#he just wants love so bad and then when he gets it he squeezes you like a plushie | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

just-some-random-blogger · 2 days ago

Note

AN: bc I can't get the damn tiktok audio out of my head

CUZ I SAW THE TITLE OF THIS AND IMMEDIATELY STARTED SINGING THE EDITS IVEEE SEEEENNNNN BESTIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE WE NEED TO BE TIKTOK MOOTS

“Can't get comfy,” he mumbled, lifting the hem of your shirt to bury his nose into your skin, the tip of it like an ice cube.

👁️👄👁️❓❓❓❓❓❓ WHAT IS THIS BEHAVIOR

“Sirius! Merlin, you're a handful,” you rolled your eyes and looked towards Remus for assistance. He was stretched on the other end of the bed, watching the two of you over his own book. Sirius’ feet were in his lap, tucked between his thighs for warmth.

?????? HES A BRAT???? HES A BRAT?????? 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵 BRAT 🫵🫵🫵🫵🫵 IM FREAKING OUT

“But I love heeeerrrr,” Sirius whined, clutching you tighter. “Smells s’good,” he hummed.

HES SO ME IM LOSING MY MIND

Remus shook his head, giving you an apologetic look. “Sorry, dove. I tried.”

ME TRYNA FIND WHEREEEE WHICH PART YOU TRIED????? HEEELLLO you were like. Hajima 🤚 then left it alone???? REMUS IM GOING TO BITE YOU

Studying your hands as you wrote, groping beneath your robes to squeeze your flesh, nuzzling into your necks, whining pitifully in your ears.

Mans down BAD bad. GET THE FUCK UP

[...] before Slughorn kicked him out for being a nuisance.

😰😰😰😰😰😰😰😰😰 HE FUCKING WHAT SIRIUS YOUR HORNY GOT YOU KICKED OUT HELLO????? ARE YOU JOKING ME

You'd even given Remus a full kiss when you'd returned to the common room, tugging at his lower lip with your teeth the way you knew Sirius liked, but only gave Sirius a chaste peck, leaving him dumbstruck at the bottom of the stairs.

See now that's a hate crime. That's just nasty behavior. I would NAWT be surprised if Sirius committed arson

“Because you cunts have been torturing me all day,” he huffed, but it was toothless, softened by the breathless edge of his voice.

BESTIE ILL SAY IT AGAIN I DONT GO HERE BUT WHAT THE FUCK IM FREAKING OUT IS THIS BIBLICALLY ACCURATE SIRIUS BECAUSE I NEED HIM BIBLICALLY HES PATHETIC PATHETIC SWITCH WHO HES A NASTY LIL SOBBY SUB

“You’re right, maybe you wouldn't have been such a needy brat all day.” Remus tickled the bottom of Sirius foot and he yelped, flipping over onto his back to try and bat Remus away, but you held down his shoulders, keeping his upper body in your lap.

I WANT TO BE SIRIUS ATP MANHANDLED AND TORTURED BY REMUS

Sirius gaped at you and Remus snickered. “That is the meanest thing you've ever said to me,” Sirius said, clutching his heart. “Like you don't even know me.”

Me and Sirius^ 🤝🤝🤝🤝🤝🤝 trust

“This what you wanted, pet?” Remus said, spitting on Sirius' cock and stroking it with his fist. “To be smothered by us?”

In the words of the great Sirius Black himself WAHHH WAHHH IZ LIKE YOU DONT EVEN KNOW MEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYY

“Hi, dolly,” Sirius hummed, drawing you up by the chin for featherlight kiss. “Ready to get fucked out of you mind?”

“Shh, there's our sweet girl. Rem’s gonna get his now, okay? Can you do that for him? Take it like a good little slut?” Sirius asked, petting your hair and smoothing a hand over one of your trembling legs.

OK OH WOW THERES THE SWITCH AHAHHAH IN FINE

Remus brushed his lips along your spine, still teasing your clit with his cock. “You always are, precious,” he murmured, straightening. “Just try not to wake the entire castle.”

I WANT HIM I NEED HIM WHAT IF I JUMP THROUGH THE SCREEN AND CLAW INTO THE FABRIC OF YOUR UNIVERSE

“You wanna come around our boy? Let him stuff that greedy little pussy full?” Sirius reached beneath you, his middle finger finding your clit like it was magnetized to it. “Absolutely dripping wet for us. Fuck me,” he praised, removing his hand to steal a taste before returning to massage quick, tight circles around the puffy bud.

HES SO NASTY FUCK I WANT HIM YOU OUT HERE MAKING MY HANDS SWEAT LIKE SHAKING MY HEAD LIKE IM INSANE KEKJDNSNNSJNSSJJSNNSN

“Didn't mean to be so rough with you,” he murmured, skimming your jaw with his thumb. “M’sorry.”

You can stop on my throat and I'd thank you

You shook your head, silencing him with another kiss. “I love you. That was amazing. You're amazing. If I wasn't 90% gelatin I'd tell you to do it again “

Me. Also... You can overstim me if u like 😋🤪✌️😗

The boys chuckled, Sirius climbing up to lay beside you both. You settled into your usual sandwich, Remus wrapped around your back while you nuzzled into Sirius' front, his arms draped over the both of you, and your legs all tangled together.

