#I'm a sucker for forbidden love

[kookies2000]

Three queer reactions to a straight kiss.

Lesbian: About GOD DAM TIME!!!!

*Uncomfortable? Look away gayly*

*Aroace confusion*

[toastedjeans]

Okay but imagine Caine as the demon of lust trying to seduce Kinger, an angel.

Caine was usually always successful with his temptations, and has even corrupted a few angels before, but Kinger is different. Kinger is way too nice, and way too oblivious, and way too pure, and Caine just can't seduce him no matter what he tries. But he is up for the challenge. And he tries over and over and over again, but nothing seems to work.

And as fate would have it, Caine realizes that he's fallen in love with Kinger. Which shouldn't be possible at all. And then they're both conflicted cause angels and demons shouldn't love each other, but here they are.

And then Kinger is the one seducing Caine-

[fancy--that]

Are there any AU scenarious you really wanna write (or read)?

cowboy au.

[shinestarhwaa]

DADDY DEAREST || CHOI SAN

Genre: Smut

Pairing: San x Fem reader

Word Count: 2.2K

Tags/Warnings: Dilf!San (aged 40), reader is 21 years old, forbidden love kinda, ceo!San, student!reader, daddy kink, unprotected sex, fingering, cunnilingus, blow job, praise kink, dirty talk, daddy kink, filming sex, jerking off

I've had this in my drafts for months and finally it's coming to life y'all

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630 @stardragongalaxy @bro-atz @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisg00dgirl @vesvosmozhno @therealcuppicake @unholywriters @enbymingi @jjoongstar

ENJOY!

You had been eyeing him from across the bar for hours, but he just wouldn't look your way. "Just go up to him," your friend said, "go up to him and flirt with him!" "But what if he's a creep?" "Just send your location if you're going somewhere with him," your friend said before pushing you into the direction of the handsome man sitting at the bar.

Taking a deep breath, you strutted towards him, your stiletto heels clicking on the wooden floor as you did so. You took place on the blue velvet stool next to him and flashed the man a smile, batting your long eyelashes at him. You could tell by the expression on his face he was immediately intrigued by your presence.

"Hi there," he said, turning towards you, "what's a lovely lady like you doing here alone?" You grinned and ordered a martini, tossing your hair back over your shoulder. "Oh, I'm not alone, my friends are in the back." "Ah," the man smiled and gave you a nod. You licked your lips before speaking again. "But I came here to the bar by myself 'cause you looked rather lonely and I figured you must like having some company," you smiled, drinking from the cocktail in your hand. He grinned and turned his body to yours.

''Well, I didn't have anything to do or anyone to come home to so... I figured I'd have a drink here.'' Your ears perked up and you took another sip of your martini. ''No one to come home to, you say?'' You spoke to him with a pout on your rosy lips, your hand gently resting on his. Your fingers traced the veins on the man's hand and you noticed him swallowing thickly.

''That's right... No one to come home to. What about you? You're here to find someone or are you out with your friends because you're tired of your boyfriend?'' he grinned. You laughed and shook your head. ''No, my boyfriend's an ass so I dumped him this morning. That's what he deserves for dipping his pen in the company ink if you know what I mean,'' you sighed. ''Oh, so you're here to look for a rebound, I get it,'' he smirks. ''I'm San, by the way.'' ''Nice to meet you San, I'm Y/N,'' you said, batting your eyes at him.

This flirting game wasn't new to you. You knew just what to do to make a guy weak but you've never tried an older man before. But after the shit boys your age put you through you're over it, you are ready for someone older. And San looked like the perfect guy for it.

You sat and talked with San for nearly the entire night. You found out he's double your age and he's a CEO of a big skincare company. He laughed loudly when you told him you couldn't live without the brand. ''Well what if I'd give you products for free?'' he grinned. ''Oh, you would?'' ''Well, you're too pretty to say no to.'' ''So you'll say yes to whatever I ask of you?'' He smiled and rolled his eyes, his hand landing on your exposed knee. ''Probably. I'm a sucker for those eyes of yours, cannot take my own of them.''

''So, if I ask you to take me home tonight...'' ''I would in a heartbeat, my darling.'' You smirked as his fingers traveled up your thigh. ''You'd treat me better than my stupid ex-boyfriends, wouldn't you?'' ''Oh baby I would, you have no idea.'' You smirked and took his hand in yours. ''Then take me home and show me.''

Only 15 minutes later you signed to your friends you'd be leaving and you made your way to his huge luxury apartment nearby. You couldn't believe your eyes when you got in, seeing the gorgeous interior San had. Before you could say anything his lips were on yours.

San's lips were so soft and they moved skillfully. He wasn't sloppy or too harsh but perfect. This is what you needed; a man who knew what he was doing. All your ex lovers were just doing whatever, not really caring about your pleasure, but San was seemingly different.

His hands roamed your body and zipped down your dress, which fell down to pool at your ankles. You were left in the lacy lingerie set you put on earlier that night and you noticed the way San stared at you after breaking your kiss.

Your hands worked on his white shirt, unbuttoning it as fast as you could while you were stumbling through the hall, on the way to his bedroom. You nearly tore his shirt off and San took off his belt in the process, the metal buckle clashing against the floor tiles. It was a struggle to move through the apartment while keeping on stealing kisses.

Finally when you got to the bedroom he took off his pants and laid down on the large bed. You smirked and laid on top of him, connecting your lips together once more.

San's hands roamed your ass and squeezed it every now and then, while his tongue explored your mouth. Your hands ran across his toned chest and arms and his chiseled abs. He was absolutely to die for, looking like a Greek God in his 40s.

You started to grind your crotch against his, awakening the cock that was still hid by his underwear. He moaned into your mouth and fidgeted with your bra-clasp before undoing it and throwing it to the other side of the room. You sat up and threw your hair back, licking your lips while looking into his eyes seductively.

"God, baby girl you have no idea what you're doing to me," he grunted as you moved your crotch over his once again. His hands traveled from your waist up to your breasts to cup them. "You're perfect," he breathed out, starting to massage your boobs. "You should come closer so I can have them in my mouth."

A smirk played on your lips as you did so, crawling above him until your breasts reached his face. He started to lick and suck on them while his dominant hand found your clothed pussy. He started to rub your folds through your panties, feeling the fabric getting wet at his touch.

You whimpered above him, clenching your needy pussy around nothing. "You're so wet for me," San said before circling your nipples with his tongue. "Yes, daddy, for you," you moaned. The older man laid you down and took off your wet panties.

Immediately you spread your legs for him, awakening a hungry look in his eyes. San laid between your legs and slid his fingers through your wet folds, moaning at the feeling. "Bet you've missed looking at a young, tight pussy like mine," you teased him with a breathy laugh. "Oh, I sure did. Look at this perfect wet pussy," he grunted, licking a stripe up from your hole to your clit, "Perfectly wet for me, ready to be abused."

You let out another whimper as he kept lapping at your pussy. Your hands ran through his raven hair and you pushed his face deeper into your cunt. San's tongue found your entrance and slid his tongue in and out before circling your clit again. He lapped and sucked on your cunt, savouring all the arousal spilling out of you. Your hands fondled and massaged your own breasts.

He focussed on your clit, circling it with his tongue and sucking on it, earning a row of high pitched moans from you. He made you feel sensations you hadn't felt for a long time now and you wanted it to go on and on forever. Your legs locked his body between them, face pushed deep into your soaking heat.

San pushed 2 of his thick fingers into your cunt, pumping them in and out of your hole as his tongue was still flicking against your sensitive clit. It didn't take long before San found a sensitive spot inside you, noticing your reaction to it immediately. Naturally he started to abuse it, hitting it repeatedly as he sucked on your clit.

He didn't pressure you to cum fast, like many other lovers had. San focussed on pleasuring you, not caring how long he had to keep lapping at your clit.

But soon enough you felt a coiling desire for release in your abdomen, your moans growing louder. "D-daddy, daddy I'm coming, c-coming for you," you panted out before releasing and coming undone on his fingers and tongue.

You panted softly before sitting up and pinning the older man down on the bed. Stripped from his clothes he looked beautiful in all his naked glory. His cock was beautiful and large and so thick it made your mouth water at the sight.

You lowered your head into his lap and pressed kisses along his thick shaft before giving the head of his cock soft kitten licks. He groaned softly and you felt your entire body react to it immediately, pussy clenching around nothing. His reactions to you taking him into your mouth made you more eager than ever. You started to bob your head up and down calmly, sucking his hard cock. He grunted beneath you, his breathing getting louder and his eyes rolling back into his head.

''Darling, please-” He moaned as he felt himself hit the back of your throat. You tasted his pre-cum on your tongue and you could tell how close he was lo cumming down your throat. Quickly he pulled you off his cock and watched your face pout in disappointment.

“Don’t want to cum in your pretty mouth while I could also cum in that tight young pussy of yours... Need to fuck you right now angel.”

He pulled you on top of him and you held onto his broad shoulders. Soon enough you sank down on his hardness and you could feel San stretching your poor pussy out. You moaned loudly, looking down and seeing his cock disappear between your thighs.

''You're so pretty and warm babygirl, oh my God, so tight, bet you've never been fucked right,'' he grunted. ''N-No they've never fucked me right, God, I need you, need a real man like you,'' you moaned to butter him up and tease him even more.

''Bet your boyfriend wishes he was inside you right now. How did he make you feel Y/N? Did he fuck you as good as this? Like I can?'' he grunted while he fucked up into you, his hands groping your ass and thighs. ''N-No, fuck, his cock was too small, d-didn't feel anything, you make me feel everything, San, fuck me harder daddy, please!''

While San pounded into you from beneath he also took your phone. ''Unlock it. Let's make that bastard who hurt you jealous. Wanna make him miserable for wasting such a pretty girl's time.'' You unlocked your phone and handed it back over to San.

You leaned back, displaying your naked body while you moaned loudly. San started to film you getting your cunt pounded by him and you might've been acting a little extra pornographic for the video but San didn't mind. Even though he didn't know the guy he desperately wanted to claim you and make him lose his mind.

''That's right baby, take my cock, you're taking it so well, huh?'' ''Y-Yes daddy, fuck, love your cock so much, you're gonna make me cum!''

Right then he turned the camera off and tossed the phone onto the bed, fucking into you even harder. ''That small-dicked idiot will never get to see you cum again. You're just gonna cum on my cock now, won't you?''

''Yes, yes please I wanna cum on your cock, yes!'' you cried out. In a matter of a few thrusts you came undone on his thick cock. You moaned loudly and your body shook as the orgasm came over you. San pulled you off his cock and laid you down, hovering above you before fisting his own cock.

With a loud moan he spurted his cum over your abdomen, painting you white. ''Fuck, daddy,'' you moaned softly. ''That's my good girl,'' San smirked.

After the both of you came down from your highs he got a cold, moist towel and cleaned you up nicely before placing his blanket over you. You snuggled into it and closed your eyes, but whined when he got up. ''Stay with me,'' you mumbled softly, feeling sleepy but also cuddly.

San smiled and laid down. It conflicted with his morality, sure, sleeping with a 21-year old was already a bit over the line but actually sleeping and cuddling with one, wanting to date one... Was that okay?

Luckily you knocked those thoughts right out of his head when you laid on his chest, drifting off to sleep. He soon did the same, dreaming of eating your pussy the next morning when he'd wake up.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Not-So Secretive Rendezvous

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Warnings: smut, fem!receiving, age gap

Request by anon: I'd love a Spencer X Fem Reader thing,  say season 3-4 prince charming hair version ya know?  That era is totally hot.  Anyway, reader is Hotch's sister or Daughter, 10 year age gap between reader & Spence.  I'm a total sucker for a forbidden, sneaking, secretive thing with them getting caught in a very compromising position.  Hotch is fine with it but disappointed they didn't clear it with him. Maybe she works in the BAU but maybe not?  Some hot spice with his awkward self.  I always have a thought of him being so awkward around women in social situations like with JJ in the baseball game stuff, but with his Eidetic memory he definitely knows how to please women for sure.   Any other details i'll leave you with free rein!

Summary: You and Spencer are a new couple that is hiding your relationship from the team for two reasons. Hotch is your dad and Spencer is ten years older than you are. That doesn’t stop you from being with him. Not your dad and certainly not an office full of people.

Square Filled: public sex/voyeurism (2021) for @cm-kinkbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

There are two reasons why you’re at the BAU--Spencer and Hotch. This is the place you want to work when you have the proper training and have done everything that’s required of you. You graduated high school before summer started and now you’re taking college classes with a degree in criminal justice while also getting in some hours at the police academy. It doesn’t hurt that your dad is the unit chief of the BAU, but you try not to let that affect how well you’re doing in and out of school.

The other reason is Spencer Reid. You two immediately hit it off when you first met and he’s been showing you around as much as he can without getting in trouble. He can’t tell you much about the cases the team has but he can give you advice and pointers for when you get a job here. Derek helps you with the physical stuff while Spencer is your own personal library book that just so happens to have all the answers you’re searching for.

After a few months of visiting your dad and the team, you and Spencer developed a relationship that only you two know about. Keeping your relationships a secret isn’t something you normally do because if you like someone, you’re all about showing them off to everyone. However, you and Spencer are ten years apart in age, and you don’t think your dad will appreciate his eighteen-year-old daughter hooking up with his twenty-eight-year-old subordinate.

It’s not a big deal to you and Spencer since you’re not newly eighteen. It’s September and you turned eighteen back in January. He’s been so good to you and is such a gentleman. He’s a romantic and loves taking you out on dates as much as he can. Your favorite date is when he puts a tent on the roof of his building, makes everything for a picnic, and you two spend the night stargazing there.

Unlike now when your visit is anything but romantic.

It’s been over a week since you’ve seen Spencer and you’re craving his touch. You’re not normally a sex-crazed teenager but you’re ovulating and you really need to feel his body on yours. You’re not ready for kids and you don’t know if or when you will be, so you’ll be using condoms because it’s a terrible time to get pregnant.

Not to mention your dad will quite literally kill Spencer.

“Hey, Y/N, what are you doing here?” Derek asks when he sees you.

“Just wanted to stop by to say hi. I hear the B Team is out right now so what better time to come?”

“Your dad is in his office.”

“Where’s Spencer.”

“Bathroom.”

“Okay, I’ll wait for him. Thanks.”

You turn to leave but Derek stops you.

“Hey, we’re still on for tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, I’m ready to learn that new self-defense technique.”

You walk straight for Spencer’s desk only to walk right past it and toward the bathrooms. Derek smirks and shakes his head knowing you’re not here to see your dad at all. Spencer comes out of the bathroom with his phone in his hand so he doesn’t see you right away. You open the door to an empty office and wait for him to pass by it before grabbing his arm and pulling him inside.

“Wha--?” He looks up and smiles when he sees it’s you. “Hey, baby. I didn’t know you were coming today.” You close and lock the door before shutting the blinds so that no one can look inside. “What are you doing?”

“Come here.”

You pull Spencer in and kiss him without warning, and he grips your hips not too hard. He gets lost in the kiss before the alarm bells ring in his head.

“Wait, wait, wait.” Spencer pulls away from you but you’re not done kissing him. You back up into the desk and sit on it while kissing down his neck. “Not that I’m not happy to see you but we can’t do this here.”

“Why not? Don’t you want me?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then get me naked and fuck me.” It’s hard to think when all Spencer is thinking about is getting you naked. He’s not a sex machine who wants it all the time but it has been a week since he’s seen you, and the last case he went on was very stressful. “School has been stressing me out and I really just want some dirty sex with you.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. He spreads your legs and steps in between them before kissing you again. He runs his hands down your thighs and back up, only to slip them underneath your dress. You wanted to make sure you gave Spencer easy access. He expected to feel a barrier between his fingers and your pussy but there is none.

“You’re not wearing any panties?”

“I came here for one thing and one thing only,” you grin. “I wanted to make this easier for you.”

Spencer rolls his head back and cracks his neck before sinking to his knees. He’s not an expert in this department but he’s read enough books and watched enough amateur porn to know what he’s doing. He places a hand on your chest, pushes you down onto the desk, and bunches your dress around your waist.

“Remember, we’re at work and your dad’s office is right down the hall. You gotta be quiet.”

You’re about to respond when Spencer latches onto your clit. You slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the moan that slips out. It would be a disaster if your dad found out about this… or anyone. He kitten licks your clit and circles it before sliding his tongue down to your slit. He straightens his tongue and pushes inside of you, and his right-hand hooks up and over your leg so that he can rub your clit in hard fast circles.

“Fuck, Spencer, right there,” you gasp quietly.

“God, you taste so good,” he mumbles. “I can’t ever get enough.”

You reach down and slide your fingers into his hair before tugging on it gently. This is the exact reason why he’s been growing his hair out. He loves it when you tug on his hair. His mouth and fingers switch positions so that he’s sucking on your clit and sliding a finger into your tight hole. You squeal a bit loudly at the sudden change in pressure, and you bite down on your lower lip to prevent yourself from crying out again.

“Please, Spencer, I need more,” you moan.

He slides in another finger and curls them both so that he’s touching the spot that makes you see stars.

“Are you close?”

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes, please, Spencer,” you moan.

“Go ahead, darling.”

He gives a particularly hard suck on your clit that makes you come all over his face. He removes his fingers and laps up every drop you give him before standing to his full height.

“God, you’re so good at that.” You pull him down and kiss him, not minding that you can taste yourself on his lips. “I need to come again. I have a condom in the pocket of my dress.”

“You’re so needy,” he grins but doesn’t refuse you.

He pulls away and takes the condom you give him before unbuckling his pants. He’s always awkward at this part because he still can’t believe that he has someone who is interested in him like this. He’s not ripped like Derek or as confident as him but you like him because he’s none of those things. You love how socially awkward he is. You love his ramblings. You especially love it when he tells you random facts that have you questioning how he came to know that in the first place.

Spencer pulls his cock out and you almost salivate at the sight of it. You’ve given him blow jobs before but there will never be a time when you don’t want to suck him off. However this time, you just need him to be in you. He takes out the condom from the package and carefully rolls it onto his hard cock.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Yes, Spencer, please. Just get in me.”

You spread your legs wider and allow him to step closer to you. He pumps himself twice before lining himself up at your entrance. You toss your head back and gasp at the one… three… seven inches of him until he is fully seated inside of you.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” Spencer groans.

“I’m ready. Please, Spencer,” you beg.

He doesn’t want to be too loud so he doesn’t fuck you as hard as he wants to. He starts at a normal pace before slowly picking up speed, and you’re trying to stop the moans from coming out but failing. He covers your mouth with his hand as if that will stop you from moaning his name.

It’s been a long and stressful time for you both so it doesn’t take long for the two of you to get close to the edge.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.” Hearing Spencer swear when he normally doesn’t is so hot. He hates swearing since he has such a big range of vocabulary that he can use, but he can’t help it when you feel like Heaven. “Are you close?” You nod wordlessly since Spencer’s hand is still over your mouth. “Come with me. One.” Thrust. “Two.” Thrust. “Three.”

You explode all over him just as he fills the condom up. He rides out both your highs as much as he can before slowing down. He removes his hand and you gasp when you feel him start to pull out of you.

“I don’t know how you haven’t had more girlfriends before,” you laugh as you pant.

“It’s usually my incessant need to ramble that drives them away.”

He takes the condom off and ties it at the end before pocketing it., He doesn’t want anyone to find it in the trashcan so he’ll throw it out in the dumpster outside.

