A/N: this is full of lazy writing technique and i am aware! there is POV switching whenever i say so, get in both their brains, die mad about it POV purists :)

Warm water, straight from the tap. Straight from the tap and into the basin where Joel Miller’s aching muscles are learning to relax, still, years after their first reconnaissance with a god’s honest bath. He can’t quite believe it. More than 20 years after the end of the world, where people starve and maim and kill and hunt to survive, there are still hot baths. He takes a deep breath and sighs in relief, letting himself sink lower beneath the surface, only the top of his broad chest and shoulders remaining above in the cool air of the home. He closes his eyes for a moment, soaking. 

The jiggling of the sticky front door knob calls his attention. An alertness solidified in a world consisting only of predators and prey. Kill or be killed. He knows, rationally, he’s safe here. His eyes clock his hunting knife laid safely on the vanity anyway. 

He listens to the familiar sound of your steps, the way you insist on toeing off your boots at the front door, the soft pattering of sock clad feet as they maneuver around the first floor, the creak of the loose floorboard near the kitchen island that he’s been meaning to fix. He can tell just from your movements that you’re hankering for a cup of tea—hearing the cabinet door close softly, always gentle, the ceramic clink of the base of your favorite mug coming into contact with the stone countertop, the metallic clang of the filled teapot as you set it atop the stove. He relaxes further knowing you’re home, safe. 

The water is just turning tepid when he hears the stairs creak, signaling your imminent arrival. He pushes himself back up to greet you, the cooler air causing his wet skin to break out in gooseflesh. He turns his head to find you standing quietly, hip propped against the vanity, warm mug cupped between your palms, eyes trained on him already, his favorite soft grin gracing your lips, plumping your cheeks. 

“Whatcha doin’ there, starlight?” he asks. 

“Just admiring the art,” you respond, raising your mug to your mouth and taking a slurping sip, careful not to burn the fragile skin of your lips and tongue. The response makes him chuckle and flush, blaming the pinkness brought to his chest and neck on the temperature of the water if pressed. 

His starlight. A beacon in the dark, guiding him home. He found you at a time when he thought he’d lost everything. Ellie had run off, and, terrified, he’d run after her. Once she’d been found, she’d confessed how she hated him for the choices he’d made for her, how she didn’t want to be part of his life anymore, and he’d agreed to her terms as long as it meant she’d be safe and home. He’d spent the entire ride back to Jackson fighting off the grief that threatened to overtake him. He wasn’t sure how he was going to cope this time, losing another daughter. At least this time he knew she was alive, could watch from a distance as she grew, could talk to the other townsfolk and get updates on her life, make sure she was ok. 

That was where you came in. You’d been serving at the local watering hole, The Tipsy Bison, when he’d come in for a drink. You’d poured his whiskey neat, just as he’d requested, and quietly left him to his thoughts as you tended to other patrons. He sat quietly, sipping his drink and listening to your conversation. His ears perked up when he heard you mention your students having a hard time with an assignment you’d given recently. He knew everyone in town shared responsibilities, should’ve figured you would have more to offer to Jackson than to only be a bartender. When you came over to check on him, see if he wanted another pour he assumes, he cleared his throat and asked about your other role as a teacher and your entire face lit up as you gushed about your kids. He tried to listen, but found himself lost in the feeling of being a kid again, the awe he felt the first time his dad had taken him and Tommy out to the wide open Texan countryside and shown them how bright the stars could shine. 

He tuned back in when he caught you talking about one student in particular you had connected with—his Ellie. How she was a natural writer, so creative, always scribbling in her journal. Mostly doodles, but over time you described how you’d earned her trust and she’d opened up a little more, shown you some of her poetry, how you’d encouraged her to keep writing. You talked about how she was quiet, shy, kept to herself most of the time, but she had a lot to say on paper. Joel tried to tamp down the proud tears that threatened to well at the news. She was ok. She was going to be ok. 

