#none of you have ever written for television and it shows

[mo-mode]

IF 👏🏼 YOU 👏🏼 ARE 👏🏼 MAD 👏🏼 THAT 👏🏼 THE 👏🏼 SHOW 👏🏼 ISNT 👏🏼 A 👏🏼 PERFECT 👏🏼 CARBON 👏🏼 COPY 👏🏼 OF 👏🏼 THE 👏🏼 BOOKS 👏🏼 THEN 👏🏼 LISTEN 👏🏼 TO 👏🏼 THE 👏🏼 AUDIOBOOK 👏🏼 WITH 👏🏼 YOUR 👏🏼 EYES 👏🏼 CLOSED 👏🏼 AND 👏🏼 MAKE 👏🏼 ONE 👏🏼 YOURSELF

[a-dinosaur-a-day]

What's most amazing about people who hate that birds are dinosaurs is that, without the discovery of birds being dinosaurs in the 1960s, none of y'all would have ever actually cared about dinosaurs

the history:

dino craze in 1800s. people thought, birds are very similar to these guys. Dollo fucked it up, made a bad theory, and people stopped thinking that

Early 1900s, dinosaurs deemed sluggish, stupid, pointless evolutionary failures. most people not really into dinosaurs anymore. this continues until

1960s: Deinonychus discovered. suddenly, dinosaurs interesting again: vibrant, lively, warm blooded animals. Also... birds might be dinosaurs?

from the 60s through the 70s, a slow buildup of dinosaur culture - both in crappy stop motion movies, but also in children's books and other media

80s cladistics revolution shows birds are living dinosaurs, though not without flaws. documentary after documentary is made, causing the major dinosaur boom of the late 80s and early 90s

the peak of this boom are the A&E and PBS documentaries, which both outright state birds are dinosaurs

cartoons like land before time and other dinosaur content keep coming out too, especially at the end of the 80s and the earliest 90s

the book jurassic park, referencing the birds are dinosaurs thing, is written in the late 80s. in the early 90s, is adapted into one of the greatest blockbusters of all time. now dinosaur interest is MAINSTREAM.

jurassic park isn't the start of the dinosaur boom, it is the apex

90s becomes the decade of dinosaurs, with tons of new discoveries, television shows, documentaries, and other programming

1996 first feathered "nonavian" dinosaur discovered. birds are dinosaurs is the closest thing we have to proven phylogenetic fact

1999 walking with dinosaurs premieres, revolutionizing the dinosaur-documentary genre.

early 2000s becomes the age of Period-Type Dino-Docu-Dramas

velociraptor is determined to have feathers

suddenly, dinosaur mania starts to die in the later 2000s

even though discoveries keep happening and we learn so much in the 2010s, the 2010s becomes a very regressive time - a sort of reactionary response to the birdification of dinosaurs and the dinosaurification of birds. the height of this is jurassic world

we may be in the middle of a dino-docu-drama revitilization thanks to prehistoric planet. stay tuned on that one

like, everyone was fine with the birdification of dinosaurs up and until they looked "feminine" on the outside, because of feathers.

It's just all such transparent misogyny and homophobia and people who react against feathered dinosaurs or birds being dinosaurs are just... so transparently parroting conservative talking points

Anyways, yeah. without birds are dinosaurs, you wouldn't have jurassic park. Sooooo

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

yay i cant wait so excited i have been waiting for a while to read this fic. its loki or tony!

fem!plus size reader, wc: 580.

cw! insecure fic <3

a/n: i must admit that the plot got away from me on this one, the fluffiness practically poured out of my fingertips. it's been a while since i've written for loki, but it is always a pleasure doing so. thank you for your request!!

Being with Loki made you nervous, and not in the way that many people would think. 

He didn’t make you feel threatened nor was he mean, it was just that most of the time you’re around him you can’t help but sink into your head like quicksand. 

Why did he choose you when he had so many other options? Was he settling? What did other people think when they saw you guys together? Your stream of thought was almost laughable, because you knew that Loki didn’t care about what you looked like or anything trivial like that.

“What’s wrong, my love?” 

Your eyelashes fluttered, breaking your dissociative state. “Hm?” You hummed. 

“I asked you what’s wrong.” His tone was forever patient, his fingertips were featherlight against the skin of your arm. You were tucked into his side, the mood of your room domestic as a television show played pointlessly in the background. Loki was never really interested in human delicacies such as at home entertainment, he would much rather spend his free time with you.

“Oh… I’m just thinking.” Your voice was dismissive, almost like what you were saying didn’t really matter, which wasn’t true in the slightest because your boyfriend hung off of every word you said, committing it to memory.

He never forgot human holidays like christmas, birthdays or anniversaries, because those types of things mattered to you – and unfortunately he had to figure that out the hard way – but you bet your ass he never forgot it again.

“Please tell me what’s on your mind, dove.” Loki nuzzles his nose into your temple, placing a soft kiss on the side of your face. A shiver shoots itself up your spine, and the sensation makes you melt in his arms. Leave it up to him to basically pry whatever he wanted out of you.

“I don’t know. It’s stupid.” You shrug. “Nothing you say will ever be stupid.” You groan and curl into him deeper. “Fine. I just… I’m getting into that weird place in my head, you know? Like… it feels like no matter how many times you reassure me that I’m gorgeous and all this other super sweet stuff, none of it sticks. It’s like my brain can’t believe it.”

Loki sits there in silence for a moment, stewing on your words before speaking. He knew how sensitive this topic was for you, and though he was the God of Mischief, he would never make a mockery of your struggles.

“I understand you, darling. I know that through your years of being on earth, many humans haven’t been kind to you, and I out of everyone know what it feels like to be different, but –” He hooks a finger under your chin and coaxes you to look at him. 

Though your gaze is shy, you steele yourself despite the way that your cheeks heat under his touch.

“I can assure you that I have not chosen to be with you to make a mockery of you. I am with you because you are beautiful. Your soul sings to me, my dove. You are kind and your heart is unyielding. You are true to yourself and others. That is what makes you shine.”

You feel unshed tears burn behind your waterline and you scoff wetly, but you can’t fight the smile that inevitably breaks out on your face.

“Loki?”

“Yes, darling?”

“I love you.”

He laughs, and his chest rumbles with the joyous tune.

“I love you too.”

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @murdadixon @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus

[sixpennydame]

Make. Believe. ❖ Act 1

Actor!Levi x Fem!Reader

It’s your first sex scene as a leading actress, and it’s with none other than Levi Ackerman. But you both can stay professional….right?

Warnings / Content: NSFW, Minors do not interact, oral sex (fem receiving), vaginal sex

A/N: I've been working on this one shot since April and it's finally here! There will be a Part 2, written from Levi's pov, available now!

Act 2 | Act 3

“Oi, you ok? Ready to do this?”

Levi stands naked before you. It’s nothing new - you’ve seen his nude body several times already while shooting this film. But today is the day that you shoot the main sex scene with him - the first you’ve ever done as a professional actress.

And despite all the preparations you’ve done, you’re nervous as hell about it.

You take a deep breath. “Yeah…I’m ready.”

The Camera Assistant raises the slate, “Scene 24, Take 1…” *Clap*

“Action!”

When your agent told you about the role you knew you were perfect for it. An ingénue role: innocent, pure, but headstrong, and when you finished the audition, you knew you’d gotten it. 

The movie is set in the 1920’s and tells the story about a woman who had been married off to an older, powerful man who owns a large estate. She has an affair with the quiet, mysterious groundskeeper. It’s all about class, duty, and desire.

You knew the role would require several sex scenes, and quite risqué ones at that. But that didn’t bother you. You’d been nude on stage while in acting school and you took your craft seriously.

What made you nervous was that you would be doing the sex scenes with Levi Ackerman. 

You’d had a crush on him since your teenage years, when you saw him in the Attack on Titan series. You, and every other girl that saw him in that show. Ten years later, he was still one of the most sought-after actors in film and television. He excelled in dramatic roles and was a skilled physical actor, even doing most of his own stunts. In interviews, he was always cool and quiet, letting the other actors take the spotlight. He also kept his private life particularly private, and this gave him an air of mystery.

 You weren’t sure what to expect when you met him for the first time with the rest of the cast at the first script table reading.

“Mr. Ackerman, I’ll be playing the part of Anna. It’s an absolute honor to be working with you.”

His grey eyes give you a once over, then he shakes your hand. “Please, call me Levi. I hear this is your first leading role.”

Just shaking his hand, you’re already blushing. How will you react when you actually have to touch him romantically?

You shake those thoughts out of your mind right now. “Y-yes, it is. I’d appreciate any advice you can give me.”

“This director is pretty strict about sticking to the script. I’ve worked with him before. But with love scenes, he’s going to give us a lot of freedom to kind of just do what we want.”

Oh god. He’s already bringing up the sex scenes. And he calls them love scenes. You feel your face getting even hotter. 

He notices. “I’m guessing you’ve never done a love scene before.”

“I uh..” you were going to try to think of something witty to say, but it feels difficult to talk suddenly, “I haven’t, actually.”

He smiles. “It’s normal to feel nervous. The most important thing is for you to trust me, and for us to respect each other.”

The room is filling with more cast and crew as the table reading is about to start. Levi gestures for the both of you to have a seat. “Why don’t we start by getting to know each other after the table reading? When we’re not shooting we can get together and help each other with lines and maybe eat together during breaks. That way, I won’t feel like such a stranger.”

“That would be so nice. Yes, let’s do that,” you reply, feeling better and more comfortable with him already. He just seems so…normal. Not at all the broody, rude character he’s made out to be in the tabloids.

After that, you spent most of your free time with Levi. You’d hang out with each other in your trailers, working on memorizing lines or just talking. The director insisted on shooting most of the movie on location and not in a studio, so you were all left to basically live in a small town in the countryside. Levi would invite you out with other cast and crew friends. He was friendly - much friendlier than you’d imagined him to be - but you noticed that the larger the crowd got, the quieter he became. You much more enjoyed the time when it was just the two of you.

Leading up to your sex scenes, you and Levi were required to meet with an intimacy coach. She was pleased to hear that you and Levi were already getting to know each other, since trust is key. The three of you talked over the scene and the movements required. 

“There will be moments where you two will have to be naked with each other, but when you two actually recreate sexual activity, you can use intimacy barriers and skin colored thongs and underwear,” the coach suggests. “Levi, I know you’ve done sex scenes totally nude in the past.”

That’s right..the independent film he was in a few years ago. There was a lot of controversy about the very explicit sex scene in that movie. So they were completely nude during that scene? Why do you feel jealous?

“Whatever Reader is comfortable with. I’ll follow her lead,” he says, matter-of-factly. 

The coach looks at you. “And you’re comfortable being nude with Levi?”

You’re trying so hard not to blush and look professional, as if this conversation isn’t giving you butterflies in your stomach. You feel Levi’s grey eyes on you. “Yes, it’s not a problem.”

Later that afternoon, your words were put to the test. You were to shoot a scene where your character catches Levi washing outside his cottage. It’s a short scene but you’re nervous. When you arrive on set, Levi is already in a robe waiting. 

The scene is set, and Levi takes off his robe. His body is even better in real life. He’s toned, and he has a perfect six pack with a deep v shape on either side. A black trail of hair leads down to his..

No, you shouldn’t look, it’s unprofessional. But you want to so badly.

“Reader, go to your mark,” the Director’s Assistant says.

“Y-yes, of course.” You take your place by the wall that surrounds his character’s cottage. When the director yells action you walk along the wall until you get to the entrance, but before you enter his garden, you see him washing at a basin near the home. You’re supposed to look for just a moment, then turn back against the wall and blush at seeing him. 

But when you peek around the corner, you can’t help but let your eyes linger for just longer than you’re supposed to. He’s washing himself, the water flowing over his beautifully toned body. His hair is wet and he pushes it back.

“Cut!” the director commands. “Reader, you were staring too long. Remember, she’s shocked at what she sees and quickly turns away, but she’s also titillated.”

You blush and look over to Levi, who you hope is far enough away that he can’t hear what the director is saying. “Got it. Sorry about that.” You take your mark and do it again.

The next day, you had to shoot some other scenes and didn’t see Levi all day. Although the day’s shoot went without a hitch, you couldn’t help but think about that perfect body of his and how you would soon be touching and kissing it. 

You arrived at your trailer earlier than usual the next day. There were a few cast and crew members ambling about, but it was otherwise quiet. You knock on the door of Levi’s trailer.

“Come in,” he answers. When you enter, Levi is casually sitting, drinking his tea and reading through today’s scenes. “I thought we could discuss how we wanted to block today’s physical scenes. It’s no nudity, but since it’s their first time,I think there are some particular movements they want us to include.” 

It’s strange, talking to Levi about, “me grabbing your breast,” or, “when I enter you for the first time,” as if these are the most normal conversations to have in the world. But even hearing him say these words in his deadpan way of speaking is making the blood rush to your cheeks. After a lengthy discussion, you scribble some notes in your script for later, then make your way to your trailer to get into costume.

The scene is set in a hunting cabin far from the main estate. As your character has just left a dinner party, you’re wearing a beautiful wine colored gown that everyone remarks on. Everyone except Levi. He sits in his chair and seems to be in some kind of ultra-focused state. You’d never noticed before, but maybe that’s how he gets into character.

Or maybe he’s nervous too.

Your heart is pounding when the director says action. “Please don’t go,” you say, as you grab Levi’s arm. 

You’d blocked out the scene with Levi this morning, but you suddenly have an urge to deviate slightly from the plan, not because you want to, but because you now feel like that’s what your character would do at this moment. 

You hold his hand and begin to kiss his palm and wrist, then you place it on your cheek. It’s so innocent, but full of yearning.  Levi’s body goes tense, but then he unexpectedly moves his thumb to your lips and you open your mouth. You begin to suck on his thumb, then his pointer finger, looking at him seductively when he finally pulls it out. He lets out a sigh and then he’s kissing you passionately; you pull down his suspenders while he lifts up the gossamer layers of your dress. Your mouths crash together as he undoes his pants. He tastes like spearmint, and you wonder if he did that on purpose. He moves away from the kiss and pulls off your underwear, and then he’s on top of you and between your legs. 

Although his bare ass is showing, the camera angle doesn’t necessitate him completely against your crotch. But he pushes slowly as if he is entering you for the first time and after a few thrusts, he starts getting faster. 

Your character is going through a lot of emotions at this point: desire, guilt, pleasure. You look away and your cheeks begin to flush as Levi continues to move, a certain kind of desperation in every thrust. You both begin to breathe heavily, your hands in his hair and his head in the crook of your neck. One final thrust, and there’s only silence, until..

“Cut!” the director cries out. “Good work, you two. Now, let’s do that again, with some closeup shots.

“You okay?” Levi asks as he gets off of you and grabs a rag to wipe off his sweat. 

You straighten your dress and a makeup assistant comes over to touch-up your makeup. “Yeah..I’m fine.”

“They way you approached me, with the kisses on the palm and taking my fingers - that was a nice change.” He looks at you as he returns to his mark. “You have good instincts.”

“Thanks.” You laugh to yourself, because the compliment makes you blush more than when he was rutting against you.

The cinematographer changes cameras and gets closer. “Alright, let’s do that again..”

——

The next day, you meet with the intimacy coordinator to choreograph the next sex scene scheduled for the end of the week. In the midst of taking notes and discussing with Levi the motivations for each movement, you become quiet, your thoughts drifting elsewhere. Because for the last few days, you’ve had trouble differentiating your feelings for Levi and your character’s feelings for his character. The line seems to be blurring between them, and that concerns you. 

In between scenes, you truly enjoy spending time with Levi. He’s smart and funny. He nerds out about tea and kung fu movies, and you’ve spent many an evening just listening to him go into more detail about the two than you ever thought possible. He gives you ideas when you struggle with character notes, and even helps you to memorize lines. At night, in the privacy of your hotel room, you’ve fantasized about what it might feel like to be desired by him, to hear him say your name as he touches your body.

Then you hear your name being called by the coordinator and you snap out of it. “Is that ok with you? Being completely nude for the scene?” she asks.

“No..no..I’d like for both of us to be covered,” you answer. It’s better this way, you think to yourself. It keeps it professional.

Levi shrugs. “Fine by me.”

You both walk back to the hotel at the end of the day, but Levi stops you before you enter the building.

“Hey, you ok today? You seem distracted.”

“I’m fine. I guess I’m just nervous about tomorrow.” 

“I get it. But we’ve put a lot of work into this. And I’d like to think we trust each other at this point.” He puts his hand on your shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

Just like that, you feel more at ease. He just has such a way with you. “You’re right, we’ve done well so far. And I do trust you, Levi.”

——

When you arrive at your trailer the next morning, there’s a to-go cup on your table. 

To calm your body and mind. —Levi

Your makeup artist smiles as you read the note. “Levi just brought that by. You sure have a great leading man.”

You smile. “Yeah, I sure do.”

The scene takes place in the forest in the afternoon. Your character has snuck away from her home to meet him, far away from spying eyes. The Director has decided to film the scene in sections instead of one long scene, at least for now. 

The marker board is clicked and you and Levi walk hand-in-hand among the trees. He pulls you into a small clearing, then grabs the back of your neck as he starts kissing you fully. You pull away and look him in the eyes.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Your character is a lady of high society; it’s scandalous for someone of her stature to say such a thing, but here she is, with this man that is ‘below’ her, and she wants nothing else than for him to ravage her.

You can totally relate to your character, in that regard.

He moves closer to you and begins to fondle your breasts, then he grabs the front of your white cotton blouse and tears it off of you, revealing your bare chest. 

He lays his chore jacket on the ground. “Undo my trousers,” he commands, and you do so. You then lie down on the jacket beneath you while he pulls down his trousers and takes off his henley shirt. When he takes off his trousers, you look away.

“No - don’t look away. Look at me,” he says with authority. He crouches over you and easily pulls off your skirt. 

“Cut! Let’s get them ready for closeup shots.” The Director and his team set up for the next shots as you and Levi sit awkwardly on the ground. You can’t move too much because you don't want to spoil the continuity of the scene, so you freeze as your hair and makeup team tousle your hair and touch up your makeup.

Both of you have your groins covered but other than that, you are completely naked, except you’re still wearing your stockings and boots. The Director tells Levi to get on top of you and he does so.

“Ready to do this?” He whispers.

“Yes, I’m ready,” you answer.

“Scene 24, Take 1..”

*Clap*

Levi is immediately kissing your lips, then moving down to your neck and collarbone. He looks back up at you and begins to thrust, each one hard and deliberate. You begin to move your hips to meet his thrusts and he breathes heavily into the skin of your neck. Even without actually having sex, the friction enough is turning you on; that, and Levi’s kisses on your body.

Then you feel it. A hardening bulge rubbing up against your clit. You look into his eyes and see a brief flash of recognition, but neither of you break character. 

He pulls you up and your legs are wrapped around him. He continues to thrust into you but it’s slower now, your bodies working together as you grind. His hard cock is rubbing your clit just right, and you feel like you could come from just this feeling alone. You’ve forgotten about the hoards of people watching both of you right now and you’re completely in the moment, letting him pull you even closer to him. 

“Levi..” you whisper in his ear. It slips from your mouth before you know it; there aren’t any lines scripted for this scene, and you’re hoping it wasn’t loud enough for the boom mic to pick up. It earns a look from Levi and then he smirks - you’re not sure if that was in character either. 

Your hands grasp at his hair and he starts slowing down. You look up at the sky thinking about the pleasure you - and your character - just felt. Then your lips graze against each other as your breathing becomes more calm.

“And cut! Great work you two I loved how that flowed. Let’s take a 15 minute break. I’ll look through the footage and decide if we need to re-shoot anything.”

Just like that, the moment is gone. The Director and others begin to move equipment and Levi’s assistant brings him a robe. He has it on and around him before you can barely get off of him.

“Good work,” he says curtly as he walks off. Your assistant takes a little longer to get to you, so you’re sitting there, naked, trying to figure out just exactly what happened between the two of you.

Levi keeps his distance during the break and as he listens to the director’s notes. You have to re-shoot a few closeup shots, and although the energy is still there, something is different. You can feel it. 

——

Levi doesn’t come out with you and the crew for dinner that night, and he doesn’t reply to your text messages. You’re worried - did you do something to offend him? Was it because you moaned his name during the scene?

That has to be it. It probably made him feel awkward. Maybe he thinks you’re unprofessional. It makes your palms cold and clammy just thinking about disappointing him, you can’t bear it.

But you can’t deny that he was turned on during the scene. You felt him against you. You couldn’t have imagined that.

You walk back to your hotel room lethargically. You think about texting him again, this time apologizing for your behavior, but before you can, there’s a knock on your door.

“Levi?”

“Hey.” He shifts one leg to the other, and he rubs the back of his neck. “Can we talk?”

“Of course,” you open the door wider for him to enter, “come in.”

He enters, his body language clearly restless and troubled. “What’s up?” you question.

“About today’s shoot….I’ve been doing this a long time, and I’m always professional. I respect you as an actress.”  

He paces the room and has a difficult time looking at you. You assume he’s going to reprimand you for your behavior today, so you prepare yourself. “I know you do, Levi. And I respect you.”