DESPERATELY need to see your take on poly wolfstar smut. sorry if thats too broad but youre an amazing writer and i just need to see you bring it to life.

had me at poly wolfstar 🫡

LOCKJAW | poly!wolfstar

feat. poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

CW: MDNI 18+, no plot just smut. oral, piv, dirty talk, cursing, softdom!Remus, switch!Sirius

AN: bc I can't get the damn tiktok audio out of my head

masterlist

Sirius was draped face down across your lap, nuzzling into the crease of your hip while his hands kneaded your thighs.

“Sirius, quit squirming,” you huffed, lifting your book to glare down at him.

“Can't get comfy,” he mumbled, lifting the hem of your shirt to bury his nose into your skin, the tip of it like an ice cube.

Remus tsked under his breath, pinching Sirius’ calf and earning an annoyed grunt. “Leave her alone, Pads. She has an exam tomorrow.”

“But I love heeeerrrr,” Sirius whined, clutching you tighter. “Smells s’good,” he hummed.

Remus shook his head, giving you an apologetic look. “Sorry, dove. I tried.”

Sirius had been a needy, pouting wretch all day. You woke up with his morning wood digging into your stomach, his hips twitching in his sleep as soft, mumbled moans dripped like honey from his lips. Any other morning, you would have taken full advantage of your drowsy, wanton boyfriend, but when you checked Rem’s watch on the side table, you realized the three of you were about to late to Charms…again.

And later in class, Sirius seemed incapable of focusing, every spare scrap of attention he had devoted to you or Remus, or both of you. Studying your hands as you wrote, groping beneath your robes to squeeze your flesh, nuzzling into your necks, whining pitifully in your ears. He even pulled you into his lap during Potions, his boner pressed against your uncovered heat for a dizzying, thrilling moment, before Slughorn kicked him out for being a nuisance.

At dinner, Sirius was practically eating out of your hands, desperate for even a little contact, an ounce of physical touch. By then, you and Remus had put together what was ailing your poor boy and started to play along, keying him up even further only to deny him the smallest satisfaction.

You fed Sirius grapes, bits of bread and cheese, but wouldn't let his lips touch your fingers. Remus rested a hand on Sirius’ lower thigh, tracing the bones of his knee through the hole in his jeans, but didn't dare twitch a finger higher, no matter how much Sirius whined and squirmed. You'd even given Remus a full kiss when you'd returned to the common room, tugging at his lower lip with your teeth the way you knew Sirius liked, but only gave Sirius a chaste peck, leaving him dumbstruck at the bottom of the stairs.

If you didn't relieve him soon, you feared he might combust.

You glanced up at Remus again, and he caught your eye. “Ready?” You mouthed, and Remus nodded with a sly smirk.

With deft fingers, Remus started massaging Sirius' feet and calves, increasing the pressure until Sirius was moaning against your skin, going languid in your lap with a pleased hum.

“That feel good, baby?” You cooed, running your fingers through Sirius hair. “Rem is so good with his hands, isn't he?”

Sirius nodded, his hips twitching into the mattress as Remus worked higher, pushing his thumbs up the back of Sirius' thighs in a straight line

“So tense, pet,” Remus hummed.

“Because you cunts have been torturing me all day,” he huffed, but it was toothless, softened by the breathless edge of his voice.

“Torturing you? I would never do such a thing,” you pouted, feigning indignation.

Sirius nipped at your hip before laving his tongue over the sting. “I know you felt me this morning,” he chastised, pulling down the waistband of your skirt to kiss along your hips.

“Yeah, I felt we were all going to get detention for being late to Charms,” you said, trying to ignore the blooming heat between your legs from his touch.

“Would've been worth it,” he grumbled.

“You can't let him get away with—oh fuck,” Sirius' complaint was interrupted by Remus gliding his fingers between Sirius’ thighs, caressing over the thick ridge in his pajamas bottoms.

“You want me to stop him?” You asked, batting your lashes, and Sirius shook his head side to side vigorously, his hair falling across his face.

“Don't you dare stop,” he whined, canting his hips into Remus' palm.

“Poor thing,” Remus cooed, trailing his finger through the puddle of precum bleeding through the fabric of Sirius' pants. “Been suffering all day at the hands of our beautiful girl.”

You scoffed, unable to stop the grin rising on your lips. “Me? You were the one that wore that slutty little sweater vest.”

“It was temperate today! You were the one that conveniently forgot underwear this morning,” Remus shot back, winking at you.

“You what?” Sirius squawked, jolting upright to glare at you. “And you didn't tell me?!”

You shrugged, toying with the hem of your skirt. “Didn't think it was relevant.”

Sirius gaped at you and Remus snickered. “That is the meanest thing you've ever said to me,” Sirius said, clutching his heart. “Like you don't even know me.”

Remus shifted to lay between Sirius' legs, licking a stripe up his cock over his pants, distracting him from his tirade. Sirius collapsed back onto the bed with a moan, and you slipped off the edge of it before he trapped you beneath him again.

“Oh, we know you well enough, Pads,” Remus chuckled, mouthing at the head of his cock. “Don't we, dove?”

You nodded, stroking Sirius’ hair out of his face while Remus toyed with him. His eyes were half-lidded, cheeks flushed, fisting the quilt beneath him.