Joel kept going back and you were always there for him, greeting him by name with a soft smile, pouring his glass of whiskey before he’d even had a chance to take a seat on one of the old wooden barstools. You’d formed an easy friendship and before he knew it, he was inviting you over for dinner. You’d gone a little speechless and he worried he’d overstepped, but then you’d let out a breath you must have been holding and giggled, burying your face in your palms for a second before you found his eyes again and the way they shone for him was nothing short of celestial. You’d agreed, and the rest is history. 

“You wanna get in?” Joel asked, motioning to the tub. 

You shook your head. “Not today. Just want to keep you company if that’s alright.”

“Course that’s alright, sweetheart. Make yourself at home,” he said before going back to relaxing, closing his eyes.

You watched him ease back into contentment in the water before you moved, opening the cabinet below the sink and stealing a couple clean towels. You placed them on the floor next to the tub before kneeling atop them. You took a long drink from your mug of tea before placing it aside. You looked over the products on the tub ledge and grabbed the shampoo. Quietly, you leaned over, laying a soft kiss to Joel’s exposed shoulder before whispering in his ear, “Tip your head back for me.”

He did as instructed, sitting up from the wall, keeping his eyes closed and tipping his head back. You grabbed your mug of tea, draining it before quickly rinsing it in the water, filling it and carefully soaking his sweat damp curls, using your hand to ensure none of the water dripped forward onto his face. You then uncapped the shampoo and squirted a small amount into the palm of your hand. You lathered your hands together, causing the shampoo to begin sudsing, and brought your fingers to his scalp. He hummed in bliss as you began massaging the soap into his tresses, the day’s tension easing from you both as you cared and were cared for in return. 

After a few minutes of gentle ministration, you guided his head back with your fingertip under his chin before rinsing the suds from his locks. You then reached for your bottle of conditioner, something you typically reserved for special occasions, and squirted a dollop into your hand before softly carding it through his hair. You let it sit for a bit, rinsing your hands in the water and allowing yourself a moment to admire the man in front of you. He was remarkably beautiful—strong, broad, sun speckled chest giving way to a softer stomach coated in a fine layer of soft brown hair that drew your eyes southward to where his thick cock laid softly against the crease of his thigh, his legs strong enough to walk or ride for miles. Scars littered his skin and you mentally pressed a kiss to each one as your eyes worked their way back up to his face. His eyes met yours there and he leaned forward, capturing your mouth with his own. He held you in place with his palm in its favorite place, cupped around the side of your jaw, thumb finding its place in the divot next to your ear. He kissed you deeply for a few more moments, pouring all of his affection for you into it. You smiled, effectively breaking the embrace, and left him with a final peck to his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, before maneuvering him once again to rinse the conditioner from his hair. 

Once clean, you helped ease him from beneath the water, wrapping him in one of the towels, now body-warm from where you sat, using the other as a soft barrier between his wet feet and the cold tile floor. He lets you care for him without a word, chest warming as you dry his body and leave sweet kisses in the towel’s wake as you go. He laughs good naturedly when you try to comb his hair back and have trouble reaching, bending down to make the job easier. His heart swells when he sees you grab your precious jar of aloe from the countertop, swiping your fingers through the gooey substance and working it between your palms. 

“Can you sit on the toilet for me, please?” You ask. He plants a kiss on your head and complies, thankful for the warm towel you wrapped him with saving his damp skin from the cold porcelain. You stand between his spread thighs and begin your work, piecing together a clump of curls and twisting them around your finger, effectively applying the gelled aloe before giving the little ringlet a squeeze and moving onto the next piece. Joel sits calmly, loving the feeling of your fingers in his hair, the way you love him so simply. He wonders, as he often does, how he got so lucky to find such goodness in a world gone so rotten. 