He finally stops in front of you. “But me getting turned on today…I don’t want you to think less of me. It’s just that you’re-“ he runs his hand through his dark hair. 

Butterflies begin to form in your stomach. You’ve never seen Levi this flummoxed before. He takes a deep breath and it seems to give him focus as he moves closer to you. 

“You’ve done something to me. When I had you in my arms today, I couldn’t help myself. Then when you said my name like that…”

He looks into your eyes. “I’ve kissed you countless times during this filming. But right now, I want to kiss you as myself.”

Your heart does backflips and your throat is suddenly dry. “So kiss me,” you invite, moving even closer to him.

It takes him a moment, almost as if he is checking if it’s truly ok. Then with a deep breath, he grabs the back of your neck and crashes his lips into yours. Even though you’ve kissed him many times, this time it’s different. There’s an electricity to it, an honesty, as if he’s laying bare his entire self to you. 

His hand moves from your hip bone to under your shirt, his soft touch sending shivers down your spine. It doesn’t take long for his other hand to make it under your shirt as well, and soon he’s pulling it over your head and off of you. 

You also start letting your hands roam, first down his back and then under his t-shirt. You grab the hem and pull it off of him, but before you can do more he’s working on unclasping your bra. 

“I want you so badly.” His voice is low and raspy as he lays you on the bed.

You’ve started peeling off your leggings but he takes them and pulls them off roughly, desperately. “There are condoms in the drawer of the bedside table.” He gives you a look. “You know..just in case.” He smiles, then reaches over to the drawer. As he does so, you pull off your underwear and start touching yourself. You rub your clit in circles, watching him as he stands over you.

There’s a giant bulge in his grey sweatpants and you can see the lust in his eyes. “God, you’re beautiful.” He throws the condom packet down and dives in between your legs, kissing the inside of your thighs.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to have you like this? To take this beautiful pussy as mine?” He starts licking at your folds and you swear you’ve entered heaven. He starts flicking his tongue over your clit, alternating between fast and slow. Your back arches and your hands reach down to grip his hair. 

“Yes, yes, right there….fuck…” You can’t believe this is happening. Levi is here, he wants you, and he’s eating your pussy in a way that no man ever has.

Just when you feel you could climax, he stops. He reaches down next to the bed and picks up the condom package, sticking it in his mouth as he takes off his sweatpants and underwear. 

You’d seen him naked on set, but his cock had been flaccid at the time; now that he’s hard, it’s even more impressive. As he puts on the condom, you lick your lips, preparing yourself to truly - finally - have him inside you.

He can see the desire in your eyes. “Look at you - so eager for my cock are you?”

“Yes, Levi, I want it so badly. I’ve always wanted you.” You open your legs a little wider, inviting him to go between them. 

He moves in and looks down on you as he touches his cock. “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. I don’t know how I’ve kept myself in check for this long.” 

You smile. “So you’ve been thinking about me?”

“Of course I have. How could I not?” He positions himself above you and rubs his cock on your entrance, covering it with your juices. “When I’m not on set with you, you’re all I think about.”

Before this night, Levi had always had a quiet, awkward confidence to him, as if there were a multitude of thoughts happening just below the surface; but now, he was assertive and cocky, telling you his thoughts and desires without any restraint. You loved seeing this new side of him.

He enters you slowly and you both take a deep breath, then he begins to move faster as he sees a smile form across your face.

“You feel so good…fuck…” 

Your words encourage him to pick up the pace, the sounds of his hips slamming into you reverberate throughout the room. “Shit, you’re so wet, I can’t get enough of you.” He moves down to kiss you passionately, then he starts to kiss and suck on your neck.

“Be careful..I have to shoot a scene tomorrow,” you warn, halfheartedly.

“Makeup can cover it up,” he growls in your ear and then continues.

He feels so good, you can’t resist anything this man does to you, so you give into him completely as his cock rams into you and his mouth claims you.

The evening is a flurry of moans and grunts, him having his way with you on the bed, against the wall, in the shower - it was as if you were both discovering pleasure for the first time. Real pleasure - not performative. 

As the sun begins to rise, you both lay exhausted and satisfied in the bed, the sheets in a tangled mess around you.

“This won’t change how we work together, will it?” you ask with a worried look on your face.

“Why would it? If anything, it’ll make our chemistry on screen more believable.” He kisses the top of your head. “And this will make the preparation for the other sex scenes much more interesting,” he says with a boyish grin. 

You can’t argue with that. “I suppose life sometimes does imitate art.” 

Join my taglist!

I'm tagging those who seemed interested when I wrote the drabble, but let me know if you wanna be untagged.

@thevelria @lunaeheroine18 @meltingforthatackerman @adanfore @blondebebop @levisfavoriteacup @dont-f-with-moogles @itty-bitty-baby-face @ricecrispiebirb @whorenamedbee @rec-a-fic @leviismybby @littlerequiem @satorizz @lost-in-the-daylight @nube55 @kingkonoha @mrsackxrman @youre-ackermine @luvjiro @wanderlustqueen-writes @mrsackermannx (happy late birthday present, bby, this one-shot is for you <;3)

[deramin2]

I don't know how to really express this except to come across as a "kids these days" scold, but so much of the criticism of queerness in Good Omens would simply not be a thing if kids these days watched more 20th century queer media. Or more complex indie queer media in general.

People seem to want a show that's like the straight stories they grew up with but gay. Or the gay fanfiction they grew up with. But that's not really the tradition it's coming from. First off the novel was released in 1990. Queer film classics of the time are Dead Poet's Society (1989) and Torch Song Trilogy (1988). The TV miniseries Tales of the City (1993) wasn't made until 3 years later and it was so far out there it never had a huge audience. Philadelphia (1993) is also 3 years out and was basically the first big studio queer film. The first fluffy queer Hallmark-style romcom wasn't until Big Eden in 2000, a full 10 years after publication.

Queer stories from the time it was written were about complex and often fraught relationships between people who the world was trying to force apart. There is an incredibly strong tradition in queer films of relationships with no guarantees they will work out both in the face of their personal baggage and the weight of the world. Take a film like Torch Song Trilogy that's about the two great loves of Arnold Beckoff's life over 9 years and how homophobia shapes them. Both externally (especially Allen) and internally like Ed struggling with his bisexuality and being terrified of being publicly out. Written and starred in by Harvey Fierstein, who identified as a gay man at the time and only came out as nonbinary last year.

The Boys In The Band (1968 play, filmed 1970 and 2020) was a monumental moment in Broadway history where finally there was a play about gay men in their own words where no one died and very strongly showed that homosexuality doesn't make people miserable but homophobia sure does. But that homophobia also throws their personal lives into constant turmoil and none of them are in happy relationships, although Hank and Larry are devoted to each other in their own fucked up way.

"Relationships are complicated and hard to make work and sometimes a struggle against the odds" is an aesthetic of classic queer film making. Partly it was influenced by the Hays Code (although independent films were not bound to it), partly influenced by the rampant queerphobia in society at the time that was inescapable. But it's also an aesthetic choice to resist the banal and unrealistic relationship depictions of straight media. There are actual stakes to the relationship. Queer people were actively resisting a world that said "Romance is seeing someone across the room and instantly falling in love with each other and little conflicts happen along the way but ultimately they're destined to be together and everything is happily ever after." Recall that "stalking as romance" was a completely inescapable trope in 1980s straight romance films, and every goddamn movie was being turned into a romance film.

So queer people in film and television when they can make what they please have a long tradition of saying instead "People don't always realize the feelings they've developed for a queer partner right away. They may have reasons for denying those feelings that are both a reflection of the cruelty in society and of their own insecurities. People struggle with where they belong and their relationships reflect that. Loving someone doesn't mean they don't also drive you crazy and you might fight with them constantly. But that doesn't negate the love or that feeling that even if things aren't okay, they're better with that person around. But maybe that person can't stay around. The world may be against you. And also maybe you don't just want that one person in your life. Soulmates is a very flawed model. Sometimes the strongest love is a struggle with yourself and the world and your person. You have to overcome yourself first. Happily ever after is a lie. You may be happy for a while, and hopefully for a long while, but everything ends. And you have to be ready to love again. Also your platonic bonds are just as important and life-altering as your romantic ones. Sometimes those platonic bonds include fucking if you want them to. Real life isn't a bunch of platitudes and world-altering moments, it's daily work to better yourself and the world around you. Especially when things just fucking suck. But also remember to have fun and fuck the haters. People who don't support you can eat rocks and you should yell at them more to shut the fuck up."

That is a fundamentally different outlook on what a "good relationship depiction" looks like. Personally, I thought I hated romance movies and then I started watching queer romance movies and discovered I love them and watch them all the time. Because it turns out what I hated was relationships being shown that had nothing at all to do with reality and privileged incredibly toxic ideals. Finally there was complexity, there were stakes, and there were people who had to truly want to be together enough to fight the world for it and not because they happened to be there. There were people actually talking out their problems and looking for resolutions. (And sometimes that resolutions was "I can't fucking deal with this bullshit anymore and I'm out.") For the first time it felt real.

I'm an aroace trans gay man. Nothing about relationships or being in relationships has come easy to me, and the whole paradigm of straight patriarchal romance depictions makes absolutely no sense to me. It's completely alien. Queer romance stories actually feel human.

And that's the tradition Good Omens is coming from, even as it's being retold in 2019-2023 and hopefully beyond. Gaiman's work has always been based in that queer media paradigm. (I've been remiss and daunted and haven't read Pratchett but from what I do know his work also seems to sit more in that world view.) It's a beautiful cinematic tradition and it's baffling to me that people would resist it instead of embracing it for being honest.

And that's when I turn into a crotchety old man complaining about the youth not connecting with the history of their beautiful culture and instead begging for assimilation into a shithole allocishet media landscape that doesn't actually want them except for their money and has nothing at all interesting or valuable to say. But it's very funny (annoying) to me when people claim Good Omens is someone against queer culture when it's so thoroughly bathed in the best of queer media's storytelling traditions and what people are asking for is straight media with the serial numbers filed off. Like, stop being boring please and know literally anything about the culture the adults in the room lived through and were influenced by. The world didn't begin in 2015.

EDIT: I also want to add that in straight media arcs are linear. Traditionally in queer media arcs are cyclical. Queer media very often depicts people going around in circles relearning the same lesson over and over as they inch towards it sinking in. But every time they go through the cycle they gain just a little bit more enlightenment and slowly move towards a better place. From the comments this is an immensely important distinction. People don't actually have cathartic moments where suddenly all their past bad programming is shed and they saunter forward a new person with none of their old baggage. In reality people fall into the same patterns over and over even though they have had every opportunity to learn better. "People magically get better" is a trope of straight media that's an outright and frankly dangerous lie. Again, Good Omens follows the queer tradition not the straight one and it's depicted 6,000 years of that cycle. The world didn't end, and the wheel keeps turning, as it always has and always will. That's so fundamental to queer storytelling traditions I forgot to even mention it.

[wheresarizona]

Learning to Live Part 16

summary: It’s obvious Javier Peña loves you, it just catches you by surprise how he decides to finally tell you. 

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, Soft Javier Peña, alternating pov, unprotected p in v (wrap it up), creampie(s), oral sex (f & m receiving), rimming (f receiving), cockwarming, overstimulation (m), spanking, dirty talk, praise kink, nude photos, Javier begging, love confessions, miscommunication, arguing, angst with a happy ending, period typical sexism, canon typical drug talk, emotions, dysfunctional family, past relationship trauma (Javier), Not Lorraine friendly, Javier’s poor little ass being bruised, Javier being so in love, the most romantic sex I have ever written)

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader (reader is a nurse with no physical descriptions)

word count: 17.8k+ (This is who I am)

a/n: Here we go! The first draft of this chapter was 3k… I’m as shocked as you are. I know some of the tags aren’t my norm, but I promise it’s a good time and things are resolved quickly. Shoutout to the love of my life @juletheghoul for betaing this. I love you. 

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

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The time you spent reading had dwindled quite drastically since Javier Peña waltzed his way into your life, and you weren’t necessarily upset about this new development. 

Generally, you’d get home from work, shower, have dinner, then unwind by reading or watching a movie, wanting to relax after the busy day. Getting a couple of chapters in before bed was a must, needing it to lull you to sleep; that is, you did, up until Javi showed up, and now your bedtime routine had changed to either getting fucked and being so blissed out that sleep came easily, or laying in bed cuddled up with him while the two of you talked, getting so warm and cozy that you found yourself drifting off in no time.  

So, you weren’t getting much reading done, and your to-read pile on the living room bookshelf was haunting you, knowing that at the rate you were going, it’d probably take you years to get through the dozen or so books. 

It was a sunny Saturday, and not at all surprising that you’d awoken to a naked Javi pressed against your bare back, his hands ghosting over your skin while his lips trailed over your shoulders and neck, making you smile as you came to. 

He’d eaten you out until your legs were shaking, and the sheets below you were wet from your release, Javi telling you he’d take care of washing them after breakfast. 

God, there was something about a man taking the initiative. 

The windows in your apartment had been opened to let the early sunlight in and to air out the place; Javi not only putting the sheets into the wash but also replacing the bedding and folding the laundry that had been in the dryer, all while you’d tackled organizing the three junk drawers in the kitchen. 

It took everything in your power not to suck his dick when he asked if he’d folded your panties okay, knowing you had a special way of bundling them up. You’d approved of his efforts and smothered his face in kisses, him looking very pleased with himself. 

When your task was finished, the drawers finally organized, and Javi extremely happy with what you’d done now that he knew where he could find things, you’d decided to spend the afternoon reading. 

Settling on the couch, your legs curled underneath you, you’d opened to the first chapter of a book you’d gotten almost two weeks prior. Javi was sitting beside you, so close your bodies touched, his hand on your thigh as he watched tv with the volume low. 

This was another very welcome change in your life. 

None of your ex-boyfriends would have wanted to spend their Saturday morning cleaning your apartment, then be content to just sit on the couch and watch television while you read. 

They would’ve wanted to go out and do something, not waste their day lounging around, always needing to be active when they weren’t working—if you wanted to just relax and spend the day in, you were left to do it alone. 

But Javier Peña was different. 

All he wanted was to spend time with you, and he didn’t care what you did. 

Want to go to the diner for breakfast? He’s down. The farmers market? No problem. Run errands? He’ll drive. Clean the apartment? Tell him what to do, and it will be done. Relax on the couch and read? You’ve got cable, and there’s a Lethal Weapon marathon that will keep him entertained. 

Honestly, he was clingy, just not annoyingly so. You found it endearing and adorable how he had to be touching you if he was sitting next to you, a hand on your thigh or feet in his lap, and he loved when you’d lay on top of him; showering with you was essential after work, he honest to god pouted if you took one alone; in bed, you always ended up wrapped in his arms, him seeking you out even in sleep, needing you close. He never let you cook alone, him wanting to help, or at least keep you company, if not distract you a little with some impromptu dancing. 

Here you were, cozy on the couch, Javi rubbing circles into the skin just below where your shorts stopped, so caught up in what you were reading you weren’t entirely sure how much time had passed. 

The book was surprisingly good and had sucked you in; an orphan boy finding out about a secret magical world and his life changing for the better, reading page after page, chapter after chapter, wanting to know what was going to happen next. 

“Want more water, Cielito?” Javi asked. 

“Yes, please,” you murmured, eyes glued to the words, but knowing you’d finished your glass in the time you’d read six chapters. 

“I’ll be back.” 

He squeezed your thigh, groaning as he got up from the couch. 

At some point, he returned to set down the cup on the coffee table, letting you know it was there and noticing he didn’t sit back down. 

You were engrossed with the story, fascinated by the magic and world-building, and metaphorically on the edge of your seat when suddenly the light of the television was blocked by a mass, realizing Javi was standing in front of you. 

“Need something?” you asked, eyes not leaving the book. 

“No,” he answered. 

“Okay,” you distractedly answered. 

He didn’t move, which made you realize he was trying to get your attention. 

“Want something?” you asked instead. 

“Maybe,” he replied. 

Glancing over the pages, he was standing there with his hands on his hips, noticing his damp hair from showering, your eyes taking in the nakedness of his broad shoulders and moving down his chest and soft belly to the tantalizing trail of hair that you knew led to his big di—your eyes went wide when they landed on his crotch. 

“Underwear,” you breathed. “Oh my fucking god.” You blindly reached on the table beside you to grab your bookmark to shove between the pages, the book practically getting thrown onto the tabletop. 

Your eyes were stuck on his bulge, the white material hiding nothing, seeing the clear outline of his cock, your hand moving without thinking, reaching to touch your fingertips to it, and seeing him noticeably getting harder. 

“Holy fuck,” you said, maneuvering on the couch to get on your knees. You took in how they sat on his hips and hugged his thighs, rubbing both your hands up them, feeling the soft material and his muscles flexing, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “You fucking spoil me,” you purred. “This is what you grabbed before we left last night?”

The previous night you’d met Javi’s father for the first time, and everything had gone better than you expected, Chucho making you feel welcomed into their family. When you were leaving, Javi had run back into the house for something, and you hadn’t bothered to ask, so caught up in all you’d learned about your boyfriend and his parents. 

“Yeah,” he answered, a smirk on his plush lips, looking proud of himself. You couldn’t help pressing your face against his half-hard cock. “If I’d known I’d get this kind of reaction, I would’ve—fuck,” he groaned as you mouthed over him, wetting the boxer briefs with your saliva. 

Pressing a loud kiss to his now fully hard dick, you grabbed his hips, leaning back to forcefully make him turn to see how he looked from behind, but he didn’t budge. 

Your eyebrows furrowed, confusion showing on your face when you met his eyes. 

“Let me see your ass,” you said. 

He was frowning. 

“I liked what you were doing.” 

“And I’ll blow you after I see your butt. I need to know how it looks.” 

Grabbing your hands, he held them. 

“Or I can eat your pussy?” he bargained. 

Your eyes narrowed, realizing something was up. 

“Why are you being cagey about this? What’s going on?” 

He sighed, looking away, his thumbs rubbing circles on the backs of your hands. 

“I just don’t want you looking at it.” 

“Because..?” 

“I got bit by a horse…” he said slowly and matter of fact. 

It was just hitting you that you hadn’t seen his ass since showering after work the previous day. He let you shower by yourself the night before, which you should’ve found suspicious. If he didn’t want you to see it, that meant he knew you were going to freak out, worry swirling in your stomach. 

“Javier, how bad is it?” Your tone was serious. 

He grimaced. 

“It looks worse than it is.” 

“Turn around.” 

“Baby…” 

“With the way you hate clothes, I’m going to see it. Pull off the bandaid, babe. Let me see your ass.” 

He let out a long sigh, dropping your hands to perch his own on his hips, slowly turning. 

Fuck, he looked amazing in the underwear, the way they clung to the globes of his ass, it taking everything in you not to grab handfuls of him, wanting to squeeze the little bit of butt he had. 

Your fingers moved up to the elastic waistband, sliding them under and slowly peeling them down, gasping when you saw his right asscheek. 

“Javier Peña, you fucking liar!” you exclaimed, staring at the large black and purple bruise that had to hurt like hell and was about the size of his fist, and his hands were so fucking big. “Please tell me you washed it with soap and water,” you said, automatically going into nurse mode, examining as best you could, needing to make sure he was okay and that it wouldn’t get infected. “Do you want me to pull out my first aid kit? I can put some antibiotic cream on it, and are you up to date on your tetanus shot?” You leaned in closer, gently feeling it. “I can’t tell if he broke the skin, and it can be transmitted through animal bites. Shit, babe, it looks so fucking bad.” 

“I’m okay, Cielito,” he sighed. “Washed it when we got back to Pop’s and got a booster the first time that fucker bit me,” he seethed. 

“Javi, be real with me. Are you in pain? I can’t believe you sat next to me for hours! Your poor little butt. Do you need some Tylenol? Want me to ice it?” 

“It’s fine, baby—I can handle it.” He twisted his upper body to look down at you behind him, his eyes rounded. “I promise I’m okay. Just fucking sore.” He frowned. 

“Let me get you some pain medication then,” you said, starting to get up, but he stopped you with a shake of his head. 

“Already took some—I’m good.” He gave you a reassuring smile. 

Your eyebrow quirked.

“You really took some Tylenol to make sure you could fuck, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah,” he answered with a smirk. 

“And you really thought you could hide your ass from me while wearing underwear? Javier, you know how I feel about your butt.” 

“Love it as much as I love yours.” 

“Exactly! Oh!” you exclaimed, remembering something. 

Leaning forward, you pressed a loud smacking kiss to his bruise, followed by smaller ones all around the area, Javi chuckling. 

“Does it feel better?” you asked, meeting his gaze. 

He smiled, “Yes, Cielito,” he replied. 

“You’re a lying liar who lies,” you accused amusedly. Smiling at him mischievously, you said, “I do know something that will definitely take the pain away, but it has to be administered orally.” You grabbed onto his tiny waist and made him turn around, his cock still hard in his underwear. “God, just look at it,” you marveled. 

“Fuck, baby,” Javi groaned, his head falling back. “Keep looking at my dick like that, and I’ll need to put it in you.” 

He looked down to meet your eyes, seeing his own had gone darker, his cheeks and chest pinking up.  