“Rem, don't tease me,” he whined, the muscles along his abdomen tight with the strain of keeping still.

“But you like it,” Remus said matter-of-factly. “That's why you kept up with whiny puppy-dog thing instead of just asking.”

Sirius huffed, looking at you for help, his green eyes pleading.

“We love you, Sirius,” you said, bending down to kiss his forehead. “And if you need something, just ask, yeah?”

“We're here to make you happy,” Remus added, dragging down his waistband of Sirius' pants to kiss along his hip bones.

“Just need you two,” Sirius panted, reaching for you while Remus licked up the smear of precum along his pelvis. “Please, baby.”

You unzipped your skirt and let it fall to the floor, showing Sirius the drooling, sticky mess between your legs that his desperation inspired, and he groaned, his pupils dilating instantly.

Remus chuckled. “Look how hard that made him, darling. Making a mess of himself,” he teased, though his eyes were locked between your legs too while his tongue traced over the root of Sirius. Another flush of arousal made you pussy throb, and Sirius practically whimpered.

“If you don't bring that sweet pussy over here now,” Sirius warned, grabbing you by the hip to tug you closer.

As soon as you kneeled back onto the bed, he yanked you over his face, throwing one leg on either side of his head so you were facing Remus, who had paused his own work to watch you through heavy lashes.

Sirius immediately laved his tongue through your soaked slit, a deep rumble of satisfaction reverberating from his chest when you cried out, bucking against his tongue.

“This what you wanted, pet?” Remus said, spitting on Sirius' cock and stroking it with his fist. “To be smothered by us?”

You felt Sirius nod, his tongue fucking into your sloppy channel with ruthless, hungry precision, his fingers digging into the meat of your ass to spread you open. Syrupy thick pleasure pulsed through you, making your toes curl and your head fall back while he drank from you, fiendish as a vampire.

“Take your blouse off, pretty girl. Let me see you,” Remus instructed, using his thumb to massage under the head of Sirius' cock, making him whine and twitch beneath you.

You obliged, fingers clumsy as your arousal deepened. You tossed your blouse off the bed, followed quickly by your bra, and Sirius’ hands immediately shot up to grope and paw at your chest.

Delicious, spiralling heat surged through you when he tweaked your nipples, his tongue moving to circle your clit, his nose pressed against your entrance. Sirius was a master with his mouth, and his eagerness only made him more merciless in the hunt for your release.

You leaned forward, resting on your forearms on either side of Sirius' hips, and licked a stripe up his cock, tasting the heady combination of Sirius and Remus' drool.

Sirius cried out, his hips bucking up at the unexpected contact, and you giggled, repeating the motion.

“I c-can't take both of you—” his protest fractured when Remus licked along his base, your mouth suckling the head, and his cock gave a hard lurch as more blood rushed south. “Fucking saints, so good.” He dove back into your pussy, sucking your clit between his teeth and lashing it with his tongue, payback for your dirty tricks.

You cried out, spine arching as he devoured you and you felt your peak start to build, a steady stacking of pleasure that grew more precarious, more overwhelming, by the second.

“You're perfect,” Remus hummed in appreciation, lifting from Sirius’ cock to give you a messy kiss, his tongue tracing your lips before licking into your mouth, making you loose your breath.

After a few moments, and a whine in protest from Sirius, Remus broke the kiss and turned his attention back to your needy boyfriend, finally taking all of him into his mouth with a smooth, practiced swallow.

“Merlin, Moony, fuck,” Sirius grunted. “So tight.”

You combed your fingers through Remus' hair as he sucked Sirius, earning a sweet hum from your sandy haired love.

“You're perfect too, Remy,” you cooed, trying to distract yourself from your mounting orgasm. “My beautiful boy.” You kissed along his jaw, feeling the tension and tremble as he worked Sirius deeper into his throat. You saw his hips twitch, his hands fisting the sheets. “Finish him off and then you can fuck me just how you like. How's that sound?” You purred in his ear and he groaned, creating a domino effect of moans as the vibrations worked through each of you.

You felt two fingers prod at your entrance and you keened, feeling Sirius sink to the knuckle and scissor your open with his long fingers.

“Shit, Siri,” you whined, rocking back into his hand while his tongue lashed your swelling bud.

“Want you to come all over my face, darling. Taste so good, need—fuck—need it so bad,” he mumbled against your sex, lapping at the creamy mess his fingers coaxed from you.

You rested your head on Sirius’ hip, watching Remus gag on his length through a rosy haze, the combined stimulus making your mind you fuzzy, your heart pound. It was too much, an onslaught of erotic sensation, and your body was pulling apart at the seams, nerves fracturing under the strain—

You came with a scream, trying to muffle the sound into Sirius’ skin as you shattered, a gush of moisture surging from you at the intensity. You were rendered matterless, a floating speck of dust, drifting on the current of the stars.

Sirius grunted beneath you, his muscles tensing in a wave, and he bucked hard into Remus' throat, the root of his cock pulsing as he came a heartbeat after you.

Remus took it all in stride, milking Sirius with his mouth while petting your hair as you came down, tethering you both to the earth.

When you were finished, you slumped sideways onto the bed, panting and slightly shaky from the intensity of it all. Sirius rested his cheek on your thigh, breathing labored and eyes closed, his face shining with your slick.