You take your time, dipping back into the jar of aloe you harvested earlier that week as needed, ensuring each ringlet receives the care it so deserves. You love doing this for him. You love this man—this man with his reputation for violence, this man with a karmic debt that may never be fully repaid, this man whose hands were made to create, not destroy, who patiently sits with children as he teaches them to play the guitar, who misses his daughters more than anything in the world. Joel Miller, who protects the least of these with his gun and his knife and his bare hands. The same hands that delicately carve in his workshop, drafting some of the most intricate pieces of woodworking you’d ever seen. 

You finish the last curl at the base of his skull, just behind his ear. You give it a little tug and watch as it springs back into shape, smiling at the sight, before leaning down to leave a kiss there…and there and there as you move down the column of his strong neck. You feel his large palms grip your hips and you move your kisses northward, along his jaw, to his mouth where he meets you, urges your mouth open to lick inside and explore. You pursue a deeper physical knowledge of him in return, giving as good as you’re getting, tongue dancing behind his teeth, cataloging every crevice, every bump and ridge, deciphering the taste of him as if he were a fine wine—notes of apple and coffee and his 5pm pour of whiskey and something uniquely him. 

You feel his hands roaming, making their way to the front of your jeans, pushing the button through its hole and tugging down the zipper before stuffing his hand inside. He gives you a few firm strokes over your underwear, just to feel, to be so close, and you allow him to explore for a moment before you break your kiss to rest your forehead against his. 

You shake your head softly when he attempts to move his hand beneath your cotton barrier and he stills his hand. “Not tonight,” you say quietly, “you first,” and you step back before sinking to your heels in front of him, grabbing the towel from in front of the bathtub and placing it under you before kneeling forward and meeting his eyes. His pupils are blown wide, mouth shiny and flushed with arousal, his chest and neck blushed a beautiful pink. You think he’s never more beautiful than when he’s about to get his cock worshiped by your reverential mouth. 

You reach up and gently unfurl the towel from where it’s tucked at his waist, allowing the soft graze of your fingertips to lightly tickle the skin of his stomach, the muscles beneath contracting in their wake. You unwrap him like the gift he is, allowing the towel to open fully, exposing all of him to the room. You take in the sight of him, hard and drooling at the tip, thick thatch of curls nestled at the base, strong thighs parted to cradle you between them. You turn your head to the side and lay a kiss to the inside of his knee, up his thigh, right to the crease of his sensitive groin, before repeating the motion on the other side. You hear him groan and look up to find his head tipped back, already losing himself to his pleasure. You’ll never get over how easy he is for you, how much he clearly loves the way you love him. You repeat your favorite vow to whatever god is listening, to love him forever if they’ll be so gracious. 

You reach up to grip the heavy weight of him in your palm, curling your fingers around him as much as you can, and give him a few gentle strokes, the velvety soft skin warm in your hand. You feel his pulse combine with your own as you glide your thumb along the veiny underside. A fresh drop of precum oozes from the tip and you’d be remiss to let it go untasted, leaning forward to meet the spongy head with the wet warmth of your tongue and lapping at it, thankful for its musky, salty gift. You’re sure at some point you’ve stepped out of your body because everything goes quiet as you taste and taste and taste him, lathing your tongue over and over the weeping head while your hand continues to stroke, kissing the very tip of him gently before trailing your lips along the length of him, down to the base and tonguing back to the top, mirroring your actions on the other side, lifting him to give attention underneath, not wanting to leave even a millimeter of him unfound by your mouth. 

“God, baby, there you go, so good at this,” Joel’s praises bring your head back above water, but all you want to do is drown. And so you do. You flick your eyes up to meet his before opening your mouth wide and allowing the thick length of him inside, sliding him along your textured tongue, and closing your lips around him tightly. You hold him there for a moment, watching his face as you roll your tongue along the underside of his cock, sucking in a stuttered pattern, allowing the pillowy softness of your inner cheeks to hug him briefly, before pulling off and refilling your lungs. His eyes glisten just as yours do. He cups your face in his palm and you turn to kiss him there. He pushes his fingers into your hair and gently scritches at your scalp. You close your eyes and lean into the gesture before returning to prayer at your altar. 