“Have you seen Y/N? I saw her come in earlier.”

You freeze when you hear your dad’s voice outside the office.

“I think she went to see Garcia. You should ask her,” Rossi responds from right by the door. You hear your dad walk away before Rossi knocks twice on the door. “You two aren’t very quiet or sneaky.”

“Shit, I should go,” you giggle. You fix your dress and Spencer tucks himself back into his pants. The room smells like sex but you’re sure it will air out by the time anyone else comes in here. “I love you and I can’t wait to see you on Sunday.”

You lean in and kiss Spencer before unlocking the door.

“I love you, too,” Spencer grins. “We should do this again sometime.”

“Oh, we definitely are.” You open the door and notice Rossi is in the break room. You make sure the coast is clear before leaving the office. You turn the corner and go crashing into your dad. “Daddy, hi. I was just looking for you. Someone said you wanted to see me?”

Hotch looks up and sees Spencer leave the office from which you just came out. He didn’t bother fixing his hair as much as he should have so it’s a big messed up from how much you were tugging on it, and your lipstick is a bit smudged from Spencer’s hand over your mouth.

Hotch isn’t an idiot.

“My office. Now.”

You look up to see him looking at someone behind you. You look back and see Spencer staring at Hotch with wide, fearful eyes.

“Daddy, listen--”

“Don’t you have a class to go study for? Reid, now.”

“Yes, sir,” he nods and scurries past you to get to his office.

“Daddy, I love him. Please don’t kill him. I’ll talk to you later.”

You leave before your dad can say anything else. Hotch isn’t mad that Spencer is seeing his daughter. He’s upset that you two hid it from him. He’s not gonna kill Spencer but it is sure going to be fun to watch him squirm because he thinks he is.

x

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[witchywcmans]

TOO SWEET. | LAIOS TOUDEN

synopsis ━━ after accepting his new title, your moments alone with laios start to become a rarity. it was hard for him to find time, making him long for the days in the dungeon with you. and now, the kisses between you two were quick and desperate, until one night...when a very tired laios just can't seem to ignore you. (laios x f!reader.)

content warnings ━━ cunnilingus + fingering, praise, size kink, reader on top, unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating, yearning + sexual tension, laios and reader haven't boinked in a bit, monster facts as dirty talk ofc, confession, mentions of dubious consent in 5th paragraph (from when the winged lion switched into laios's body). nsfw (minors + ageless blogs dni).

word count ━━ 5.4k

song inspiration ━━ howl, florence + the machine / oil & water, pvris / love story, taylor swift

author's note ━━ THIS ONE-SHOT CONTAINS MANGA SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING OF DUNGEON MESHI! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! okay, part 3 (and final part) of my laios series is here! like the other parts, this could be read as a standalone, if you want. my plan for part 3 was to make it vague in case ppl who haven’t read the manga want to read it, but that kinda went out the window. I highly encourage everyone to read the manga if you want more of the story, it gets so interesting! I'm a SUCKER for a knight x ruler ship, so that's what you're getting in this!! I've enjoyed writing this little connected series so much and it really pushed me to start writing reader one-shots! if it hadn't been for all the ppl in the dungeon meshi fandom who read my work, I probably wouldn't have started this. this anime + manga has become one of my absolute favorites!! I hope you guys enjoy this! ps: don't worry, I will be writing more laios in the future 😉

🪽 part i: PLEASE, EAT. / part ii: FORBIDDEN FRUIT. / part iii: TOO SWEET.

After what felt like years, all was right in the world when the Island’s dungeon was destroyed and the Golden Kingdom finally rose from the sea. You had gotten to know Laios – in more ways than one – throughout your journey inside the dungeon, which had left you terrified at some points, especially when you almost lost him. But it hadn’t surprised you when the people had declared him King of a land that was thought to have been perished 1000 years ago. With everything he sacrificed, Laios – the devour of monsters, the destroyer of demons – was the only right person to rule.

With the help of Marcille, Senshi, Chilchuck, and even more friends met along the way, Laios was advised thoroughly as he undertook the stresses of establishing the Golden Kingdom once again. He had to deal with villager problems, instituting the economy, and keeping an eye on the monsters that took residence in surrounding lands. He watched them from his bedroom window on the farthest tower of the castle, admiring the beasts that warded off any threats to the kingdom. But his passion had become the production and preservation of food throughout his land, specifically in regards to magic and monsters. He made sure not one person in the Golden Kingdom went hungry, even if it killed him someday.

Most days were spent researching with his advisors or sitting in the throne room, listening to villagers' pleas for more building materials, better water, or whatever else they came up with that day. Laios made sure to listen to every ask, but he had to admit – just talking to people was exhausting. He never regretted his decision to become King, but sometimes … he longed for the days in the dungeons, tearing into whatever monster they cooked up that night, fighting alongside you, holding your hand or kissing you … tasting you.

Like your former party members, you had taken up residence in the castle as Laios’s chief knight and sworn protector. It made sense, given the fact that you had saved him with your crossbow on several occasions in the dungeon. You frequented by his side, except when he was in his own chambers. You led him to meetings, walked with him through the streets of the kingdom, protected him if any threats arose. Ever since you took up this mantle, your moments alone together had become rare. There had been one night: after Laios was safe and sound in the walls of the castle … that you shared his bed with him, tears streaming down your face because you had been so worried for him, but it didn’t matter anymore now that he was safe, and healing, and pounding into you so hard that it left you both gasping for air. Besides that, the only encounters you had alone were fleeting, consisting of swift, passionate kisses and rough squeezes in dark corners. You two hadn’t been intimate in any sense of the word since … well, since the Winged Lion was defeated. 

Just the memory of the demon made you shiver. You remembered when the Wing Lion had switched into Laios’s body and granted his true desire to become a monster. Before trying to escape the dungeon, he had tried fooling all the party members that he really was Laios and he almost fooled you. You recalled the way he had tried to kiss you – probably devouring your own desires right from your mouth – and how his hands so eagerly tried to slip underneath your skirt, finding you already aching and ready for your lover, just needing to be touched after being so distraught over Laios’s wellbeing. But you recognized the foreign contact from a mile away, and you had pushed him back, screaming at the Winged Lion to bring back your Laios.

You shook yourself out of the memory as you walked Laios back to his bed chambers that night. His stomach was full from dinner, but he was also worn out from a long day of meeting with his advisors. Marcille had really chewed into him about something today, but you weren’t sure of the reason. Holding open the door to his room for him, you caught his tired, lingering gaze before he disappeared inside. You swallowed hard, stationing yourself outside his door, your fingers on the handle of your sword. Nights like these were hard. They were lonely. It was just you out here, manning the King’s chambers, with nothing but the memory of his mouth between your legs or his groans echoing in your ears. 

His half-lidded eyes tonight had you reeling, squeezing your thighs together as you tried to forget about how much you wanted him. It had been almost two weeks since he last kissed you. And that kiss had been quick, desperate, two people colliding in the small, unlit closet used by the maids.

Your hand enclosed around the hilt of your sword, and you nodded at two other guards walking past. If you kept losing yourself to daydreams like this, there was no way you’d be focused enough to protect Laios from an immediate threat. That’s what mattered after all: the King’s protection … the King’s protection … the King. Surely, it wasn’t wise to be so entranced with the new King of the Golden Kingdom as his sworn sword. And again, you understood why you were picked. But it was nights like this where you really wished you had just been … his lover. Hell, you’d even survive with just being a lady of the court if it meant no more secret meetings in closets.

You could’ve dwelled on this predicament for hours, if the door to the Laios’s chambers wasn’t opening.

You turned immediately, your hand on the hilt of your sword going tight. But it was just Laios, leaning against the open door and rubbing at his tired eyes. He had shed his fancy clothes for a nightshirt and loose-fitting drawers. His hair had grown a bit longer, and he refused to cut it out of spite. The way it was sticking out right now, pushed back slightly by his hand … you swore you could feel your knees buckling.

“Your Grace?” You greeted, remaining professional, until you saw that look in his eyes again. That tired, lingering gaze. Full of want, and care, and desperation for another body against his.

His eyes crinkled, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at your call. “Please, do not feel the need to call me that at this hour.” He then held out his hand, beckoning you closer.

Swallowing hard, your eyes flicker down the barren hallway before taking his hand, letting him lead you inside his bed chambers. This was the moment you’d been waiting for so long. His movements were calculated, deliberate, as he slowly shut the large door. You unhooked your belt and scabbard, setting them by the door. As you turned to him, he was already in front of you, helping you take off your armor. His fingers were slow, not in a hurry, as he fiddled with the metal fasteners. He struggled with some clasps, muttering under his breath, and you laughed softly. Each piece was set delicately on the ground, and then he was lifting off your chainmail as if it weighed nothing. You sometimes wondered how you were able to walk around with such heavy material every day since taking up this mantle.

Finally, you were left in nothing but your clothes beneath the armor: a loose red tunic and suede trousers. The relaxed nature in his eyes vanished, replaced by an intense hunger, mirroring the stance of a wolf. Laios was rushing towards you, pushing you against the wall, and pressing his mouth onto yours. You matched his desire tenfold, winding your hands into his hair as you kissed each other with desperation. His fingers fisted into the sides of your shirt, pulling you against him, while his tongue prodded into your mouth. He groaned immediately. All this time without tasting just a bit of you had him weak in the knees. He’d never go this long without kissing you ever again.

“It’s been weeks,” he muttered between kisses. Gone was the monster-obsessed adventurer who saved you from turning into a sea serpent. He’d been replaced by a King who yearned for your touch the second he saw you every morning.

“Since we last kissed,” you corrected as he pressed your back even further into the cold, stone wall. His lips broke away from yours, leaving a trail of spit connecting you two. You exhaled, “It’s been months since we were alone for longer than two minutes.”

“I know,” he sighed, now nuzzling his cheek against yours, “and I’m sorry. All I want to do is go back to the dungeon … with you. It’s just … there’s no time, and I’m so tired.” His mouth then dragged to the shell of your ear, and you shivered when his hot breath ghosted over the side of your face. “But the way you looked tonight at dinner … I don’t know … it was the way the wine made your face red … no matter how tired I was, I had to have you tonight. I missed you so much.”

You were sure that your cheeks had to be as flushed now as they were at dinner. Just his kiss alone had you wet, already wrapped around his finger. “I missed you too, Laios.”

He hardly gave you a second to continue before he was kneeling in front of you. He couldn’t wait; there was this fierce longing in his eyes that only you could cure. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your trousers as he muttered, “I need to taste you.”

Despite his desperation, he did take a moment to admire how soaked your underwear was, how he had always been the one to cause this. You looked down at him and he looked up at you. With long, expert fingers, Laios tugged your underwear down along with your trousers. Your pussy was absolutely dripping, like a goddamn faucet. A whine escaped his lips, hungry for a taste, and he spread your folds just slightly to see the wetness gather. There were just about a thousand monster dishes he enjoyed, but nothing – absolutely nothing – compared to how delicious you were.

Laios didn’t even give you time to step out of your pants and underwear. He was grasping your hips and burying his face between your legs, pushing you right back against the wall. You choked on a moan, even though you both knew you had to be quiet, but you just couldn’t help yourself. He placed one of your legs on his shoulder to give him better access, and when he finally got the first few drops of you on his tongue, he damn near started crying.

You were exquisite. You were too sweet. Sweet like Dryad fruit.

Grinding your hips against his tongue, you whined out his name and realized how badly you had needed him in this way for weeks. Your hands found purchase in his hair, tugging his face deeper into your pussy. He lapped at you, absolutely ravenous, groaning when more slick entered his mouth. His lips wrapped around your clit and sucked harshly. His fingers dug into your hip, surely bruising you, while his other hand wrapped around your leg and pushed them even further apart. 

“Missed the way you tasted,” he muttered before flicking your clit with his tongue. “I could do this for hours.”

You let out a shuddering breath, already hazy from his touch. “Why don’t you then?”

“I want to,” he chuckled, all awkward and blushing. Just the sight of him looking up at you with those pretty eyes while licking a stripe up your pussy had you gasping. “Tomorrow. I promise. I just need to be inside you tonight.”

His promise for tomorrow had your heart fluttering. You both were going to make time again, but he also had more plans for you tonight. This wasn’t going to be just two minutes in a closet. Thinking of him stretching your walls with his girth, pushing into you after all these weeks of yearning for him, of touching yourself whenever you could because you just missed him so much … it all made you start to buck your hips against his tongue again. You knew how much he loved that. You physically felt him smile against you, sucking on your clit once again as he prodded one finger inside your tight warmth.

Your eyes rolled back once he found your g-spot, curling his finger and beginning to pump in and out. “Fuck, Laios, I –”

“Needed this so badly,” he confessed, swirling his tongue around your increasingly swollen clit. His cock was straining against his drawers, precum seeping through the thin fabric, but he wanted you to cum on his tongue first. It’s all he’d been dreaming about. “Needed you.”

“I needed you too,” you whispered, and then felt him add a second finger inside of you. You bit the side of your hand, muffling your moan. “So good – fuck. Doing so good, Laios –”

Your body was starting to shake, your walls clenching around his fingers. Laios was relishing in your taste, teasing your clit in the most delicious way. You were so, so close and he needed this so much and so did you and before you knew it, you were crying out into your hand again. Your pussy went tight as his fingers curled into your g-spot and you came all over his waiting tongue. Laios whimpered when he finally tasted your release, pushing his face as much as he could into your pussy, almost suffocating himself. He licked at you, making sure he got every last drop, and when your hips finally stilled, he pulled his fingers out of you with a wet pop and lapped at the excess.

Sweat ran down your brow as you settled against the wall, trying to calm your breathing. When you opened your eyes, Laios was getting to his feet and towering over you. His hand clasped around your jaw and gave you another bruising kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. It was like he was trying to devour you, to mold both of you into one so you could be together forever.

Carrying you over to the bed, he set you down on top of the blankets and finally tugged your pants and underwear from your ankles. You laughed together when he realized that he had gotten so excited he forgot to rid you of these. "Sorry," he said, setting them down in a pile.

You couldn't help but smile when you noticed the blush on his cheeks. "Missed me that much, huh?"

His face went even more pink. "Stop embarrassing me when I'm trying to seduce you."

He pulled his nightshirt over his head, and before his fingers could grasp the hem of your tunic, you were pinning him with the brute strength he forgot you acquired in the dungeon. "You don't have to do much to seduce me, Laios," you whispered in his ear, making him shudder.

Now underneath you, you straddled Laios's lap, feeling how hard he was in his drawers. He looked up at you in shock, like you were an offering from the Gods, as you lifted your tunic off and dropped it to the floor. His breathing stilled, watching the way your breasts heaved, and his cock was practically begging for release. 

You leaned down, pressing your mouth to his throat, placing sloppy kisses on areas that made his breath hitch. This was the new King of the Golden Kingdom under you, trembling from just your lips on his skin. He was wrapped around your finger just as much as you were wrapped around his. Dragging your lips down, you kissed his chest before finally swirling your tongue around one of his nipples. Laios muttered expletives under his breath as you wrapped your lips around his nipple, pinching his other one. His whole body was becoming tense underneath you, his straining erection poking against your backside, but you kept teasing him.

At the end of the day, you were always there for your King.

Once both his nipples were taut and wet from your expert tongue, you leaned back up to his face and kissed the corner of his mouth. He watched you with half-lidded eyes, cupping your face so tenderly. “Laios, I just want to be extra sure. Do you want to …?” Your question hung heavy between you two, but recognition flashed in Laios’s eyes. You nuzzled the side of his face and added, “I know you’re tired. I don’t want to keep you up if you’re that exhausted.”

“I’ve been thinking about this – about you – for weeks,” he said, his eyes filled with need. “I want this. I want you.”

You stared at him, absolutely melting at the sight of that dopey grin on his face once again, the one you loved so, so much. Now you were blushing, unable to not giggle when you saw that grin. You traced the curve of his mouth with your finger, and he bit down on the top of it unexpectedly, making you both laugh. This is why you loved Laios: everything was so easy with him.

Wait, love. Is that was this was? The burning feeling in your chest whenever he was near. The way you couldn’t help but smile whenever he did, or how you always laughed along with him. The natural disposition to protect him, whether it be from demons or people. The way you could so easily melt under his touch, under his kiss. It had always been there, staring you right in the face … love.

Feeling your heart beat rapidly in your chest, you finally moved so he could push down his drawers, and his hard cock sprang free. Precum leaked from the blushing red tip, dripping down his shaft and onto his stomach. You adored how pretty his cock was, how easily he could stretch you out with his girth. He liked the way you looked at it now, how you praised him. It took a couple of times, but he eventually stopped being embarrassed about his size around you. He still liked to give you monster facts as he fucked you sometimes – as a treat.

Laios’s hands settled on your hips as you lifted yourself, positioning yourself above his cock. You wrapped your hand around his shaft to get the perfect angle, smearing his precum and making him hiss. “Did … did you know,” he said, voice strangled, “the maximum speed of a Red Dragon is approximately – oh, fuck – 60 kilometers per hour?”

“Mhmm …” You hummed, finally lowering yourself with his help, sinking down onto his cock slowly. Once he slipped a few inches inside your warm, wet walls, you both gasped. You placed your free hand on his chest and encouraged, “Tell me more, Laios.”

“Gods …” He breathed out, feeling your body quiver above him. “I … uh – fuck … people have theorized that changelings – shit – use their ability to change living things in order to propagate their species – fuck, almost there –”

You both let out a breath of relief once he was finally seated inside you. Laios sat up, tugging you more against him, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. You stayed there for a moment, adjusting to his size once again, clinging to him as he kissed your cheek and murmured how you took him so well. You’d probably never get used to how big he was, but he filled you so nicely, so completely. After making sure you were comfortable, Laios decided to take the reins and began moving you on his cock. You whimpered after the first pass, and he had to grip your hips so tightly just to stop himself from going overboard, wanting to make this last just a little while longer. Each roll of your hips had you mewling as his cock curved inside you, brushing your spongy g-spot. His fingers dug into your skin, rocking you back and forth, grinding your already oversensitive clit against his pelvis. 

Burying your face into his neck, you let him start to bounce you on his cock. He groaned, feeling himself throb inside your tight heat. Everything about you was perfect: from the way you fit him inside of you so nicely to the way you whined against his skin, begging for more. He was thoroughly obsessed with you. It was a miracle that it took him so long to initiate with you after the Golden Kingdom had risen. He found himself thinking about your touch, about your taste, more often than not. And the way you smiled at him, your laughter sounding like wind chimes in a busy street market … he knew how deep his feelings went, farther than he expected. He was the King but you were the one who brought him to his knees every time.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he groaned, biting and sucking on the side of your neck. “You always feel so good … so warm …”

He started thrusting up into you when his arms got a little tired, and you let him simply take control. There was so little control he had in his life now, especially since he was being watched almost all the time, so you’d give him this – you’d give him you. And gods, did it feel good to just melt into him, to not be his sworn sword, just for a little while. Right now, you two were just lovers, desperate to soothe each other’s ache.

The expansive bedroom was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and moans echoing off the ceiling. Your arousal oozed out with each roll of your hips, dripping onto the lavish blankets befit for a King. But neither of you seemed to give a damn as his nails created crescent shapes in your hips, and you squeezed around him so much that he choked on a whimper. With your face nuzzling the crook of his neck, you carded your fingers into his hair, pulling slightly and eliciting another sound from him.