Remus pulled off of him with a pop. “Worth the wait, Pads?” Remus asked, kissing along Sirius’ thighs.

Sirius shook his head. “We could have done that at least three times since this morning, but noooo—”

You swatted his stomach and he chuckled, nipping at the tender skin of your inner thigh. You glanced up at Remus, who was watching the two of you with so much affection it made your heart twist.

“Come here, baby,” you murmured, and Remus leaned over, capturing your lips in an airy, open-mouthed kiss that stoked the dwindling fire in your belly. You could taste Sirius on his tongue and it made your head swim, your thighs clench.

“Think our girl is ready for more, Moony,” Sirius said, untangling himself from the two of you and stepping off the bed to retrieve something.

“Is she?” Remus asked, flipping himself around and bundling you into his arms, raining kisses over your face, neck, chest and making you giggle. “What say you, my love?”

“Please, Rem?” You whined, grabbing at his cock nestled between your bodies, already rock solid and hot to the touch.

“Oh, suddenly she's polite,” Sirius scoffed, swatting your ass as he climbed back into bed.

Remus chuckled, kissing you one more time before passing you into Sirius’ arms. You snuggled into Sirius’ chest, kissing along his tattoos, loving your two boyfriends so much you could hardly breathe around the fullness in your chest.

“Hi, dolly,” Sirius hummed, drawing you up by the chin for featherlight kiss. “Ready to get fucked out of you mind?”

At the same moment, Remus lifted your hips until you rested on your knees. Face down on Sirius chest, ass up. Sirius adjusted his legs so your feet were pinned beneath them, and Remus grabbed your wrists to fasten them with Sirius’ tie behind your back, seamless in the only the way the two of them could be. Like they shared the same, filthy mind.

It made your cunt clench around nothing, your knees weak beneath you, desire pumping thick and sludgy through your blood.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned, squirming in their hold until you felt the head of Remus' cock tap against your still-sensitive clit.

You nodded, burrowing into Sirius' neck to ground you. “I'll be good,” you answered, and both boys cooed in approval.

Remus brushed his lips along your spine, still teasing your clit with his cock. “You always are, precious,” he murmured, straightening. “Just try not to wake the entire castle.”

In one, brutal thrust, Remus slammed into you, his hips slapping against your ass with a definitive smack. You cried out, the sound barely muffled by Sirius’ skin, as pleasure streaked beneath your skin, frying the last functioning neurons in your brain. The maelstrom of feeling only increased as he fucked into you, ruthless and rutting.

“Fuck, Moony. Look at our girl, takin’ it so well. Aren't you, darling?” Sirius caressed your cheek, dropping a kiss into your hair.

“Yes—mmph—fuck, so big,” you mewled, fingers tensing around the tie securing your wrists, your whole body desperate to move and release some of the compounding energy that was drowning you alive.

“So fucking tight, Pads. Squeezin’ the hell out of me,” Remus grunted, his grip almost painfully tight on your hips. But you barely registered it, completely awash in the seizing, spiraling ecstasy taking over your body, dragging you closer and closer to the edge.

“Please, please, please,” you chanted, fucking back into Remus as you chased your high, feeling him hit every angle, every inch of your stretched out cunt.

“Go on, dove. Come for us,” Remus gruffed, reaching forward to fist your hair and pull your head up, your cries of ecstasy ripping through the air.

Sirius grinned, kissing the tears as they rolled down your cheeks. “So fucking beautiful,” he said, his free hand wrapping around your throat. “Let go, love.”

And you did, your orgasm slamming into you like a branch of the Whomping Willow, knocking your soul out of your body and into the stars. You were nothing, everything, a mindless tangle of flesh and blood and feeling, the only tether you had was your boys hands on your body, Remus’ cock swelling and the scalding heat as he painted your insides.

You collapsed onto Sirius, breathless, boneless, so sensitive that even the brush of his hair was agony, the thump of his heart like a roaring train.

“Sh, sh, sweetheart, I’ve got you. You did so well, all done now, dolly. You were such a good girl for us,” Sirius shushed, his voice growing clearer as the fog lifted. You were crying, trembling in his arms as the pleasure worked itself out of your system. “She's alright, Rem,” you heard him say, and that was enough to bring you fully back to the present.

You turned to look at Remus, who was watching you with a worried crinkle in his brow, slumped against the pillows at the other end of the bed, chest heaving and sweat dripping down his scarred chest.

You wiggled out of Sirius' hold and threw yourself onto Remus, kissing him with a much strength as you could muster until you felt him smile.

“Didn't mean to be so rough with you,” he murmured, skimming your jaw with his thumb. “M’sorry.”

You shook your head, silencing him with another kiss. “I love you. That was amazing. You're amazing. If I wasn't 90% gelatin I'd tell you to do it again “

“I need to shower,” you grumbled, feeling Remus' release trickle onto your thigh.

“No, you need a cuddle,” Sirius retorted, already sounding half asleep.

“I could get us into the Prefect bathroom,” Remus suggested, and Sirius snapped awake.

“Why didn't you say that sooner!” He cried, shoving you both towards the edge of the bed. “Let's go, you lazy asses!”

You and Remus groaned, but let Sirius drag you up and wrap you into your robes.