You take him as deep as your jaw will allow over and over, not caring for how messy things are getting as you continue the push and pull, saliva pooling on your tongue and dripping along his length, down the corners of your mouth, off your swollen lips and onto the towel below. You can hear him moaning with abandon now, knowing he’s loving this as much as you do. You tenderly roll his sac between your fingers and he tugs at your hair, so you continue your ministrations as you suck. 

“Shit, baby, gonna make me cum,” he warns. You pull your mouth off him and continue to stroke him with your hand. 

“Cum in my mouth. Please, want to taste you, want to, want to,” you stutter, mind focused solely on him, making him cum, easing him into blissful release. You open wide and take him back inside, closing your eyes and losing yourself to the feeling. You grab his other hand with your own, holding tight to each other as he helps guide your head exactly where he needs you. You suck and suck and suck until he grants you the prize you’ve eagerly anticipated, and he does it so beautifully. The sounds he releases from his throat resonate against the tiled floors and walls of the room, reverberating into your bones. His lashes fan and grace the tops of his cheeks where his eyes are squeezed tightly shut. His pillowy lips part, the plushness marred by his own teeth marks, bitten in an effort to not give too much of himself away too soon. He tastes so deliciously of man—clean, soapy, salty, musky—as he releases onto your tongue, into the back of your throat, and you make every effort to gracefully swallow everything he gives. 

Once he’s finished, you softly suckle the last of your combined fluids from his length, ingesting them to become one together inside you. You leave a parting kiss to his length in thanks for all he’s given you before you allow Joel to haul you up to meet his mouth. He kisses you fiercely, tasting himself there. You know him almost as well as you know yourself, and you know he’s itching to return the favor, but you slow him, softening the kiss until the temperature returns to a simmer. He holds you there against his bareness, one arm keeping your head against his chest while the other strokes your back and you mirror him, fingers running gently all along his back. You feel more than hear when he speaks as it rumbles from his chest. 

“Thank you, darlin’. Love you, more’n I thought was possible,” he says. You sigh and kiss his chest, wrap your arms around him tighter. 

“Feeling’s mutual, my love. I promise,” you assure him, giving him a final squeeze before stepping back, keeping his hands in yours, not wanting to completely break contact with him just yet. “Come with me, we need to get you dressed.”

You lead him by the hand to your shared bedroom and sit him on the edge of the bed. You turn around and find the dresser where you keep a majority of your combined clothes—yours on the left, his on the right—and pull out a well worn tee and pair of grey sweatpants. You bring the clothes back over to him, setting the pants aside for the moment, and unfolding the t-shirt. 

“Arms up, baby,” you instruct. He complies amusedly, raising his arms above his head while you drape him in soft cotton, paying careful attention to the collar, ensuring it’s stretched wide to not disturb his drying curls. Once the shirt is tugged down to cover his soft belly, you move to his pants, scrunching up one leg and feeding his foot through before repeating the motions with the other side. “Stand, please,” you request. He stands, allowing you to tug the waistband up over the swell of his ass, carefully pulling the material over his front to not accidentally overstimulate his now soft cock. You eye him up and down, nodding in approval of your handiwork. “Beautiful,” you say under your breath, not intending for him to hear, just for yourself. 

Joel doesn’t remember the last time he felt this way—so deeply cared for. For as long as he can remember now, he’s been the provider, the protector. He hasn’t had a moment to slow down since before Sarah was born, 30 some odd years ago now. And it feels…nice. He feels small in some ways, but not diminished, never with you. No, he feels almost young again, experiencing this kind of selfless love that he’s only ever experienced before from a parent, and something clicks for him. He sees you near the hamper, changing out of your day clothes and into your own pajamas and he gets you, understands you on a deeper level than he had just hours before. He lets you finish your routine and make your way back over to him, anticipating you getting into bed, but instead he’s met with your hand reaching out for him. He takes it in his own, he’ll always take it when it’s so graciously offered. 