“I want you in my mouth,” you replied, stroking him over the boxer briefs. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed hard. “Can I, Javi?” you asked. “Can I have your dick in my mouth?” 

“Yes, Cielito,” he answered, the words coming out rough. “You can have anything you fucking want.” 

Smiling, you hooked your fingers into the waistband, slowly pulling them down to uncover his straining cock and heavy sack, wanting to taste and feel him, your mouth watering at the prospect. 

“Have I ever told you,” you started, eyes locked on his as you took him in hand, feeling him hard and hot in your palm. “That you have the prettiest dick?” 

The head of him was reddened, a pearl of precum beading at the tip, stroking him up and down. 

“Fuck,” he gasped. 

“I dream about this dick,” you continued. “Fucking crave it. Want you inside me—my mouth, pussy, ass.” His eyes squeezed shut, groaning loudly, his cock twitching at your words. “You’ve ruined me for all other men, no one could ever compare, but that doesn’t matter because I only want you.” 

He met your gaze again, pupils blown wide. 

“It’s yours,” he rasped. “It’s only fucking yours—I’m yours, you fucking own me.” 

Hearing him say that had your body going warm, your pussy throbbing. 

“And I’m yours—all of me belongs to you, Papí.” 

A strangled noise came from his throat, his cock twitching in your hand again. 

“Take what you want, Cielito.” Desperation was in his tone. “Fuck, do whatever you want. Please.” 

Precum was steadily flowing from him, helping your strokes glide. Letting go, you licked your palm, taking him back in hand and gathering spit in your mouth, hovering your head over him as it dripped onto the tip. He groaned when your mouth followed, the heft of him sliding along the broad flat of your tongue and relishing in his taste, moaning around him. 

Your hand continued to work his shaft while your head bobbed, letting your saliva coat him, hearing the slick sounds as you worked him over, moans and groans filling the room. His hand went to the back of your head, his eyes on what you were doing, looking up at him as you licked from base to tip, and swirled your tongue around the crown, his mouth falling open in a gasped fuck. 

Moving back down again, you went lower, drawing a ball into your mouth, sucking on the delicate skin, Javi moaning loudly, his eyes squeezing shut with furrowed brows. 

“Shit, baby,” he panted. “So fucking good—so good to me.” 

At the tip, you let more spit fall onto him, taking him back into your mouth, your hand like a sheath around the base of him, pumping easily from how wet it was, while your head bowed forward, letting him hit the back of your throat before swallowing him down. 

He was breathing hard, his fingers digging into your hair as his hard cock carved out space in your throat, tears pooling in your eyes, saliva dripping out the corners of your lips. His dick was so solid, loving how it felt inside you, humming appreciatively around him that earned a punched-out groan that shot straight to your cunt, making you clench hard. 

You were so turned on, loving the noises he was making and hearing just how much he was enjoying himself. 

“Gonna make me come,” he groaned. “Don’t wanna come down your throat.” 

Coming off of him, you were panting, his dick glistening as your hand wetly stroked him. 

Looking up through your lashes, seeing his attention on you, you asked huskily, “Where do you want to come? My face?” You pressed your breasts together in your shirt. “My tits? On my ass?” 

“Fuck,” he breathed, his eyes wild, looking wrecked with his pinched brow and the gorgeous flush all over his skin. “Wanna be inside you.” 

A grin turned up on your lips. 

“Of course, you want to finish inside. You’re fucking addicted to cream pies.” You rubbed your hands up his thighs, feeling the muscles tighten. “You like coming inside me, baby?” you asked. “Love filling me up—knowing you’re the only one who gets to?” 

His cock jerked. 

“Shit, fuck,” he gasped. “Yes, please, Cielito.” His eyes had gone round, pleading. “Please, baby. Can I fuck your pussy? Wanna feel you come around my dick—wanna fuck you full of me. Please.” He was begging, and it thrilled you, your cunt pulsing with want, panties drenched, wanting him as bad as he wanted you. 

“How can I say no when you ask so nicely? Javi, baby, you have to know I want you. My pussy is all yours.” 

He was on you immediately, his big hands cupping your cheeks as he bent to press his mouth to yours in a hungry kiss, his tongue eagerly licking into your mouth. 

It was almost disorienting how quickly he got your clothes off; his lips leaving yours to tug off your shirt and sports bra, pushing down and off his underwear, laughing when his hands grabbed onto your ass, and he practically picked you up, manhandling you onto your back on the couch, his hips slotting into the cradle of your thighs. 

He kissed you deeply before sitting up on his knees between your legs, a look of concentration on his face as he pulled off your shorts and panties in one go, dropping them to the floor. 

His eyes were locked on your pussy, moaning when he spread open the glossy lips of your sex with two of his fingers. 

“Fuck, that’s pretty,” he murmured, his other hand stroking his cock, hearing the slick slide of his hand working. “Look at how fucking wet you are for me, Cielito.” He slid a thick finger through your slit, pressing it inside your sopping entrance. “Mmm, you’re fucking soaked. Bet you don’t even need my fingers.” He pushed in a second, and you gasped, bucking your hips into his hand. His eyes met yours, all dark with want, languidly pumping his digits. “Want me to get you off like this, baby?” 

Shaking your head, you answered in a moan, “No—want your dick. Wanna feel it. Love the stretch.” 

He smirked. 

“Always hungry for my dick.”

“Yes.” You nodded. 

His fingers left you, watching as he sucked them clean with a groan. 

“Taste so good,” he said, pulling them from his mouth with a wet pop. “Keep your legs open—don’t move.” 

He moved toward the coffee table, reaching to grab the Polaroid camera that had been gifted to you both the day before, your heart hammering in your chest, realizing what he wanted to do. Your lip was pulled between your teeth as he looked at you. 

“Is this okay?” he asked, holding up the camera. 

“Yes.” 

“Press your tits together for me.” 

Doing as he said, he leaned back, holding the Polaroid camera up to his face. 

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he said, the flash going off, the device whirring as the picture came out.

The photo was put on the table, Javi’s free hand spreading open your pussy, dipping his head down, his jaw working as he spit onto your clit, getting a shot of the hot saliva dripping down to your opening.

You were so into what he was doing that your cunt was throbbing in tune with your heartbeat. 

“I’m gonna fuck my hand looking at these,” he murmured, setting the picture with the other. 

“Really?” 

He glanced at you, smiling. 

“Oh, yeah. If I jerked off right now, I’d be thinking about this tight little pussy.” He cupped his large palm over your center. “Now, I have visuals. Wait—” His hand moved to grip his dick, knees shuffling to get closer so his thighs were flush between your legs, letting his cock drop onto your mons and stomach to see how far he’d reach inside. “Look at that.” The flash went off again. “Shit, what’s that thing you say about your guts?” He asked, meeting your eyes, the photograph getting placed with the others. 

Saliva and precum were smearing onto your skin, feeling how hot and hard his dick was. 

You snorted. 

“That I want you to rearrange my guts?” 

“Yeah.” He smirked. “I get so deep in there; I really do rearrange your guts.” 

You noticed his chest puffing up a little in pride, and it had you lowering your voice to speak in a sultry tone. “Yes, you do,” you purred. “You’re so big, making me feel so full. No one else has ever filled me so good or gotten so deep—only you, Papí.” 

His cock twitched. 

“Fuck,” he gasped. “One more.” 

He pressed his length through your folds to get himself wet, notching at your entrance, your eyes squeezing shut as he pushed in, moaning in unison. 

That first stretch was always the best—the slight burn, the way he made space for himself inside your depths, your inner walls hugging him close and pulling him deeper. He slid home in one smooth thrust, your back arching at how fucking good it felt to have him filling you.

“Fuck, Javi,” you breathed. 

The camera went off, and you knew it was a picture of him inside you, making your cunt clench. 

“Shit,” Javi groaned. 

There was the sound of him setting the camera down on the coffee table.  

His big hands gripped your thighs to hold you open, rocking his hips, letting you feel his thick cock move slowly in and out of you. 

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” he rasped. His hand pressed to your lower stomach over where his dick was inside you. “Always take me so fucking well.” 

“So good,” you whined. 

He was sliding along all those spots that made your toes curl, loving how full you felt, how deep he went, filling you so perfectly it took your breath away. He sped up, getting into a steady rhythm that had his hips slapping into yours, hearing the rough sounds from his throat and the wet suck of your pussy taking him. 

You were panting out breaths, feeling the heat in your belly starting to build with every deep kiss of his cock inside you, pushing in and pulling out, your head fuzzy with pleasure. He pressed his thumb against your clit, making you gasp from the shock of ecstasy shooting to your core. 

“Want you to come for me,” he said through gritted teeth and heavy breaths. “Wanna feel you, Cielito.” 

It felt like every nerve in your body was lit up, your skin hot and buzzing, the fire in your core growing hotter and hotter while soft sounds spilled from your lips. 

You were getting closer, moaning louder, it building higher and higher. 

“I know you’re almost there—fucking fluttering. Give it to me.” 

He was thrusting harder, his thumb moving faster. 

“Soak my dick, Cielito. Come.” 

His order had you shattering, coming with a cry of his name, your body clenching up so tight he had to slow to a grind, letting out a long, low groan. 

“My good girl,” he said thickly. “So fucking good to me, baby. Shit.” 

Waves of pleasure radiated through your body, him drawing them out with every thrust, letting you ride it out, your pussy pulsing around him. 

She was so fucking gorgeous, spread out for him on this couch, his eyes locked on her pussy, all wet and puffy, swallowing his dick to the hilt. He took in her body—the sheen of sweat on her skin, her eyes closed, lips parted, her perfect tits rising and falling as she panted. 

She looked absolutely blissed out, pride swelling in his chest that he was the one to make her feel like that—that he was the only one that got to feel her come while balls deep inside her. 

Fuck, his dick was throbbing, heart pounding, knowing he was close to his own end, waiting for her high to subside, shallowly thrusting into her wet heat. 

The moment her breathing got under control, and she relaxed, Javier was pulling out, seeing her eyes spring open in surprise. 

“Want you on your knees,” he grunted, grabbing her legs that were bracketing his hips and helping her flip onto her belly, pulling her ass up by the waist to get her into position, shuffling her knees apart so he had more space. 

And if it wasn’t the prettiest sight, seeing her all open and ready for him, his tongue peeking out between his lips, wanting to taste the slick that had dribbled down between her asscheeks to her tight hole, mesmerized by how it shined in the light of the room. 

Looking over her shoulder, their eyes met, causing a sharp spike of arousal to shoot down his spine at her lust-blown gaze. 

“You gonna fuck me?” she purred, wiggling her backside. 

“Maybe,” he replied, seeing her eyebrows crease in confusion. 

His knees sunk into the couch cushion as he shuffled back a little, slapping both of his hands down on the plump flesh of her ass, hearing her moan as he grabbed handfuls, squeezing it hard and spreading her open. 

“Fucking love this ass,” he growled.

He bent his head, gathering spit on his tongue and letting it drip onto her asshole, following that up by licking a stripe from her entrance back up to the tight ring of muscle, groaning into her sensitive skin at the salty-sweet tang enveloping his tastebuds, her tasting so good. 

“Oh, fuck,” she whined. 

His hand moved to squeeze the base of his cock, needing to restrict the blood flow and calm himself down, the flat of his tongue lapping at her hole, feeling like fire was prickling under his skin, hungry for more of her taste—working himself up almost to his breaking point, needing to stop before he stained the couch in his come. 

He pressed a kiss to her asscheek before sinking his teeth into her skin, leaving a slight imprint as he sat up, taking his dick in hand, not wasting any time to sheathe himself back inside her drenched cunt—the way she cried out his name made him jerk inside her, and his breath go shaky, a low groan rumbling from his chest. 

Shit, he was so fucking hard he could probably fuck her through a brick wall. 

His fingers dug into her hips, swallowing hard at how tight and warm she was, her pussy fluttering around him, pulling out until just the tip of him remained, and thrusting back in, setting up an even rhythm that had her moaning. 

“Love being inside you, baby,” he groaned, looking down to see his wet cock disappearing inside her. “Push back on me—get me deep.” 

“Yes,” she gasped, pushing her ass back, Javi meeting her over and over, the wet slap of their bodies colliding sounding in the room. 

He wanted to get her off again, but pleasure had his stomach knotting up, fucking into her harder, the tight squeeze of her cunt overwhelming him, compelling him, making him lose his fucking mind at how good she felt—he was fucked, gone, he’d hit the point of no return, his balls tightening up. 

“Shit,” he grunted, pounding into her, “fuck, fuck, fuck, no.” 

His cock thickened, pushing into her hard one last time, a strangled moan ripping from his throat, his come flooding her hot depths, gushing into her. He rolled his hips with a shuddering hiss to get it deeper until it was too much for him, coming to a stop while euphoria coursed through his body. 

He felt wrung out and dreamy, wanting to touch her, needing to feel her skin, practically collapsing as he blanketed himself over her back, shoving his nose into her neck to breathe her in. 

“‘M sorry,” he slurred. “Mmm, you smell so fucking good.”

She giggled. 

“You came really hard, huh, baby?” she asked. 

“Yeah.” He nuzzled his face against the side of her head, holding himself up on an arm beside her own, and moving his other hand under her body to the apex of her thighs, feeling her tense when he rubbed her wet clit—his dick so tender that when she clenched around him, his eyes rolled back in his head, moaning at the sensitivity. 

He was panting, sweat soaking his skin, pushing through the discomfort of her pulsing around him to keep circling her swollen nub—her arms and legs trembling, soft sounds spilling from her mouth as he worked her up, her body crumbling to the couch, him going with her, using one forearm to keep his upper body off of her.

His cock was still hard, it feeling like his nerves were on fire, shallowly thrusting until the pain became pleasurable again, the familiar heat building in his gut. 

He pressed his lips to her ear, asking through gritted teeth, “You gonna come for me, Cielito?” His hips fucked into her faster. “Gonna be my good girl?” 

“Yes, Papí,” she whimpered. “So, close.”

His eyes squeezed shut at the knife-sharp pleasure that cut through him from her words, his wet strokes moving in and out of her, his insides getting hotter and thicker as he built her up—her mewling beneath him, stoking the flames in his belly. 

He kept going, feeling her pussy contracting, arousal dripping down his dick and coating his balls, her finally seizing up beneath him as she came choking him inside her and squeezing him so tight that it sent him with her—the pressure inside him expanding to the point Javier was coming with a shuddering groan, pulsing inside her, pumping her full of himself. 

Pleasure washed through him, grinding his hips, the slide of his cock making his come leak out and around him, stilling when it all became too much. To make her more comfortable, his arm wrapped around her middle, him turning them on their sides while he stayed inside, spooning her from behind. 

The TV's low volume and heavy breaths filled the room, Javi kissing her bare shoulder, rubbing his hand over her belly, and moving up to grab her breast. 

“Did you come again..?” she panted. 

“Yeah,” he answered breathlessly. 

He kissed her neck, loving the scent of her shampoo and how it made him feel warm and cozy. 

“That has to be a record. You usually need a break.”

“Finished too quickly, had to make up for it.” 

“...What?” she sounded confused, finally catching her breath. “You were a gentleman and made me come before you. How did you finish too quickly?” 

He buried his face in her hair. 

“Wanted to get you off again,” his muffled voice said. 

There was a pause before she spoke. 

“Babe?” She put her hand over his on her breast, lacing their fingers together. 

“Yes, Cielito?” 

“I know you’re really into making me orgasm so many times my legs turn to jelly, and I can barely speak, but you know one is enough, right?” 

He pulled his head back, eyebrows dipping together. 

“What..?” he asked. 

“We don’t need to have spectacular mind-blowing sex every single time.” 

“Why… not?” His heart had sped up, nerves making his chest feel uncomfortable. “Do you not like how we fuck?” he asked uneasily.

“Pause. Can you pull out real quick?” 

He did as she asked, feeling confused, and worried that he’d done something wrong, her flipping around to face him, pressing her hand to his jaw and looking him in the eyes. 

“Thank god, I got the couch protector. There is so much come dripping out of me right now.” 

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, frowning. 

She smiled reassuringly. 

“Nothing to apologize about. I enjoyed myself very much—all nice and stuffed full.” She beamed, arousal stirring in his belly at the thought. 

Her fingers ghosted over his cheek and up to press into his sweat-damp hair, stroking lovingly through it. Fuck, he loved when she played with his hair; he always turned to putty under her touch. 

“Now, back to what we were talking about,” she said. “I love how we fuck, very much. Like, best sex of my entire life, and you’ve ruined me for anybody else—I love fucking you.” 

He could hear it coming. “But…?” he asked. 

“But, sometimes, I just like how you feel inside me and how close we are, and god, the kissing. It’s the connection and being with you, doing something so intimate. I don’t know. I just feel closer to you when we have sex, baring myself not just literally, but metaphorically, too, because I’m comfortable with you, I trust you, I lo–like—” She stumbled, eyes widening, his heart stuttering “—like you so fucking much. Javi, you’re the only man I’m genuinely okay fucking with the lights on.” Suddenly panic came over her face, her eyes getting big, “Fuck! The windows!” 

She started getting up, and he kept her where she was with his hand on her hip, Javier saying quickly, “I already closed them.” 

Her head rose to look over the couch armrest to the back windows, then in the direction of their feet to the large front windows, seeing that they were all shut with the blinds and curtains closed. 

She let out a breath, moving to kiss him hard, her fingers tangling in his hair. He moaned against her lips, loving her mouth on his, kissing until she broke away, smiling.

“This is what I mean,” she said. “You thought to close up the apartment before initiating sex because you care about me and wouldn’t want to put me in a compromising situation when you know I’m thinking with my pussy.” 

“You’re the one that initiated.” 

Her eyes narrowed, poking him in his bare chest. 

“Because you seduced me by wearing underwear!” 

He smirked, grabbing her hand to kiss her knuckles. 

“I’d think it’d turn you on more if I was naked.” 

Her eyebrow rose. 

“Javier, you’re constantly naked. You put on clothes, and suddenly I’m a Victorian woman going into hysterics over the slightest sliver of skin because I know what’s underneath—the feeling ten times worse when you’re in underwear or sweats ‘cause it’s like you’re teasing me, just Mr. Look-at-me-naked-from-the-waist-up-you-know-what-I’m-hiding. So, yeah, it fucking gets me.” 

He was well aware, able to see her undressing him in her mind, and it always went straight to his dick. 

“I know,” he replied. “Can tell by how you look at me.” 

He kissed her. 

“You fucking tease,” she murmured into his lips. 

“How I feel when you wear your dresses—know I can just lift it up and pull down your panties.” 

He was kissing her deeper, his hand grabbing her ass. She pulled back to pointedly look at him.

“You’re distracting me,” she said, making him pout. “As I was saying, I can trust you, and I like the closeness of fucking you, and every time doesn’t need to be toe-curling orgasm central. It’s cheesy as fuck, and I honestly cringe at saying it out loud, but I’d love to, god—” Her eyes squeezed shut, her face pinched in disgust “—it’s so gross. I’d love… to…” She was really struggling, and he wanted to know what was making her so uncomfortable. “Make… love… with… you,” she finally forced out. “Oh, yuck.” Her nose crinkled when she looked at him. 

The difficulty it took for her to say it had his stomach dropping, insecurity squeezing his chest tight. He swallowed hard, eyes darting away from her. 

“I don’t think you do…” he said slowly. 

“Fuck.” She cradled his cheek. “Please, look at me.” He did, her looking apologetic. “I can see how I came off, and I’m sorry, it’s not you; it’s the fucking phrase.”

“Okay..?” 

He was so fucking bewildered trying to follow along with everything she was saying, not sure what she meant about making love but understanding the things she said about the connection and closeness during sex, he felt it, too. When he’s inside her, it feels like everything is right in the world, and it’s where he’s supposed to be. He just wasn’t sure what she meant about only one orgasm or not every time needing to be mind-blowing—it was all he had to offer. 

Javier was broken, his head fucked from everything with Lorraine and Colombia, trying to do his fucking best navigating this new relationship, not knowing what the fuck he was doing. Cielito tried hard to guide him like a bright star on the horizon, leading him, helping him, but what did he bring to the table aside from knowing how to make her come? He didn’t think his love and devotion were enough; she needed more—deserved more, and all he had to give was his body, wanting to make her feel so fucking good that she wouldn’t want him to leave. 

And she’s not happy with what he has to offer—at least, that’s what he thought she was trying to say. 

The day before came to mind when she told him she felt the same, that she loved him, too, but would wait for him to say it first, and that gave him hope that maybe he just wasn’t understanding this conversation—his worries getting the better of him, which was a problem of his; spiraling, something negative having him play out all of the worst case scenarios and making dread wash over him thinking the other shoe was about to drop.

He took a deep breath, his hand flexing, listening intently, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on. 

“You know how people hate the word moist?” she asked. “Like it makes their skin crawl and is just so cringy?” She shuddered.  

“Yeah, it’s the same in Spanish. People don’t like húmedo, which means the same thing.” 

“Love that it’s universal. I have the same kind of aversion to the phrase-that-shall-not-be-named.” 

He was curious. “Why?” he asked. 

“Oh, it’s overused by people who think sex is a dirty word, and ‘fuck’ is just way too profane for their sensibilities, but they aren’t actually… making love.” She cringed. “It’s usually the guy getting off without a care for his partner—so, basically, it makes me think of really bad heterosexual sex, and it’s gross.” 