Looks like you'd be sleeping in tomorrow, too.

Thank you so much for reading!

#Im fine its fine #wolfstar huh #✍️w✍️o✍️l✍️f✍️s✍️t✍️a✍️r✍️#k #marauders #wolfstar #poly!wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #wolfstar smut #remus lupin smut #sirius black smut

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burningembers91 · 1 day ago

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The Baby Shower - The Salesman x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to:

Freak of Nature On Display A Game of Cat and Mouse Crime of Passion Rare Gunpowder and Lace Like a Dog Three Little Words

Synopsis: While attending your friend's baby shower, The Salesman can't help but think about what it would be like to have a family of his own. But how could he be a loving father, when the only person he's ever cared about is you?

He disliked social events, detested having to made idle conversation with people he didn’t have any interest in. The mindless small talk drove him to the brink of insanity, the idea of having to talk about cars, jobs, and how much people paid for their watches was enough to give him an aneurysm. He’d managed to avoid needless social interaction for most of his life, but now that he had you, necessity required he dip his toes into the world of dinner parties, social gatherings and idle chit chat.

As much as he loathed talking to anyone who wasn’t you, he loved you more, and he’d walked across broken glass if you told him to. “It’s only for a few hours,” you smiled, zipping up your form hugging dress. “I know you hate these things, but she is my bestfriend after all.” You knew how much he hated attending parties with you, and you felt bad for making him go. You told him that you didn’t mind if he stayed at home, but staying at home wasn’t an option for him. He needed to be close to you, a loyal dog sticking by his mistress. He couldn’t stand to be away from you, even for a minute, so he’d brave the party, just for you. Everything he did nowadays was all for you. “When we get back, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me,” you whispered, smirking at him slyly in the mirror.

He was instantly hard, the list of desires he had too long to play out in his head. You always let him take charge when you got home from a party, always allowed him to punish you for the mundane torture he’d endured surrounded by your friends. “You’ll regret saying that,” he smiled, coming to stand behind you, his hands trailing up your body to the delicate curve of your neck. He tightened his grip ever so slightly, a small moan of pleasure escaping you as his hand gently closed around your throat. “I’ve never regretted letting you punish me,” you whispered, you hand snaking behind you to gently grip his growing erection. You were locked in a stalemate, both you desperate to tease the other, to see who would break first.

“Why don’t you let me punish you now,” he growled into your ear, his teeth grazing the soft, sensitive skin of your earlobe. “I could let you attend the party with my handprints on your ass. Maybe I’ll make you walk around with no underwear on while I drip from that pretty little pussy of yours.” You were so close to relenting, to letting him have his way. But you didn’t have time to play now, you were already late. “You’ll just have to be patient,” you smiled sweetly, squeezing his aching bulge between your grasp a little tighter. He moaned into you, his face buried in your hair as your fingers worked him through his suit. Your touch was his drug, the one thing he craved more than anything in the world. “More,” he grunted, pushing himself further into your touch. His hips bucked against your hand; his eyes fixed on yours in the mirror as he chased his high. “Later,” you whispered, pulling your hand away. He groaned in frustration, his arousal evident through the fabric of his pants. “We need to get going,” you told him, grabbing your purse from its hook on the back of the bedroom door. “I can’t be late to my best friend’s baby shower.”

The party was just as dire as he’d expected, everyone laughing and chatting about the prospect of their friends’ becoming parents. He’d never felt paternal before, had never understood the fascination with bringing a child into the world. He did his duty, plastering a smile on his face, asking your friends about their jobs and their families. But then he noticed you, your hands proudly cupping your friends growing baby belly, the two of you lost in conversation. Something stirred within him, some carnal desire he’d never felt before.

He pictured you with a growing baby bump, your hands pressed to your lower back as you looked lovingly down at your belly. He imagined his hands cupping your bump protectively as you fell asleep each night, of placing soft, sweet kisses on your stretchmark covered stomach. You’d be a wonderful mother, so caring and kind. But what kind of father would he be? He wasn’t capable of loving anyone or anything other than you. He tried to push the thought from his mind, convincing himself it was just residual desire leftover from the moment in the bedroom. And yet the thoughts persisted. Thoughts of you bringing a baby home, of cradling the tiny life in your hands as you sat by the window. He was getting angry now, the incessant images of you caring for his baby weaving their way into the fibres of his brain. He couldn’t risk bringing a baby into the world, not when he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to love it.

That night, he was extra rough when he punished you. He forced you to your knees, fucking your throat with his aching, hard cock until tears streamed down your face. He bent you over the bed, spanking you until your skin turned red. He fucked you into the mattress, your face buried in the pillows as he took his frustration out on your tight, dripping core.

But after the punishment, when he’d returned to being your faithful little dog, the thoughts resumed. Thoughts of you growing his baby, thoughts of walks through the park with a stroller, of nighttime feeds and days out at soft play. The baby would be part of you both, your combined DNA. But he couldn’t choose what parts of him the baby inherited. Would they be as cold and callous as he was? Would they get kicks out of torturing and taking the lives of innocent people? Would they grow up to be just as evil as their father?

He didn’t sleep that night, his mind whirling as his thoughts consumed him. He stared down at you as you slept, your soft body pressed against his. He had no doubt you’d be a great mother.