“C’mon, let’s have a snack, worked up an appetite,” you say jovially. He snickers, thinking to himself that he fed you pretty well not 10 minutes ago, but he’d follow you to the ends of the Earth if it meant you’d keep smiling at him like that. 

You lead him downstairs to the kitchen and sit him in his chair at the breakfast table he made just for you. While you putter around, preparing the two of you a small meal to share, he thinks about how beautiful you look in the morning light, the early sun catching on your hair and in your eyes. And you, you give the sun a run for its money with how you shine, bright and golden, warming everyone you come into contact with. You make it so easy for him to forget where you all are, when you are. Nothing is simpler than time spent with you. And now he knows you even better and he isn’t sure yet how he’ll quite thank you for that. 

In what feels like just a blink, Joel watches as you plate a simple late evening dinner of eggs and toast for the two of you, an old favorite of Sarah’s, nothing sillier to a child than having breakfast food while the moon sits high in the sky. You bring the plates to the table and sit across from him. He hooks his foot around your ankle as soon as you’re settled. 

“Thank you, sweetpea. You didn’t have to do all this,” Joel tells you as he accepts the proffered fork. 

“I know,” you respond, stabbing a bite of your scramble with your own cutlery, “but I wanted to,” you finish simply, popping the eggs into your mouth with a smile. Joel returns your smile and digs in. 

The two of you quickly polish off your plates, leaving nothing but the crumbs from the bread you’d baked a few days prior behind. Joel moves to clear the table and you allow him to, but join him at the sink, grabbing the dish towel from its place draped over the left half, falling into your regular routine—Joel washes, you dry. 

“You know,” he starts, “I think I understand you even better now, after today.”

You turn to look at him with an amusedly confused face. “In what way?”

“You know how sometimes you ask me to be your “daddy” in bed? I love you and I would do almost anything for you, so I’ve never had a problem with it, and I love how it seems to make you feel, but I didn’t fully understand it before,” he pauses, giving you time to respond if you felt you needed to, and turns to see you’ve paused with plate in hand. He fully turns his body to face you now. “I think I get it now. The way you took care of me tonight? It was…almost parental? But it wasn’t at all at the same time. I think,” he tries again, “I think the only other time in my life I’ve experienced that kind of selfless…devotion, I guess…was from a parent. And obviously you’re not my parent, but…fuck, I’m fucking this up, aren’t I?” he asks self-consciously, unable to meet your gaze. 

You bring your fingers to his chin, lifting his eyes to meet yours before you speak. “You’re not fucking anything up. You’re right, that’s why I like it, why sometimes I need it. It’s the way you take care of me. You make me feel so incredibly safe, Joel,” you answer him. 

Joel pulls you into his chest, gently rubbing your back. “It makes me so, so happy to hear that, my sweet starlight. Always want you to feel safe, loved, taken care of here.”

Your hands snake up the back of his shirt, needing to feel him closer, flesh on flesh. “The same goes for me, you know? If you ever need, or want…I want you to feel that way, too. I love taking care of you, too.”

Joel leans down and kisses the top of your head, closing his eyes and breathing in the scent of you, wanting to solidify this memory for as long as his mind will allow him to hold it. He considers leaving the dishes in the sink to be tomorrow’s problem, wanting nothing more than to return to bed with you, but he knows he’ll be frustrated when the egg has glued itself to the pan and he has to really scrub to remove it. He reluctantly releases you from his embrace and turns back to the sink, washing the remaining plate before handing it to you to dry, and doing the same with the utensils and the old, salvaged steel pan. 

Once you’re both satisfied with your work, you close down the kitchen in tandem, flicking off the lights and heading back to your room. You move to your respective sides of the bed—Joel going left, you going right—before climbing beneath the old, soft comforter. You’re both wiped from the day’s activities, opting to just turn the lights out rather than do your usual song and dance of reading for five minutes and falling asleep with the book splayed open on your chest, leaving Joel to gently dogear the page and set it on your bedside table before clicking off your lamp in fond exasperation. In the dark, you hear him shuffle, turning towards you. 