“Did you also know,” he began in a strained tone, “fuck – wargs have no fear of monsters larger than themselves – please, fuck – not even … not even dragons?”

“Are we still doing that?” You snorted, lifting your head from his neck.

He laughed along with you, and now you both were looking into each other’s eyes as he thrust up into you, hitting the best spots. He leaned down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth, moaning at the way you squirmed. His tongue moved to lick up the valley between your breasts, almost animalistic, before his mouth was grazing yours and his eyes were burning into you like melted gold. You clung onto him tighter, your chest flush against him, and you knew then that this wasn’t just fucking anymore. Laios was making love to you and you were making love to him and – fuck, he was going to make you cum so hard to make up for the past few weeks.

You were creating an absolute mess on top of him, just a blabbering heap of moans and whines, eyes locked on his as you rode him into oblivion. “I’m gonna cum,” you mewled, unable to keep your voice level. Your fingers tugged on his hair again, and he responded by downright slamming you up and down his thick cock.

“I know. It’s okay. I know.” One of his hands left your hip to reach in between your bodies, where you both were linked, and two fingers began to circle your clit. You hissed, back arching even more into him. Your vow to be quiet long forgotten as he teased your ache. “That’s it … there you go.”

Laios knew his strength, and it was certainly showing it off tonight. He was rocking your hips on his cock – so close to release – while rubbing your clit in tight circles. His sweet nothings in your ear had you crying out his name, and after a few more messy passes, you were cumming around him. You were shaking like fresh mandrake in his arms. Your walls squeezed him so tight that it only took one more thrust up into you before he was emptying himself into you. He came with a lewd groan, his hands falling to his sides and leaving you to bounce yourself on his cock through his release. Eventually, when the wave after wave of pleasure settled between you both, you slumped against him and breathed heavily. And he just held you, burying his face in your neck and licking at the bites he left on your bruised skin.

When you lifted your head to kiss him, he surprised you by rolling you onto your back, his soft cock slipping out and leaving you feeling empty. He kneeled at the end of the bed and spread your legs wide open, letting your combined releases spill out. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and the anguish in his tone stunned you. “It’s been weeks, and I just … I need you.”

As soon as the word, “Please,” left your lips, he was diving in again, spreading your folds with two fingers. He licked a long stripe through your pussy, gathering your releases on his tongue. He didn’t care that he was tasting his own cum; all he wanted was this – you. He lapped at you, still starving for your taste, and the way he had you cumming again was slow, calculated. Laios edged you, teetering you on the brink of release, before his hunger got the best of him. And when you came again on his tongue, it felt long and relaxing, like a weight had been lifted off you. Warmth seeped from your aching pussy and onto his tongue. He drank his fill, relishing in your sweetness.

Laios rose back on the bed, curling against your side like a tamed dire wolf. His arms slotted against you, pulling your naked front against his once again. His hand lifted to your cheek, pushing strands of hair behind your ear. Your noses brushed against each other, and he finally kissed you, slowly and passionately. There was no desperation left in him. It was replaced by the steady rhythm of his heart next to yours. 

“I love you, Laios,” you blurted in the softest voice you could muster. Once you realized what you said, you didn’t dare open your eyes to see his reaction. You simply felt him, his lips hovering just over yours, and then he hummed.

“I love you too,” he whispered, and your eyes opened to watch him. That dazed grin appeared once again, making your insides twist and your cheeks tinged pink.

Laios practically giggled and pecked your lips just to soothe your nerves. “I’m not sure how to handle you like this,” he joked, finally making you laugh with him. “Usually, you’re the one making me nervous.”

“I just …” You shook your head. “I was afraid you wouldn’t say it back.”

“I thought it was obvious that I’ve been in love with you since we first met,” he said in that straightforward tone of his. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones and he smiled. “Seems like I’m cooler than I thought.”

You chuckled, hitting his chest and making him fall back onto the bed. You were sitting up slightly, propping your elbow and resting your chin in your hand. Laios was looking up at you like you put the stars in the sky. Both of you knew, instinctively, that a King being intimate with his sworn protector was typically frowned upon. Neither of you truly cared, but the opinions of his people had to matter. He was a new King after all, and every move of his would be scrutinized. Which left him with one option.

Lacing his fingers with yours, he said, “We should get married.”

Your brow furrowed. “That seems a little rash.”

It was your gut instinct to deflect, to push him away, even when you scooted yourself closer to him. But you couldn’t deny that this had been in the back of your mind, shoved in the dark corners when you thought it might be too crazy of an idea. The first time it popped into your brain was when you saw Laios’s monster form lying helpless on the ground. His body was deteriorating, blood seeping out from every crevice of the three-headed creature. The Winged Lion had been defeated, but you couldn’t stop the wail that erupted from your mouth as you took in Laios’s monster body, reeking of death and despair. You remembered running from from the tower, taking one of the heads in your arms, and crying, your tears soaking the fur. 

But then you and Marcille found him amongst the trees of the island, where Falin’s body had been frozen and resting against a boulder. From the moment his eyes met yours, you had no doubt that this was your Laios. And he was okay. He was tired, but he was okay. You didn’t think you could shed any more tears, but then you were running towards him, wrapping your arms around him, and he was burying his face in your neck and – gods, that had to be when you knew. With the relief flooding through you and his arms embracing you … you knew then that you wanted to be with him forever. You didn’t want to see him in harm’s way ever again. You would kill – again and again – for him. You would be by his side as long as he would have you. You loved him. You wanted him. Forever.

Laios snorted, bringing you out of the memory. “Rash? After how long we’ve known each other?” His tone grew serious. “I trust you with my life. That’s why I named you my sword. But I don’t want to go weeks without you ever again. I love you – I’m in love with you – and I know that I don’t want anyone else by my side.” He squeezed your fingers in his own. “I want to marry you. And then, we can be together freely with you as my Queen and sword sword.” He then paused, thinking. “We can do that, right?”

You laughed. “You’re the King. You can make your own rules, but …” Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip for a moment as you mulled over his words. “Are you sure you want to marry me?”

“I’ve never been more certain about anything.” He then tapped his chin, feigning curiosity. “Unless you want me to marry Marcille? It would certainly be a loveless marriage, but she can be friendly when she isn’t advising me.”

Shaking you head, you flicked his arm. “Not sure if your sister would appreciate that. Or Marcille, for that matter.” Not even magic could force those two apart. They would love each other until the end of time.

Your eyes narrowed now. “Are you actually proposing to me without a ring, Your Grace?”

The formality made him cringe, but then his face relaxed as he stared up at you, taking in your beauty. You were the most beautiful like this, vulnerable and bare with your hair jutting out at every angle and your lips swollen from kissing him. But he’d reckon you were beautiful in every light. He couldn’t help but also think back to when you found him by Falin’s crystalized form, how it felt to just hold you again after such an egregious fight. Your warmth had seeped into him, reminding him of home. You were home. And that was when he knew, too, that he wanted to be bound to you. 

Laios brought your joined hands to his lips, kissing each of your knuckles. “Once the sun rises, you will get a proper proposal. I’ve always been a man of my word, haven’t I?”

And that he was. Because the moment you stirred awake the next morning, still sleeping in his bed, you opened your eyes to find Laios, King of Golden Kingdom, kneeling at your bedside. He held out a ring to you, eagerly awaiting your response. Once your eyes adjusted to the light and you saw his golden doe eyes, his big grin, you wrapped your arms around his neck. Of course, you said, Yes.

[logansargeantsbabymom]

Can you write one about were Logan x female reader x oscar or Lando x female reader x Oscar or Logan x Female reader x oscar x lando

Where They are at a afterparty for a race and since y/n was being a needy and bratty all race week and weekend long before they went to the after party some one of the 2-3 drivers had put a vibrator up her ass and at the party since she was still acting needy and bratty they started to turn up the power of the vibrator as they keep teasing her until she is on the edge about to cum and they stop telling her it’s her punishment for taking bratty all week and race weekend long as she started to beg and plead to let herself finish, they all take a car home to there shared apartment and but the vibrator at max power again and continue this in their room were they end up have unprotected sex, use rope and a mouth gag, blindfold, call her dirty names and say dirtier things to her or in her ear and after for aftercare they take super good care of her

Oscar is a Dom and in charge Lando and Logan can we doms or switchs, y/n is a sub

I'm actually gnawing at the bars of my enclosure right now, I love you anonymous 😘🫣.

You Shouldn't Have Done That

Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader x Logan Sargeant x Lando Norris

I hope I did you justice (for gotham)

Warnings: SMUT, Bondage, Vibrators, Overstimulation, Bratty Y/N, Sucker Logan, Mean Lando, MEANER Oscar, Crying, Slapping, Anal, Triple Penetration, probably more but I forgot

F1 Masterlist

Follow my instagram account (THATS STRICTLY FOR THIS BLOG) for updates on when i post and fun stuff like that!

Instagram

part 2

A knock at the door is what drew my attention away from my phone that I'd been staring at for the last 15 minutes reading a few of these 'fan fictions' about my boyfriends that people were DMing me. Apparently somebody with no life named 'logansargeantsbabymom' has been making shit smut and posting it on Tumblr.

"Baby, race is about to start" I could recognize that beautiful English accent from a mile away.

Normally hearing Lando's incredibly sexy voice would make my bones start jumping in my skin but apparently I'm not the only fucking one because people fantasize about having the filthiest sex with him, write about it, post it on Tumblr and his fans eat it up!!

"I'm coming" I said nonchalantly as I got off the sofa that Lando had in his drivers room.

Lando held the door open for me as I brushed past him making my way to the back of the garage and then out of it. I didn't want to see him.

"What's wrong with her?" Oscar says as he came up from behind Lando

"I've got no clue but if she keeps it up I'm fucking it out of her" Lando shrugged before putting his helmet on

One thing about me is that I will make sure I am the one that puts on all three of my boyfriends helmets on them. I love to go up on my tippy toes to bite the tip of their nose before placing a kiss on it then the helmet on them. I've always done it even if we had gotten into the biggest argument on planet earth but right now, that's the last thing I wanted to do for Lando. I couldn't do it for Oscar either because then I'd fell bad for doing our normal race day tradition on Oscar and then just dipping and leaving Lando alone.

I also didn't want to deal with the consequences of "favoriting" Logan if I only did it for him so I skipped out on the tradition as a whole. The race was about to start in 10 minutes which means the drivers are all about to or already in their car and getting ready to get out on the track. I couldn't go back into the McLaren garage or I'd have to face two of the three boyfriends I'd just pissed off and I couldn't go to the Williams garage because they probably already texted Logan. So I went to the next best place: The Mercedes Garage.

I was forbidden to go in the Mercedes garage alone because apparently Lewis has a 'thing' for me, which wouldn't surprise me because I'm hot.

"Hey Y/N, what're you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be biting your boyfriends' noses?" I knew that cheeky English accent and it belong to the man that I was never to be in a room with alone.

"Lewis! Supposed to? Yes. Am? No, they pissed me off so I'm ignoring them." I shrugged. I really couldn't care less how they were going to react to me breaking tradition.

"Isn't that just going to get you in trouble?" Lewis said cautiously

"Not as much trouble I'll be in if they find out I was here with you alone." I chuckled as I shrugged.

I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket like crazy which caused me to whip it out and see what the fuck was going on.

Fantastic 4

Fav Butt Plug: I swear to the heavens above Y/N if this girl whose on the screen right now is you in the Mercedes garage with Lewis ALONE, I'm having your ass tonight. Oscunt: I want to know what the fuck has you all pissed at Lando but I don't like your little stunt of ignoring ME. Me: Stalkers Logie: Baby, why didn't you come to put my helmet on? Fav Butt Plug: You have one more time to piss me off Y/N.

"Lewis do you want to help me with something real quick?" The idea I had in mind was sure to make the tabloids right away and send the internet into a frenzy

"I don't like the general direction of where your idea's go." I waved a hand at him

"Let me put your helmet on you, I promise there will be no kissing" I looked at the clock, Lewis had 5 minutes before he was to be getting on the track and with a quick nod of his head I took the helmet out of his hands before securing it on his head before giving him a big smile and a bear hug before he was ushered into his car.

As I was exiting the Mercedes garage, I didn't know where I was going to go. Everyone is still in their respective garages and I'm NOT facing my boyfriends right now. Shortly after my encounter with

Fantastic 4 Fav Butt Plug: expect 10 orgasms MINIMUM tonight. Oscunt: None of which from me so don't ask. Logie: Did I do something baby? Why did you put Lewis' helmet on and not mine? Oscunt: Logan, she's being a brat. She didn't put mine or Lando's helmets on. Logie: I'm sorry for whatever I did to you, my sweet girl Oscunt: She acts this way because you give into her every ask, this is your fault Logan. I hope you crash. Logie: first of all, don't say that because I still don't have a seat for next season. Secondly, I do give into her every word because she's my pillow princess. Me: At least someone appreciates me, I love you Logan Logie: I love you more. Oscunt: She was never spoiled or a brat until you came along Logan, maybe you deserved to get punished alongside your dear 'pillow princess'. Me: Don't you dipshits (not you Logan) have a race? Stop texting me and drive.

————————

And drive is exactly what they did because Lando came in 1st, Oscar 3rd and Logan 4th.

The race was definitely a hard one with the on and off rain, the wall of champions and the hairpin but somehow they all managed it and they did it well.

Usually when one of my boyfriends has a good race weekend the victory sex is amazing but all 3 of them placed in the top 4? I don’t think I’m getting ANY rest tonight.

I stood by the scale so I could congratulate 2 of my boyfriends for their victory podiums but after they were congratulated by their team and they recorded their weights, they walked right past me.

I felt a sharp pain in my heart at their act but then I realized why they did what they did, I was being a brat before the race but if they wanna act like that, I will one up them.

I turned my head to the man who was currently getting his weight recorded and the man who came in second. It also happens to be the same man who I’m not allowed to be alone with.

“LEWIS!! CONGRATULATIONS!” I screamed as I hugged him, making sure to make the hug last a little longer than a typical ‘friend’ hug would last while also swaying us side to side.

"Y/N! Thank you, thank you. Are you coming to the after party, we already rented out the whole bar?" There was a little sparkle in his eyes that gave me an idea.

A sly smirk plastered itself on my face "Of course, I wouldn't miss it for the world, especially if you're going to be there!" I placed a quick kiss on his cheek before placing my hand where I had just placed the kiss.

"Y/N!!" It was a loud and angry yell that should've scared me but it did the exact opposite, it turned me on.

I turned to face the person the voice belonged to, to see Lando with the meanest glare I've ever seen on his face. I gave a little nod goodbye to Lewis before making my way to Lando.

"Hey my handsome winner" I said when I got close enough as I ran my hand through his thick and messy curls, it didn't last long though because he grabbed my wrist and dragged me with him to his drivers room.

When we got there he opened the door and shoved me inside where I was met with my other two boyfriends who looked less than pleased with me. Lando slammed the door shut which caused me to jump and face him.

Lando's face didn't shift a bit from his angry demeanor. "Oh, is bunny scared? Surprised she can act any other way that isn't bratty" I heard a voice from behind me say as a chest was up pressed against my back and felt the back of a hand trace the side of my face before gripping the flesh of my throat.

"Oscar" it came out as a choked groan

I saw Logan from the corner of my eyes fishing something out of a box that Lando had stowed away behind the sofa before he made his way over to us. Oscar still had his hand on my throat but he ushered me towards the massage bed Lando has before aggressively bending me over on it which caused me to let out a groan. I could hear Logan's footsteps coming closer to where Lando was before handing him a pink object and I felt Oscar's hand at the hem of my leggings before yanking them down along with my panties.

At first Oscar was just playing with the flesh of my ass and occasionally leaving harsh slaps on it saying things like "You asked for this", "take this part of your punishment like a good girl and maybe I'll tell Lando to go easy on you." I heard Lando whisper something to Oscar and then I felt one more final and harsh slap on my ass before I felt Oscar's hands spread open my ass cheeks and forced his thumb in my tight asshole thrusting it in and out before shoving the Lush lovense vibrator where his thumb once was.

A loud string of moans and curse words left my lips before I felt a pair of lips on mine swallowing my moans. When he pulled away, I opened my eyes to see my favorite American right there looking at me with sympathetic eyes. Logan never liked when I got punished and had to deal with all the roughness Lando and Oscar put me through, he only liked soft, vanilla sex most of the time.

"It's okay baby, just be good" Logan said before he placed a soft and tender kiss on my lips.

Oscar's rough hands yanked me back into a standing position and Lando bent over to lift my leggings back up and over my waist before lightly slapping my cheek

"This is how you're going to the afterparty, don't you even think about cumming until we get home OR unless me or Oscar give you permission." I knew he was going to leave Logan out of giving me permission because he gives me basically everything I want with just a bat of my lashes.

-----

We've only been in this bar/club for less than 30 minutes and I'm already sweating. I'm not sweating because there's a lot of people in here all grinding against each other, no I'm sweating because Lando keeps turning the vibrator on the fastest setting and letting it go just until I'm about to cum before he turns it off denying me any sort of relief and he's done this about 6 times already. I can't do this anymore.

Lando turned the vibrator on full blast and watched as I squirmed in my seat as I was having a conversation with Alex

"Are you okay? You're sweating more than normal right now and you keep fidgeting" Poor Alex, she seemed so concerned

"Yeah I just have to go to the bathroom, I've had to pee for a while now but I didn't want to interrupt your story" It wasn't a total lie, I didn't want to interrupt her story but I didn't have to pee.

"Oh Y/N, go to bathroom, I'll be here!" with that I quickly made my way to the ladies room quickly checking every stall before settling into one and taking the vibrator out of my ass, sighing in relief before wrapping it in toilet paper and tossing it into the bin.

Exiting the stall with a smile on my face, I quickly washed my hands before making my way back to Alex.

"Hey, sorry about that again. I really had to go" I tried to sound sincere, mainly because I was.

Alex finished telling me about her story about how Charles surprised her with a trip to Sydney and all the fun things they did over in the down under when I felt quick and rapid taps on my shoulder, prompting me to look at the man who was tapping me aggressively.

"Baby, we have to go now, Logan just got really sick" My heart dropped and I looked over Lando's shoulder to see Oscar helping Logan out of the bar.

"I'm sorry Alex, I have to go" I didn't wait for her response before I bolted past Lando and out the door.

Much to my surprise when I made it past the bar doors, I saw Logan and Oscar laughing up a storm and having a good time. My mouth hung in shock as I couldn't believe the sight in front of me. I was about to turn around to give Lando a piece of my mind for lying to me and making me cut my conversation short.... AGAIN.

"Lando! How dare you lie-" I couldn't finish my sentence due to Lando holding up his hand signaling me to shut up before pulling his phone out and flipping it.

The sight made my face drop, he was currently showing me the app he has to control my vibrator setting and it was all the way up.

"Bunny, do you know how many times I turned this up tonight?" Lando tilted his head and when I didn't answer he tsked before walking closer to me "I'm not asking you again. Answer me like a good girl and I won't punish you."

"You won't?" he shook his head "I took it out at 6, I don't know how many more times you did it after"

"I turned it up 4 more times after you took it out." I felt a body against my back

"Just wait until we get home for your punishment " Oscar whispered in my ear before slapping my ass so hard I let out a little yelp

"I thought I wasn't getting punished?" I said confused

"No, I said I wasn't punishing you. I said nothing about Oscar" A cocky smirk plastered itself on Lando's insanely hot face and I watched as him and Oscar both got into Lando's McLaren.