Javier snorted. 

“This is why we fuck,” he pointed out. 

She grimaced, and he frowned, rubbing his hand over her back, needing to feel her, grounding himself in her comfort. 

“I would like to do the real thing with you…” she said softly.

“I’m sorry…?” 

What did she mean?

“To me, I think it’s the perfect way to describe that really tender, intimate fucking where you’re staring into each other's eyes, and taking your time, just enjoying one another. There’s no rush, no pressure to make the other person come over and over, it’s just being in the moment with your partner and feeling it, you know? I wanna do that with you.” 

His eyebrows were in his hairline. 

“You do?” he whispered. 

She smiled, nodding, “Yeah, I do, very much, ‘cause I don’t know if you’re aware, Javi—I really fucking like you. A lot, and I’d be so into it.”

“Oh.”

He was stunned. 

She stroked his cheek, worry etched on her features as she asked, “Are you okay, babe?”

It took him a second to wrap his brain around it. 

“You don’t care how many times I get you off…” he started. “You just want to have sex with me because you like it… You like me, and not how many times I make you come…?”

That didn’t seem right…

“One orgasm is enough. Multiple isn’t necessary, but sometimes nice,” she answered, shrugging her shoulder. “I like the intimacy and don’t care how many times you get me off. You finishing before you wanted was totally fine—it’s honestly really fucking sexy that you couldn’t hold out, like, fuck, I got you that worked up? Me? Makes a girl feel really good about herself.”

He saw in her eyes that she was telling the truth, and his mouth fell open. 

Her eyebrows furrowed, asking, “Why do you look so surprised?” 

“Fuck,” he sighed, closing his eyes tight. “You like me.” 

“I more than like you, but yes, I do.” 

Hearing her say it out loud made his heart pick up in speed. 

“Shit, I’m so fucking stupid.” 

“Javier, what’s going on?” 

He looked at her, seeing the concern on her face. 

“A long time ago, fuck,” he sighed. “A long time ago, with my ex—”

“What the fuck did Lorraine do?” she cut him off, seething. 

A smile crept up on his lips, warmth filling his veins at how protective she always got over him. 

“It’s okay, baby,” he said, rubbing her back. “It was so fucking long ago, but, uh, one time I came too quick, and she bit my head off about not getting her off.” 

“You made her come during foreplay, didn’t you?” 

“Yeah… Figured it wouldn’t be a big deal, so I let myself go, and she got so fucking mad.” 

“That greedy bitch.” 

“I should’ve seen it sooner—I can’t believe I was so fucking dumb.” 

“About dating her?” 

“Yes. My mom tried to warn me, and I fucking brushed her off because I thought she was just being overprotective ‘cause I was her only kid, su bendición, her blessing.” He sighed. “Pop told me when I came back from Colombia the first go around that they knew she was using me to get back at her dad—he thought I wasn’t good enough and fucking hated me dating her. And it’s taken me over fifteen fucking years to realize she was using me for sex, too. She didn’t want me,” he spat, anger simmering in his gut. “She wanted my body and what I could fucking do with it.” His eyes were beginning to burn, pressing his hand to Cielito’s cheek, swallowing hard, his voice thicker when he said, “You want me. You like me. You care about me, and I thought the only fucking thing I have worth anything to give you in return is my body.” A tear rolled down his cheek. 

“Javi,” you gasped, tears brimming your eyes, so utterly upset by what he just said. Guilt had your chest aching, thinking about how he’d wanted to take things slow at the beginning—the three dates he wanted to go on before sex, and now it was dawning on you how important that was to him. “I really fucking hope I haven’t made you feel like all I want from you is sex—you know, right, that I more than like you, and the sex is just a bonus?” 

“Cielito, baby, I know.” He stroked your cheek, his eyes rounded. “Our relationship is so fucking good, and I’ve felt every goddamn day since I met you how much you care about me. It’s just—” He sighed “—in the back of my mind, I wonder what the fuck I have to offer you?” 

It broke your heart how he didn’t see his worth, answering quickly, “You, Javi, not your body, but you, just you,” you said. “You cherish me, you care about me, too, and show me every day with the things you do and say that aren’t even sexy. Do you have any idea how much I love that you wanted to spend time with me today while I read? It made me so happy because none of my exes would’ve wanted to do that, and you keep my water refilled, which is so fucking romantic. I like your company. I like being with you and talking to you. I like everything about you, even if you get into your head sometimes.” You smoothed your hand through his hair. “But Javi, I more than like you a lot, and you give me so much—offer me so much of yourself, and I have never been happier in my entire life.”  

“It’s enough?” He asked, barely above a whisper, and you could see the worry in his eyes. 

You took his hand from your face, lacing your fingers together. 

“It’s more than enough, it will always be enough. You’re enough.” 

His eyes were rimmed red, smiling as he crushed his mouth against yours in a searing kiss that lasted until your lungs protested with a need for oxygen, Javi pulling you into his body and holding you close. 

Learning about Javi’s past over the last two days had given you a clearer picture of who he was and what he’d been through. He was like a puzzle that, since the first time you spoke, you’ve been putting together piece by piece, starting with the edges—him telling you some of his favorite things and about his job with the DEA; a large chunk in the middle coming together with the story of Lorraine, filling the rest of it in with little clusters of information he’d revealed, and at this point, it was almost completed, there was just this one big empty part in a corner that was still missing—Colombia, and all of the horrors he’d gone through. One day he’ll tell you, and you’ll be there to hold him tight and kiss away the memories. 

Time passed, both of you cleaning up, getting dressed, putting the couch protector in the wash, and ordering food to be delivered. 

The entire pizza was eaten, the box lying open on the coffee table with six empty beer bottles surrounding the cardboard. You were sitting in Javi’s lap, his arms wrapped around you with your head resting on his bare shoulder, the man only wearing sweats as you both watched the first Lethal Weapon movie, the marathon having started over. 

The characters work for the Los Angeles Police Department, one of them being a sergeant in the narcotics division, and it had you wondering something while you watch. 

“Javi?” 

“Yes, Cielito?” he asked, kissing your hair. 

“What made you decide to become a cop?” 

He took a deep breath. 

“You know how we’re on the border with Mexico?” 

“Yeah?” 

“There’s a fuck ton of drug smuggling. I couldn’t show you all of Pop’s land, but the Rio Grande runs along it, and if you go out to the edge of the property, sometimes you can spot people on boats.” 

“Maybe they’re fishing? Enjoying the sun? Not all boats on the river are smugglers...” 

“Right.” He didn’t sound convinced and frankly a bit paranoid. “Well, somehow, even with a heavy fucking border patrol presence and the DEA breathing down their necks, drugs are getting into Laredo—my money’s on the river.” 

“I can tell. So, you’ve just always hated drugs?” 

“No.” 

“No?”

Turning your head, you looked at his face, Javi meeting your eyes. 

“When I started elementary school, I didn’t speak a single word of English—had no idea what the fuck anyone was saying. They had me in the ESL program, but my regular teacher didn’t know Spanish, and I struggled. The kid I shared a desk with helped me.” There was a sad smile on his lips. “His name was Neil, and he came from one of the wealthier families in town, so he had a nanny who’d taught him some Spanish—he was my first best friend. If you remember from the photo albums, the random white kid with the curly brown hair, that was him.” You nodded. Chucho had said it was Javi’s friend when you’d been going through pictures, remembering him popping up through the ages they were in elementary school, not recalling if he was in any of the later photos. “As we got older, we drifted apart. His dad’s a hardass. He got into high school and pretty much wasn’t allowed to do anything that wasn’t academic or fucking extracurriculars ‘cause his dad wanted him to get into a big university. It was a lot of pressure, and he started smoking pot freshman year to relax—he got me to try it.” 

You gasped dramatically. 

“Javier, you snorted the mari-j-uana? You? A narc?” 

His eyes narrowed. 

“Did you just call me a fucking narc..? Snorted..? You don’t snort weed, baby…” 

“That’s something a narc would say,” you teased.  

He pinched your thigh, making you giggle. 

“I smoked it and didn’t like it. Not my thing—prefer booze.” 

“Like the narc you are,” you said, kissing his cheek. 

Javi sighed. 

“By junior year,” he continued, “he was under a lot of pressure, and I guess he asked his dealer for something stronger.” He inhaled deeply, letting the air out slowly, before he spoke again, “Kid overdosed.” 

“No,” you gasped for real this time. “I’m so sorry, Javi.” Throwing your arms around his neck, you hugged him, Javi pulling you closer. 

“Yeah, it was fucked.” There was an edge of anger in his tone. “They caught the guy who sold it to him, but at that time, police didn’t give a fuck about cocaine possession, pretty much got a slap on the fucking wrist, and they didn’t bother finding out his supplier. A great fucking kid with his whole life ahead of him, dead, and the man who caused it was out before I went off to college—didn’t sit right with me that Neil didn’t get any fucking justice.” 

“And so you helped take down Pablo Escobar and the Cali Cartel—Jesus Christ, Javier, you don’t fuck around. I think Neil would be proud of what you accomplished.”

“Maybe.” 

The frown was evident in his voice, leaning back to look at his face. It was clear what he was thinking, asking him, “Why don’t you think you’ve done enough?”

His eyes were on yours, “There’s still all the shit here.” He swallowed. “I was asked to go to Mexico after I took down Cali, but I was so fucking tired of all the bullshit.” 

You could see the exhaustion, sliding your fingers through the hair above each of his ears. 

“Babe, you’re one man. I know you want justice and to right all the wrongs, but you can’t single-handedly dismantle the drug trade—you did more than enough. Rest, let other people handle it.”

He let out a long sigh. 

“You’re right, Cielito.” He smiled softly. “I’ve got you now, and I’m so fucking happy about it.”

You smiled back. 

“Good,” you replied, leaning in to kiss him. 

When you pulled back, he asked, “What made you want to be a nurse?”

“Oh, when I was eight, my appendix burst, and I had to be hospitalized.”

“The scar,” he said, touching your belly. 

It was so long ago it was barely visible, it surprised you he’d even noticed. 

“Yeah, the scar.” You smiled. “My mom stayed home with my little brother, and aside from my dad being the doctor he is, checking that the surgery was done properly and I was healing okay, I was in the hospital alone for almost a week.” 

Javi was frowning. “Nobody was with you…?”

“Nope.” You shrugged. “But, this lovely nurse who had the daytime shift would keep me company as much as possible and make sure I wasn’t lonely. She was wonderful and so fucking funny. I just knew I wanted to be exactly like her—I wanted to make being in the hospital less scary and people smile even when they’re feeling miserable. So, nursing.”

His hand came up to cup your jaw, looking deep into your eyes. 

“It’s the perfect job for you—you’re so fucking warm and bright that I know people love you taking care of them ‘cause I sure as fuck do.”

It felt like you were melting at the sincerity in his voice. 

“That’s very sweet of you, but you’re not my patient,” you said. “You’re my boyfriend and get special boyfriend treatment, they just get silly jokes and compassion.”

“What’s the special boyfriend treatment?” He asked, head tilting in interest. 

“Cuddles, kisses, naked stuff, food, basically anything you want from me is yours.”

He pulled you in for a kiss, saying into your lips, “I like the sound of that.”

“I’m glad.”

He broke the kiss, meeting your gaze with a frown, “I’m, uh, gonna be honest—your family has left a bad fucking taste in my mouth, and I’m happy to meet them or talk to them on the phone, but I don’t know how I’d handle them treating you like shit.”

“Well, we’ll have to figure out different plans for Christmas, then.”

His frown deepened. 

“You don’t have to skip because of me...”

“Oh, don’t worry.” You waved away his concern. “You’re giving me an excuse, and I’m taking it. It’s bad enough I talk to my mom once a week or so—if I was strong, I’d go no contact, but I’d feel too guilty.” 

His eyes were big, the honesty showing as he said, “Whatever you choose to do, baby, I support you, and know that my family will welcome you with open arms.” 

“Are you sure?” you asked softly. 

He smiled, “Oh, yeah. Pop loves you, and I know everybody else will, too.”

“That makes me happy.” 

“You make me happy.” 

Laughing, you replied, “You’re so fucking cheesy, but—” you moved your face closer to ghost your lips over his “—I more than like you, a lot.” 

“I more than like you a lot, too.” He closed the space kissing you with such passion that you knew what he said was true, those three little words screaming in your brain. 

The sun was high up in the sky, the straw cowboy hat atop his head keeping it out of his eyes. It was hotter than hell today, the heat making sweat rise on his skin as he walked over the neatly cut grass, taking the same route he’d taken hundreds of times before, ignoring the slight ache in his knees. 

He came to a stop, groaning as he bent down a little to wipe away some dirt that had accumulated on top of the grey stone with one hand. The white leather ring box was slightly discolored from age, not as pristine as it once was. Chucho set it down where he had just cleaned, popping it open, the diamonds on the ring sparkling in the sunlight. 

Straightening, he said, “Mi amor, nuestro Javiercito conocio a una chica maravillosa (My love, our Javier met a wonderful girl).” 

His eyes tracked over the engraved letters of Antonia’s name, imagining how she’d react to the news, seeing so clearly in his mind that bright smile he’d loved so much and her excitedly saying, ‘Háblame de todo (Tell me everything).’ 

A smile was on his lips when he continued, “Yo la amo y tú también la amarías (I love her and you would love her too). Él va a casarse con ella y limpie tu anillo de compromiso para cuando él lo quiera (He’s going to marry her, and I had your engagement ring cleaned for when he wants it). I’m probably jumping the gun,” he chuckled. “Pero sabes que soy un romántico (But you know I’m a romantic).”

“Ojalá pudieras ver lo feliz que está con ella (I wish you could see how happy he is with her). Todo sonrisas, mi amor (All smiles, my love). Los que nos perdimos y pensé que nunca volveríamos a ver (The ones we missed and thought we’d never see again).” 

His eyes were starting to water, feeling his throat get tight. 

“Él está contento otra vez (He’s happy again). Ayer pasé horas con ella y ella es perfecta para el (I spent hours with her yesterday and she is perfect for him). Ella es amable, y muy divertida (She is kind and very funny). Puedo ver cuánto lo ama (I can see how much she loves him).” 

He chuckled again, thinking about what Javi’s Cielito had said the day before. 

“Ella dijo que mataría por probar tu comida (She said she would murder to try your food). Hubieron cocinado juntos y Javiercito los habría distraído a ambos (You would have cooked together and Javier would have distracted you both).” Chucho laughed. 

“Ellos son buenos juntos, mi amor (They are good together, my love). Me recuerdan a nosotros y estarán juntos para siempre, también (They remind me of us and they will be together forever, too).” He pressed a hand to the stone. “Te amo, mi media naranja (I love you, my soulmate). Déjame contarte sobre mi semana (Let me tell you about my week)...”

One month later…

The cordless phone was pressed to your ear, using your shoulder to keep it in place while you cooked, not paying attention to what your mother was saying, seeing as she’d been going on and on for the last—you checked your watch—fifteen minutes about how perfect your little brother was and all of the amazing things he’d done since the last time you spoke a week prior. 

“...and they’ve decided to try for another baby,” your mom gushed, unable to stop the look of disgust on your face.

“Wow, that’s so exciting,” you replied, not sounding excited at all. 

It was honestly such an odd thing how couples were so happy to announce they were having unprotected sex to their friends and family. 

Javi was running late coming over after work because he had an errand to do. The sauce was simmering in the pan, the noodles boiling, and the side salad was already prepared in a bowl on the kitchen table. 

“It’s high time you started thinking about settling down,” she said, making you groan, not wanting to have this discussion. “You know, your father was in Boston this weekend at a surgeon’s conference—he was the keynote speaker and ran into Daniel—Dr. Andrews. I miss Daniel, he was so wonderful and talented. I heard he’s up for an award for a new procedure he invented. Whatever happened between you two?” 

Daniel Andrews was a cardiothoracic surgeon you’d met five years ago while working at a hospital in Dallas. He was pretty with his blue eyes, perfectly styled hair, and clean-shaven face, honestly surprised he’d taken an interest in you, and so you’d dated for about six months—him even meeting your family, but it definitely wasn’t meant to last. 

“Remember he had the accident?” you replied. 

“What accident?” 

“When he slipped and fell into another nurse’s vagina.” 

“That is so vulgar!” She sounded appalled, and it made you smile. “Why are you like this? If you weren’t so… independent, you could find a nice doctor to settle down with, have his children, and become a stay-at-home mother like your sister-in-law.” 

“Wow, mom, it’s not the fifties anymore, and some women like having careers and don’t want to make motherhood their entire identity. I’m happy she loves being at home with her kids, but that’s not something that calls to me—I love working, and if I had children, I’d keep working after they were born, and my partner and I would have equal responsibility taking care of them.”

She scoffed. 

“It’s the mother’s job to rear the children while her husband provides for the family.” 

“I think you personally just caused a regression in women’s rights, and another thing—” You were getting heated. “—I don’t need to meet a ‘nice doctor,’ I’m dating a wonderful man, thank you very much.” 

“The farmer?” The disdain was evident in her tone, and it pissed you off. 

With how your parents had welcomed your exes and how charming Javier was, you assumed they’d like him, too, especially since he’s so amazing. It was your mistake to make assumptions because when you finally revealed you were seeing someone, and your mother asked what he did at the hospital, finding out he didn’t work there, she was not very welcoming and outright dismissive of your relationship. 

“I’ve told you multiple times he’s a rancher—Javier told you he’s a rancher on his dad’s ranch.” 

She’d talked to him one night when he’d answered your house phone, and to your absolute horror, she’d grilled him about his job and how much money he made before you could take the receiver from him. 

“Right, but he isn’t a serious relationship—just something to work out of your system, and eventually, you’ll meet a man who makes actual money and can take care of you.” 

Your blood was boiling, rage making your heart pound, absolutely done with the bullshit. 

“We’re very serious, for your information, and I don’t give a flying fuck how much money he makes because I can easily support the both of us with only my job, that I, a woman with a degree, work!” you yelled. There was the sound of knocking on the front door. “Well, I’ve got to go. My very serious boyfriend, who I plan on marrying, is here! Have a nice night, mother,” you spat, ending the call, the phone thudding across the counter. 

Quickly, you were heading out of the kitchen, relief washing over you when you pulled open the door to find Javi standing there with a concerned look holding a small bouquet of sunflowers. Seeing him and the flowers, Javi always bringing you a new bouquet every Monday had you going soft. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. “I thought I heard yelling?” 

“My mom,” you sighed, anger flashing across his face. 

“Fuck.” He stepped forward to pull you into his arms while still holding the sunflowers, walking you into the apartment and closing the door with his foot, hugging you tight in the entryway. 

Leaning back, he held your chin with two fingers, moving to kiss you so tenderly it made your heart squeeze. Breaking it, he looked at you with round eyes, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked. 

His presence had calmness spreading through you, so happy he was there. 

“I’ll tell you while I finish making dinner.” 

“Okay.” He nodded. “I’ll take care of the flowers.” 

You smiled. “You’re the best.” Quickly kissing him, Javi toed off his shoes by the front door and emptied his pockets in the bowl on the console table in the entryway, following you back into the kitchen. 

You moved the sauce to a cold burner before getting the strainer out of a cabinet, putting it in the sink, and pouring in the pot of noodles while your boyfriend discarded the dead flowers currently on the dining table into the trash. He grabbed scissors, expertly trimming the stems on the new ones before sidling up next to you to fill a clear glass vase with fresh water. 

It was nice how comfortable the two of you moved about the kitchen together, Javi bumping his hip against yours and kissing your hair to make you smile, him waiting for you to start talking. 

Sighing loudly, you finally spoke, “Like, because I’m not a fucking doctor, the next best thing for me to be is the wife of one, popping out kids and raising them.It’s just so fucking sexist.” 

Javi was listening while he arranged the sunflowers in the vase. 

“It’s fucked up,” he mused. 

Shaking out the rest of the water from the pasta, you continued, “Don’t get me wrong, stay-at-home moms work their asses off, but I never saw myself being one—I wanna be a nurse in a hospital, doing the thing I love.” The noodles were put back into the pot and onto the stove, pouring in the sauce, Javi taking the flowers over to the kitchen table and setting them in the middle. “It’s just so fucking exhausting not being good enough.” 

Arms wrapped around your middle, Javi hugging you tight, his mouth at your ear as he whispered, “Fuck what your mom thinks. You’re incredible and hardworking. No one gets to tell you how to live your life.” 

It had you going gooey, tears threatening to spill, stirring the pasta. 

“Thank you, baby.” 

He kissed the side of your neck. 

“You’re welcome.”

“Dinners ready.” 

“I’ll get water for us.” 

The dining room wasn’t much of a room but more of an attachment to the kitchen that featured a two-person table and a window that you’d shut the blinds on so you had privacy while you ate. 

The salad bowl was next to the flowers, Javi sitting across from you, each with your plates full of food.

“How are Daphne and Velma?” you asked before taking a bite. Those were the two calves Javi had basically raised from birth that you both jokingly called your bovine children.

A sweet look came over his face, smiling as he said, “Our hijas (daughters) are doing great with the rest of the herd and picked up grazing quickly, but I knew they would.” 