“Hey, darlin’?” he asks, getting your attention. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“Can you, umm, would you hold me tonight?”

“Of course I will. C’mere, my sweet boy,” you answer. Joel turns over again and shuffles back, allowing you to snake your arm over his torso and bury your face in his shoulders. He holds your arm in place and it feels…right, so nice and comforting and he gets it. 

“Thank you. For everything. Never known a love like this, but you make it so easy. Not sure how I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

“Just stay, Joel,” you answer simply, “stay with me. That’s all I want, all I need.”

And he thinks he can do that. And he sends up his own prayer, his favorite vow, to whatever god is listening, to let him stay with you forever, to let him love you until his dying day, that they owe you that much at least, your simple wish. He’ll do whatever he can to ensure it comes true. And as he drifts into unconsciousness, held safely in your arms, he thinks he never wants to be anywhere else. 

thank you for reading ♡ please reblog or leave a comment if you enjoyed!

[ljandersen]

Sideways Part 4

-------------------------------------

Chapter 30:

Revelation [End of Part 4]

Fandom: Mass Effect Trilogy, post-war

Pairing: FemShep/Kaidan Alenko

Rating: Mature

Available: AO3 (beginning, new chapter)

Summary:

Shepard, a paragon for galactic peace and devoted family woman, wakes up in another timeline. War-torn, brutal, and hurting toward destruction, it’s a timeline formed by renegade decisions.

To see her family again, she’ll need to do the impossible before time runs out. Powerful enemies and dangerous secrets stand in her way, but the alternative is worse than death.

“Talk about what?” Shepard said cautiously.  She hadn’t forgotten Dr. Quigley’s conversation about a second blow coming Kaidan’s way.  Had he finally told Kaidan?

“Talk about?” Kaidan shrugged.  “Nothing.  Everything.  I don’t care.” 

The elevator pulled to a stop.

“So, anything from favorite colors to the existential meaning of life?”

“From burritos versus enchiladas to the ubiquitous desire satisfied by cross-species religions.”

“Enchiladas,” Shepard decided, “over burritos.”

“Blue, my favorite color.”

“And religions satisfy the desire for meaning.”

“The meaning of life is to create our own meaning from the arbitrary.”

The elevator doors opened to pure darkness.  Shepard blinked at it. Even the bottom ring that was under construction wasn’t this dark, but perhaps this was a different section that hadn’t been accessible to her.

“Hmm, well . . .” Kaidan checked his Omni-Tool.  “We just exhausted our conversation topics in thirty seconds.  Guess, I should get you back to your room, eh?”

Shepard edged across the threshold of the elevator into a metal hallway.  “Dark, alone, unknown location.  Should I have told someone where I was going?”

“How could you?  It’s an unknown location.”  Kaidan stepped out beside her.

[fantasywriter19]

Because I can't ignore a tag from the illustrious @the-al-chemist , I do appreciate this. Here we go 😄

Four Ships:

Kate and Luc - French Kiss

Westley and Buttercup - The Princess Bride

James and Georgina - The Mallory-Anderson family romance series by Johanna Lindsey

Simon and Bram - Love, Simon

Last Song: Midnight Sky by Miley Cyrus

Currently Reading: The Complete Idiot's Guide to Alchemy: The Magic and Mystery of the Ancient Craft Revealed for Today by Dennis William Hauck

Tags: @missnight0wl @domaslut @hphmmatthewluther

[psychmerchant]

[regulusrules]

Slightly going insane from my BAMF Gwen characterization in the julius caesar au My breaths are run by your compass. Like. girl I would willingly lay my own kingdom down your feet if I had one

“I just don’t get you, Arthur,” Gwen replied offhandedly, cutting with her words too close to what Arthur didn’t want anyone to know. “You finally get a chance for a new beginning, for a way to have him fully after all these years of yearning, and you just leave him in Gwaine’s arms?”

fuck.