I felt a hand on the small of my back and I turned to see Logan, he seemed to have a sympathetic look on his face "I tried to get them to come up with a different type of punishment then what you're getting but they didn't want to hear it. Don't say I didn't try to help you"

Oh god.

----

When we got back to Oscar's apartment, I almost didn't want to go in. I didn't have to have to endure the punishments they had in store for me but Oscar didn't take lightly to that and in 2 seconds flat he threw me over his shoulders and walked me to his room.

Lando had made his way to his room to get what he claimed was 'part of your punishment' while Logan closed the door to the apartment. Oscar had chucked me on the bed before yanking me to the edge of it, holding a hand on my chin forcing me to look at him in the eyes.

"Strip" was all Oscar said. I did as I was told because I already knew I was in for a long night and I didn't want to push Oscar any further.

I started slowly unbuttoning my dress shirt but Oscar didn't like that, he ripped the shirt open sending the buttons flying everywhere. I wanted to yell at him for ruining my favorite shirt but I knew there was going to be no point. When Lando and Logan walked in the room I could tell they also knew that I wouldn't be in the pubic eye for about a week after all three of them were done with me.

Logan made his way around and on the bed to be right behind me "These tits, oh my gosh. You're going to be the death of me" Logan mumbled into the crook of my neck as his hands made their way around my body to grope my chest.

"I can't wait to burry my cock in her tight little ass" Lando said as he sat on the bed beside me and started to kiss my shoulder. I let out a string of moans as I had two pairs of lips kissing and sucking on two different parts of my body

"Wanna tell me what made you so upset earlier that caused you to be bratty all day today? Hmm?" Lando said as his hand snaked its way down my stomach and under the elastic of my leggings.

"Let's take these off, yeah?" Oscar said as he yanked them off my body.

My legs instinctively opened to allow Lando more access to where I ached for him the most.

"I saw- oh my gosh Lando, please" I was cut off my Lando having inserted two digits into my pussy, thrusting them in and out while his thumb started rubbing circles on my clit.

"I believe Lando asked you a question Bunny" Oscar said as he reached his hands around my body to unclasp my bra.

His one hand immediately found my breast and started circling my nipples as Logan moved to the opposite side of him to attach his mouth to my other breast, swirling his tongue around the bud of my nipple.

"I saw people fantasize about fucking you. All of you" it sounded pathetic and hypocritical coming from me because I did the exact same thing before I got with all three of them.

"Bunny, we only have eyes for you." Lando said as he kiss the tip of my nose "But you're still getting punished" with that Lando grabbed me and yanked my body onto his, my back against his chest as he fists his cock a few times before aligning it to my asshole and thrusting up and in my tight hole. A loud cry escaped my lips before Oscars mouth found mine drowning out the noise. I felt the cushion of the bed dip before feeling a tap on my face, I opened it to see Logan cock right next to my face.

My mouth instinctively opened and took his cock in, moaning at the taste of his precum on my tongue. Logan started to thrust his cock in my mouth at a pace that had drool running down my chin in no time. The sound of me choking on Logans cock and skin to skin contact from Lando's painfully rough thrusts was all that filled the room. Oscar soon joined the party as he shoved his cock into my cunt with no warning which caused me to pull my mouth away from Logan cock to let out an unexpected screech.

"I didn't say you could stop sucking my cock, now did I?" Logan said as he gripped my face and shoved his cock back in my mouth, this time he fucked my face with so much force I thought I was fucking a different guy.

Soon enough after everyones strokes and pace matched, I knew I was one step closer to the edge and I was about to break (pls get the linkin park reference) . I felt the coil in the stomach tighten and my orgasm was finally about to wash over me tonight.

As if they all read my mind or just knew my body, the all simultaneously pulled out and left me nothing.

"No!" I cried at the empty feeling washing over my body, it all felt like sudden coldness.

"You didn't think we were letting you off the hook that easily did you?" Lando's tone mocking as he ordered "Go up against the headboard"

I did as I was told knowing there was no point in fighting them. Once I was against the board, I watched Lando as he grabbed what he went to his room for: A blindfold, rope and one singular feather.

Lando tossed the rope to Oscar who immediately started tying my wrists to the bedposts and threw the blindfold to Logan who eagerly took it out the packaging and on my face.

The room fell silent for about a minute after I was tied up, no one moved, no one talked. I felt the bed dip and the movement caused my whole body to tense, soon after I felt the feather being dragged up my thigh to my stomach before feeling it swirl around my nipples. A mix of moans, groans, and "fuck"s all left my mouth as I felt my orgasm creeping closer.

"Baby, I'm going to fuck you now, okay?" Oscar said before he aligned himself with the entrance of my cunt before sliding in with ease, his thrusts started off slow and sensual, allowing me to adjust to his size before his thrust became rough and erratic.

Oscar wasn't the only one eager to get his dick wet because I felt a thumb tap my bottom lip, signaling me to open it before I felt a cock brush past my lips. Based on his thrust in my mouth, I could tell it was Lando's cock that I was currently sucking, his pace relentless.

Oscar's hips started stuttering against my body as his thrusts slowed and I knew he was close to his orgasm. One thing about Oscar is that when he cums, he never wants to do it alone which means I'm finally about to get my release that's been eluding me all night.

Oscar abruptly pulled his cock out of me leaving me empty and orgasmless again, my disappointment didn't last long because as fast as Oscar pulled out Logan just as fast attached his mouth to my clit, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud bringing me close to my orgasm, which I was fully prepared to not have again.

Much to my surprise Logan didn't stop which prompted me to wrap my legs around his head making sure he couldn't go anywhere as he pushed me off the edge and I came with a loud strings of cursing and chants of 'Logan' leaving my mouth as my body shuddered and my legs squeezed around Logan head. I felt him moan against my vagina which made my body jerk upward at the vibrations.

Soon after I came down from my high, I felt a strong pair of hands yanking my legs apart before feeling Logan because torn away from my pussy.

"You shouldn't have done that Logan" Lando whispered in his ear.

------

y'all- if there's typos or a part doesn't make sense its because I'm sleepy. I wanted to put something out because I haven't in like 3 days or something like that and I felt bad.

taglist:

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101 @hiireadstuff @formulaal @eddieharrington @kazza72584 @zabwlky1999 @dark-night-sky-99 @rougekiki @xoscar03 @jess-wither @bountychanti @dhanihamidi @Ggasly.p @tellybearryyyy @a-panseuxalmess @love-simon @tallrock35 @iiaik0ii

[rottingvampyr]

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned."

Random priest Beel au cuz I'm a sucker for forbidden love in the context of Catholicism and Christianity.

[razzle-n-dazzle]

Almost made Adam Headcanon Yandere? You need to do it!!

ᯓ★ "Cus You're Mine, All Mine." (no shit I love you!) Yandere! Adam / Reader ignore my trying a little bit of a diff format

ᯓ Yandere! Adam and regular Adam honestly have a lot of parrels, at least in my mind they do, but they also have some key differences. They're both quiet obsessive and possessive in their own rights, and they both try and hide it. Yet, while regular Adam will be the type to completely deny his habits, Yandere! Adam will be quiet proud of them. "It made you stay, no?" He would ask with a cheeky, wide spread smirk on his mask. He stood behind you, your reflects seen on the dead screen of the TV, as his hands rested on your shoulder before trailing down to wrap around your waist. You could feel the claws of his hands slowly trail down, almost like they were touching your bare skin when you knew better; They weren't, at least not in this second, and yet it still felt as intoxicating as when Adam's hands did trail on your bare skin. It was almost his way of claiming you as his, outside of fucking you, and his gentle yet firm touch always got you. Even as you swallowed down some silva that formed in your mouth out of some unquenched nerves in your stomach, you felt safe with Adam. Even if his grin, which now laid next to your face as Adam rested his chin on your vacant shoulder, was slightly unnerving as he admitted to a usually bad habit. "And if I can keep you away from everyone who would want to take you from me.." Adam's husk voice whispered in your ear, "Than I think I'm doing my fucking job right. Wouldn't you agree?"

ᯓ Yandere! Adam who just always happens to know where you'll be and is there waiting for you; Not like he stalks you, of course not (he doesn't have to do that anymore),he just always has a similar schedule! Not like it's creepy or anything, most of the time he just knows you are longing for his company (like he's longing for yours) or just wants to make sure you're safe! Which is a no brainer why Adam was currently sitting at a nearby table, watching as you and Azrael, the Angel of Death, got some smoothies at a nearby shop. Neither of you had noticed him yet, he had made sure of that. He didn't want Azrael, and his god forbidden good senses, to pick up on him as he followed you both from the court room; And he didn't want Azrael to pick up on him now. It wasn't like Adam didn't trust Azrael, he was an angel and you could be in much bigger danger (like hanging out with a demon in hell!). Yet, out of all the Angels, Adam always had an yucky feeling about Azrael; He was always rather quiet and solemn, keeping to himself, yet seemed just peachy chatting with you and hanging out with you and no one else. Public or not it just rubbed Adam the wrong way. He better not be trying anything. Everyone should see you in the light Adam does, but no one had the pleasure of taking you home other than him. And that was a fact, whether Azrael wanted to admit it or not.

ᯓ Yandere! Adam who is somehow both egoistical and yet insecure, despite all the conflicts they provide. You can tell, after being around Adam for so long, when he gets jealous of other people you hang around. He'll never out right tell you, unless someone crosses a big line, but you can always see the slight scowl or pout on his lips, even behind the mask, and you get the hint to get to his side soon. Now, it's important to clarify, you go to his side out of free will, he's not dragging you there unless someone is touching you in ways they shouldn't; And even then, Adam is only dragging you back behind him and square punching the sucker in the face for even thinking they had the privilege to touch you! Adam will shit talk the guy who tried to get close to you when you come over him, saying how he was much better for several reasons (one being that he was the original dick, and thus he would always be better than any man or women) but would oddly enough point out things you didn't notice. Such as, the way they dressed, the way they carried themselves, their tone of voice, who they kept going to, and he would go on and on until your vision of that person is tainted. And he would snicker to himself as you sit down next to him, allowing him to drag you on his lap, as he knew he successfully managed to warrant away another competitor for your love.

ᯓ Yandere! Adam who knew, since day one, he wanted you and only you. It made Lute a little disturbed how quickly Adam had catch your figure in the crowd and instantly began to ask questions about you. Lute was sure you had gotten to Heaven in that week, she hadn't seen you around before, and yet that didn't seem to deter Adam. "So, I figured out who that hot Babe was from yesterday," Adam would tell Lute the next day as they sat upon the council, waiting for the next hearing. Curious, and a tad amused (as she didn't believe him), Lute would roll her eyes and amuse him. "Oh, really?" She would mumble, resting her elbow on the railing and her cheek against her fist. "Who is she then?" And Lute was certain she almost fell off of her seat in shock when Adam began to list your name, the mortal age you died and how, when you got to heaven, where you were living in heaven, possible family members, and some basic information about what you liked and didn't and your current favorite place in Heaven. She was sure Adam had gone insane, at least until he noticed and quickly gave her a cover story: He simply had met you in one of his favorite lunch places and you began talking and you two just clicked.

ᯓ Yandere! Adam who will never, ever, hurt you or anyone you care about yet take out his frustrations on the sinners of hell. Too many times have Lute had to watch, and listen, as Adam completely shredded through Sinners like they were nothing yet flies under his shoe while ranting about the last person you hang out with that got just a little too close. Lute was sure that if this kept up, Adam would not only violate some of the agreement terms that were laid with Lucifer, yet he would obliterate the overpopulation problem by killing the sinners, basically, single-handily. She wouldn't admit it yet it terrifies her a little how deep rooted Adam's love for you is, that she subconsciously began to distance herself from you just to not get on his shit list.

ᯓ Yandere! Adam who, after a long day of work, wants nothing more than to come home and lay in your arms all comfortable; And who is surprised, when walking through his apartment door with his guitar in hand, to see you sitting in wait at the kitchen island. "Adam, Honey, you're home!" You would chirp, shuffling off the bar stool and rushing over to his side; Letting out a soft bit of laughter as you noticed his slightly shocked look. Gently, you would take his guitar from him, asking in your ever sweet voice how his day was and if he managed to help keep Heaven safe. He wasn't sure why you had such an effect on his heart like this, on his whole body. Your single touch made Adam feel more alive than he did when he had been alive. Your sweet voice was like music in his ears and a drug he could never get enough of. And fuck your lips, Adam was sure he could kiss them for ever if you would let him. And so, when you reached up to take his mask off him, he would stop you. You were perplexed, a little shocked, as Adam raised his hands up to cup over your hands once they cupped his cheeks. Yet, upon seeing his face, the way it relaxed almost instantly upon your touch, all you could do was smile softly up at him. "Honey, come on, let's go sit on the couch and you can tell me everything that happened.." You would whisper softly to him, coaxing him to come and rest his body after a long day of work. And how could he say no to his darling? After this lovely, warming welcome, Adam felt like he should be the one praising and giving you such attention you bask on him.

ᯓ Yandere! Adam who waits on foot and knee if you ever need him. Yandere! Adam who would do anything to keep you with him, and only for him. Yandere! Adam who has charmed most of your friends and family. Yandere! Adam who doesn't force you to do anything but might play with your thoughts a little to get his way. Yandere! Adam who loves you more than he ever loved Lilith and Eve and makes sure you know it. Yandere! Adam who thinks, and half believes, he doesn't deserve someone like you and is selfish for handing you all to himself. Yet, also in turn, Yandere! Adam who might just die or go insane if he cannot bask in your love and affection.

ᯓ Yandere! Adam.. oh boy do you have your hands full with having him as your lover.

Home | Masterlist

ᯓ★ All posts/fanfictions posted under this blog is owned by @razzle-n-dazzle. Please do not steal, copy, or plagiarize the works! Likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated.

[thelastofhyde]

you cut your hair, and take some space (2)

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 2 of 3! (part 1)

warnings. no use of y/n! all spanish text is followed by immediate translation ( please note that i am fluent in castilian spanish, therefore some words/phrases may differ from that of other hispanic countries ), age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, policeofficer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, violence, nondescript depictions of sa ( not javi ), pedro-ception aka there's a small cameo of another pedro boy, vomiting, mentions of pregnancy, reader is described to have hair and celebrates christmas ( but no mention of the reader's religious beliefs )! smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 14.3k

hyde’s input. hey... hey... how y'all doin'?🧍remember when i said part 2 would be posted a few weeks after part 1? yeah, that was a fucking lie. and, remember when i said it would be 2 parts in total? that was also a lie! the universe is praying on my downfall ( i had a fun mental health episode and fell into a black hole for a few months <3 ) unfortunately, i am very much still alive and kicking, so this is me trying to get the ball rolling again when it comes to posting fics. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it + tumblr will not allow me to post it as a whole due to it's paragaph-count limit, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of. “huh?” “this. us. it could be casual, y’know?”

Golden boy, you dropped the ball I am Annie fucking Hall

The year moves too fast.

It’s like you blink, and suddenly it’s Thanksgiving.

Leaves turn brown. Pumpkins are carved only to rot upon front porches. A gathering of friends, young adults getting their first taste at hosting a thanksgiving meal.

You’re put on dessert duty, which culminates in stressful tears and your mother’s hand rubbing soothing circles into your back, reassuring you that it’s okay, everyone burns their first pie.

No one at the party needs to know the pumpkin pie you brought was a product of your mother’s gentle care.

Then there is actual Thanksgiving, which you celebrate, as always, at your aunt's.

The highlight is, and forever has been, the road-trip out of state, your father making it his mission to deafen you and your mother with his horrific singing.

As they drop you back at your apartment, your father has no qualms leaning out the car window and calling after you.

“I expect to see you cheering me on at the Thanksgiving Touchdown event!”

Which brings you here, to said event, sweater sleeves tugged over cold fingers and a wandering pair of eyes who refuse to comply with your wants.

You want to focus on the ongoing football match- Fire Department vs Police.

Your eyes prefer to follow him, striding up the field, his hair soaked in sweat and his t-shirt long removed.

You’ve no valid reason to roll your eyes at the other women who seem to prefer spectating the sport of Javier Peña. You’re no better than them.

Yet, as one of them let’s out a joyous shriek as he takes a pass at the ball, your eyes roll.

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

At least you have company. An older gentleman, who you caught struggling to pick his wallet up from the floor. He’d smiled as you returned it, and conversation had flowed easily from there.

As the whistle blew, commencing the final match of the local community services’ football league- or, Thanksgiving Touchdown, as your father so aptly named it-, he’d patted the empty seat next to him.

“Hmm?”

He points, and you follow the direction, realising he’s speaking about Javi.

“Him,” he says it with a teasing tone to his voice. It’s like he’s mocking the agent. “Think’s he’s God’s gift, takin’ his top off like that.”

The more you sit with the older gentleman, the more you enjoy his company.

On the field, your dad bellows something at Javi. He replies with a curt salute, and shoots off down the length of it.

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

A force to be reckoned with, keeping pace with rookies half his age.

The vision of him, gun strapped to his leg and a tact vest on his chest, speeding down streets in the columbian heat conjures in your mind.

You wonder how it felt to know him then, if worry kept his companions awake.

It had certainly kept you awake in recent months, and that was with him safe, in Laredo, cooped up in some bachelor pad.

“Surprised he’s not thrown his top to the crowd of screaming ladies!” The gentleman continues his mocking, and it rouses laughter out of both of you.

A whistle is blown, your eyes return to the field and, though he’s quick to look away, you catch the tail end of Javier’s eyes on you.

Fifteen minutes pass, in which you do your best to not stare at him.

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

Eventually, the man next to you coaxes you into getting him a lemonade from the food truck.

You oblige, of course, and deny his attempts to hand you cash, insist it’s on you.

He’s kept you smiling on a rather gloomy day.

You tell him you’ll be right back, smile, and realise you don’t know his name.

“Chucho,” he tells you, and waves you off.

You join the queue, keep your head down, ignore the gossiping women three spots ahead of you, claiming to have each shared an encounter with Javi.

You don’t need to know what he’s been up to.

You don’t want to know who he’s been up to it with.

It happens when you’re finally being served.

There’s no longer a queue, just you, smiling as sweetly as possible. The service industry is rough enough, nevermind on holidays.

You order successfully, both Chucho’s lemonade and a hot chocolate for yourself.

The guy working the truck- young enough, a bit too traditionally good-looking, with coiffed hair and a shaven face- he’s talkative.

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

Even more so after a something that means nothing yet everything ends out of the blue and you’re left reeling over whether or not some part of you is to blame.

So you let him shoot you his dashing smile, and throw in unnecessary pet-names that just feel forced into every sentence he speaks to you, and write his number on the paper cup of your hot chocolate.

“Here you go, pumpkin,” he winks. The pet-name feels a little too on the nose for the season. Couldn’t he have called you sweetheart instead? “A sweet treat for that sweet smile.”

You wonder if he’s allowed to gift the free donut he slides your way.

Your stomach growls and begs for sugary release before you can fully bring yourself to care.

An awkward thanks. Hands reach up to grab the to-go cups, three fingers curling up the bagged donut. 

He helps you get a grip on the beverages, placing them in your hands.