He sounds like a proud father, and it makes you wonder if he’d be the same with his human children, deep down, knowing he would—he’d be a fantastic dad, ignoring the sting of sadness that he doesn’t want to be one.

Grinning, you reply, “We’ll have to go have a picnic with them next weekend.” 

During the week, sometimes you’d meet Javi out at the ranch after you got off work, and the two of you would sit in his dad’s backyard eating dinner with the two little cows lying down next to you both. With them now out on the land, it’d require a horseback ride, but you loved the picnics and the two girls, who were like giant puppies, always happy to see you guys. 

“They’d love it,” he replied. “Any other news?” Javi asked as he started digging into his food with gusto. 

“You know, the same shit,” you answered, waving your fork. “Mandatory fifteen to twenty minutes of waxing poetic about my brother. Oh, he’s fucking his wife raw now.” 

He choked, coughing as he grabbed his water to take a big drink. 

“Sorry!” you exclaimed. 

Setting the glass down, his voice was rough, looking confused, “It’s okay—why do you know that..?” 

“They’re trying for a baby—like people just broadcast that? ‘We’re trying for a baby,’ wow, thank you so much for letting me know you’re only serving cream pies. My boyfriend fucks me raw on the daily, too. Love when he comes inside me, but I’m not telling my fucking parents.” 

His cheeks were flushed, clearing his throat while he reached across the table to hold your free hand. “Baby, are you okay?” he asked gently. 

“Yeah, sorry, it wasn’t a good phone call—it’s never a good fucking call, and recently they’ve been worse.” 

“I’m sorry.” His thumb stroked over the back of your hand, frowning as he said, “It’s all my fucking fault.” 

“Don’t say that,” you replied in a serious tone. “It’s not your fault, and you’ve done nothing wrong. They’re too fucking stuck up, and after today, I think I’m done trying—there’s no point with how set in their ways they are.” You were getting angry again over what your mother had said. “I won’t fucking sit back and let anyone talk shit about you, my family included, so they can get fucked. I’ve got you, and that’s all that fucking matters.” 

His eyes were misty, squeezing your hand, saying barely above a whisper, “You’d choose me?” 

“I am choosing you. Zero hesitation. Next time she calls, I’m letting her know if she says anything negative, then it’s over, and I won’t be answering anymore.” 

He was giving you that look, the one where you could see in his eyes how much he loved you and that he was struggling not to just blurt the words out loud. 

“You know I support you,” he said thickly. “Whatever makes you happy.” 

“You make me happy.” 

He chuckled. 

“You make me happy, too. Want me to eat you out after dinner?” 

That had you perking up, nodding your head, “Yes, that would be wonderful. I planned to serve you ice cream for dessert, but if you’d prefer pussy…” 

He crookedly smiled. 

“I always prefer pussy for dessert,” he said, winking, making you laugh. 

Focusing on eating, it was quiet as you forked bites into your mouths, Javi groaning around bites. He ate like he hadn’t eaten all day, which you knew was a lie. 

“Slow down,” you giggled. 

“No. It’s too fucking good.” 

His plate was empty before yours, serving himself up seconds and finally taking his time. 

He was very nonchalant when he spoke like it wasn’t anything to get excited about, his eyes on his plate, saying after swallowing a bite, “I start a new job next month.” 

The sentence had you pausing, your fork inches from your face now in limbo. Your eyebrows knit together, eyes narrowing, trying to process the words, thinking maybe you’d misheard. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” you asked. 

“I start a new job next month. Is this a new recipe?” 

“Yeah… what do you mean a new job? Like something different at the ranch?” 

He’d told you he was happy working for his dad, finding the manual labor pretty relaxing compared to what he’d been doing with the DEA, and preferring the animals to people. 

“No,” he answered between bites, shaking his head. “Sheriff hired me.” 

“The Sheriff hired you…?” 

Why would he want to get back into law enforcement? He’d been through so much in South America and put it all behind him to live his life, and now he was going back? This wasn’t making any sense to you—the DEA exhausted him, he was miserable, and now he suddenly wants to be a cop again? 

Finally looking at you, he set his fork down, you doing the same. 

“Yeah,” he said. “Since I came back to the states, agencies all over the entire fucking country have been trying to get me to work for them—the Webb County Sheriff has been up my ass about it, making house calls and sending letters trying to get me. I went through all the job offers I’ve gotten, found the one with the best shit, went to the Sheriff today, and told him if he matches it, I’ll work for him. He did.” Javi grinned, looking pleased with himself. 

“Okay…” you said slowly. “I’m proud of you for swindling cops, but why are you getting back into law enforcement? I thought you were done after Colombia? What about your dad, the ranch, Daphne and Velma?” 

“Our hijas (daughters) will be okay. We can keep going out there during the week, maybe a day on the weekend, if you want. They’ve got all the other cattle to keep them company, but they’d love seeing us, Pop, too.” 

“We can do that…” 

“And the ranch will keep going without me—they’ve got it handled. It was time I got a job.” 

“You have a job.” 

“I needed a real job.” 

“Your current job is pretty fucking real,” you pointed out.

He sighed, his eyes darting away. 

“I need a job that I can support you with,” he said. 

That had you so taken aback you jolted. 

What was he talking about supporting you? As you told your mom, you made more than enough money to care of both of you... Shit, your mom. 

“Javi, is this because my mother gave you the third degree over what you do for work?” 

His eyes met yours, his eyebrows furrowing. 

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about since we started dating, and your mom sure as fuck didn’t help—but I do need to be able to take care of you.” 

Take care of you? What the fuck? Does he expect you to quit your job? You were literally just so fucking upset with your mother for being sexist, her saying it was the man’s job to provide for his family, and now Javi had your hackles rising; this was so unlike him. 

“I don’t need you to take care of me financially, Javier,” you said carefully. “Things are perfectly fine how they are, and there’s really no reason for you to be getting a new job.” 

You’d thought what the two of you had was great, working similar schedules and spending all of your free time together. If he became a cop, you doubted he’d have that same regularity, expecting he’d work long hours. 

He let out a long breath, pressing his fingers to his forehead. 

“Things aren’t fine, Cielito.” 

Your body tensed, dread coming over you. 

“What?” you asked softly, your eyes beginning to burn, afraid of what he was going to say, automatically thinking the worst, like he didn’t want to be with you anymore, or he was unhappy, maybe that he hated your career. You felt sick to your stomach, pushing your plate away. 

His hand ran through his hair, meeting your gaze. 

“I’ve got money saved from the DEA, and the change Pop pays me to work, but when I think of renting an apartment or buying a fucking house, it’s not enough long term. I’m here all the time, staying over, eating your amazing fucking food, and I haven’t pitched in on your rent and only pick up groceries when you ask. I need a real job to provide you with the life you deserve.” 

You had to take a deep breath, processing what he said because now you were upset that he hadn’t been listening about how you wanted to work and didn’t need a man to take care of you. Not once had you mentioned a need for money, frankly living quite comfortably, and this just sounded like he hated that you made more than him, and he needed to save his ego by getting a better-paying job. 

“Firstly,” you started, trying to keep your voice even, “I don’t need you to pitch in. I’m happy to offer my home and food to you because you’re my boyfriend, the one I more than like, who always pays when we eat out. Secondly, I was employed and completely self-sufficient before you came along, and I am beyond capable of contributing my share and more for both of us. Thirdly, I will not be told that you need to work a dangerous fucking job that you hated, all for the archaic notion that because you’re the man, you need to ‘support me.’ Not in this house, not ever, Javier.” 

His jaw flexed, his right hand clenching, saying in a tone that brokered no argument, “I’m not letting you be the sole provider in this relationship.” 

Your eyebrows shot up, your mouth falling open at his audacity, hitting your fucking limit for this shit today. 

“Excuse me?” Your voice rose. “You’re not letting me?! Why can’t I, a woman, provide for us?!” 

His eyes narrowed in confusion, “What the fuck are you talking about? This has nothing to do with you being a woman. I respect you! I respect women!” he exclaimed, exasperated. 

“You said you needed to take care of me and that I couldn’t support us!” you shouted, your chair scraping across the floor as you stood up, staring down at him with your hands on the table. “That doesn’t sound very fucking feminist, Javier! What, are you going to tell me to quit my job, too?! Have me be your good little housewife who waits on you hand and foot?!” 

His face reddened, scrunching up in anger, getting up from his seat so forcefully it slammed into the wall behind him, “You’re not getting what I’m fucking saying!” he yelled. “You’re turning this into something it’s fucking not!” 

“Then what the FUCK are you trying to say, Javier Jesús?!” 

Your heart was pounding hard, blood rushing in your ears, so fucking angry it had your stomach in knots, not believing your sweet boyfriend was being such a dick. He was mad, too, seeing it on his face and how he was so tense, his hands clenched tight at his sides. 

He knew you hated your mother implying you needed a man to take care of you, and then he decided it was time to show his true colors and that he wanted to do just that—have you rely on him, be the man of the house, and make the most money. You felt off balance because it made no fucking sense. This was not the Javi you knew and loved. Your Javi respected your job, your hardwork, you, and he’d never take away your agency.  

“I’m trying to fucking tell you I love you!” he shouted. 

It felt like time had stopped, your eyes going big at his outburst, stunned—speechless—not imagining this would be how he’d finally tell you those three words you’d been waiting so long to hear. It shocked you so much that the hot anger inside you fizzled out as if you were doused in cold water. 

It was clear how upset he was with the tears in his eyes, lowering his voice, his words coming out thicker from emotion, “I love you so fucking much,” he continued. “I want to spend the rest of my fucking life with you,” he choked on the last word, a stray tear falling down his cheek. His gaze was locked on yours, seeing the truth in the depths of his eyes. “I love you, Cielito, and me getting a job and wanting to pay for shit isn’t me trying to fucking control you, fuck, I’d never want that. That’s not me. It’s not me being fucking better than you either, and it has absolutely nothing to do with you being a woman.” His fingers slid through his hair, his other hand on his hip. “We’re building our future together, and I want us contributing equally—I don’t think it’s fucking fair that you’re taking the brunt of the money shit.” He inhaled deeply. “I want us to be equals—you’re my equal, my other half, my fuckin’ media naranja (soulmate). I want to share my life with you, share everything with you, and live with you in a bigger apartment or a house, fucking anywhere that I don’t have to see Mrs. Hernandez glaring at me like she wants me dead ‘cause you were screaming my name the night before.” 

The last bit had you laughing, tears falling down your cheeks, it all finally making sense. This was your Javi—the man who had the utmost respect for women, hated toxic masculinity, was fair and loved you. He was a good man, the best you knew, and you felt stupid for jumping to conclusions that made zero sense for his character. 

Standing up straight, wiping your eyes, and smiling, you replied, “I love you, too, and I’m so happy you said it.”

He ducked his head, looking a bit sheepish. 

“I was gonna tell you after dinner…”

“Wait, what?” 

Looking at you, he said, “It’s so fucking stupid, and I should’ve told you the moment I knew I loved you, but I was scared. So fucking scared that it was too soon, and it had to be too good to be true, except it wasn’t—it was real.” His hands were on his hips, weight to one side. “A couple of weeks ago, I started figuring my shit out, looking into how much money I had and the cost of living—crunching the fuck out of the numbers. I’ve got a pretty good amount saved up since the government basically paid for everything while I was in Colombia. It’s just not enough for me to retire early—too young. So, it was time for me to return to work because I love you, and we’re equal in everything else, like splitting chores and taking turns cooking. I think we’re pretty fucking good at this relationship shit.” 

“I think we are, too,” you giggled. 

He smiled, nodding, “Yeah, we are. I got the job, and it just felt like everything came together, you know? The universe or whatever the fuck was confirming we’re meant to be together, that it was fucking time for me to just tell you, and I rehearsed how I would say it on the drive here.” He sighed, “But your mom kinda fucked things up, and you didn’t react to my news the way I thought you would…” 

“I’m so sorry, the whole conversation with her was a clusterfuck, and then you hit a nerve.”

“Yeah, some of it’s my fault for not saying the right thing, and I’m sorry for that and also for yelling at you.” He looked at you with puppy dog eyes, a sad frown on his lips. “I didn’t like that shit.” 

Guilt was roiling in your gut, feeling so fucking terrible. 

“Javi, I am so insanely sorry that I lost my cool and upset you. I’ll do better not to let it happen again and make sure that we communicate like adults.” He nodded. “Are we okay?” you asked. 

Smiling, he answered, “Yeah, we’re okay. We’re more than okay.” 

“Good.” You felt relieved, your mouth curling in a little smile. “Wanna know a secret?” you asked. 

His head slightly tilted in curiosity. 

“Yeah?” 

“You told me you loved me before you fell asleep Friday night in Spanish.” He’d whispered it when he thought you were sleeping. “I fucking knew you were gonna break soon,” you said, grinning.  

Flush appeared on his cheeks, scratching at the back of his neck. 

“Shit, I usually wait for you to start snoring.” 

“I don’t snore.” It came out defensive. “You snore,” you accused, pointing at him. 

He smiled. 

“You snore, baby. It’s cute. You wanna know a secret?” 

“Is it that you’re lying about me snoring?” 

“Nope.” He shook his head. “Something better.” 

“Tell me.” 

“Remember that first time we went over to Pop’s last month?” 

“Yes?” 

“That’s the first time que dije te amo en español (I said I love you in Spanish). Told you every night after.” 

He, along with some of your coworkers, had been helping you learn Spanish, which was your second language when you were in school.

“Why is that so romantic?” you asked. “Friday, I said it back in English, but, te amo, mi amor (I love you, my love).” 

He gave you a beaming smile, pressing his hand over his heart.

“Te amo con todo mi corazón—eres el amor de mi vida (I love you with all my heart—you’re the love of my life).” 

There was a possibility you would melt into a puddle, hearing and seeing his devotion for you. Remembering what you were discussing had you sobering up, needing to talk about the matter at hand, worry beginning to well up inside you.

“You’re such a fucking sweetheart! Ugh, I love you so much.” Taking a deep breath, you said, “We’ll get back to being disgustingly in love in a minute. I just need to know why you didn’t talk to me about getting a job? And why you’re doing law enforcement again?” You were frowning, continuing in a softer voice, “You’re going to hate it and be so fucking miserable you’ll end up resenting me.” You worried at your lip between your teeth. 

There was no point in sugarcoating your fear. Colombia fucked him up, and he was still recovering from it; going back to that kind of job again won’t be healthy for him—guilt will eat at you because he’d be doing it for you, and he’d absolutely resent you for it, you didn’t see it going any other way. 

He looked like he’d been slapped. Suddenly, he was moving around the table, his big hands cradling your face, making you look at him. 

“Resent you?” His voice was gentle. “How the fuck—” he choked. “I could never resent you. Cielito, baby, no, I love you too fucking much. It’s nothing like the shit I did with the DEA, I’d be consulting.” His thumbs stroked over your cheeks. “Basically, I’d be doing training and offering my expertise—a fucking office job, really, nothing dangerous, no stress, I get  to choose my schedule, so I lined it up with yours. Pays pretty fucking good, too, and uh—“ He looked a little nervous. “—I thought when your lease was up, we could see about getting a bigger place together.” 

It was a relief to hear that what he’d be doing at the Sheriff’s department would be different from his previous work; now feeling much better about everything and happy, so fucking happy. 

“Javi, I own this apartment,” you said. 

His eyes widened in surprise.  

“What..?” 

“It’s a condo that I bought with cash. The big south-facing windows sold me, and I figured it’d be a better investment than renting,” you answered, shrugging. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. Planned on living here at least a year to make sure I loved my job, then wanted to buy a house—need room for more plants and a garden.” 

That was your dream, planning on a little house for just you, but now you’d need something a bit bigger with Javi. 

He looked a little downtrodden, his eyes moving away from yours.

“Yeah, that’d make sense...” 

“Javi?”

Hopeful big brown eyes met yours. 

“Yes, Cielito?” 

“Wanna move in with me, and then we can buy a house together next year?” 

He visibly brightened, thinking his dimpled smile could outshine the sun, a happy chuckle coming from his throat, crushing his mouth against yours, kissing you passionately, reverently, feeling his joy. 

“Yes,” he murmured into your lips. “Fuck, yes. Please. I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

Happiness was overflowing inside you, thinking it would seep out of your pores, flinging your arms around his neck, Javi pulling you into his embrace, holding you so close to his body like he was trying to fuse you together, his mouth never leaving yours. 

For so long, you’d known how he felt, seeing it so clearly in how he looked at you, hearing it in the words he said, feeling it in his touches. He may not have said the sentence out loud, but he still made you feel loved regardless. Now you’ve heard those three little words that, when said from his lips, felt like the heavens above had opened wide, showering you in contented bliss, spreading the warm fuzziness through your body, and cementing in your brain that he was it—he was home, and now you’d share a home, a life, and your future with him. 

Javier Peña loved you, and you loved him, and nothing else in the world seemed truer than that fact. 

Neediness hit you like a freight train, wanting him inside you so badly there was a throbbing ache between your legs, Javi greedily licking into your mouth and swallowing your moans, his tongue tasting every bit of you he could reach. 

The tension rose until you couldn’t take it anymore, breaking the kiss, Javi chasing your lips as you leaned back to start opening his shirt's buttons. His hand cupped your jaw, his lust-blown eyes on your face. 

“I fucking love you,” he said, moving to kiss you again, your fingers getting the last button undone, pushing the material off his shoulders, him shrugging it off. 

Grabbing the bottom of your cotton t-shirt, his mouth left yours to get it over your head.

“I fucking love you, too,” you panted, and he grinned, kissing you hard. 

The majority of things Javier and you were on the same page about—pineapple did not belong on pizza, coffee was necessary for survival, Coca-Cola is superior to Pepsi, Star Wars is better than Star Trek—and many more you were having trouble remembering, because you both understood each other so well, that you knew at this moment your clothes needed to come off as soon as possible, and you weren’t making it out of the kitchen. 

There was eagerness, impatience, and kissing as you stripped one another—which probably wasn’t the best decision when Javi was trying to peel off one of his socks and ended up falling backward onto his bare ass, the air leaving him in a grunt.

Your hand flew to your mouth, unable to stop yourself from chortling while standing completely nude, him trying his damndest to keep a straight face, laughter sputtering out of him with a big, shining grin. 

“Your poor little ass!” you giggled. 

The rogue sock was thrown haphazardly, finding yourself pulled down into his naked lap, your knees bracketing his thighs. 

“My ass is fine,” he chuckled, his lips finding yours again. Big hands grabbed the globes of your backside, him saying into your lips, “Your ass is more than fine.” Squeezing it and pulling you forward to feel the hard line of his cock pressed between you, making you rub your wet cunt against him, moaning at how it was hitting your clit just right to have sparks igniting in your belly. 

“Javi,” you gasped. 

Kisses were pressed along your jaw, moving lower to your neck, the roll of your hips coating his length in your arousal. 

“God, I love you.” His voice was muffled in your skin. He ducked his head down, pulling your hard nipple into his hot mouth, you moaning at the sharp jolt of pleasure. 

“Fuck, Javi, let me sit on your dick,” you whined, wanting to ease the needy ache between your legs. 

He came off your stiff peak with a wet pop, meeting your eyes, him looking at you with such a tender expression. 

“It’s yours,” he rasped. “I’m yours—I love you.” 

Every time he said it, a thrill ran through you, a smile immediately on your lips, the happiness consuming you. 

“I love you, too,” you replied, holding his cheeks. “And I’m yours—forever.” 

That had him kissing you, feeling him smiling into it, you pushing on him to lay down flat on his back, keeping your mouth on his. 

Moving to settle yourself over his hips, you held yourself up with one hand beside his head, the other moving between your bodies, lifting up to guide him to your entrance. Sinking down had you both moaning, feeling him stretching you to your limits, savoring the slight burn as everything pulled taut inside you, so incredibly full when you bottomed out. 

He’s been inside you so many times you’ve lost count—double digits? Possibly triple? You’re not sure, and even though you’re intimately familiar with the feeling of his dick filling you, nothing had prepared you for this—it had both of your jaws going slack, your eyes locked on each other, staring in wonder at how perfect it felt. The world faded away. Nothing else mattered but the two of you, your love and devotion; this feeling that mind, body, and soul, you were one person in two bodies, and now you were whole once more. 

“Fuck,” Javi whispered in awe. 

“Do you feel it, too?” 

“Yeah.” He nodded, his hands coming up to your face. His throat worked, swallowing hard, his eyes shinier, voice deeper, raspier, “Te amo tanto, no puedo vivir sin ti, mi Cielito (I love you so much, I can’t live without you, my Cielito).” You could see and hear the honesty in his words, your heart pounding in your chest, feeling the prickle of tears. “No puedo respirar sin ti—me muero sin ti (I can’t breathe without you—I’d die without you).” 

“Javier, you can’t just say exceptionally romantic things during sex and make me cry,” you sniffled. 

He chuckled, lifting his head to kiss you. 

“Yes, I can,” he murmured against your lips, his broad palms moving to skim along your back. Nipping at your chin, he grabbed your ass. “You feel so fucking good. How is it better?” 

“Magic.” 

He was thinking it over. 