But what kind of father would he be if he felt nothing for the life he helped create?

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game 2 #squid game x you #squid game fanfic #squid game season 2 #squid game smut #the salesman x reader #the salesman fanfic #the salesman squid game #the salesman x you #the salesman smut #the salesman #gong yoo

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eringobragh420 · 3 days ago

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🖤 Pairing — Roman Reigns x f!Reader x cuck!Cody Rhodes 🖤 Summary — Sequel to Animal In Me. Roman takes Cody’s girlfriend on a date. Cody is their chauffeur. 🖤 Word Count — 5.7k 🛑 Warnings — Handjob, oral (m receiving), semi-public, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, Daddy kink, Tribal Chief kink, degradation, name-calling, hair-pulling, cuckolding, cum 18+ 🖤 Taglist — In the comments. If you’d like to be added, please click here! 🖤 MASTERLIST

One of the many things you loved about Cody Rhodes was that he enjoyed a handjob just as much as he appreciated a blowjob. Smiling at this well-known fact, you leaned over, spitting on the head of his aching cock before spreading it down the shaft, continuing with your slow, purposeful strokes. Cody’s insistent hand on the back of your neck brought your lips to his in a searing, earth-shattering kiss. You whimpered into his mouth, as if you were the one getting manual stimulation, but you’d refused when he’d offered, telling him tonight was all about him, though you suspected he would disregard this and have his way with you—not that you’d complain or turn him down. But Cody was such a giver, always so concerned with your pleasure, and sometimes you just wanted to return the favor.

“I know you wanna do it again,” he suddenly mumbled against your swollen lips. Your eyes opened slowly, hand losing its momentum on Cody’s dick as you considered what he’d said. Suddenly the air around you was thick and heavy, like a weighted blanket over the both of you. “With Reigns,” he clarified, but of course you knew exactly what and who he was referring to.

“Cody … ” you whispered.

“I think about it all the time,” he sighed, his warm, recognizable hand closing around yours on his length, pumping just a little faster, and his thumb moved yours over the weeping head. He groaned when you took control, leaving his hand atop yours as it rose up and down, squeezing every now and again. “I can’t … do that to you, but …”

“You like watching someone else do it to me,” you finished for him, the flood gates in your cunt busting wide open, and you plastered sloppy kisses all over his cheek and neck, nibbling and licking at the red, white and blue tattoo. Your heart pounded from the confession, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about it, too. Or touched yourself while thinking about it. And it wasn’t just Roman who occupied your mind. Your boyfriend watching you get railed by someone he truly disliked had done something to the chemicals in your brain.

Cody nodded, eyes closed. “Faster,” he breathed, and you’d never heard or seen anything more endearing than Cody Rhodes’ lisp. The corners of your mouth quirked into a smile as you did as requested, and once he removed his hand from yours, you switched your grip, and Cody crushed his wet lips to yours once more for a stalwart kiss that had you leaning forward, matching his energy, your mouths smacking together lewdly and with a practiced precision for several moments. “I can’t be tied up again,” he said, shaking his head, and you nodded, agreeing. “But I can’t—fuck—I can’t be able to get to you, though. The ways I imagined killing Reigns last time …”

“It’s fine,” you said. “We’ll figure something out.” Cody was moaning, head lulling back, and your hand squelched quickly up and down his shaft. “I love you so much, baby. I promise I’ll put on a good show for you.”

“Fuck!” Cody shouted, launching ropes of cum into the air, which inevitably landed on your hand, his cock and his thighs. Once he was able to think clearly, he looked at you. “This isn’t weird?” he asked.

You smiled, squeezing his chin with your clean hand, pressing your lips to his. “It’s the hottest thing I’ve ever done. I loved you watching me get treated like a whore … and then looking down to see how fucking hard you were. And this might be bad, but I … I liked how angry it made you.”

Cody smirked, rolling his eyes. “That’s probably the least bad thing about all this.”

After making all the arrangements, never once feeling nervous, you were furious at the butterflies in your stomach as you got ready. You’d even done this before and your nerves were still frayed. You spun around in front of the full-length mirror, adjusting your dress this way and that to be sure there was no slack and it clung to your body everywhere it was supposed to. Your hair was in its signature style, as was your makeup and the jewelry adorning your ears, neck, and wrists, and you knew your boyfriend would forget his own name once he saw you, but you had to wonder about Roman.

The Tribal Chief was the last thing on your mind, however, when you turned the corner into the living room and nearly ran into Cody as he was attaching the golden chain to his vest. He’d chosen the maroon suit for tonight, the one with the long coat, and he was so fucking beautiful, your chest ached and your pussy wept. His big hands were on your shoulders, and you hated that it was so easy for him to see how anxious you were, but you adored him for taking the time to acknowledge it and make an effort to help you feel better. Instead of words, his lips touched yours, the muscles moving together with practiced ease, and as your hands slid up his chest, bound for the back of his neck, the doorbell rang.

“Don’t forget who you actually belong to,” Cody reminded you.

You nodded, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him again. “We probably shouldn’t keep him waiting,” you said, caressing Cody’s cheek before heading for the door.