His touch lingers, more than necessary, fingertips brushing over your knuckles as if trapped in slow-motion.

“So, a pretty girl like you got a boyfriend, or are you gonna let me take you out to-”

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

Your father screams one name, loud and clear, down the pitch.

“Peña, get your head out your fucking ass and pick up the ball!”

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

Javier, frozen in place, face an unreadable maze of emotions, eyes staring right at you.

They follow you all the way back to your seat, even as the game picks up again.

Even as you congratulate your dad on another victory for the police department, now the four-time consecutive champions of the Thanksgiving Touchdown.

Even as you head off to your father’s car.

Even when you’re home, curled under a blanket and watching a televised copy of Annie Hall, you feel his eyes on you.

The look of betrayal on Javier Peña haunts you even once you fall asleep.

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

Everything has it’s place, from the books that line your bedside table to the memories inside your mind.

You compartmentalise.

Tucked deep into the right side of your brain, there’s a box.

It’s contents, memories you’ve yet to process.

Moments you know that, if you wish to move on, you’ll have to relive.

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

And, scribbled in bold red marker, April ‘99.

A late night.

You, wide awake, laying on your back and mapping out stars in his ceiling.

Javier fell asleep hours ago and now snores softly against your neck, muscled arm curled around your waist as his legs entangle your own.

The agent is a fiend for cuddling, and so often wraps himself around you like a vine.

You find yourself nestling your hand in his hair, and take note of the sharp breath he intakes.

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

Relax when you feel him snore and press himself even deeper against your naked skin.

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

He hadn’t told you that, but he didn’t need to.

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

In the way he let you take the lead, resting back against the couch to watch how your hips wound down on him.

In the way he got even clingier than usual, dragging you into the shower with him just to have you near, holding you from behind as you washed up the plates he’d used to serve you dinner (a trade-off he’d reluctantly agreed to months ago: he cooks, you clean), laying his head on your lap as you curled up to watch some cheesy horror movie- one you’re bound to fall asleep during and he’s counting on it, glancing up till he spots you slumped over and eyes closed, granting him the perfect excuse to carry you to his bed and nestle himself in beside you.

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

It’s like you’ve forgotten something, misplaced something, and can’t even figure out what it is.

You just know its absence is wrong.

Javi mumbles something, dreaming away, and you feel the subtle press of his lips against your skin.

Fingers curl tightly into the fabric of your (his) shirt.

He can’t get you close enough, it seems.

Playing against his wants, you pull back, slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

There’s a pinch between his brows, furrowed in worry.

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

It’s a selfish act, born purely from your own desire, but you find yourself pressing a kiss against his forehead.

His grip loosens, though slightly.

It gives you enough time to feel a stir between your thighs, a calling coming from your bladder.

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

It’s a struggle that leaves you topless and feeling a pinch of cruelty, standing over the bed as you watch his hand grabbing at the vacant spot you once occupied, your scent and shirt the only traces you leave behind.

You don’t bother turning on a light, make your way to his bathroom with practiced ease.

Pad your way across the cold linoleum floor, sink down onto the porcelain seat- he’d stopped leaving it up when your overnight visits became more frequent. You hadn’t asked- didn’t need to ask-, he’d simply done it.

Closing the door over, yet not enough for the hinges to squeak and the handle to lock, you pray the wood muffles noise of the flushing toilet.

When it stops, you wait a few seconds, until you’re sure there’s no rustling coming from his bedroom.

Then, you open the tap.

The water is barely a trickle, yet you tell yourself its enough.

Lather your hands in soap, sit them under the constant drip of cold water till you feel the suds wash down the drain.

It’s hard to stop yourself from sneaking a glance at the mirror, just as it’s hard to recognise the version of yourself you see.

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

Yhen come the thoughts of Javier, and how he sees you.

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

He’s not said anything. Or done anything, to make you notice a change.

But, then, Maybe it’s been subtle, slow, dragged out long enough it’s not drastic enough for either of you to take note of.

You eye the spare toothbrush he keeps in his bathroom, and try to remember when it became yours.

You don’t remember.

One moment, his toothbrush sat alone. And, the next, you were standing side by side, laughing as you raced to see who could make a foamier mess of the toothpaste.

Corazón, you look like a rabid animal, he’d called you once, laughing through tears as he wiped away the white suds dripping off your chin. You’re lucky that you’re just so cute.

You can recall, even now, how quickly his mouth had found yours that night, with no ulterior motive other than to bask in the minty taste of one another.

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

Only, sweat lines your forehead and your face seems drained of colour.

You make it only two steps back before you’re hurtling across the bathroom floor.

Your knees crash down first, harsh and unforgiving against the tiles.

The first wretch burns, has you coughing over your own gag.

In the dark, it’s hard to see what exactly comes out of you, but you know where it came from.

Your stomach.

Another wave of nausea hits, this one harder, and you’re gripping at the sides of the bowl, spewing into the water below.

A splash meets your cheek, but you’re too out of it to care, wave after wave of nausea leaving you a coughing, gagging, crying mess.

You feel lightheaded, only managing a moment to catch your breath before another wave hits.

It feels like you’re suffocating.

It’s in your throat, in your mouth, in your nose, in your hair.

It feels like it’s never stopping and you’re doomed to spend the rest of your days submitting to the horrors of throwing-

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” warmth, against your naked back.

It’s a nice warmth, not like the one that has you covered in a cold sweat.

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

You try to follow it, match your breathing to the tactile comfort.

“That’s it, baby,” cool air meets your neck, the hairs that stuck to your skin now pulled up and pushed back. “I’m right here, I got you.”

Eventually, all that’s left is the burning of bile at the back of your throat and the dull ache of eyes gone raw with tears.

You’re pulled into a solid mass, naked chest pressed to naked chest as you go slack upon the bathroom floor.

You’re exhausted, and covered in your own sweat, tears and vomit.

Javier doesn’t care, pulling you tighter against him and whispering sweet words you don’t quite pay attention to.

“Woke up and you weren’t there, corazón. Don’t do that again,” even in his attempts to chastise, he’s gentle, brushing the remaining strands of sweat-slicked hair off your face. You must be an awful sight, yet his expressions don’t give way. “You wake up, you wake me up too. ‘Specially if you’re gonna hurl, okay?”

You glance at him, swallow back a lump and deal with the realisation that dawned upon you ten minutes earlier, as you sat hunched over the toilet’s bowl.

“Javi,” he smiles at the way you call his name.

You feel sick all over again at the thought of that changing, everything changing, as you build the courage to speak.

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

You imagine he’ll stand up, pace the floor.

Run his hands through his hair, rant over every thought he has.

Ways to get rid of it, the dangers of your dad finding out.

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

He’ll ask why you weren’t safer, why you forgot to take that morning-after pill, why you played so fast-and-loose with your body.

None of it arrives.

He stands, yes, but only to pull you up with him, tired limbs leaning into his strong build as he drags you both under the heat of a warm shower.

You watch the remnants of your own vomit wash down the drain, and question how he can stand there, not disgusted with you.

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

He’s rougher with himself, scarcely drying properly before he’s carrying you back to his bed, a replay of hours earlier as he lays you down, crawls in behind you and tucks you both under the soft comfort of his worn-out sheets.

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

He so easily nestles himself behind you, dragging you back against him and committing himself to the role of big-spoon.

His hands have always felt large, their touch always electrifying, but nothing compares to the feeling of him splaying one across your lower stomach, a subtle press into where part of him could be growing within you.

“Javi,” you whine, fighting off the sleep your overwhelmed body so badly needs. “I’m sorry.”

You say it because you feel obligated, like it’s your place to be apologetic.

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

“No seas boba (Don’t be silly),” there’s a fresh set of tears already sliding down your cheeks by the time he replies. “Don’t need to be sorry, baby.”

“But I-”

“But, nothing,” his tone feels final, one that tells you you’ll get nowhere arguing against him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, corazón.”

You fall asleep, eventually, soothed by his gentle breathing and the repeated motion of his thumb stroking over your belly.

Yhe next time you awake, there’s a crack of sunlight creeping through his blinds.

Javi’s still in bed, only he’s propped up on his elbow and staring down at you.

His smile stretches a little wider when he spots your open eyes.

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

“I gotta go, corazón,” is met with a protest from you, rolling over to curl into his solid chest.

Expecting it, he wraps you up tighter in his arms, presses an array of chaste kisses to your head.

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

You don’t want him out, in the real world, where the hours you’ve spent cooped up together become more scandalous than the peaceful nature of them.

“I know, I know. Don’t wanna go either, baby,” you wonder if you spoke your thoughts aloud, or if Javi simply knows you so well.

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

Help him tie it, the comforter pooled around your naked waist as you sit criss-cross-apple-sauce and Javi’s at the side of the bed, legs bent at the knee.

He thanks you with a kiss, then asks you to pass him his cologne.

It’s on the other side of the bed- his side of the bed- and you lean over to grab it.

You don’t bother handing him it, spraying it directly onto your own wrist and dabbing it into the skin of his tanned neck.

He lets you, a gentle smile on his face and eyes that pull you in for a hug, burrowing himself between your naked breasts.

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

“You’re gonna smell like me all day, cariño (darling),” he tells you.

“Good,” you reply.

Another hum, this time of approval, and a squeeze to your hip.

When he pulls back, he looks even more reluctant to leave.

Reality rears it’s ugly head, but he pushes it out your mind with the pressing of his hand against your stomach, the same spot he’d held onto all night.

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

Your hands instinctually curl in his hair, and you like to think you leave it a little messy, enough to ward off any of the women he works along side, hopeful eyes hoping to get a taste of the handsome, unmarried cop.

“Stay,” he mumbles against your skin, as if you’re the one who’s about to leave. “Don’t go, ok? I’ll call around lunch.”

He keeps his word.

Calls you, a few minutes past two, interrupting whatever daytime TV you were pretending to watch.

Answering leaves you feeling lightheaded, like you're trapped in a daydream.

Listening to him croon down the line while your finger anxiously tangles in the phone’s wire as you stand in his apartment, it feels domestic, like you’re waiting for him to come back home, a place you share together.

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

“How bout you, corazón?” He knows how to make you melt, picturing him smiling at his desk. “Have you ate yet?”

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

“You need to eat, baby,” you don’t like the fact he uses that pet-name, not right now. “There’s plenty in the fridge. Could make yourself a sandwich, or some toast. Might even have some of that pasta left over. You know, that one you said you liked? Oh, wait, maybe don’t eat that, don’t think uncooked salmon is good for pregn-”

You don’t want him to say the P word, so you cut him off.

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

He says ok, then you hear him take a bite of whatever his lunch is.

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

He tells you a quick story, something about one of the younger guys accidentally stapling his tie to an arrest warrant.

That rouses a laugh out of you, makes you forget all about the massive P word he almost said.

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

A place he’d begged you to stay this morning, safe and tucked away.

“Was thinking we could drive out to the clinic, find out for sure if we’re pr-” he cuts himself off this time, like he knows you’re not ready to hear that word. “Then we’ll take things from there, okay? Whatever you decide you wanna do, corazón, you call the shots.”

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

He walks through the door and welcomes the way you coil yourself around him, humming in delight as he peppers a few kisses over your face.

“Still smell like me,” he says it with approval, takes a purposeful whiff at you as he pulls you tighter against him.

You still smell his cologne on him too, buried beneath a few layers of sweat and cigarette smoke.

Near clinging to one another, it’s a miracle you two make it out his apartment and down the elevator.

An arm around your waist, he guides you over to his car.

Pulls the door open for you, stops you from bumping your head on the way in.

He practically runs round the car’s hood, jumping into the driver’s seat and thrumming the engine to life with the turn of a key.

“You remember to eat?” He asks as he pulls out onto the street.

You nod, then audibly reply.

Tell him you did in fact eat toast, leave out the part where you spewed your guts again twenty minutes later.

The drive is quiet.

Not uncomfortable, just relaxed, with the radio playing gently and his window rolled down enough to let in some air.

At some point, his hand slides over the console and rests against your thigh.

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

As you watch out the window how he drives past the turning for the local hospital, he must catch your questioning gaze.

“They, uh,” he clears his throat, rings his hand over the steering wheel. A small stain of sweat marks it. “Know your dad pretty well in there. And me. Figure you’d rather he not find out about us like that.”

He’s right.

So you relax back into your seat, accept the fact you’re both driving out of town together.

At some point, the beginning notes of your favourite song play through the stereo.

You instantly perk up, sitting up straighter in your seat and tap your foot a little to the beat.

Javi says nothing, simply peels his hand off you to turn the volume dial up.

Seconds later, he turns his head and throws you a look just asking if he’s done good.

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

A soft squeeze before he pulls them up to his lips, eyes back on the road.

The clinic is bright.

And squeaky, each step you take making you a little more nervous than the last.

Javier, by all accounts, is solid as a rock, signing you both in, picking up a few pamphlets, buying you a can of soda, all while you curl up in some plastic chair and just focus on not spewing your guts out.

You only relax once he’s sat beside you, helping you get a sip of the sugary drink and wrapping a protective arm around you.

You don’t mean to but you fall victim to sleep, the past 24 hours getting the best of you.

You come-to likely not much later, but to the sound of a childish giggle.

Cracking one eye open, just slightly, you notice you’re slumped into Javier, head on his shoulder.

There’s a giggling little girl in front of you both, in purple overalls and with two pigtails to hold her curly hair.

One of her hands is on Javi’s knees, using him to keep herself standing.

“First time?” You snap your eyes shut as a stranger’s voice fills the quiet bustle of the clinic.

A confused sound leaves Javier.

“Yeah, could tell from the look on your lady’s face,” the man continues. “Same one my own wife had during our first visit.”

You want to pay attention to Javi’s response, but you’re a bit busy dealing with the fact he’s not correcting the man, telling him you’re not his lady nor his wife.

His thumb soothes over your hip, and you wonder at what rate you’ll melt away into a pile of nothing thanks to his soft touches.

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

You tell yourself to try harder, to actually pay attention.

You succeed, catch as Javi replies, “a girl.”

“Yeah?” the stranger seems genuinely invested, it almost makes you want to open your eyes, see him for yourself.

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Wanted a boy, myself,” that same little girl giggles again and you can’t fight the temptation to peek once more, catch as she crawls into her faceless-father’s lap. “Doc told us it was gonna be a boy, too. Then this one came along and, wouldn’t ya know, not a boy.”

“Surprise!” the little girl squeals, and you feel Javi’s shoulder shake under your head.

God, you want to look at him, see if he’s looking at her with the same adoration that’s festering in your heart.

“Yeah, baby, you’re my little Sarah-Surprise,” the man coos and, despite his rough accent, it suits him. Like he was only ever meant to speak with gentle words and a soft heart, all for his precious daughter. “It’ll get easier, on your lady, just so ya know. Less scary, more exciting. ‘Bout to welcome our second one, and I’ve never seen my wife so happy.”

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

A chair squeaks as pressure is taken off it, the stranger standing.

You peak your eye open in time to see him picking his daughter up, her little legs dangling off his hip.

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

“What,” he clears his throat, and you wonder if it’s of emotion. “What are you hoping for this time?”

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

You’d pretended to wake up to Javier’s coaxing.

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

A smiley nurse handed you a cup, talked you through what you needed to do for your tests.

Took your blood pressure, complimented your earrings, and stepped out the room to give you privacy.

A short while and a reunion with Javi later, you sat in a doctor’s office, both a nervous wreck as you clasped each other’s hand.

“Mrs. peña,” again, Javier does not correct the doctor. And you realise it’s because he filled out the forms, he signed you in. He wrote you down as Peña. “You and your husband are not pregnant.”

What should have followed was a sigh of relief, from both of you.

But all you felt was led drop in your stomach and Javier’s grip tighten on your hand.

“You are, however, displaying symptoms of acute food poisoning, likely salmonella.”

The doctor continues on, detailing a prescription you’re being given.

But it falls on deaf ears, the world around you gone blank as you wrestle with conflicting emotions.

You’re not pregnant.

You should be elated. Jumping, and cheering, and dancing all over the place. Instead, you’re silent, letting yourself be guided back into the car by Javi.

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

He doesn’t explain that he’s taking you back to his place.

Getting you back in his bed, switching off the lights, he curls himself in behind you and splays his hand over your stomach.

Over your empty womb.

For some reason, you find yourself sobbing into your pillow, unaware of the tears from him that stain your neck as he tries to hush you.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the irony of him repeating those very same words last night is not lost on you.

It’s hard to move on, when every month there’s a stabbing pain in your abdomen and a trickle of blood staining your underwear to remind you of April.

And so you keep it locked in it’s box, slapping another caution tape over it’s lid as you groan and roll out your own bed, trudging your way into your bathroom to check if the wetness between your thighs is your monthly visitor.

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

It’s not because he’s done anything to warrant your rejection, but, rather, it’s the forthcoming actions he’ll be guilty of.

See, you know why he’s calling.

Your mom let it slip, over brunch and a few too many glasses of wine.

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

Or, at least, that’s what you were until the last poker night he’d hosted, way back in March.

He slips away, phoned by your tipsy mother and obligated to drive three towns over to go pick her up because she misses him.

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

It was less a suggestion, more of a pleading, his hands already scraping the seat back and awaiting you to plop yourself down.

He leaves you with his hand, his winnings so-far, and a kiss to the top of your head.

“Watch out for Peña,” he whispered, as if you hadn’t been keeping an eye on the agent all evening, clouded by his own cigarette smoke and sitting looser each sip of his whiskey, no ice. “His poker face is dangerous.”

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

Rounds end and rounds start, and you father’s pile of winnings grow more and more.

It’s an ego boost, taking money from these cocky men who look at you as though surely you have no clue what cards you’re holding.

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

Flinging down cards, muttering curses, shoving his cash across the table.

All whilst glaring, at you, eyes black with ire.

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

Nearly an hour’s past since your father left, someone else leaves the table.

Says he needs the toilet, you point him in the direction of it.

You all call for a break, and then you graciously offer a refill on drinks.

It’s what your dad would’ve done, kept them all drinking and lowering their inhibitions, their focus disappearing alongside it.

“I’ll help!” One of the officers exclaims.

He’s on the younger side.

Practically a rookie, it’s only the second poker night he’s attended.

He’s sweet, with his large-framed glasses and his nervous smile.

You both make your way out of the basement- refurbished to be your dad’s man-cave- and head towards the kitchen.

You open the fridge, grab however many bottles of beer you need.

He heads to the liquor cabinet, pulls out a bottle bourbon.

You beat him at grabbing the whiskey, an unvoiced need to be the one who refills Javi’s glass.

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

Conversation flows naturally between you, in spite of him being a near stranger.

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

You both agree on the fact he’s a pain in the ass.

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

You tell him where to go to get the best club sandwich.

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

nNeither of you can tell who causes it, but one of you mispronounces a word and you both wind up in a pile of giggles, falling over yourselves and banging into counters.

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

Through wheezes, he repeats the phrase that left you both in this state.

You laugh harder, louder, warn him to stop before you lose control of your bladder.

Something thuds in the hallway, your eyes shoot up to the kitchen entry and you swear you see Javi’s retreating figure.

Blink a few times, realise there’s no one there.

You both gather some decorum.

He grabs as many of the beer bottles he can manage, and looks at your empty hands in question.

You tell him to head back without you, that you just need to go to the toilet.

Parting ways, you find the both the downstairs and upstairs bathrooms occupied.