“Your pussy is pretty fucking magical.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you giggled, reaching behind you to grab his hand, moving to press it beside his head, one then the other, interlacing your fingers and holding his hands—him happily, letting you pin him down. 

“It’s the truth.” 

“I’m gonna start calling your dick a ‘magic stick,’” you replied, circling your hips to end the sentence, watching in delight when his mouth fell open. 

“You think my dick is magic?” he gasped. 

Rocking on him, feeling him so deep inside you, answering breathily, “Absolutely, it’s fucking magic how perfectly it fills me—doesn’t leave any empty room.” 

He groaned, his cock jerking inside you, making you smile. 

“Can, uh—” he was breathing a little heavier “—can you stay still and kiss me?” he asked, looking up at you with those big eyes of his. 

“Of course, baby.” Lowering your head, pressing your body into his, staying seated as you gave him what he wanted, kissing him. 

You understood what he wanted completely—that ache in your core quelled by him filling you, loving having him inside you, feeling him throbbing and every vein and ridge pressing up against your sensitive walls, him so hot and hard. Slick was soaking him, gathering where you were joined, knowing it was probably dripping down him, happy to stay like this as long as he wanted, comfortable; Your body relaxing, melting into him, contentedness warming your very soul. 

He kissed you fervently, his tongue pressing between your lips to slide along your own, squeezing your hands beside his head, the two of you losing yourselves to each other, basking in one another—your bodies intertwined so tightly, it all blurring where you ended and he began. 

It was almost too much how he encompassed everything. Your brain could think of nothing else but him—feeling him, tasting him, hearing him, seeing him, smelling him–it was all Javi, realizing nobody else had ever affected you like he does, nobody else had ever treated you like he does, nobody else had ever loved you like he does. 

The saddest part was you were positive that went for family, too—Javier was the only person to ever truly love you, but he was the only man you’ve ever truly loved, too. 

The kissing became languid, minutes passing with him stuffed deep inside you, feeling so full and getting worked up from all the emotions you were feeling—happiness, relief, joy, tenderness, love. You were fluttering around him, your tongues tangling, beginning to squirm with the need for friction.

Breaking the kiss, he asked, “Need to come, mi amor?” through labored breaths. 

“Yes.” 

His hooded eyes showed earnestness, immediately saying, “Use me, Cielito. Take what you need. I’m yours.” 

“Fuck, I love you,” she said. 

He felt her words in his heart, them dancing across his skin, leaving warmth in their wake that seeped down into his bones, pretty sure he might be drunk on her—feeling euphoric, floaty, so unbelievably happy that it should be illegal. This was the high they tried to achieve in manufacturing drugs, something so addictive the user won’t want to stop, and Javier was hooked; addicted, gone, letting himself enjoy this bliss and the high of hearing her tell him she loved him. 

She loved him. 

It was embarrassing how giddy it made him feel, and it wasn’t like he didn’t know how she felt—she’d made it known without saying the words, leaving little doubt in his mind. Everything she did, and said, made Javier feel how much she loved him, but hearing her say the sentence out loud made it real; it brought life to the three little words that would title the next chapter of their lives together and solidified how they felt for each other. 

Add in her asking him to move in with her, and he was the happiest man on the entire fucking planet. 

His throbbing cock was buried to the root inside her, feeling her velvety walls pulsing, burning around him, so wet he could feel her dripping, soaking him in her slick. Sweat had their bodies sticking together, neither giving a single fuck, her face so close he could feel her breathing. 

“I love you, too,” he replied. He’d never tire of saying it, planning to tell her every single day for the rest of their lives because she needed to know—she had to be aware of how he felt and that his love for her grew stronger the longer they were together. 

Her mouth collided with his in a heated kiss that was over too soon. Unclasping her hands from his, she moved them to his chest, leveraging herself to sit up on top of him. A small noise left his throat as she rolled her hips. His fingers itched to touch her, grabbing her hips before moving over the soft, supple skin of her belly, up to palm the familiar weight of her breasts, her breath hitching when he tweaked her pebbled nipples between his fingers. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he husked. 

The shitty hanging light over the dining room table glowed behind her, making her look ethereal, angelic, a goddess above him chasing her bliss. He was enraptured by how she looked with her eyes fluttering closed and lips parted, watching her throat work as she swallowed her moans—thinking she was the most beautiful woman in the entire world, and she loved him. 

She started moving, working herself up and down his dick, her body shivering in pleasure, feeling her cunt squeezing him tightly as she slickly slid along him. She felt so fucking good that it had his breath going shaky, his heart hammering in his chest. The pressure was slowly building at the base of his spine, so turned on by how she was riding him, finding it so fucking sexy watching her take what she needed and using him to feel good. 

It was true that he loved getting her off and probably knew her body as well as his own, learning all the little things that turned her on and got her there. He was aware that if he played with her clit, it’d have her coming quickly; teasing her tits enough could get her to finish, too, but he wasn’t the one calling the shots right now; she was in control—she had the power, and he’d do anything she asked. 

Her heavy-lidded eyes met his, making his cock twitch. 

“Touch me,” she moaned. 

Quickly he was pressing his thumb to her clit, rubbing it the way he knew she liked it, his mouth falling open when she clenched around him. Her moans were getting louder, it getting even wetter between her legs, and he knew she was almost there. 

He was breathing hard. “You gonna come, Cielito?” he asked. “You gonna let me feel you?” 

“Yes,” she gasped. “So close.” 

“I know you are, baby.” He pressed a little harder. “Wanna feel you come. Can you do that for me, mi amor? Be my good girl and come for me?” 

“Yes, Javi,” she moaned. 

Her thighs were quivering, and the way her cunt was beginning to spasm had him feeling dizzy, ignoring the heat growing in his belly. 

“Dámelo, mi amor, give it to me. (Give it to me, my love).”

It wasn’t much longer that her body was tensing up, crying out his name as she came, her clenching down hard around him. 

“So good to me,” he groaned. “My good girl. Te amo, mi Cielito (I love you, my Cielito).”

He grit his teeth, grabbing onto her ass, and started thrusting up into her to extend her high, grunting as he pistoned. Her moans were stuttered, digging her nails into his chest, and when he came to a stop, needing to catch his breath, she’d left half-moon imprints in his skin. 

“I’m gonna marry you one day,” she croaked. 

His head came up to look at her. 

“What?” he panted. 

She had a lazy smile on her lips. 

“I’m gonna marry the man I love one day, and that’s you.” She poked him in the chest. 

A laugh escaped him at how adorably fucked out of her mind she looked, groaning as he moved to sit up, an arm around her back to keep her on him, spreading his legs with her in his lap. 

They were face to face now, him smiling. 

Leaning in, he nudged his nose against hers. “You’re gonna marry me one day, huh?” he asked. 

She slid the fingers of one hand into the hair at the back of his head, pressing the other to his cheek. 

“Oh, yeah. You’re my dream man; you check off all of my boxes.” 

Her thighs were on either side of his hips, his hands gripping her ass, helping her to start moving on him, pressing a soft kiss to her chin. 

“What’s on the list?” he asked against her skin, moving to peck one side of her mouth, then the other. 

“He’s gotta be loyal.” 

“I am,” he replied, kissing her jaw. 

She was sinking down his hard cock slowly, canting her hips to get a better angle. 

“He’s gotta love me.” 

“I do.” A peck to her cheek.

She listed the items, rising up on her knees and falling back down, Javier responding, kissing anywhere he could reach that wasn’t her lips. 

“Considerate.” 

“I try.” One over her pulse point. 

“Affectionate.” 

“Always.” A kiss to the tip of her nose. 

There wasn’t any rush, her rocking in his lap, sliding along his length smoothly, her inner walls massaging him.

“Romantic.” 

“I am,” he said, pecking the side of her mouth again. 

“Fun.” 

His lips paused, her continuing to slowly ride him. 

“Maybe?”

“You are.” 

“I am.” He smiled, kissing her other cheek.

“Easy going.” 

“I try.” A press of his lips under her jaw. 

“Gives me his pickles.” 

That had his head coming up to meet her eyes, his eyebrow quirked. 

“My dick?” he asked. 

She gave him a look, slowing to a grind, her arousal wetting his lap. 

“I said ‘pickles,’ not ‘pickle,’ Javier. Literal pickles.” A smirk pulled up on her face. “But, yeah, your dick, too.” 

He chuckled, finally kissing her mouth.

“You can have both,” he murmured into her lips.

She held onto his shoulders as she started moving faster, his mouth falling open in a moan, her all warm and wet, fucking herself on his cock. The knot was tightening in his belly, their eyes locked on each other, groaning when she nipped at his bottom lip. 

He could feel himself getting closer, her slowing down, grinding on him as they lazily kissed before pressing their foreheads together. They stared into each other’s glazed-over eyes while they shared breaths, him helping her move with his grip on her ass. 

There wasn’t any other place he’d rather be than right here, with the woman he loved, who he knew without a doubt he was going to marry one day. 

She picked up in pace again, sweat beading on her forehead, his lap wet from her slick, letting her control the speed and intensity. Javier was happily at her mercy, feeling their connection of the love they shared, taking their time, and being in the moment—zero pressure, just doing what felt good and enjoying one another. They found themselves kissing when the need became too high, wanting to feel the other’s mouth—quick kisses or drawn-out ones, biting lips, and tangling tongues. 

He knew he’d come soon, could feel it building inside him, but wanting to stay like this for as long as possible. 

Through panting breaths, she asked, “What’s on your dream girl list?” 

He was so fucking lost with her fucking him that he answered in a weak voice, “What?” 

“Your dream girl. What’s on your list?” 

There was only one answer that was coming through his pleasure-addled brain. 

“You,” he gasped. 

She grinned. 

“I love you,” she said. 

He was quick to reply, “I love you, too.” Kissing her until it got sloppy, breaking apart when she started riding him fast and hard, Javier’s eyes squeezing shut, whimpering, his body trembling with the tension winding tighter inside him—he was so close, knowing he wasn’t going to last much longer. 

His eyes went wide when she clenched around him on a downstroke, her continuing to do it. 

“Oh, fuck,” he whined. 

A knowing smirk was on her lips. 

“You gonna come for me, Javi, baby?” she panted. 

She was doing it on purpose, riding him hard and tightening up to squeeze his dick over and over, trying to fucking finish him. 

He smacked her ass, making her laugh. 

“You’re—” he gulped, it hard to speak when it felt like he was going to explode “—you’re playing fucking dirty.” 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

His insides were burning up, the pressure getting to the point that he was done for. It was over—his cock thickening, falling over the edge with a guttural moan, her sitting flush against him as he came, gushing so deep inside her he’d be in her for days. 

Euphoria had his mind going blank and body lax, her pulling his head into her tits, cushioning him on the pillowy softness as he came down. 

He was in heaven. 

Both literally and figuratively. 

Your fingers rubbed through Javi’s sweat-soaked hair, his face pressed into your bosom. 

His shoulders started shaking before you felt his hot breaths and heard his muffled laughter. 

“What’s so funny, Chuckles?” you asked. 

He said something into your chest, unable to make out the words.

“Gonna need you to get out of the boobies.” 

Lifting his head, he looked beyond amused, him trying to hold back his laughs. 

“You’re my Cielito,” he said. 

“Yes…” 

“My little heaven.” Air left his nose in a snort, having to compose himself. “I’m literally inside heaven.” His breath sputtered, his eyes crinkling at the edges as a short burst of laughter sounded from him, ending in his body silently quaking, smiling from ear to ear. You couldn’t keep a straight face, joining in the merriment. 

“You’re so fucking dumb,” you laughed, playfully slapping his shoulder. 

His arms pulled you in for a hug, shoving your face in his neck, the two of you working out the giggles in your system, bodies shaking against each other. 

It took a minute for him to calm down, finally saying, “But you love me.” He pressed a kiss to your hair, his hands rubbing along your bare back.

“I do.” Moving your head to look into his eyes. “I love you very much.” 

His chocolate brown eyes were shining brightly, giving you a dimpled grin. 

“I love you, too, Cielito.” He kissed you sweetly, pulling back to hold your face, as he said, “Mi vida estaría vacía sin ti (My life would be empty without you). Te amo más que a nada y soy feliz de compartir de mi vida contigo a mi lado (I love you more than anything and I’m happy to share my life with you by my side). Eres el amor de mi vida y mi media naranja (You are the love of my life and my soulmate). Te amo, mi Cielito (I love you, my Cielito).” Your eyes were watering, holding the tears at bay, his lips pressing against yours in a tender kiss that had you sighing happily. Breaking it, he asked, “Do you need me to translate?” 

“No.” You shook your head. “I got it, and you can’t just say exceptionally romantic things after post sex giggles to make me cry.” You were so fucking happy, it was taking everything in you to keep from crying. “It’s rude.” 

“I’m sorry,” he chuckled. He kissed you, saying into your lips, “I’m gonna keep doing it, because I love you, Cielito—mi amor (my love).” 

“I love you, too, Javi.”

“My back is gonna be fucked,” he said between kisses.

“I really fucking love you, too.” 

“Fuck, I love you.” 

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[juyuppang]

I’LL SAVE YOU ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა | p.sh

pairing: park sunghoon x f! reader

genre: non idol au! childhood friends to to implied lovers! reunited after a long time type of scenario!

synopsis: when y/n gets unexpectedly saved by one of the country’s national treasures in the most popular live annual dating show

word count: 1.9k words

warnings: none

author’s note: hi hello! this is my first short written on here, please bear with me!! i wrote aus & short stories before but never published them on tumblr, enjoy :)

ps. this is loosely based off of a scene from the thai drama called ready set love. i have been hooked on that show ever since i finished it. who knows maybe i’ll turn this into a fic with multiple chapters, we will see!!

Y/N sat in the yellow chair, facing the large mirror in front of her.

She glanced at the wooden box hooked onto the mirror, peeking inside to find a pair of earbuds. Y/N grabbed the earbuds and took in a deep breath, unsure of what to say once the “lucky” guy walked in through the other side of the room.

Y/N was at her limit to say the least. She, in just one day, already embarrassed herself in front of one of the men participants, get a call from her aunt saying her younger sister was in the emergency room, and almost lose the last round in the first game.

Out of pure luck, Y/N and other contestants were given a chance to go to the second round. She needed to try her best in order to secure a spot- after all if the guy who chooses her does not save her, she is doomed.

It did not help that this entire game show Y/N was competing in was broadcasted on national television. Everyone, as in everyone in the entire country, was watching the show at the present time.

After the country faced a deadly pandemic in the 1970s, the men population started to decline rapidly. The pandemic seemed to only affect the men population while the women population withheld the illness and later deemed themselves immune.

The amount of men started to become scarce, leaving them to become “national treasures” of the country. With women barely giving birth to a baby boy and the numbers growing worse, men were then placed inside a private area called “The House”.

Men were never allowed to see the world outside “The House” and stay within the walls. With only 200 men remaining in the past 10 years, the government and the elite decided to create the annual game show called Ready Set Love.

Every year, 50 contestants are chosen to woo over the 5 most popular men of the “House”. Through each round, contestants are asked to play games whether it be through a team or alone. After each round, there can be only one winning team and whoever loses will be sent home immediately.

This year was different for the game show; the rules were changed in order to make things more “fair” and for everyone to have a chance to participate.

10 lucky participants who were not of the elite class were given a chance to win a spot on the game show as a contestant. Usually, chosen contestants would be those who were born into a rich family or have a high status within the country. But now, 10 lucky women were able to have the chance to try and also win.

And that’s exactly what happened to Y/N. With her younger sister buying at least 10+ cartons of milk every week at the convenience store, she got lucky and was able to secure her sister the 50th spot as a contestant.

Y/N, to say the least, was hesitant. She thought to just decline the offer and just ignore the results of the lottery. Except, the cash prize was huge. Bigger than she’d ever imagine. And that money can be used to help pay for her sister’s medical bills and expenses.

Now, Y/N is nervously sitting in her chair, waiting for someone to walk in. She bit her nails a little, feeling nervous about the outcome.

All she wanted was just to win, grab the cash prize, and nurse her sister back to health.

It was at least 20 minutes since Y/N sat in her chair. So far no one showed up, leaving her to walk around in circles in the room, scared.

What if the guy she needed to woo in just 5 minutes will never show up?

“Does Y/N not know there’s multiple rounds of this minigame?” One of the announcers raised her eyebrow, looking at the screen. “Seems like she’ll be chosen in the last round.”

The current mini game consisted of the 5 men picking a random room to walk into. The chosen participant would sit on the other side, waiting to start a conversation with them. The pair has 5 minutes to interact as the contestant needs to woo the man. If the man thinks that the contestant is fit to move into the next round, he will then do a little dance in front of the mirror and say, “I save you.”

“I guess not, but look who’s about to walk in!” said the other announcer, pointing towards the right corner of the room.

Sunghoon opened the door, walking straight into the right side of the room. Closing the door quietly behind him, he walked towards the wooden box and grabbed the pair of earbuds, stretching his arms a little.

He snickered to himself, already over with this mini game, ready to go home.

The first 2 rounds of the mini game was an automatic fail.

The first girl he chose pretended to be someone she was not. He could sense she only wanted to fit his needs and not put herself first in certain situations, and Sunghoon did not like that.

The second girl just giggled uncontrollably and ended up passing out. Sunghoon was confused and just hoped she was okay. She must have been a bit too excited, he thought to himself.

Y/N saw the mystery man take a seat on the other side, bewildered by his sudden entrance. She then took a seat, fixing her hair and her posture. As she settled down on her chair, she realized who was right in front of her.

“Your 5 Minutes start now, good look girls.” The intercom through the room spoke.

As the intercom was turned off and the 5 minutes started, Y/N snapped her fingers and pointed towards the mirror, “Oh, it’s-”

“It's you again?” Sunghoon grunted. He leaned back into his chair, rubbing his chin. “Are you stalking me or something?”

“Hey, you picked this room, okay? Did I ask you to pick this room?” Y/N said in annoyance, fed up with Sunghoon’s question.

Sunghoon reached into the pocket of his jacket and brought out his phone. He put an image on the middle of the mirror and pointed towards it. “Do you know what that is?”

On the mirror, a picture of a figure was placed in the middle. Y/N sighed, “It’s a person.”

Sunghoon then pulled up another image from his phone and asked another question. “About this?”

“It’s also a person.” Y/N replied, unaware of the point Sunghoon was trying to make.

Sunghoon put his phone away, shocked by Y/N’s responses.

“You see that the first image is the symbol for men, the second is for women. You walked into the men’s restroom earlier.”

Y/N gulped. She blinked her eyes rapidly, feeling even more embarrassed than the first time she ran into Sunghoon.

“Where I live we don’t have those signs. I apologize again and I’m not a stalker.”

The silence deafened between the both.

Sunghoon crossed his arms, not batting an eye towards Y/N.

He already knew what to do at the end of the 5 minutes: he was already ready to tell her she would leave and not get through this round.

Y/N was stumped. She already messed up the first time and what more now?

“Sunghoon, listen, I need to win.”

“Okay and? Doesn’t everyone?” Sunghoon replied. He glanced towards the other side of the room, looking at Y/N.

“I need to get into “The House”, it’s the only way I can survive right now.”

“Listen to me,” Sunghoon leaned in a little, shaking his head. “You don’t want that, trust me.”

Sunghoon hated to admit to himself but he envied the women who lived in the outside world. He wanted to know how it felt like to actually be outside and not held in captivity. If only the contestants knew how lonely it was within those metal walls.

Y/N bit her lip, holding back her tears and raised her voice. “You don’t know how privileged you are. You don’t know how life is for me right now. You don’t know.”

Sunghoon stayed silent. He was unsure of what to say. He never saw someone cry in front of him, let alone a girl. A girl pleading for him to help her.

Y/N wiped a tear off her face and looked up to Sunghoon. “I’ll just leave. I already know your answer if that’s the case.”

Removing her pink sash with the number 50 decorated on it, Y/N sniffled a little. She looked at it in despair, setting it down on the chair.

Sunghoon looked at her, in silence. As Y/N removed the sash, a black thread necklace was brought out from beneath her shirt, noticeable.

Taken aback, Sunghoon looked at the necklace that adorned half an emblem on it. He blinked his eyes rapidly, shocked by what he was seeing.

It couldn’t be.

Y/N was the young girl he’s been looking for ever since the government officials found him and captured him. She was the one who saved him for a bit, hiding him in her secret hideout away from the city when they were kids.

She was the girl who might be able to save him from his destined faith.

“Y/N wait,” Sunghoon stood up.

Y/N ignored Sunghoon’s request, removing her airbuds and placing them back into the wooden box.

Sunghoon walked towards the door and ran towards the middle of the game room. He walked straight into Y/N’s side of the room.

Opening the door, Y/N looked at him in confusion.

“Sunghoon-”

“The 5 minutes is now over, please give your answer.” The intercom spoke.

Sunghoon let out a little cough, regretting what he was about to do. He did the little dance, feeling like his life was already crumbling before his eyes. He swore he never was going to give any of these contestants a chance but now Y/N was the lucky one in his eyes.

After Sunghoon finished his little dance, he pointed towards Y/N and gulped. “I save you.”

Y/N looked to him in confusion. She stood there quietly, shocked by Sunghoon’s actions. She thought he was going to let her lose but why? Why did he let her go through to the next round?