Roman’s suit was black on black, shoes shiny, hair pulled back in a sleek bun. He smiled as you invited him inside, leaning down to place a hot kiss to your cheek, and your skin burned from your neck to your cheekbones. The Tribal Chief’s aura was almost too much to bear, and thankfully Cody made himself known, slowly shaking Roman’s hand, and you imagined they were in a silent battle over who could squeeze the hardest.

“So are we good?” Roman asked, nonchalant to the point of aggravation. “Same plan we talked about?” You and Cody both nodded, Cody slipping an arm around your waist possessively. “Well, let’s get this show on the road,” Roman smiled. “I’m starvin’.” He patted his flat abs to emphasize his declaration before he turned and started toward the vehicle you and Cody had chosen for the evening: the sleek black Lexus.

Cody exhaled heavily through his nostrils as you and he stepped out of the house, you waiting with your boyfriend while he locked the door. “This may not be enough to stop me,” he remarked, hand sliding around your waist again, fingers playing at the swell of your ass.

A smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “Pull over if you have to,” you reminded him.

Roman had already folded himself into the backseat of the Lexus by the time Cody opened the front passenger door for you. You climbed inside and your senses were suddenly full of Roman Reigns’ scent, his hulking presence directly behind you, and your waxed pussy clenched.

“You look good, baby girl,” Roman growled. Your heart thrummed, breath hitched, eyes watching Cody round the front of the car, bound for the driver’s seat. “You ready for our date?”

You gulped. “Yes, Daddy,” you whispered just as Cody opened his door and settled behind the steering wheel.

The ride to the restaurant was suffocating. The handsome man beside you was desperately in love with you, so much so that he was allowing you to seek satisfaction from another man. The alpha male behind you had no feelings toward you either way—his only true intentions being to ruin you, use you, and send you back home to that boyfriend who loved you so dearly. And you couldn’t deny how much the entire situation just turned you the fuck on.

Upon arrival at the restaurant, Cody pulled up front and smoothly put the car in park. You turned to him, and he painted on a smile that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. He liked the part about watching you and Roman together, but he was less thrilled about the two of you going on a date without him. But it had been Roman’s stipulation, and he’d promised he had no ulterior motives—just a propensity for fooling around in public. And the thing about WWE superstars? They were incredibly popular, but were hardly, if ever (and for reasons unknown), followed by paparazzi.

Roman slapped Cody on the shoulder before exiting the backseat, slamming the door behind him. Cody’s crystal eyes winced, and you reached over to cradle his face.

“I love you,” you said, pressing your lips to his.

Cody sighed, warm air rushing across your face. “I love you, too. If you need me—”

“I know.” One final kiss, and you rubbed the residual lipstick off his mouth before you opened your door. Roman’s hand was suddenly there, and you glanced at Cody while slipping your hand into Roman’s and stepping out of the Lexus. Roman slammed the door with his free hand, slapping the hand that had been holding yours onto your ass cheek where it stayed as the two of you made your way inside. You fought the urge to again glimpse your boyfriend over your shoulder, the pang in your chest becoming more noticeable, an image of him eating alone down the street haunting your thoughts.

You and Roman were seated in a round booth in a fairly private corner of the dining room. Your soft, bare leg gently touched Roman’s meaty thigh as he eliminated the space between you. His aroma enveloped you, overwhelmed you, and you were suddenly slightly dizzy, overdosing on Roman Reigns before you even actually got started. But that’s the effect he had on you, on most people, you were sure. He threw off a lot of heat, and so you couldn’t be sure if you were blushing or just physically being lit on fire. You still didn’t know the answer as he laid an arm across the booth behind you, so smooth, so apathetic, as he ordered an expensive bottle of wine from the nervous waiter.

“So,” Roman broke the silence first, eyes surveying the other patrons of the restaurant, “did you follow the rules?” His inky eyes eventually landed on you, your thighs twitching, squeezing. “Made sure to wear panties?”

You swallowed what felt like sand. “Yes, Daddy,” you confirmed. You gasped, back straightening and bumping into the cushions behind you, as Roman reached over and casually lifted the bottom of your dress. You had one leg crossed over the other, so there wasn’t much to see, but just enough to prove you’d obeyed his instructions.

“That’s a good girl,” he praised, his full lips kissing you delicately on the temple. And so enchanted were you by Roman’s odd gentleness, you didn’t notice as he took hold of your hand, sliding it over his brawny thigh, settling it atop the lump between his legs. “Nice and slow,” he said, winking. “We got all night.”

You set to work massaging him, squeezing, rubbing, even pinching the fat head of his cock, which caused Roman to jump just the slightest bit in his seat. Fear swept through you, but the Tribal Chief merely grinned, shook his head, and took a sip from his glass of red wine. He quickly hardened under your touch, straining against the zipper of his expensive slacks, and pride swelled in your chest at how easy it was for you to bring Roman Reigns’ monster cock to life. Though you were quickly deflated at how indifferent he was about it. Aside from the tiny jump, and the fact that he was hard as fuck, he gave no other indication that he enjoyed your ministrations. No more smiles, hardly any glances in your direction, and he certainly wasn’t touching you despite his arm still lounging on the booth behind you. This is what you asked for, you supposed—Roman hadn’t signed up for the boyfriend package.