Sigh in frustration, only to remember your parents en suite.

It’s empty, because of course it is. No one would feel comfortable enough invading the privacy of your parents' bedroom.

You do your business, wash your hands, fix yourself in the mirror.

Decide your lipstick needs a little touch-up, your clothes need straightening out.

And, when you’re done and ready to head back down to the poker table, you hear a thud.

Pull open the bathroom door, expect to find your father struggling to put a tipsy, giggly, clumsy version of your mother into bed.

Instead, there is only a brooding look and disapproving grunt.

A firm grip, on your arm, dragging you right back into the bathroom.

The door slams shut, a little harsher than you’d like, the sound of it surely reaching the ears of those regrouping for the next dealing of the cards.

He doesn’t pounce, like he so usually does when he’s wearing that look of frustration.

He’s simmering in it, teetering on the edge of boiling anger as he smooths a hand over his chin, visibly clenching his jaw, swallowing back whatever it is he wants to say to you.

He takes one step forward, and you go one back.

Then two steps, which you also match.

Your hip smacks into the sink’s counter on your fifth step backwards and it’s enough to finally put his hands on you.

He tugs you right into his chest, one hand soothing over where you’d banged your hip.

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

When he speaks, you nearly melt into a puddle, the heat of him invading your space, face inching close to your own, enough to have you questioning the sanctity of your parents en suite.

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

“Could ask you the same thing, officer,” you make the fatal mistake of giggling, but you’ll blame it on the fruity cider you’d helped yourself to.

He clearly finds no humour, not even as you fiddle with the top button of his shirt and shoot him your best look of innocence.

“Think you’re real fucking funny, don’t you?” His hand, warm and imposing, grips a hold of your face.

It’s almost painful, but you like it, squirming a little at the blunt stab of his nails and the way he smooshes your cheeks, forcing a pout onto your lips.

You try shake your head, his grip won’t let you.

“Sitting in a room full of men, making yourself the centre of attention,” he huffs a breath out of his nose, and you can’t help but compare him to an angry dragon.

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

“What’s the matter, Javi? Jealous you’re not the centre of all those men’s attention?” You’re poking the dragon, teasing him, and it’s an act that may leave you burned and scarred.

Or, as you’re hoping, it’ll win you the ride of a lifetime.

He doesn’t even grace you with a verbal response.

No, he scoffs, as though he’s in physical disbelief at the words you’re saying.

Spins you around, pins you to the sink’s counter, tugs your hair till you’re forced to stare at your reflection.

He’s right behind you, seething in anger, fire in his eyes.

His head dips between you neck and shoulder, brushing his lips against your pulse point.

“Not all of us are attention whores like you,” it’s fleeting, and he’ll deny it if you dare mention it, but he smiles.

Just a second, but you feel it, see it even though he tries so hard to turn his face into your neck.

It’s what lets you know he’s playing, teasing, egging you on to push him over the edge.

“I’ve been with real whores, corazón,” he confesses a sin you already know, eaves-dropping one too many times on your dad fishing stories of Colombia out of him. “Fucked them so often they started doing their nails in colours they knew I wanted to see wrapped around my cock.”

Involuntarily, your back arches, brushing your ass against him and providing him the perfect access to wind his hand up between your heaving breasts, all the way up till his fingers curl round the base of your throat.

In the mirror, the image is one of ownership, of Javi seizing your bodily autonomy. A whore and her gentleman caller.

It’s arousing to think about, Javi and his whores.

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

“And not one of them took half the money you’ve taken from me tonight.”

Oh.

So that’s what this is, his pretty ego, bruised at the hands of you?

Poor Mr. Javier Peña, humiliated in front of all his peers round after round, hundred bill after hundred bill.

You almost taunt him for giving into the temptations of the fragile male ego, but you’re stopped in your tracks.

By him, hands squeezing at you a little tighter as he grinds the unmistakable outline of his hardened cock against you.

That single action changes the game, entirely.

Because this isn’t about you stealing his money and his ego.

No, this is something far filthier, that has your panties growing wetter beneath the skirt of your dress.

“I’m worth every dime though, aren’t I, officer?.”

The grip tightens.

He shoves you harder into the counter, so hard a tub of your mother’s moisturiser topples off.

The hard outline of him is still there, ever-present.

“‘S that what you like, huh, taking my money? Wanna be Javi’s personal little whore?”

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

Certainly not you, reflection mimicking the way you eagerly nod, teeth biting down on your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hold back a grin.

Javi notices- of course he notices- and takes his victory, hips rocking even deeper into you.

There’s too many layers between you, a feat on which you both agree, yet neither of you do anything about.

You just savour the friction, instead, pushing and pulling one another to the axis of pleasure.

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

“What’s it gonna cost me to get you bent over and stuffed full of my cum, corazón?” One hand leaves your body. The mirror snitches on him, exposing how he’s reaching into his back pocket. “This?”

He smacks something down, into the bowl of the sink.

It’s his wallet, and you watch the worn leather of it shine with the residue of water on the linoleum.

The hand at your throat pulses a squeeze, his knee nudges you from behind.

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

His mouth, right by your ear, lips tickling you with the subtlest of brushes against it.

His hand guides your own, down into the sink, flipping the wallet open and putting it’s belongings on display.

Bills, some placed neatly, others stuffed in forcefully, edges spilling out the pockets. There’s less in there than when he arrived, courtesy of you.

There’s a few miscellaneous cards. A library card, an ID slip you’re sure he uses for something in the sheriff's station, a loyalty card to some record store.

The picture of his mother sits centre stage, radiant smile and loving eyes grabbing the attention of any who dare open it.

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

And then you notice something else, peeking out from behind his mother’s picture.

You dive into temptation, dart your nosy fingers over to tug at the object, till you realise it’s another picture.

A picture of Javi, and you.

Taken on a polaroid you found under a box of his belongings, you remember the day clear as ever.

The two of you had messed around, captured your sins on film with the promise of destroying it after. It would be too risky a thing, to allow image evidence of the intimate ways in which you knew each other’s bodies.

Javi’s fingers on your skin, your nipple in his mouth, his cock’s outline bulging within your lower abdomen.

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

Fully dressed, eyes fixed on his television, your head lays in his laps while his fingers card through your hair.

It’s captured from above, as if Javi’s own eyes had made a permanent record of his view.

The sweetness of this living on, of Javi taking something sacred for himself to keep hidden in his wallet distracts you for a moment.

He does good to bring you back into the room.

“Take how much you think you’re worth, corazón,” whispered into your ear, as he rips a few of the notes out his wallet.

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

With each bill you count, your internal price shooting up within your head, you try picture his reaction.

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

You, your face, looking at your expressions in a way that reminds you it’s his job to read people.

You decide to be bold, dig into his wallet and, even though your insides twist in anxious turmoil, hold up your hand to present him with your answer.

Resting neatly, between your fore and middle finger, a shiny credit card.

The gleam in Javi’s eyes just about match it, blackened and blown out with lust.

The card is plucked out your hand.

The hand on your neck leaves, in search of your waist.

The fabric of your dress bunches, wrinkling and creasing as his fabric-straining grip inches it’s hem higher and higher.

You feel sexy like this, face heated and breathing heavy.

It’s an effect he has on you, has had on you, forcing you to look at yourself in new lights, in new angles, admiring every out-of-line trace of you for what you are.

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

And every other word under the sun that Javi whispers into your skin with innocence as his body commits sins within you.

At the bottom of the mirror, you watch as the white cotton of your panties comes into view.

Wet, as you both expected, the thin fabric now turned almost sheer, exposing the delectable view of your cunt hugged cutely by the cotton’s tight seams.

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

There’s a strain to his voice, one that would have you worried he’s in pain if it weren’t for the way you’re watching as his face contorts with lust.

His eyes are dark and you study them like he studies his card, contemplating something.

A few seconds pass. 

Tension is puffed out his chest with one exhale, through the nose.

You feel the air tickle your skin.

He nods curtly, to himself, and flickers his gaze back to meet your own in the mirror.

It’s unwavering, even as he brings the black plastic down and smacks it against your mound.

You squeal, he hushes, and you both know he doesn’t mean it at all.

He likes when you gift him noise, a private aria only he has tickets to.

Just as easily as the first time, he snaps the card against you again, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight through your clit.

Just as loudly as the first time, you squeal, a jolt back into his warm, steady, hard embrace.

“What’re you running from, hmm?” His face turns, burrowing itself in the tresses of your hair.

A shallow sniff, and you wonder if he notices the smell of his shampoo on you.

There’s a pressing of lips, against your scalp, and it’s far too gentle of a juxtapose to the imagery of his fingers pulling your panties to the side, exposing your pussy to the bathroom’s cold air and the two pairs of hungry eyes in the mirror.

“You say that this is what you’re worth, and then you don’t want to take it?”

The third spank of the card against your bundle of nerves is harder, louder, echos in the confined space. A moan, minuscule and muffled, slips past tightly shut lips, a look of fear flashing through wide eyes.

Javi’s quick with his reassurance, gentle with his comfort, a hand stroking over your collarbone.

“Don’t worry, no one’s gonna hear you. You just be as loud as you need, hermosa, they’re too busy encouraging that boy-cop to ask you to dinner.”

There’s a tint of jealousy to the way he says boy, and you’re reminded of the image of him in the kitchen doorway.

Smack!

The card strikes down, once more, this time eliciting an open-mouthed gasp. 

He doesn’t let up, repeating the action twice more.

It hurts, in a way that makes your core throb and your toes curl, squirming aimlessly in a grasp he knows you don’t truly want to escape.

But he mocks you, with a hushing noise in your ear and gentle it’s okay, corazón, Javi’s got yous against your neck. His thumb swipes through your folds, coating it in your wetness and dragging itself up to your clit, soaking it in soothing rubs.

His gentle nature lasts mere seconds, his wrist flicking back only to smack the credit card down again. This time, it’s a pattern of three, repeatedly crashing down on your sensitive nerves one after the other.

In the mirror, you watch him observe as he twiddles the card between deft fingers, contemplation on his mind.

The room’s quiet, apart from your shortened breaths and his deep inhales.

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

It must have been a loud cheer, for you to hear them all the way up here.

And, suddenly, the stakes feel higher than when you were sat at the poker table, counting Javi’s coins with every passing round.

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

This doesn’t seem to cross Javier’s mind, who merely twists your head away from the bathroom door and back to the mirror, to where his hungry eyes await.

All contemplation is gone, he’s decided in what he’s going to do, and so you watch as he takes the card and swipes it through your cunt.

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

In fact, it’s rather uncomfortable, the solid plastic hard on your delicate skin.

It’s the arousal of him doing it that gets you weak in the knees, to have him perform such a mundane act- the swiping of his credit card- in such a crass, dirty, wrong way.

Like he’s paying for you, committing a physical transaction in exchange for your body.

It doesn’t matter that he could have you for free, has had you for free.

He wants to pay, wants to reward you in a way that aligns with the capitalistic world.

“Javi…” You whimper, softly, head lulling back against his shoulder as he swipes the card again.

Your eyes, slowly slipping shut, shoot right back open as you feel the rounded corner of the card prod at your opening, as if trying to notch itself within you.

“Think she could take it, corazón?” Javi bites at your ear, teeth clamping down and pulling at it’s lobe. The card sinks in, not even an inch. You nudge back into, your cry circling the room around you both. “I know, baby, I know. It’d be a wide stretch, but ain’t that all pretty whores like you are good for, hmm?”

It’s automatic, the way you bend to his every whim, head nodding without direct orders from your brain, every part of you, conscious or not, ready and willing to prove you could fit his card inside of you.

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

Surprisingly, the hand between your thighs retracts and you watch as he brings the card up to your mouth, glistening with your arousal.

“Open,” the directions are unnecessary, your mouth already dropping open for him in an act of muscle memory.

He hums approvingly, yet his eyes are still fury filled as he slots the card between your lips, lathering your tongue in your own taste. 

“You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you, corazón?”

The statement rings true, both ways: as much as you’ll take anything, he’ll give anything.

You don’t tell him that, though, finding it much easier to rest your palms on the countertop, backing your sopping core into him, enticing him with the wiggle of your hips and whines from your lips to take you already.

“Shh, shh, don’t you worry that pretty head. Javi’s gonna feed this greedy little cunt, ok?”

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

Something smashes, in the basement, and it’s enough to have you flinching.

Javi’s touch soothes you, a hand running over the curve of your shoulder as he presses yet another kiss into your neck.

“S’okay, probably just a beer bottle.”

He doesn’t move another inch, not till he sees you nod, melting back into him.

You hear, more than you see, the way he tugs his trousers down, just enough to free his hardened cock from its jean-clad confine. The risky business of a quickie in your parents’ en suite calls for clothing moved aside, and not removed.

Much to your annoyance, his all-encompassing warmth drifts away as he moves back, hands clamping down on your hips. 

He tilts them to the angle he wants, the angle he knows gets him brushing all your sweet-spots.

He tugs the skirt of your dress up, and then readjusts your soiled underwear.

You hear him draw a deep breath and watch his eyes in the mirror, glued to that spot between your legs, entranced.

The drag of his cock over your folds is familiar, the way he smacks the head of it against your clit is welcomed.

He spears you no gentle coaxing, no stretching around his fingers first, coming undone just for him to fill you right back up, this time with his cock.

No, this is a vengeful touch, the kind that’s meant to display his irritation, his fury, for reasons you’ve yet to confirm yet you’re more than willing to accept.

A man like him, so unfairly selfless, taking something in this world for himself, how he wants to and how he likes to.

You’ll be his vice, so long as he grants you his virtues.

Javi fills you with a single thrust, grunting low into your ear as you feel the way the air is physically knocked out both for your lungs.

He’s still, head buried in the crook of your neck as he works on steadying his breathing, giving you time to adjust to the delicious stretch.

You whine out some version of his name, feel yourself pulse around him.

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

He’s making you wait for it, you think, torturing you with an impending paradise.

He’s savouring the feel of you, he thinks, taking advantage of the few moments alone he wins with you.

"Javi,” he barely lets you part from him to speak, chasing a trail of kisses down your jaw. “This isn’t the time to develop patience.”

The snide remark earns you a bite, his teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. You squeal, try remind yourself to be quiet, only to squeal louder when his hands tickle at your waist.

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

His hips roll back, slowly, but it’s better than nothing, better than when he wasn’t moving at all.

Still, he makes you squirm a little longer, moan his name a little louder.

Only then does his fake resolve snap and he’s fucking into you at a brain melting pace in the blink of an eye.

Javier does his best to keep quiet, at first, biting down on his lip and your neck just to contain all those melodies he usually makes.

You can’t say the same for yourself as, despite your efforts, broken moan after broken moan tumbles out your mouth and into the sink, filling and filling and filling it in sync with how Javi your cunt.

You wonder how long till it all spills over the edge.

“Joder (Fuck),” he groans as you unconsciously squeeze him tighter, pulling him deeper into your walls. serves him right, for the teasing and the torturing. “Tienes el coño más lindo en todo el mundo. (You have the prettiest cunt in the whole world.)”

You feel lightheaded.

Warm, sweaty, covered in the fingerprints of a lover you shouldn’t be with.

The bathroom fills with an array of sounds. The slapping of skin against skin, the broken cries of an agent’s name, the mindless rambling of a man drunk on pleasure.

“So good to me, baby. Always so fucking good to me.”

“Gonna stay here forever, fuck. That sound good to you, corazón, hmm? Full of my cock always?”

“Look at yourself… Pura belleza (Pure beauty).”

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

There’s no worrying about the happenings around the poker table, no listening out for your father’s car pulling in the driveway, no worrying about your tousled hair or sweating skin.

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

“Please, please, Javi-“ The words all melt together, pleads becoming his name, his name becoming pleads.

You’re not sure what you’re begging for.

It’s okay though, Javi always knows what you need.

“I know, amor (love), I know,” he murmurs into your skin, butterfly kisses so gentle you wonder how they come from the same man that’s pistoning his hips into you like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. “Let go, c’mon. Show me how much you love this cock, how much you love-”

He’s cut off by his own groan, you cunt fluttering around him as you inch closer and closer to the edge of euphoria.

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs. 

It brings a welcomed cushioning, shielding you from repeatedly bumping against the marble of the countertop.

Your legs part further, eagerly, an easy pathway for his yearning fingers to seek out the wonders of the female body as they brush over your clit.

The gentle tactile that he strokes over your bundle of nerves, partnered with the repeated brushing of his cock against that spot that makes you weak in the knees, drool out your mouth, it’s becoming too much.

Eyes glancing in the mirror, you wonder if yours is the same image of the whores who’d warmed his Colombian nights: sweat soaked skin, hooded eyes, messed up hair, wrinkled clothing.

He tilts your hips, a deeper angle to fuck into you that has you perching up onto the tips of your toes, fighting with the chance of losing balance.

He’d catch you, if you fell.

Wrap you up in an embrace that’s more familiar than your own.

“I’m gonna- Fuck! Corazón, need you to cum. Now, please. Please. Need to feel you-”

He’s babbling, losing composure and revealing the side of him you pray he never showed those other women: the side that needs, the side that longs, the side that begs to see you cum before he allows himself to, before he’s able to.

“Javi,” it’s a struggle to speak, but you endure, fighting off your orgasm and holding back tears. There’s something you need from him too. “Cum with me. Wanna be full of you, all of you-”

“¿Sí? (Yeah?)” He pleads back, thrusts already getting a little sloppier, hands a little shakier in the way they touch you. Much like his poker face, you know how to read the face he wears moments before he falls apart. “¿Eso es lo que quiere mi corazón? (Is that what my sweetheart wants?) Want me to cum in you, hm?”

“Yes, oh god yes! So bad, Javi, I want it so bad!”

“Ay, bebesita, no llores. (Aw, baby girl, don't cry.)” He coos, a condescending lilt to his words that has you falling into a bigger mess. “Shh, don’t worry, baby. Gonna fill you right up, so my cum’s dripping down your thighs when that poor kid asks you for your number. Thinks he’s got a shot with you cause he made you laugh, poor boy wouldn’t know how to deal with all the noises I get out of you.”

Javi divulges into a spine-tingling rant of burning hot jealousy, the kind that leaves your cheeks burning and your heart scorching, lit under a flame of your desire for more of him. To have him, equal parts physical and emotional.

You try warn him of the bubble that’s about to burst, the feeling in your loins building and building till it’s seconds way from toppling over. 

“That’s it, baby, squeeze my cock. Lemme feel it,” He urges, heart pounding out his chest against your back, hands tightening their grip on your hips. “Need to feel you cum, ‘s all I want.”

You both crash and burn, together.

You fall first, a chaos of unfinished words, crying out for Javi.

He follows close behind, body pressed against your own like he’s willing you to fuse together, to become to entangled in one another that all possibilities of separation become void.

“Take it, cora-” He’s in your ears, in your head, in your heart. Inside of you, consuming you, as eagerly as he’s willing to be consumed by you, fingerprints on hips and teeth-marks in necks. “Take it, take it, take it.”

Arms envelop you from behind, crossing over your chest to pin you back against him.

He’s nearly stagnant, nothing but the twitch of his cock and the shallow thrusts he fucks you deeper with, filling you with another, another, another pump of his cum.

“So good,” Javi’s voice persists, teeth gritting as he bites back the need to be loud, to be heard, to lay a claim on you so blatant no one could deny hearing it. Your relationship with your father is the only thing that holds him back. “Good to me, baby. Always… Good… Díos. (God.)”