“Sunghoon, what is the meaning of this?” Y/N asked.

“Don’t question it. But please Y/N, try and win.” Sunghoon walked closer to Y/N and spoke softly. “You’re my only hope of getting out of here.”

Y/N looked up to Sunghoon as his facial expression became soft and calm. It was as if the person who he was just now, left, vacant in his spot,

The two stood there face to face, basking in each other’s presence. Y/N thought about her own reasons to why she was there. She nodded her head, in response to Sunghoon’s words.

It was only then the intercom would then announce for the contestants to go back to the main room and for the 5 men to go back into their waiting room.

As Y/N parted ways with Sunghoon, she was curious to why he had a sudden change of heart. It made her question if this game show had a deeper meaning to it, deeper than just trying to woo a man and win a date with him each round.

© juyuppang , 2024

landing page | masterlist

[tomsparkyr]

𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

summary: after a match, mason has to be interviewed as per usual. this one a little more exciting as the woman behind the camera is his girlfriend.

masterlist

mason mount x fem!reader

I LOVE THIS CONCEPT !! ps sorry i deleted it

writing this while pretending that loss didn’t happen,, fucking hell roll on west ham😅

warnings: fluff, there’s literally none, oh my bad writing

word count: 1K+

please don’t steal any of my work, thank you !

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐒𝐄𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 won their first match after a sour spat of defeats at the beginning of the season. The team was buzzing, the fans were wild, the stadium was loud as ever as the Liverpool fans poured out the premises as soon as they could.

Mason had carried the team, scoring two goals and gaining an assist with the third for Sterling. To say you were proud was an understatement. You watched him celebrate with the fans at Stamford Bridge, a home win for his belt of pride.

You could have stood their and stared at him all day like that. His wide smile and laugh you could practically hear from here, the crinkles around his eyes showing just how much joy he was in in that moment; leaving you content as you couldn’t wait for his big bear hug you would receive the second you were in private.

Your relationship with Mason was far from public, absolutely. Imagine the scandals if rowdy football fans found out that Mason Mount, Chelsea’s Starboy, was secretly living with his longterm girlfriend, who— might I add— is the voice you overhear on every Premier League match, before and after. The one holding the microphone to your favourite player spilling positives and negatives, after commenting on their performance for the previous 90 minutes.

People would jump straight to conclusions, assuming Mason was sleeping with you just to earn the positives from the press. Or if you making out with Chelsea’s heartthrob just to earn this job. It was a relationship written for the headlines. Hence, why you kept it so quiet for the current year long relationship.

A hand on your shoulder brought your attention off of Mason, turning around and seeing one of your fellow colleagues signalling that it was time for the interviews.

Now it wasn’t like you got unprofessional during these interviews, never to put it lightly. But yet again, have you ever had to interview your boyfriend who was probably the most annoying person to keep a secret? The man would crack a smile at anything and those wide eyes could be read by borderline everyone at home watching this on TV, not knowing the guy personally.

This was far from your first time interviewing Mason. But seeing his giddy run over to the platform and goofy smile on his face as he watched you set up the microphone for him, you knew you’d be in trouble this time.

You both straightened your posture as the voice of the cameraman was heard behind you, “And we’re rolling!”

You both looked at each other for a moment before starting, his smile widened and cheeks turned a blush rosey. You felt your skin get hot under his gaze, even though you’ve done this hundreds of times, Mason always had that effect on you.

You cleared your throat, “Hello, Mr Mount.” Mason snorted at the nickname and ducked his head down to laugh momentarily, realising he was on national television and had been called that name multiple times by tens of other people.

You closed your eyes and shook your head to restrain yourself from giggling along with him. “Congratulations on your two goals and assist.” You nodded at him adorning a smile, letting him know that you truly meant that comment.

He looked to the side to hide his growing grin and responded with a remark to your previous comment, “Thank you, Ma’am.”

“That’s—“ You cut yourself off with a small giggle that erupted from nowhere and coughed slightly to cover up your mistake, face turning red as you saw Mason pull his features together to stop himself from bursting out laughing. It wasn’t all that funny in reality, but when you’re in the moment, it seems like the funniest thing in the world.

Mason’s lips were pressed together tightly to stop laughter before it began, nodding at you to continue what you had started saying before you interpreted yourself.

“That’s alright, Mr Mount.” There was the nickname again, you paused to breathe before continuing. “How do you feel after a win so important like this? Liverpool are a tough team to beat, correct?”

Mason looked up at you with a grin, dimples prominent and hair messy on the top of his head. “Yeah, it was a tough game, great team and we just got lucky I guess. You know, when your missus is in the crowd, you gotta impress her somehow.” He winked, hinting at you but leaving the audience oblivious.

You blushed profusely, itching your neck to calm your nerves, the only man to make you feel this way watching you. “Lucky woman, huh?”

“The best.” He tilted his head, responding. His gaze was fixated on you, thinking you were the most beautiful person the ever grace the earth, wondering if he was lucky enough one day to call you Mrs Mount, ironically.

A hand on his shoulder shook him from his thought, looking up a meeting eyes with his Head Coach, Graham Potter.

“I’ll take it from here, Mason.” He nodded with wide eyes, initiating that if he answered one more question, the entirety of people watching on their TV screens right now would 100% figure out the relationship between the two of you, no one looks at someone that way if they’re only gonna spend the next minute and a half with them; more like the rest of their life.

Mason nodded at his Manager, smiling at you before he left. The cameras cut not long after you interview Potter, the man welcoming and open to answering your non-pestering questions.

As you were packing up your things, Graham tapped you on the back and said “You know you could just make out with Mason on camera and it would be just as obvious to what the Hell I just watched.” Chucking and slipping out the room as if it was nothing, leaving you stunned as it seemed that everyone was already aware of your relationship with Mason behind the camera.

this was SO BAD IM SO SORRY

[overthinkinglotr]

Everything in the Amazon lotr series makes perfect sense when you learn that the show runners have literally no experience working on tv shows. None. 😂 J.D. Payne and Patrick McKay have barely any experience in the entertainment industry. And like if you check their IMDb, their only credits are a Flash Gordon screenplay for a movie that wasn’t made and “uncredited” writing on the 2016 Star Trek movie (meaning they weren’t an official part of the production but talked to J J Abrams every now and then.)

The only way I can praise the Amazon show is the way you’d praise something written by a kid…”like wow this is your first try? Your first time ever working in tv and writing a fantasy story? This is good for a first try! Nice work! Your mom should hang it on the fridge!” The real question though is like, why didn’t they give biggest budget of any tv series ever made to people who had literally ANY experience showrunning ahsjndndnd.

To be honest I’m baffled at people who say this show is “desecrating tolkien” because like…first off, desecrating tolkien can be super cool. He sucked sometimes. Second, “desecrating tolkien” implies they were creating a story that had something specific to say about Tolkien, and they knew how to use their medium to convey what they wanted to say. But like…they didn’t. The Amazon series can’t desecrate tolkien, it’s relying on tolkien as a crutch to tell an amateur story that would be literally totally incoherent without you filling in the blanks with prior knowledge gained from the books and from other better adaptations.

I’m baffled at people trying to act like Amazon is being progressive with this series when its sorta like…the peak of conservative Hollywood nepotism? Two upper middle-class white dudes with literally no idea how to run a tv show because they have never been part of the process, ever, were gift wrapped the highest budget for any tv show ever made— not because they deserved to make the most expensive tv series ever made, but because they were upper middle class white dudes who happened to know famous people in Hollywood. People work in television their whole lives for the chance to be a showrunner and these two mediocre white dudes who have barely done any professional writing were handed the most expensive tv series of all time.

And it shows! It explains why the show doesn’t feel as expensive as it is. The process was “run” by people who literally have never needed to understand how creating a tv show works.

Everything feels so clumsy, unfocused, and generic because it’s being showrun by people who do not have enough experience to know what they’re doing.

It feels like someone’s first published work because it is. there’s some vague generic theme about being corrupted by darkness but it’s portrayed with all the grace and subtlety of showrunners who have no experience telling stories professionally, don’t understand how to do it, and so are just turning to the audience and flatly saying what the themes are supposed to be in bland boring language. (They couldn’t even find relevant quotes from the books to use instead— at least then it would sound pretty. Tolkein’s language is almost entirely absent from the show. :P)

There’s a lack of specificity— the tone veers wildly from “epic and idealized like the Pj films” to “relentlessly gory and cruel like GOT,” and almost no quotes from the books appear in the show despite language being so important to the feel of middle earth— because the showrunners are too busy struggling to learn the basics of showrunning for the first time to figure out things like “how to set a consistent tone.”

Characters turn to the camera and spoon-feed the audience information like we’re stupid and constantly reiterate exposition from previous episodes because the show runners have never worked on tv shows before, and don’t have enough confidence to trust the audience to understand anything.

The pacing is so bizarre and wonky, and the introductions of important characters/McGuffins is so clumsy, because the showrunners have never done this before ever on any tv show.

The show doesn’t look like the most expensive tv show of all time (even though it is) because the show runners don’t understand how to budget visual effects effectively. Tons of expensive labor is wasted on dream sequences and meaningless one-off plot beats that don’t add anything to the story when they could’ve been spent on the actual important emotional story moments.

And of course the way the show handles gender and race is so hollow because it’s driven by two white male nepotism hires tackling these topics for the Very First Time. They decide to handle sexism in middle earth by making it a world where patriarchy just doesn’t seem to exist(?), but they’re also not willing to actually genuinely imagine what that would look like. so we get a world where “there’s no patriarchy” but most the warriors/leaders are still men, all the women still dress in feminine clothing/hairstyles and all the men have masculine clothing/hairstyles, no women are butch and no men are effeminate, a woman fighting/showing up in battle armor is framed as a big cool reveal, and every single relationship is suffocatingly heterosexual (and there isn’t even the possibility of queer relationships/homoerotic subtext.) They had three POC play some of the side characters but were careless in how they handled them, in a way that’s a disservice to the talented actors— for example the character they marketed as “the first black elf in tolkien” is immediately thrown into a plotline where people are racist to him for being an elf and then he’s captured into slavery and spends a few episodes in chains driven around by white orcs with whips in a way that makes you realize the creators were too white to think about the optics of this. They also don’t tackle the root issues with the way tolkein portrayed race (the idea that different races are different Species with immutable personality traits) and just take his racist assumptions for granted. Meanwhile, every scene where people are “fantasy racist” against white blonde Galadriel for being an elf is handled with all the grace of a white teenager who just realized racism was maybe Bad writing their first fiction story saying Deep Things About Society for a high school assignment. Can you imagine how much more thoughtful writing we would’ve gotten from literally ANY of the far more talented experienced female and poc directors in Hollywood, people who understood how to tackle gender/race in their writing and who understood how to actually run a show? But no, the show has to be handed to two white dudes who have literally no experience writing for tv and no relevant credits, just because they’re white men who are well connected, and we have to trust tHese people to condescendingly explain the importance of diversity to us like we’re children. And then we have to pretend to like it because theres a massive right wing backlash against the show for being “so woke” (when it isn’t). ANSJSJJDJDJD

I just kinda…don’t understand? Why give so much money to people who have no experience and don’t know what they’re doing? People whose only qualifications are being random white dudes who know famous people?

It feels like such a waste of money and resources to throw so much into what’s essentially a training exercise for people who’ve never run a show before. The Amazon series is longer than the first two PJ films but it doesn’t feel that way because the showrunners don’t understand how to use a medium they have never worked in.

Like Peter Jackson had never directed anything on the scale of LOTR, but he had directed plenty of movies (with the writers who later partnered with him on lotr) before he was allowed to make it, AND had spent years pitching his scripts around Hollywood and helping develop the technology used for the visual effects. Heck, Ralph Bakshi had made animated movies before, and Rankin/Bass had worked on tv specials. As much as all those adaptations are flawed like?????????? I genuinely don’t understand why you wouldn’t hire more qualified people for the most expensive tv show of all time. or even just. Anyone who had literally any qualifications at all.

But I guess I’m thinking about this all wrong because…their lack of experience is likely why they were hired. Because of the complicated legal and rights issues happening behind the scenes, Amazon likely didn’t want to hire anyone who would have a coherent vision and a clear idea of how to execute that vision. The show needed to bow to the mandates of Amazon but ALSO the copyright issues (they don’t have the rights to actually adapt most of the stuff dealing with the history they’re adapting), the mandates of the Tolkien estate (who were allowed to make whatever petty changes they wanted to the story at any time) and the mandates of New Line Cinema (who were allowing Amazon to ape the style of their movies to get l publicity for their brand but are also completely willing to enforce copyright and demand change if they felt Amazon was stepping on their toes, and etc etc). Amazon needed inexperienced people who would go along with whatever they were told to do. Someone who had a clear vision and knew how to execute it would fight against the dumb corporate mandates. Someone who has literally never worked in tv before would assume Amazon knew best and do whatever they were told.

I don’t know, I feel the same way I do about the hobbit films where it’s just—it’s such a waste? It’s such a waste. It’s such a waste of time and a waste of labor, on a project that (because of weird corporate nonsense) has no clear artistic vision and only exists to be part of a lucrative Brand(tm.)

I won’t be watching the next season— I assume the the future seasons will be “better” because the show runners have now had their very first season of experience working in television ever (good for them and congrats on breaking into the industry for the first time etc etc), but that doesn’t change what a massive corporate waste the first eight hours were— again, that’s longer than the first two PJ films but it doesn’t feel like It because it’s so directionless and devoid of a clear artistic vision. Idk as long as the only Lord of the Rings adaptations we’re legally allowed to get are massive Mega corporate ones funded off the suffering of all the underpaid Amazon workers who die in the warehouses, you would think the adaptations would at least be good XD. Again, can you imagine what more experienced and talented directors with a long history of working in TV, and who were free to execute their artistic vision, could’ve done with such a giant budget? Can you imagine if corporations didn’t waste an entire season of television as the world’s most expensive training wheels for people who’d never seriously worked in tv before? Can you imagine how much good art we could get if Hollywood was actually a meritocracy? Idk dudes, idk.

[ohworm-writes]

I know that, to a lot of people, what I’m about to say is unimportant. But I just wanted to put this out there to the general public of people who follow my content.

I have been writing for years. I have written stories, short and long, since I was in Pre-School, and I’ve kept with that passion since. I love creating complex characters and dynamics, creating worlds and landscapes of my own because- fuck, it’s fun!

And as I’ve grown older, I’ve expanded my work. I’ve done short story commissions once or twice for friends at school because they want to see their own original characters come to life! I created a Tumblr blog (this very one) because I loved seeing the passion people put into writing fan works!

And do you want to know something else really cool? I co-wrote a play for my old highschool. I preformed my own scene on stage with others and I fucking loved it. And after that I decided I wanted to be a screenwriter! Because, holy shit! I genuinely cannot imagine my own work being put onto a big screen, my passion shown to the world!

But now? It’s hard to thing about. The WGA and SAG-AFTRA are on strike, the WGA since May 2nd and SAG-AFTRA since July 14th. They (the WGA) are fighting for wages that they can live on. That is the bare fucking minimum.

I don’t want to come across like I’m oh so unique for stating this, because I sure as hell am not, but- this up and coming generation of individuals who have similar ideas like mine, wanting to put their writing on screen and share their thoughts with the world, have to understand that this is real and this will not stop unless something is done.

I’m not off-put by this and this isn’t going to influence my decision of coming into this field, but it’s a slap to the face. A bucket of ice water dumped over my head. When I grew up, I’d always watch the end credits of films and television shows to, in my little head, thank everyone who worked on the piece.

I always thought that everyone who worked on these became rich because they worked on movies and television. Like- how could they not be paid fair? They worked and worked and worked on these things to make what I was watching real!

And now, wanting to go into that field and seeing so many people- my idols having to fight for basic things, it’s heartbreaking but it also motivates me even more.

As a fan-fiction writer, it’s especially interesting. Do you want to know why I and many others don’t do commissions for writing about fandoms? Because it can be seen as illegal. The works we write about are under certain copyright laws that we have to abide to, whether we are conscious of it or not.

Also? It’s fucking immoral! I can write all of the fan-fiction I want for free, and there’s no problem with that. But, once I start to say, “I’m opening up commissions, so you guys can pay me to write about these characters or fandoms with whatever flavoring you want! I get a profit, you get something I could post for free!” Fair, right?

I won’t ever charge for people to see the things I write because I love writing them! I want everyone to see what I write, whether it’s on a Tumblr blog or on a big screen. That’s the point of it all.

None of these writers, people who write fan-fiction included, want fucking artificial intelligence to write for us- that’s our fucking job! C.AI, ChatGPT and whatever the fuck the others are- just write what you want to see! Ask a writer to write it for you! Pray?! Don’t turn to a fucking machine and say it’s so much better than what people do for fun or, again, a living!

But you have to understand what these people in the WGA are fighting for is the right to be fairly compensated for their work. To have a wage they can live off of and not have a fear looming over them about losing what they’ve worked towards making.

This cannot be too much to ask for, because if it is? Every person, whether you write or consume these kinds of media or not, are doomed.

Pay these writers. Use your platforms for publicizing these types of important issues. Show your support.

[brookheimer]

truly do not understand how people are JUST NOW seeing roman as a geniune character with depth and not just "haha funney man mommy issues sexual problems lol!!! 🤪" like listen i started watching succession like. 3 weeks ago. and people that were watching this from the second it came out couldn't see the importance of his character until now?? fucking eleventh hour??? anyways hes the queen of my heart 4 ever and ever

no literally like i genuinely just... cannot conceive of someone watching multiple episodes of the show and still not taking him seriously or seeing how tragic he is. it's one thing to think he's an asshole -- he is -- and it's another entirely to think he's a one-note sex-freak funny-guy who isn't written just as carefully and tragically as kendall and shiv. and it's not like this is new news either -- in the second episode, when logan was in the hospital, everyone was trying to figure out who would run waystar and roman was like can you guys shut the fuck up and worry about our dad? and then roman made greg go back to the penthouse to get him something that smelled like logan?!?! this was, again, EPISODE TWO!!!! and somehow people are only saying just NOW that, like, 'turns out roman roy is the most caring/empathetic/family-oriented/etc of them all'! like oh wow turns out logan roy is a bad father. turns out kendall roy is an addict. turns out shiv roy is not the best feminist activist. we have known all of this for a very long time and none of it contradicts the other parts of the characters -- logan is a bad father and a good businessman who is honestly not wrong about his kids, kendall roy is an addict and he is trying so hard not to be and to escape the cycle of abuse, shiv roy is a bad feminist and entirely the product of a family and an environment that refused to value her for her entire life simply by nature of her gender. why could everyone acknowledge these things for the other characters but not roman? why couldn't roman be both an asshole and a deeply tragic character like everyone else?

like, just bc you can't reconcile the unlikable aspects of a character with the nuances of their backgrounds/psyches/etc doesn't mean those depths don't exist, it just means you fundamentally missed the point of his character for at least 3 entire seasons. crazy how articles are really out here saying shit like 'improbably, roman roy shows emotion' like that is actually so incredibly embarrassing ? like, you're a cultural critic at a well-known magazine, your job is literally just getting paid to watch and analyze television shows, and it took you until the final season of succession to realize that roman roy is an interesting character and not just perverted comic relief? why would you admit that to the world for real

[harrisonarchive]

From George’s appearance on the Rutland Weekend Television Christmas special aired on BBC2 on December 26, 1975.

“‘The Pirate Song’ was written for the pirate sketch on the Rutland Weekend Television Christmas Show, 1975. It was co-written (words and music) by Eric Idle and myself. [...] All my friends are pirates.” - George Harrison, I Me Mine (1980)

“George lurched on as a truculent and slightly unstable pirate and demanded to know where the Pirate sketch was. As the sleazy compere, I insisted he was only there to sing ‘My Sweet Lord,’ and there was no pirate sketch. But he was having none of that. ‘No pirate sketch? Well, up you then,’ and off he stormed...” - Eric Idle, A Sortabiography (2018)

“I got an e-mail from the Liv the other day [in 2003] saying she thought George performing ‘The Pirate Song’ on Rutland Weekend Television was the bravest thing he ever did and that she wanted to be a pirate, too. Well, his dark sweet lady was the love of his life, and I know how much he loved her; a braver, finer, lovelier companion no man could ever find, and it breaks my heart to think of these last […] years.” - Eric Idle, The Greedy Bastard Diary (2003)

“[P]irate as he is, [George] deserves the word ‘bold’ for he is, in truth, quite the boldest man I have ever met.” - Derek Taylor, I Me Mine (1980)

“He was a naughty boy, you know — an artist, a pirate. But his meditation left him well prepared for his death. He said he was ready to leave his body. He was always a ‘No need to panic’ kind of person.” - Olivia Harrison, Vanity Fair, September 27, 2011 (x)

[angelst4re]

hear me out, oneshot with protective jamie 😩 >>> maybe where he's protecting reader from her abusive brother or ex bf? i really need to read something like thattt

ahhh protective jamie is just so <33 also this kinda reminded me of that video of him calling out someone at one of his shows and calling them a pussy... if you know you know ;)

summary: whilst at a bar to celebrate sam's birthday, you bump into your ex...

warnings: brief mention of abusive relationships, EXTREMELY BRITISH JAMIE (ig that deserves a warning?)(too hot to handle!)

note: i just found this in my drafts! i think i was supposed to post it last week?? but i'm posting it now because i haven't written anything for this week yet haha. also, it's quite short :( i'm also tagging this as counterfeit jamie bc i had him in mind when writing this <3

“Why don't I get us some drinks?” You suggest, seeing as the last time you and Jamie went out he paid for everything. 

“Sure, I’m just going to go to the bathroom quickly, but I’ll find you when I’m done, okay?” He said, placing a kiss on your forehead, mouthing an ‘I love you’ before disappearing to the bathrooms. 

You were out celebrating Sam’s birthday at a bar, you had only been here once before and you happened to have been quite drunk- so you weren’t sure where you were going. 

You wandered about, looking for the bar when you felt somebody touch your shoulder. You expected it to be Jamie or an old friend or maybe someone asking you to hold their drink. 

But it was none of these. 

“Oh my, look who it is!” He grinned, putting an arm around you, causing you to freeze. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?!” 

It was Jeremy. 

You had left him a few years ago after he began to show signs of becoming abusive. He would rule your life, tell  you what you can and can’t do, what you can and can’t wear, who you can and can;t talk to. When you disobeyed him, he would act out with violence. It started simply, breaking items in your house such as a vase or the television, but then it moved on to you. 

You were glad you escaped when you did, you feared you may have never made it out alive. 

“Let go of me.” You whispered, your voice trembling. 

“Now why would I do that? We have lots to catch up on, don’t we, doll?” 

“Taking your fucking hands off my girlfriend.” It was Jamie! 

Your panic began to lessen as Jeremy removed his arm from you. 

“Calm down, mate, I was just having a conversation with her, she’s my ex-”

“Oh.” Jamie’s expression turned from pissed off to livid in a span of two seconds. 

You had told him about what Jeremy did to you, and Jamie told you about what he would do to him if he ever met him. 

“You might want to leave her alone, mate.” Jamie spat, looking down at the other man. 

“Oh yeah,” Jeremy snickered, trying to hide his fear, to play it off like it’s nothing, “and why’s that?” 

“Because if you ever lay as much as a finger on her again, I will fuck you up. Got it?” Jamie explained, his voice held a slight patronising tone as he spoke. You had never seen this side of him before. 

“Piss off.” Jeremy mumbled as he backed off and began to walk away, giving Jamie a dirty look. 

“Fucking cunt.” Jamie glared at him as he left. 

You stood by Jamie’s side, not knowing what to say. 

“Sorry, darling,” he quickly snapped back into his usual self, stroking your cheek, “are you okay?” 

You nodded your head, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend, pulling him in for a loving hug. You could finally breathe.

[skippyv20]

Authors who lie = Fraud = Liability = Litigation

Hi Skippy & Friends-Pilgrim checking in on this crisp, sunny Sunday morning with a few factoids to help us understand JH and ILBW’s new legal mess. Penguin Random House is continuing to sell Spare advertising"…For the first time, Prince Harry tells his own story, chronicling his journey with raw, unflinching honesty. A landmark publication, Spare is full of insight, revelation, self-examination, and hard-won wisdom about the eternal power of love over grief.“ Oh Ohhhh…It even says about the audio book, "Written by Prince Harry, The Duke of Sussex …” The fawning by literary critics and TV shows when it came out is laughable now.

Here is a solid legal note from Sidebar Saturdays, “where the practice of law meets the profession of writing. We are a group of attorneys with a wide range of legal experience who write thrillers, mysteries, and works of non-fiction.” This next quote from them applies to writing an autobiography which is what JH did. No wonder the top ghost writer threw in the towel knowing the rules and legal ramifications of the industry, refusing to get caught up in their relentle$$ need for revenge.

“Consumer Fraud and Breach of Warranty -Fake memoirs and fraudulent autobiographies happen. Just check out this long list on Wikipedia if you need examples. A writer who lies about stories or events which are later discovered to be false runs a high risk of being sued, usually in a class action lawsuit by readers claiming to have been deceived and possibly by the publisher for breach of warranty in the publishing agreement, as well as suffering public disgrace.While most cases of fraud due to authors falsify accounts of their own lives are settled or withdrawn before ever making it to court, no one needs that sort of hassle. Granted, most memoirs and autobiographies have numerous falsehoods and inaccuracies. Memory is a sketchy thing sometimes. But willfully lying about one’s life has legal consequences. Avoid fabrication. You do not want to endure the litigation nightmare that James Frey did, nor do you want to subject your publisher to such liability either (or be on the hook for your publisher’s damages and legal fees because you breached your promise to tell the truth).”

One of the examples in the Wikipedia list is fascinating, involving none other than Oprah! “James Frey, A Million Little Pieces, Doubleday Books (a division of Random House) (2003) is a bestselling memoir in which the author created and exaggerated significant details of his drug addiction and recovery. The author appeared on The Oprah Winfrey Show, and in September 2005, the book became an Oprah’s Book Club selection. However, when the book’s authenticity was called into question, the author and publisher Nan Talese were invited back and publicly scolded by Winfrey in a live face-to-face confrontation. The media feasted over the televised showdown. David Carr of the New York Times wrote, "Both Mr. Frey and Ms. Talese were snapped in two like dry winter twigs.”[37] “Oprah annihilates Frey,” proclaimed Larry King.[38] New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd wrote, “It was a huge relief, after our long national slide into untruth and no consequences, into Swift boating and swift bucks, into W.’s delusion and denial, to see the Empress of Empathy icily hold someone accountable for lying,”[39] and the Washington Post’s Richard Cohen was so impressed by the confrontation that he crowned Winfrey “Mensch of the Year.”[40]“

Will she do the same thing now? LOL. Over and out for now…

Fantastic post dear Pilgrim!  Thank you so much!😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

[gamerswift13]

Mrs Maisel Musings!

Kia ora, friends!

Alright, here it is folks, the moment maybe some, maybe none of you have been waiting for: my thoughts on the The Marvellous Mrs Maisel final season. I did it, I finally got it done. I think the reason it took me so long, aside from previously mentioned mental health issues, is that writing stuff like this for five hundred and sixteen minutes of television is hard! It’s really hard. I would love to hear what you all think of this, and if you want to discuss what I’ve written here, or even just about the show or season in general, please hit me up! I would love to talk about it with you.

Now enough with the delays and the stalling - please enjoy my review (??) of The Marvellous Mrs Maisel season 5, the final season.

So, I really liked the first few seasons of The Marvellous Mrs Maisel. Even though it’s a bit cheesy and dopey at times. Rachel Brosnahan is a joy to watch on-screen, and a lot of the other actors here do a really great job with the script they were given... such as it is. On a recent rewatch, though, I started to see the strings a little bit - things that I liked the first time around just didn’t quite hit the same. I got through most of it, all the important parts, and then I started the new season. It’s been a couple weeks or so since I finished it, and I’m not as down on it now as I was when I started, but y’all, I am about to have some opinions.

This the final Mrs Maisel season really feels like creator Amy Sherman-Palladino probably wanted to do at least one more season after this, but someone at Jeff’s Website Studios said no, so she simply decided to burn the show to the ground.

Now as I wrote in the subtitle, I am about to spoil things here, so this is your final warning: if you don’t want to be spoiled for season five of The Marvellous Mrs Maisel, get out now.

Also: foul language ahead! 🤬

The entire point of this season seems to be leaning into how much of a piece of shit Miriam Weissman is. We get glimpses of her in “current day” 1962 juxtaposed with scenes set in 1972 and 1982, and a couple of other random years, where we skip around and see all sorts of wild stuff - Midge is rich and famous, her kids Ethan and Esther are all grown up, Joel is in prison, and there are some bonkers and hilariously bad facial prosthetics.

Now, aside from the hilariously stupid idea that Midge as a stand-up comic somehow got insanely rich, there are some cool ideas here. The first episode opens with Esther in a psychiatrists office in 1981, searching through a backpack for something and seeming very annoyed. On first watch, I didn’t like that this is something that’s shown at all, but the more I thought about it the more I warmed to the idea. In previous seasons, The Marvellous Mrs Maisel has at times made a point of showing Midge being a terrible and/or absent mother, usually for comedic effect, but I think it’s interesting that they took this idea and bore it out, to show that mid-20’s Midge’s actions had consequences. In a later episode we also see Ethan as an adult, with Midge annoyingly landing in a helicopter nearby and upsetting everyone - this wasn’t as interesting to me, but it was still a good glimpse into how little regard Midge appears to have for anyone but herself, Joel, Susie, or Lenny Bruce.

Speaking of Lenny Bruce, I want to talk about his appearances in the final season. If you know anything about him from real life, you might know how his life ended, and where. The very first episode of season five has Midge bumping into him randomly at the airport when he is about to board a plane to Los Angeles. This made me so. Fucking. Mad. IRL Lenny Bruce was found dead in his home in Hollywood Hills in 1966, which lead me to believe that the very last time Midge will ever see him was this scene at the airport. Midge walks away from the interaction with Lenny with a strange look on her face, as if she somehow knows that this will be the last time she ever sees him alive, and it is my humble opinion that that fucking sucks. Lenny Bruce is one of the best characters on this show, with a ton of great appearances and lines and jokes, and Luke Kirby does a phenomenal job of capturing the real Lenny’s energy - it’s not 1:1, but it’s a great depiction, and I simply cannot believe Amy S-P would do my boy like this. The only other time we see Lenny in this season is years later, performing in front of a fairly disinterested crowd as he mumbles and rambles about this thing and that, and it’s so fucking depressing. This season, the show never outright mentions his drug use, but it’s heavily implied, and there’s a moment in a back room where he is talking to Susie and appears to be unable to stand up. On the one hand, I’m kind of pleased that they didn’t depict his death at all, but it really bothered me that these two scenes were all we got of him before the show stops referencing him at all.

The part of this season that really shines the most to me is a scene from episode eight, with Abe in a dimly-lit restaurant with Gabe, his boss, and a couple of colleagues. The scene begins with Abe checking his coat and coming over to sit where Gabe etcetera are already seated around a table and chatting. They order some wine. There’s a cut here to a few minutes later where the wine has arrived and been poured, and Abe sits silently, swirling his drink and clearly deep in thought while the others talk amongst themselves. Eventually, Gabe interrupts Abe’s thoughts, telling him that he had been raving to the others about his conversational skills. Abe apologises. “It’s just… the whole goddamn world, you know,” he says, clearly depressed about something. “Only that?” chimes in one of the other men at the table. Then ensues a conversation about the state of the world, about progress, about gender inequality and mental health, even, which was surprising to me. This scene is heartbreaking, and might be some of the best writing in the entire series. I cried watching this scene the first time around, and again just now rewatching it. It’s really sad that Abe never got the kind of character development shown here earlier, I would have liked to see that.

Episode six is an interesting sort of experiment; beginning with Midge on stage, in 1985, talking about her relationship with Susie, it then transitions into a roast for an indifferent and grumpy Susie in 1990, which is basically a device for a bunch of famous people you’ve seen in other things to come together as characters never seen before or again and tell stories about Susie’s rise to fame as one of the biggest talent managers in the United States. Here we get an explanation for why Joel is in prison, and a bunch of seemingly randomly selected stories about what Susie has been up to since 1962. As with the portrayal of Esther in episode one, this was another thing about this season that really bothered me at first, because it felt like it lacks focus, but as I thought about it more, it started to grow on me. This collection of tales about Susie’s exploits make sense for her character, and help to define who she is.

Overall, this season really fell down for me when I realised that a lot of really interesting moments never truly pay off. We jump around a lot between different years and perspectives, and we see a lot of things that could have been great story arcs, but they simply end and are never mentioned again. I really do feel like this season was supposed to be two or more, and Jeff’s Studio said no, so Amy Sherman-Palladino lit it all on fire. I think that if hyou like this show, it might still be worth it to catch the final season, but personally I feel like it should never have been made - at least not in this form. I would much rather have seen this stretched out more, over at least one more season. It tries to give the viewer some closure in the very last scene of the very last episode, but for me it falls flat. I don’t think I’ll ever watch this again.

Thanks so much for reading! What did you think? Once again, please feel free to hit me up in the comments, on the socials, or send me an email. And as always, if you want to read more stuff by me, you can check out my Letterboxd reviews - I recently reviewed The Craft (1996), Eradication (2022), and The Sand (2015)!

I hope y’all are staying safe out there! Have a great week and I’ll talk to you again soon. Ka kite anō au i a koe. 💚

Rebecca

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[endorphinmachine]

CHESS 1984 TRANSCRIPT

wrote it all down for you, as written, including the comma errors of which there were a few. added some notes here and there for things i thought were worth interesting or worth knowing AND i'm on mobile browser so i hope it posts alright. enjoy 👍

Act One

The World Chess Championship is about to take place in Merano, a Tirolean town in North Italy. The champion (The American, in his mid-thirties) (T/N: Huh?) is defending his title against a new challenger (The Russian, in his early forties) (T/N: Huh???). The people of Merano are by and large very enthusiastic about the great event that is taking place in their small community. The American is enthusiastic about the potential financial rewards of the match and about his own skill at bringing what has hitherto been a minority interest sport to the frenzied attention of world media. (Merano)

The American gives a press conference in his hotel at which he behaves petulantly and aggressively, denouncing his opponent, every other Soviet and the press with equal vigour. His performance is watched on television by the Russian and his KGB-employed second, Molokov, in their hotel. Molokov is inclined to dismiss the American as a nut. The Russian concedes that his opponent is eccentric but realises that every outrageous move made by the American is a calculated one. The Russian reflects upon his own rise to the top. (The Russian and Molokov/Where I Want To Be)

The Opening Ceremony is a hugely colourful event. Merano has pulled out all the stops. The Arbiter of the match points out with great gusto that his word is final during the series of games while Merchandisers, Press, Politicians, Businessmen and Diplomats all struggle to get everything they can from the excitement building up to fever pitch around the contest (The Opening Ceremony)

The American stages an effective and insulting walkout during the Arbiter's lengthy recap of the match regulations immediately after the Opening Ceremony. None are more insulted than his own second, Florence Vassy, who is left to defend her player's indefensible behaviour to a sneering and pompously protesting Molokov. During this exchange, she meets the Russian player for the first time. The Russian shows some sympathy for her situation. The Arbiter continues to prattle on about the rules. (Quartet– A Model of Decorum and Tranquility)

Florence confronts the American back at their hotel, telling him that she cannot tolerate his treatment of her much longer. We learn that she was born in Hungary, left that country when only two with her mother in 1956 during the uprising, and is now a naturalised British citizen. She has never discovered what happened to her father who 'disappeared' when the Hungarian uprising was crushed. She is determined to find out. She has worked for the American for seven years, since meeting him during a chess tournament in England. We suspect their relationship is almost like that of a mother and child, although both are around the same age. (T/N: They aren't. Florence is likely in her late twenties and the American is five to ten years older– Tim is a nut.) Their argument reinforces her belief that the only person she can ever really rely on is herself. (The American and Florence/Nobody's Side)

The first game of the contest begins with an atmosphere of mutual loathing hanging over the proceedings as the two players make their first moves. Tension builds as much offboard as on with both men resorting to underhand tactics to distract or enrage the other. Suddenly, high drama as the two players fling the board up into the air. They walk out after coming near to blows. Consternation everywhere. (Chess)

Florence and Molokov have an unofficial meeting to discuss the collapse of the match, which no one really wants to abandon. After some spirited insult-trading, Florence takes the initiative and tells Molokov where and when he is to deliver his player for a secret, off the record, meeting between the two contestants, in order that the match can resume without either party losing face. Molokov attempts to rattle Florence at one stage by implying that he knows some Hungarian history she might like to learn about.

At a private room in a restaurant halfway up a Merano mountain, Florence and the American arrive for the secret meeting. The Russian is late and the American leaves the restaurant in mock disgust. Almost at once the Russian and a junior member of his backup team arrive to find no opponent waiting for them, only his opponent's second. During the conversation that follows, the Russian and Florence are quickly attracted to each other, the almost romantic mood interrupted when the American returns. (Mountain Duet)

The American and the Russian argue, trade insults and jokes but thanks largely to Florence's delicate touch, they both agree on a press statement sharing blame for the breakdown and to resume playing.

Some days later, the American and Florence are discussing the progress of the match. Things are going badly for the American who is unpleasantly agitated. The cause is all but totally lost. He blames Florence for his failure and as they hurl abuse at each other, she tells him she is going to leave him after the match, even if by some miracle he won it. The American is devastated and alternates between fury and pleading with her to stay. His paranoia about the Reds surfaces – he is convinced that the Soviets have something to do with both his loss of form and Florence's desertion. The finish of their argument is a "squalid little ending" to their relationship. Even after Florence has left, the American continues to justify his actions to himself (Florence Quits) (T/N: Pity The Child #1 is included at the end of this track.)

At an unidentified Western embassy some days later, the Russian, the newly-crowned world chess champion, asks for political asylum, although he has problems winning the instant support and interest of the civil servants in the embassy. (Embassy Lament)

Eventually, he gets the forms and freedom he wants. Certain he has made the right decision, he is equally certain of what he will never be able to leave. (Anthem)

Act Two

One year has passed. The Russian is to defend his title against a new challenger from the Soviet Union in Bangkok, Thailand. The American and some locals discuss the unusual venue for the championship. (Bangkok/One Night in Bangkok)

Florence and the Russian, who have been lovers since his defection, are in the Oriental Hotel, Bangkok. They discuss his new opponent and wonder why the American is in town, as he has played no serious chess since his defeat in Merano. They also talk about the refusal of the Soviet authorities to let his wife out of the U.S.S.R. The Russian leaves to discuss tactics with his seconds; Florence, alone, speculates about their future together. (Heaven Help My Heart)

Molokov and his team are confident that this time around they have a player who is totally trustworthy and can be relied upon (a) to win and (b) to stay in Russia. Their new champion is a rather weird introvert who only seems to be able to function at full steam when talking or playing chess.

The Russian is interviewed on Thai TV. To his amazement he discovers that his interviewer is the American who proceeds to ask him about his personal life, about Florence and about his politics – never about chess. The American finally tells him (on the air) that arrangements have been made to fly his wife into Bangkok in time for the match. Enraged, the Russian storms out.

The Russian and Florence watch his wife (Svetlana) on television arriving in Bangkok. The event brings the tension between them to a climax. (Argument). (T/N: The second period after Argument appears to be an error; this period after the track title only appears once elsewhere. While I'm here, this is my favorite song and I'm mad it never reappears.) The Russian says he must leave Florence for the duration of the competition. Florence is left alone with the TV still showing Svetlana's image. She recalls how well she knows the lover who has just left her. Svetlana recalls how well she knows her husband. (I Know Him So Well)

The American forces his way into the Russian's quarters to offer him a deal. Despite the personal pressures already weighing heavily on the Russian, he has begun the match in great style, winning the first two games. The American now says that if his winning streak should suddenly come to an end then Florence will not be given information he claims to have received from the Soviets about her father. This information is extremely unpleasant, revealing her father to have been a traitor to his people, not a hero, responsible for a score of deaths. The Russian does not know whether to believe him or not, but throws him out. The American then approaches Florence, suggesting that if she would only return to him, not only would they once again be the greatest chess team ever witnessed, he would also be able to provide her with news (he does not say whether it is good or bad) she has always wanted about her past. She too rejects his offer (The Deal)

His frustration and rejection by Florence cause the American to explode in a fury of self-pity and anger. (Pity The Child). (T/N: Same deal with the period after the track title.)

The deciding game in the match begins. Memories of former champions are evoked. Molokov and the American have a conversation which reveals them to have been in league against the Russian, albeit for very different reasons. Florence, watching the match, although not knowing that her lover has been put under pressure to lose, sees his obsession with victory destroying his ability to care for her.

The Russian, defying everyone, plays like a dream and annihilates his opponent. He finds himself amused and delighted by the fact that his various enemies have so misjudged his will to win. He may have failed in his efforts to sort out his private life but he has succeeded in his professional, public life and he now knows that this is the only success he really wants. He rejoices in his victory, but even as the crowds acclaim him and as his wife vainly attempts to make some kind of contact with him, he almost immediately feels a sense of hollow anti-climax. He despises himself for the narrow selfish ambitions and desires that satisfy him. So does Svetlana; any chance of reconciliation between them is gone. They both acknowledge, she with bitterness, he with resignation, that henceforth their "one true obligation" is to themselves. (Endgame)

Whereas the Russian for the first time has been able to put his career before everything else, the change has gone the other way for the American. He hardly thinks of chess now; only that his machinations have failed to alleviate his personal despair – Florence will not return to him even if her relationship with the Russian has floundered. He plans his revenge on both Florence and the Russian, while Molokov, apprehensive about his own future, prepares suitable treatment for his failed protégé.

EPILOGUE: But has that relationship floundered? Florence and the Russian reflect, simultaneously but separately, upon their story that they thought was a very happy one; like the game of chess the game of love can be played in an almost limitless number of variations. Perhaps this was just one of many games that end in stalemate. "Yet we go on pretending, stories like ours, have happy endings." (T/N: It's "but." It has always been "but.") (You And I/The Story of Chess) As they finish, the American is seen approaching Florence. He has some news for her…