Craning your neck to the side, you manage to pull him in for a kiss.

It’s something he accepts easily, lips parting and melting into a dance against your own.

One of his hands falls over your jaw, twisting your face even closer to him.

The kiss dies slowly, with each of you refusing to truly part, pecks being splattered messily against the other’s mouth.

“Was I,” Javi interrupts you with another kiss, his free hand smoothing up and down your side, his hips still slowly rocking into yours, a delicious sting of overstimulation biting at your core. “Am I worth it?”

He pulls back, tired gaze warm as it takes in your messed features.

With the smile that stretches over his lips, however, one would think you were the prettiest creature in all the world.

He calls your name, calmly, slowly, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of it on his tongue. “You’re worth everything I could give, and more.”

There’s something behind the ways he says it that makes you believe him.

With little will to do so, you peel apart from each other, his hands moving quick to adjust your underwear as his cum starts to leak out onto your folds.

He exits the bathroom first, a final kiss placed on your cheek before your left alone, forced to confront the wrecked version of you that will never see your parent’s en suite in the same light.

Your dad arrives back just in time to see you slipping back down to sit at the poker table, no seat left for him to take but the one between his sweet daughter and his loyal best friend.

If only he knew he was placing you both where you most wanted to be when he suggested Javi give you a ride home, waving you both off through the car window with no idea Javi's cum sat dripping out your cunt, staining the car seat.

Your phone buzzes to life in your hand, slipping you out of your memories.

Your father’s contact name reads clearly on the screen.

Hitting decline one more time, you roll over and try ignore the gathering slick between your thighs.

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

Mr, I don’t want a label You made me a little miss unstable (And it)

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

Pick out a tree, synthetic, and lump the box up the countless stairs to your apartment.

Try not to think of how he would’ve insisted on helping, refused to let you carry it.

Even if it culminated in him doubled over in pain, clutching his lower back.

Lights, baubles, action.

The tree’s smaller than you expect, barely reaching your hip, but it’s green, tree-shaped and festive. It’s enough.

Your decorations are minimal, a few inconsequential things you picked out your parents’ stash. There’s a Santa hat, frayed with time. A few cracked baubles, with string so thin you suspect they’ll snap off. A gingerbread man ornament, a glass snow-flake. A crooked star, missing one of its points, tops the tree.

A homemade snowman, one you’d gifted your parents after a busy day in nursery. Neither of them had the heart to tell you you’d made its nose a rather phallic shape.

And then there's the red phone-box, nestled somewhere in the middle, an etching of LONDON brandishing it as a reminder of your trip.

You’d picked it up in a tiny bookstore, right next door to The Distillery Club.

The winter season has never felt so lonesome, tucked away in your grown-up apartment. 

There’s no fireplace to warm your hands, no hot cocoa boiling on the stove. No cheesy hallmark movies to laugh at with your mother, no racing past your father to grab the last slice of dessert.

It’s just you, alone, with only your wandering mind as company.

Sometimes, more often than not, it wanders to him. To if he’s alone.

To if he’s filling his heart as easily as he fills his bed.

To if he’s finally bought a second seat for his dingy balcony.

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

He hums, brows furrowing, lips pouting, smoke dragging into his lungs.

The cigarette sits perched between two fingers of the hand resting on your knee, his other curled around your waist.

“Some what?”

“Tactic,” you repeat. Watch him blow a puff a smoke, taste his ash at the back of your throat. “Only having one chair, so pretty girls have no choice but to sit in your lap.”

He lets his gaze wander away from the streets below and up to you, sitting pretty in his lap. Like a cat, draped over his thighs.

Nothing but his own rumpled, inside-out shirt to cover your skin.

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

Fingerprint bruises littering your hips, bitemarks etched into your collarbone.

“I gave you a choice,” he speaks with a reservation he didn’t have before, when he’d offered you a ride home from the bar. There’s an etching of something that’s diluting his expressions, sinking him deeper and deeper into his own pensive mind. “You were the one who insisted on sitting on me.”

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

Nails pinch at your thigh, causing a squeal out of you.

A few birds fly off a nearby wire, a head or two turn in the street below.

They don’t see you, or Javi, or the lack of clothing that sits between you.

“Neither were you. In fact, you were a little busy fucking my fac-”

“Stop!” Your sudden modesty feels unearned, yet that does nothing to stop you from placing your hand over his mouth.

He licks at it, you grimace, he licks again.

Then takes another breath of nicotine, as you wipe the remnants of his spit onto his naked thigh.

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

The whiff of Javi’s post-sex smell- muted cologne, matted sweat, burnt ash- steals your senses, reminds you you’ve already done enough to disappoint your father, a cigarette can’t do much damage.

So you let him hold it up to your mouth and inhale it’s poison.

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

But that was supposed to stay in Vermont, tucked between snowy slopes and wooden cabins. Existing in a timeline separate from your reality, where you are your father’s precious daughter and Javi is his trustworthy colleague and friend, that is where it should have stayed.

And it had, for two weeks. Sixteen days, specifically. 

You’d returned to classes, to sharing lunch breaks with your father in his office, to slowly moving more of your things out the family home and into your new apartment.

And Javi, from what you heard, had returned to keeping civilians safe, to sharing a drink or two with your father at the end of the work week, to flirting with every secretary within a mile radius.

Neither of your crossed paths and, when you nearly did, the other made the effort to turn a corner, shut a door, hide behind a wall.

Until tonight.

Until you ditched your mediocre date, some lame excuse of having a last-minute paper due.

Until you’d gone to console yourself over your failing love life, unknowingly sliding into a bar stool right next to the most desired cop in town.

Until he’d turned to you, tilted his head, and asked “d’you wanna get out of here?”

He’d offered to take you home.

The drive was quiet, tense, until his hand drifted over the gearstick and you dragged it down onto your thigh.

He squeezed.

You inched it further up, till the tips of his fingers brushed at the edge of your dress.

He took the invitation, took a turning towards his own place.

Brought you into his apartment, drowned you in his fountain of kisses, begged you to sit upon his face. He’d made you see stars beneath a roofed sky, eyes rolling so far back they threatened to get stuck there.

With barely a moments recovery from a third blinding orgasm, he dragged you down the expanse of his body, sat you down on his cock and refused to help your overstimulated, puddle-brained self ride him, grinning cunningly with his back pressed against the mattress as you struggled through shaky legs.

Eventually, he tired and launched himself, arms tangling behind your back, feet planted flat behind you, hips fucking up into your battered cunt until you both came to a haltering crescendo.

He’d layed you down to rest, cleaned you of any mess, and then wandered out to his balcony, inviting you to join him when the feeling returned to your legs.

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of.

“Huh?”

“This. Us. It could be casual, y’know?” Another puff of smoke slips right through his lips. “If that’s what you’re worrying about… your dad, and all that other stuff. I don’t need a label, not if it means I get to have… We could keep it casual, if that’s what you want.”

It takes a few moments for you to fully register his words, and then a few more to formulate a response.

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

Because what else could Javier Peña, notorious womaniser, want with you if not a casual, no-strings-attached permit to sleep with you, as many times as he sees fit, without the risk of losing his job or, worse, his best friend?

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

Within a half’s hour, he’s got your hands white knuckling as they grip the metal bannister of his balcony, his own hands busy pulling your hips back to meet each of his desperate thrusts, not even the cool air of the night enough to soothe the flaming desire that burns between you.

Your stomach twists, your mouth dries, your eyes water at the thought of him out on that balcony now.

Somebody else, some new body sat in your spot, upon his lap as they exchange smoke rings and warm mouths.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think i’m alright

The Laredo sheriff’s department is known best for three things: its lack of parking, its swoon-worthy ex-DEA agent, and its office holiday parties.

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

A Christmas wreath, mistletoe hanging from every doorway, egg-nog and mulled wine.

It’s not just Christmas.

It’s menorahs, and ficus trees, and a statues of different gods.

Each piece of culture, tradition, holiday that makes up the people that inhabit the station, day in and day out, behind desks and in cop cars, filing paperwork and fetching coffees, represented in some way, celebrated.

Each member of staff is encouraged to bring their friends, their family.

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

Then there’s the gift exchange, a Secret Santa system, optional for each member of staff.

It’s the part you look forward to most.

Crowding your dad the minute he gets home on the first of December, poking and prodding till he lets it spill who he’s got.

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

Drawing up a list, made of details and anecdotes your father remembers of his target.

Dragging your shop-avoidant father down to the mall, for a day of gift hunting and sweet-tooth indulging.

Getting to watch your father’s coworker open their gift, eyes lighting up as you once again knock the ball out the park and gift them something perfectly tailored to them, winning your dad the spot of top gift-giver year after year.

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

No trying to crack just what exactly your dad should gift his person.

No waiting with baited breath to watch them open it, heart racing with that little fear of them not liking it, of you failing.

No, the moment that name fell from your father’s mouth, you knew what he needed to get.

Hinted at it, slightly.

Claimed you’d smelt it on a friend, thought it would be a good idea.

Sipping on some wine and picking at the buffet, you watch him pick up his gift.

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

Look down at the box, confused, then tear into the wrapping paper.

The whole room stops.

Not really, but it feels like it does, as somewhere across the room Javier Peña holds up a bottle of that damn cologne.

And, when his eyes instinctively find yours, it feels like everything else fades away.

Fades to grey.

It’s just him, and you. The only two within the room, holding a secret too heavy on the tongue to ever speak it aloud.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

Knows you’d watched him spray it on his skin, day in, and day out.

Knows you’d worn it on your own, sunk it deep into your pores after intertwining your souls upon wrinkled sheets.

Knows you’d watch its contents decrease over time, time you’d spent with him.

That bottle of cologne reminiscent of a timer on you both, that morning before the hospital trip becoming the last few sprays he got out of it.

Colour returns to the world that surrounds you as your dad steps into view.

He’s hugging Javi, pathetically tipsy and ignorant to the lipstick stain on his cheek, no doubt ingrained to his skin with how hell-bent he is on having your mother kiss him beneath each mistletoe.

They’re exchanging words you don’t hear, slapping one another on the back.

You turn on your heel, insides twisting as nausea overcomes you at the scene.

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

You’re trying to leave, tempted to take the good old Irish exit and just slip out a back door.

But your parents- ne, your father- are so busy show-ponying you around the room, that you fail to take a single step that goes unnoticed.

“There she is!” Your father calls out, somewhere behind you, as you slip your hand into the arm of your coat. This act sparks outrage, a frown birthing onto his face. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving too.”

You say you’re tired.

He boos, loudly, like he’s not the chief of police and a whole grown adult.

Grabs at you, lovingly, trying to pry the coat out of your hands.

The effort is minimum, and you know he’s only messing around.

You can leave, if you want to, even if he’d rather you stay.

“It’s not even midnight and you two buzzkills are leaving!” He wails, all the while he’s reaching around and helping you slip your other arm into the coat.

That’s when Javi’s face comes into view, over the arch of your dad’s shoulder, sporting a smile and a pair of keys dangling off one finger.

You try your best to counter his smile with your own, though your throat feels dry and your cheeks feel tight.

“I can’t believe I’m being betrayed like this by two of my favourite people!” The smile slips before you can catch it, eyes widening at your father’s words.

Words you’d spent months agonising over the thought of hearing. Picturing the circumstances in which he’d find out. Imagining the horrendous fallout, a red slash over Javier’s reputation. Swearing you’d quit it, quit him, and then winding up tangled in his sheets again, head pressed to his chest, eyes closed in the soundest of sleeps.

Javi plays it cool.

Nudges your dad’s shoulder, shakes his head and tells him to “quit the dramatics, viejo (old man).”

“I gotta head out to my pop’s first thing in the morning, he’s wanting me to help him rewire some of the fences.” Comes out as his excuse, one your dad can’t really argue against.

He knows better than anyone that Javi drops everything for his dad.

Well, better than anyone but you.

Your excuse, however, falls a little short, a consequence of the last minute conjuring of the lie.

“I’ve, uh, got an early class. Don’t wanna flunk out in my last year, right?”

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

And that’s how you know you’re screwed.

“Class? I thought you were on winter break.”

Javi takes the momentary distraction to shrug his coat on, over those broad shoulders.

Shoulders that twist with the rest of him, as he makes space for you in the doorway, nodding you over. Here, he’s saying without really speaking, escape with me.

So you do, tiptoeing past your parents as though, the slower and quieter you move, the less they’ll notice your approach to the exit.

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

“The library, it’s still open for the graduate students,” Javi swoops in effortlessly, dragging the spotlight off you.

He takes hold of your jacket, too, slipping the zip into place and dragging it up the length of your torso, over your chest, till it rests snuggly at your sternum.

A little too snug, making each new inhale deeper, harder, practically heaving the air into your lungs.

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

You don’t get to dwell on it too long, fortunately, for your mother lets out a gasp.

She points, eyes a little widened by excitement, at the both of you and nudges at your father.

“Look!” She tells him, and you watch in confusion as he displays her same reaction, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Then comes the laughter, straight out the depths of your dad’s belly and right to your weak heart, a melody that reminds you so much of easy Sundays and curling up next to him on the sofa, watching kids’ shows that seemed to entertain him more than you.

“Oh that’s just,” he takes a laugh break, doubling over slightly, his own finger joined in pointing at you two, beneath the doorway. “Too perfect!”

Before you can inquire on either of your parents bizarre reactions, Javi’s eyes are staring into your own and pointing upwards.

Wrapped with a red bow and barely hanging onto the door frame with a single strip of tape, a mistletoe stares down at you, two white berries like mini eyes.

When you glance at the agent once more, it’s hard to read what he’s thinking.

His shoulders are tense, his lips are pursed, his brows are furrowed. But, his eyes.

His eyes burn you with an unspoken intensity, a look he should never possess in front of your parents.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You mom, camera in hand, urges you both, a wide grin cast upon her face.

You dad is in no better state, rushing forward to squeeze you both closer, one hand clasped over the back of Javi’s head.

When the once-agent exhales a nerve-striken breath, the warmth of it, of him, hits your neck.

“Dad, c’mon, stop-” you’ve never imagined yourself stuck like this, your mother and father both urging you to kiss a man you spent months tossing and turning in bedsheets with behind their back.

The creatively deviant part of your brain tells you this is how it could be, maybe, in some other life.

Some other life, where Javi’s not a cop, you’re new in town, and you both bump into each other at the grocery store.

Both of you reaching out for the same apple, or box of cereal, or bottle of milk.

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

He’d charm you, easily as he always has.

Get your number and then, the next day, a date.

One date leading to two, three, four, more dates.

Till you bring him home to meet your parents at last, squeezing his hand tighter when he tries to pry it away as the door opens to your father’s stern face.

It would take a while, you reckon, for your dad to see past the difference in years.

Your mother wouldn’t care, wouldn’t spare a second thought to it, not when she notices how much he makes you laugh and how he can’t keep his eyes off of you in any room you occupy.

This could be your first Christmas together, your parents begging for one sweet photo of you under the mistletoe, before you both head off to spend the rest of the holiday season with Javi’s father.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“C’mon, it’s bad luck not to!” Back in the present, in reality, your dad’s found his way over to your mother’s side. “Peña, just kiss the girl on the cheek for Christ sake, I ain’t gonna bite your head off for it this one time!”

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

Gentle, a hint of warmth, a tickle from the wisps of his well-groomed moustache.

“Get a bit closer, you’re not fully in frame!”

The flash goes off on your mother’s camera, and the two give a little cheer, and Javi wraps an arm around your back, squeezing you a little closer.

When all is said and done, your mother’s forcing you both to stare at the camera screen, a perfect picture of the most doomed couple to ever grace this Earth.

Such dramatics in your thoughts reminds you of the copious glasses of prosecco you’d downed throughout the night, and of your intentions to get yourself home before you done something stupid.

Like stand under the mistletoe with your former casual lover, the very same man your father calls for golf matches and March Madness debriefs.

Javi offers you a ride home, an idea your father approves of.

“I’m heading that way anyway, gotta pick up a few things before I drive out to the ranch.”

A part of you thinks he’s lying, wanting any excuse for a moment alone with you, but then that’s the kind of delusions you shouldn’t be feeding into.

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

You part ways at the door, your father watching you from inside.

Javi calls your name, before you can take more than a few steps.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Then his arms are pulling you in, and he’s got you right against his steady chest, and he’s resting his head atop your own, arms squeezing tightly at your sides.

“Get home safe.”

He walks away before you can tell him to do the same, the door slamming to his car the last thing you hear as you pull out your phone and call a cab.

It takes twenty minutes for it to appear, in which the rain starts and your clothes get soaked, but all that and the fifteen dollar fare are a cheaper price to pay than the torture of letting Javier Peña drive you home.

Crawl up the stairs, unlock the apartment door, drop your clothes onto the floor.

You find sanctuary under the shower, soap suds and boiling water, a dynamic duo that scrub off any remnants of his skin against yours.

Even as you step out, fully cleaned and towel wrapped around yourself, you catch a hint of his cologne, the very same one you’d made sure your dad picked out for him.

And as you pick your coat off the ground, a distant voice that sounds much like your mother scolding you for leaving such a mess, you notice it.

First, just a little extra weight.

Then, scratchy paper as your hand dives into the left pocket.

The wrapping is haphazard, with an uneven bow tied atop it, but that’s not what matters.

You tear away at it, let the paper fall to the floor at your feet.

Then you’re met with a small box, which you tear open too. 

And find it sitting neatly among balls of yarn, the prettiest, most delicate looking glass bauble.

It’s ribbon a deep green, and it’s centre an image of mountain slopes, backed by a green forest and a valley full of wooden lodges.

It shakes in your grasp, and you spy the snowglobe-esque white foam that dances around within it.

In it’s centre, in bold, italic and green, Vermont.

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

You fish it out in one breath, hold it up to read what it says.

Corazón, For your tree. I hope there’s still space.

[ravennaortiz]

Okay I have another request. This time it's for Jax. I have a list of prompts for him.

7. Stay away from my sister. (I'm thinking maybe possibly an au cross over.)

13. I promise.

17. I love you.

15. Are you gonna kiss me or not?

21. Like what you see?

27. What if someone sees?

25. Don't act shy now.

Hey! Ohhh I like these prompts for Jax and I agree with the crossover idea! In fact I think I know exactly which hot temper Mayan to pair him with! Lets see what kind of magic I can work up for ya. I do see some smut so. As always 18+.

Prince Charming

Jax took the punch to his jaw like a champ. He knew it was deserved after what had transpired the last few weeks. In his effort to bring a peace between the Sons and Mayans he had fallen head over heels for you. Unfortunately for him you were seen as Mayan royalty and off limits . Jax had ignored every warning as all he could think about was tasting the forbidden fruit that was you.

"Its fine" he stated as he stood up waving Chibs and Tig back as he met the gaze of your brother. Smirking Jax rubbed his jaw. "Nice sucker punch" he remarked making the younger man bristle as he stepped closer pushing his forehead to Jaxs. "Are you gonna kiss me or what Guero? I mean your sisters a bit of a freak but I can't imagine she would be down for this" joked Jax trying to ease the tension in the room.

"Stay away from my sister" growled Guero as he shoved Jax backwards. "Or else" he added before going to turn away. "I can't do that man. Shes a drug and I'm an addict" replied Jax with a shrug.

"Jesus Jax. What did you say?" you murmured as you stepped up on the porch of the Mayans clubhouse. Angel had called you and told you their had been a scuffle between Jax and your brother. He hadn't wanted you to be shocked when you arrived to the party. "I told him you were very pretty I promise" joked Jax making you roll your eyes as you stared down at him on the bench.

You sighed as you shook your head before shooting him a small smile. "I love you but your such a bad liar. I told you not to tease him" you replied as you crossed your arms. Jax chuckled but his attention was on the way your nipple rings poked out of the skin tight dress you were wearing. "So are you gonna kiss me or not? Make my boo boos better?" he questioned as he let his eyes roam your body.

"I think you should kiss me. I had to rush out the door so fast I couldn't finish getting ready" you replied as you placed a hand on your hip. "Jax moved his hands to your hips and pulled you closer before planting a kiss on your covered navel. The feel of his lips through the fabric sent shivers down your spine. You felt Jax groan into your stomach as his hands moved under the fabric of your dress.

"Let me see what you didn't get a chance to put on babe" commanded Jax his icy eyes igniting a fire over every fiber of your being. Grinning you stepped back checking to make sure you were alone before pulling the hem of your dress up and giving him a quick spin. The cool night air on your bare skin felt like sweet sin. Giggling as you pulled your dress back down you sent him a smirk as you watched him move his hand to his belt.

"Like what you see?" you inquired as you moved back to him. "I sure do" murmured Jax as he pulled you down on his lap making you straddle him. You moaned as you felt his hands slide up the back of your thighs to your ass and his teeth gently nipped at your nipple piercing through the fabric of your dress. Jax continued his assault on your body as you rocked your hips against his growing erection that tented his jeans.

"I'm close Jax" you moaned into his neck after a few moments. "Need to be in you babe. Need you to cum on my cock" mumbled Jax as he lifted you up some breaking the contact you had. "What if someone see us? " you whispered as you bit your lip nervously as he worked on removing his cock from the prison of his pants. "It'll look like were just having a heated make out. Also I doubt anyone would care" replied Jax as he watched your eyes move to the hand stroking his cock.

"Don't act shy now. Not like this isn't the first public fuck we've had" replied Jax with a smirk as you let him position you back over his cock. You moaned as you felt the head of his cock slip through your slick folds. Jax groaned as he felt you sink onto his hard cock your soft walls gripping him tightly. Jax held you in place as he pistioned his hips up into you. Barely leaving you giving you deep fast strokes that had you seeing stars before tipping over the edge himself within a couple minutes." I love you so much" panted Jax as he kept your firmly planted on his softening cock as he kissed your neck. "Lets get home for round two" you replied feeling him grin into your neck.

Want more Jax? Click here

Want to make your own request? Click here

[arminsumi]

hii!! hru?? i hope ur doing finee!! :))

so i have a request 😭😭 imagine olden times gojo satoru x reader, reader comes from the lower class poor family and gojo is the higher rich class 🤩🤩 gojo and reader go to school together and gojo is rlly known and popular in school so reader gets curious and tries to talk/start a conversation with him!! then they become friends but they eventually both develop feelings for eachother 😭😭 but because of their differences they cant get together/love eachother and gojo's parents dont rlly support gojo marrying a poor girl and want him to marry someone with a high status!! (u can make gojo have a future arranged marriage if u want, i jus need an angsty fluff fic 😭)

✎ runaway lovers

💗 さとる

note : i found this buried deep in the drafts !! :( i'm late but i wrote this in one go and it was so fun, i got so absorbed into the story... ugh i'm a sucker for olden day gojo stuff. one of my fav posts was that hanahaki gojo fic. anyways!! aaa i swooned a bit at the part he says "i will always find my way hom and she is my home" 🥹

content : one day at school, those six eyes catch you spying through the gap in the door, and from that moment on gojo satoru grows fascinated with you. he just has to introduce himself to you. he doesn't care about the whispers around him and just falls right in love. unfortunately, his parents frown upon you two being together, and they try their best to pry the two of you apart.

warnings : fem reader, angsty fluffy, misunderstandings, gojo gets put into an arranged marriage, forbidden romance trope

playme : you're in love

"gojo satoru...?" you question curiously.

your friend nods, starry-eyed. "you know, from the gojo clan? oh, he's so... he's just... you can't even envision how good-looking he is; you just have to see him with your own eyes. come on."

"alright..." you chuckle, letting her lead you down the corridors. she trips clumsily on the way.

the two of you peer into the senior student's class. you whisper under your breath to her, "which one is he? there's so many people in the room... and i can barely see."

"just search the room. you'll know him when you see him. he stands out." your friend whispers excitedly.

your eyes look searchingly. and then they land on a head of snow-white hair; there's a boy, two years your senior, sitting upright like a stick and clad in a blue-toned kimono with an endearingly simple pattern on it — but you're not fooled, that's the highest quality silk. a clan crest stares at you, as his back faces you.

You peer through this slit in the door.

you're staring at him like you're spellbound. and... those hyper-attentive six eyes catch onto you right away.

gojo curiously peers behind him over his shoulder. when you see his face, it immediately makes sense why your friend — like so many other girls in this school — is completely taken by him.

and he... he's taken by you, the instant the two of you make electric eye contact. you look away as if singed by spilled boiling tea.

gojo's heart thumps in his chest.

who was that, just now, peering through the slit in the door? she was...

"good-looking, isn't he?" your friend smugly nudges your shoulder as the two of you scamper away like mice, escaping outside.

gojo's class concludes moments after catching you spying through the slit in the shoji door, so he quickly makes a path to follow after you as you escape to the taiko bashi bridge with your friend as if you're two criminals.

and he ends up eavesdropping on your conversation at a prime moment.

"...he looked like an angel..." you say in awe. his heart flutters and he widens his eyes, straining his ears to hear more but the bush of flowers is fluttering so loudly in the wind that it makes it difficult. so much for six eyes... what he wishes he had right now is six ears.

he picks up fragments of your voice. it gives him... butterflies, for the first time he understands what it means to have butterflies in one's stomach.

"...ah, don't tease me...!"

he blinks his pretty eyes and listens to you.

"...i can't possibly introduce myself to him...he's not just my senior...he's the prodigal son of the gojo clan..."

his heart... does something. a smug look forms on his face.

well... if she can't find the courage to introduce herself to me, then i'll introduce myself to her.

and so he does. when his best friend accompanies him on a gliding exit walk along the bridge, he stops by you and...

he bows deeply, like you're a very important person. but you're not, you're a commoner in most eyes at this school... and yet he doesn't treat you as such. it even takes his best friend, suguru, by surprise because he knows satoru to usually be a bit pompous.

electric eye contact is made between you and satoru when the two of you rise from your greeting bows.

"have we met before?" he begins smoothly, "your face reminds me of a girl i met in a dream."

your throaty stutter endears him, but makes his best friend snicker.

"satoru... don't go around flirting with monkeys." he says meanly.

for the first time, satoru ignores something that his best friend says. a reality-shattering moment, really, suguru widens his eyes as satoru asks; "what's your name...?" as if he's desperate and determined to know it.

and that's where it all begins. on the taiko bashi bridge. one spring.

it doesn't take long for his parents to find out that he's conversing with a commoner, and they put a stop to it immediately. not only because of your status... but because they don't want him to be "distracted". he needs to keep a "narrow focus" on his studies. and... they refuse to let some commoner mingle romantically with their precious prodigal son.

girls snicker in secret about you. rumors spread that you forwardly introduced yourself to gojo.

"i heard that she chased after gojo-senpai and desperately tried to introduce herself to him. she's obsessed with him or something, it's really pathetic!"

speak of the devil... no no, he's an angel like you said... satoru appears. not a word slipped by him. it makes his blood surge, is stomach twist; they had some nerve. he wants to cuss them out, be improper and raw and visceral. but he refrains. because consequences.

"i'll have to correct you two," satoru's sudden appearance shocks them out of their bodies. that voice is chilling. "it was actually me who initiated that introduction on the bridge. she was too lovely to ignore..."

oh, satoru... why did you choose the word 'lovely'? now rumors begin to circulate the school that you two are dating. they rapidly make their way to his parent's ears, and while his father may be lax on his lectures, his mother is strict.

she parts the two of you. cleaves your budding friendship. rips the two of you like paper, refusing to let her son be tainted or distracted by someone like you.

but does he listen to his mother's orders to never speak to you? no. he sneaks out to meet you after school. he squeezes in through your window at night with a toothy grin. he secretly invites you to his birthday parties ("where has the birthday boy run off to...?"). he holds your hand when no one is looking.

and he cups your cheeks and leans in for forbidden little kisses when it's just you and him in the vacant school corridor.

your faces melt like butter against each other. it makes his heart lurch to have a forbidden fruit touching his lips like this... it makes him feel weak, which is just laughably ironic. so weak, that he wants to take a bite... even if it puts both the reputation of him and his family in jeopardy.

there's a sad twinge in his chest when he thinks about how you and him are forced to keep your love secret.

"i'm sorry that... i can't show off something as beautiful as you without getting the both of us in trouble. i wish we could kiss right in front of the whole world's face." he admits in a soft murmur.

it's simple, these sad times. but then the future comes and delivers despairing news on gojo.

one day, while having tea with his mom and dad, they tell him that a marriage between him and another woman is being considered.

he violently jumps up from the table. a teacup shatters on the floor.

"huh...?" his shock and surprise slowly morphs into pure anger, "like hell! you can't j-just spring this on me. i refuse to be married to anyone except y/n—"

"—that commoner? you... still speak with her?"

his face drops. oh, shit... now he's given it all away.

and what a consequence he faces. locked into his room, like some funny version of rapunzel. he paces around, mind racing and heart palpitating.

his contact with you is cut off in the most brutal of ways.

his mother comes to you, and tells you with a convincingly icy lie;

"gojo is too kind to tell you himself... so he asked me to inform you instead; he never wants you to see him again. his heart has found a wife, and he doesn't want you to seduce him away."

you remember choking up and sputtering broken sobs at this reveal.

he couldn't tell you from himself... ah... did those kisses mean nothing? am i the other woman?

gojo doesn't know why you avoid him so violently the next time he sees you at school.

"hey — wait. can i talk to you? it's important." he asks.

you give him a bitter look. "i'd rather we not. i don't fancy being the other woman in your life..."

you confuse him. and he blinks at you astoundedly. what caused this? he's a smart boy, he tries to figure it out. but it leads to long nights of brooding in his futon, body sinking deep into the plush until he feels like gravity is accelerating on him alone. but it's just his thoughts. he tosses and turns.

he doesn't give up his determination, though. he will find out what deterred you from him...

oh but when he figures it out, through suguru's admittance, he bursts in through his mother's tea ceremony one day and confronts her with the rage of a dragon. right in front of guests. completely embarrassing her.

"you told her! you lied to her? do you think you can keep us separate forever? — NO. I WILL ALWAYS FIND MY WAY BACK HOME. AND SHE IS MY HOME!"

his yell is so piercing and raw that it makes his mother drop into her seat. the guests have mixed looks.

the backlash he receives for lashing out and denouncing his arranged marriage is severe. the scowling looks he receives are not nearly as bad as the ones you receive. unkind words is putting it lightly; the whole village and school turns against you. they still view gojo as the star child of his clan, but now as a star that has strayed from its rightful place in the sky.

he meets with you in secret. what begins as a tearful explanation and angsty bunch of confessions to hidden truths, turns into a steamy make out.

gojo needs your kisses like he needs air, like he needs water, like he needs food. you're his essential, he tells you that;

"my vitals would fail if you left, as if i would be stabbed."

he mutters against your lips other things... and then cries with you. it hurts to see such a pretty boy cry.

"satoru..." you begin soothingly.

he presses his forehead against yours. tear drops roll off his cheeks and splatter against your face.

he draws out your name. the wind stills. there's a long silence.

"...run away with me..." he murmurs. "please, let's leave this place behind... and start a family somewhere no one knows our names."

© arminsumi 2023

[thyenemybeloved]

Literally watched two movies and fell in love with that monkey... No, seriously, I have planned a whole ass story with different arcs, OCs and everything, that's how deeply invested I am into this guys

So here's my redesign of Sun Wukong, nothing too crazy about it but I wanted him to be both manly and crazy pretty, like, mythical kind of beautiful. I still need to tweak his design here and there and draw a proper character sheet for him but hopefully the art on the right kinda conveys what I was going for (??)

I was definitely inspired by Monkey King: Hero is Back's Sun Wukong because that monkey has my whole heart okay?

I haven't read Journey to the West yet but I definitely plan to in the near future, it's on my list!

and yes, peach man on the bottom is Sanzang, I'm a sucker for forbidden romance sue me

[bigbawdy-benzz]

Mi hermoso bebé

Pairing: Miles42 x chubby reader!

Tags: @aaliyahwalkshere @sheluvv-jen @missmyluv

Warnings; none that comes to mind

A/N; enjoy this was the most voted, before we get into the headcannons, everybody is beautiful even if you’re thin or thick you’re beautiful, don’t let anybody tell you any less. your perfect just the way you are!!.

❥ Miles is in love with everything about you, from the way you dress to the way you carry yourself.

❥ Miles who loves touching your rolls, touching you in general he always has his hands on you.

❥ Miles who shows you off but gets jealous when people starting a bit too much.

“I know she fine you can stop looking now”

❥ Miles who helps you when you’re feeling insecure, feeling insecure is forbidden with Miles. He never wants you to feel bad about yourself because you’re beautiful.

“Baby no you’re beautiful cut that shit out, fuck what all them people gotta say mama, they probably unhappy with themselves and have to hate on a bad bitch to get cool points, they aint competin wit you”.

❥ Miles who will kick somebody ass for talking crazy about you or to you he don’t play that shit.

❥ Miles who always has your back.

❥ Miles who helps you eat food when you’re struggling or have a bad relationship with food.

“Baby it’s ok i'm here, I'll sit and eat with you!”

❥ Miles who wants a fashion show every time you buy new clothes or HE buys you new clothes. He’s a sucker to see you prancing around in the clothes he bought you, or that you bought.

“Yess mami gimme a 360”,

❥ Miles who loves seeing you in revealing clothing, the way the clothes hug your body and the way YOU wear them makes him go feral, he just wants to eat you up.

“Ma not gonna lie im boutta bu-”

“MILES”

❥ Miles who falls asleep on your stomach, chest, or butt.

“It's so comfy don’t move”

❥ Miles who loves slapping your ass whenever it feels convienent

‘OW MILES!!”

“What it's fat what you want me to do?”

“Not hit it so hard”

“Okay im sorry ma” He says casually grabbing it giving you a smile. 😁

❥ Miles who buys you anything you want your his princess, speaking of princesses MAJORRRRR princess treatment!!

“pick up what you want princess, lemme give you some princess treatment”.

❥ Miles who is your number 1 supporter anything you do Miles is clapping is his hands rooting for you. You dance at every practice and competition, You cheer at every game, You play sports at every tournament, You make jewelry promoting it in any way possible, You do hair telling ppl they need their hair done REAL BAD.

❥ Miles who makes you feel comfortable around his family when you first meet them, you didn’t want to eat in front of them or even go get your own plate in front of his family because you thought they were gonna judge you, (They aren't like that).

“Bebé deja de pensar así (Baby stop thinking like that), its okay go get some food I will come with you they aren’t gonna judge you and if they do I got you”

❥ Miles who loves you with his whole being and lets you know that, you’re perfect in every way and you don’t need to change yourself for anybody, not even him.

[hyacinth-dancing-in-rain]

The concept of forbidden love is so special to me because two people choose to be with each other even when the world is against them. They defy all odds for love.

A Hawthorne and a girl who has every reason to stay away from Hawthornes.

This would have been a perfect set up for such a scenario. Coupled with Grayson's feelings of duty towards his family, it would have been nice to see them navigate their feelings and slowly grow close.

Also it would have been good to see Grayson's development as the books progressed instead of it all being done between books.

What we know about them is that Grayson and Lyra conversed over phone two years ago. That was the beginning of their attachment. Normally, their meeting would have been the beginning of their relationship but even if we consider that they continued the relationship as they left off years ago-- it wasn't much. There was this connection, yes. Deepening this connection and then building their relationship would have been great. Instead we got a small build-up and then a rushed kiss.

I really really wished JLB had taken the slow burn approach for them. The entire tension about their situation, the fact that both of them had reasons to stay away from each other-- seeing them navigate their feelings slowly would have been perfect. Overall, they felt a bit rushed.

I mean it's probably because I'm a sucker for angsty romances.

But they did have good scenes in the books. I forgot most of them but here are some of my favourite scenes of Gray and Lyra.

“Give me your eyes, sweetheart.”

“I need a moment.” The muscles across Grayson’s shoulder blades pulled visibly at the fabric of his tuxedo jacket.

Of course, the chandelier scene!!! How cool was that.

Grayson drawing Lyra. My heart😭🤚

[biteofcherry]

Since we talked about mob romance...

It doesn't matter that you're well into your thirties, once a mob boss daughter, always a mob boss daughter. And now your dad has decided that you're going to go stay with some extended family and friends in another country. It so happens they have a son that is around the same age as you, also unmarried.

But one thing your dad is a sucker for is true love. If you find someone to fake true love with, he'd never ship you off. You have some candidates in mind.

Rival’s son Curtis: Curtis and you have run into each other over the years and during your wild youth there was a brief and intense romance that didn't lead anywhere, both of you needing to rebel against your families. But one thing you know is that Curtis has your back if the creeps at the club don't understand the word no and a romance between the two of you would get his dad off his back too.

Bodyguard Lloyd: After your wild youth, your dad assigned Lloyd to you. But Lloyd always has his own agenda when it comes to things. Sure, he won't hesitate to kill anyone who threatens you, but he'll also look away when you sneak out because he knows you'll reward him. Acting as your lover would give him many benefits.

Cook Steve: You actually cried when the old cook retired. After many trials, your dad finally settled on Steve two years ago. You liked being in the kitchen with the old cook, she was always nice to you and would sneak you treats. Now you like hanging out in the kitchen for a different kind of treat. Steve is not only easy on the eyes but also easy to talk to, even if your conversations have mostly revolved around food.

Or, do you one day accidentally find a picture of the unmarried son and find out he's actually really handsome and his name appears to be Bucky.

You know I'm all about love, arranger marriage, forced relationship and all of the thrill for Readers over 30! ❤️����

You gave me Steve here as an option and it's a well known fact I tend to choose him almost all the time, but I'm not gonna lie - I got so hooked up on Curtis 👀

The idea of an old flame, potentially a first kind of hot, messy romance that was the forbidden fruit and also an introduction to all sorts of desires; now getting a chance of reigniting in a new way 🫠

And what if Curtis was your first? The one to pop your cherry, so he always kinda owned you in that primal way 😳

Maybe it's an idea that comes spontaneously to your head as you venture into one of the clubs on the supposedly neutral ground, where the rivaling mafia's men can come as well. Your and Curtis' eyes meet and the pull is strong. So you blurt out your idea (extra courage coming from half a bottle of Martini), how this would spare you from marrying someone unknown on the other side of the ocean, but also serve as a brilliant truce between your families. It would strengthen both your mafias' power against other rising forces and you know as much as your father isn't fond of Everett's family, he respects them. Especially respects the smart, if brutal, heir - Curtis.

And you know the fucking will be soooo goood 🥵