“Take it out,” Roman said. Biting your lip, and as stealthily as possible, you used both your hands to unbuckle his belt and open his pants. Once those were out of your way, you revealed the Tribal Chief’s impressive shaft, sighing as you wrapped your tiny-in-comparison hand around his length. The size, the weight, the warmth … your panties were soaked already. “Good,” he praised. “Now spit on it.”

Your heart sped up, but your mouth watered, making your task that much easier. After glancing around to be sure no one was paying either of you any mind, you bent over, and dropped a perfectly formed glob of saliva on the fleshy head of Roman’s cock. Your fingers smeared it around, sliding it down his cock, and it made your strokes much more enjoyable for him. You were even able to hear a faint moan emanate from his chest, and it was about this time your waiter decided to check in on you a short while after he’d served your entrees.

“I’m good,” Roman smoothly replied, and then you looked at you. “You good, babe?”

Your hand was frozen on his cock, but with the angle of your arm, it was clear your hand was in Roman’s lap. The waiter’s eyes dropped briefly to see if he could get a peek of whatever was going on, coming back to your face almost immediately when he realized he wasn’t able to see anything. “I—I’m good,” you stuttered. The waiter excused himself, glancing over his shoulder briefly before disappearing around the corner.

“Keep jerkin’ me,” Roman commanded, and you hadn’t realized you’d stopped at all. Before you could get a full stroke in, Roman leaned until his lips grazed your ear, growling, “You’re gon’ get a spankin’ for that. You don’t stop until Daddy tells you to stop.”

You nodded. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you whispered. With your free hand, you grabbed your own glass of wine and quickly swallowed three mouthfuls, never once pausing your manual stimulation. Neither of you had touched much of your expensive food.

“Now tell me why, if Rhodes loves you so much, he won’t give you what you want?”

You weren’t sure why he was asking, or why the answer was important, but your response was quick. “Because he’s a good guy.”

Roman looked at you. “Does that make me the bad guy?”

You flicked your thumb over the head, and Roman licked and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “Aren’t you?” you breathed, brow arched.

Roman’s eyes narrowed briefly, and then he smirked, shrugged. “Why don’t you kiss Daddy’s cock?” Knowing better than to waste time by making sure no one was looking, you leaned over and touched your lips to the head of Roman’s cock, and you straight away tasted that familiar salty flavor of precum, of the Tribal Chief. You were licking the head and tonguing the slit as if you had permission to do so, as if you weren’t in public, and Roman had the honor of reminding you which of the two of you were actually in charge. He fisted your perfect hair, bringing his fingers as closely to your head as he could, so he was able to pull and cause pain without actually moving you and thus drawing attention, and he slowly lifted you back into your original position. Somehow, you managed to continue stroking him. “Did I say you could lick me?” he fumed. You shook your head, tears springing in your eyes from the stinging in your scalp. “That’s gon’ get you another spankin’.”

You nodded, slowly, barely. “Yes, Daddy.”

Roman also nodded, gazing down his nose at you, and it was like a downburst in the middle of the restaurant—all the tension, both sexual and nervous, the attraction you had for one another, the arousal, the spark—it all came crashing down onto your shoulders, sucking the breath from your lungs. You knew better than to touch him if you weren’t told to do so, so you settled for placing your free hand on your thigh, which was grinding into its twin without abandon. Roman’s sinful eyes descended just there, watching a moment as your fingers dug into your muscle to keep from reaching out for him.

“Why don’t you call your boyfriend?” he suggested, your eyes locked on his plump lips. “Think I’m ready to have his girlfriend.”

You struggled to extract your phone from your purse with just one hand—you heard Roman snort softly—but you were triumphant moments later, tapping your way to a phone call with Cody.

His tone was tight when he answered after only one ring. “Hey.”

Roman’s long fingers slipped under your chin, gently tugging until you looked at him, phone to your ear. His brows rose, head tilted down—a silent reminder.

Your hand still stroking his cock, eyes captivated by Roman’s wicked chocolate pools, you said to your boyfriend, “Daddy and I are ready to go.”

Roman waggled the fingers that had just been on your chin, and your heart skipped several beats as you slowly handed him your phone. “Get the lead out, Rhodes. Your girl’s got me hard as fuck.” Without waiting for a response, he disconnected the call, grinning like a fool as he returned it to your possession.

You and Roman weren’t waiting long outside the restaurant before the Lexus came speeding up, squealing to a fluid halt. The windows were tinted, making it impossible to gauge Cody’s mood early. Roman opened the back door, and you anxiously licked your lips as you crawled inside. Sliding to the middle of the seat, you caught Cody’s crystal eyes in the rear view mirror—two stone sapphires, revealing nothing of what was going on behind the scenes. It was difficult to not reach out and touch him, hug him, kiss him, but you hadn’t been given permission to do so, and you already had two spanks coming your way. Roman’s hulking frame followed you, closing the door behind him, and he was roughly the same distance from you now as he was in the restaurant, but in the enclosed space of the vehicle, you suddenly felt claustrophobic as his presence surrounded you.

“Alright, let’s get these off,” Roman said, pulling at the bottom of your dress. You lifted your hips, and his hands disappeared under your dress so he could slip your panties down your legs—you carefully maneuvered your heels out of the material so as not to rip it. He examined them, and it was almost like he was examining you, but the wild grin on his face made you feel better about his actions. Suddenly, he tossed the garment at Cody, the black lace hitting him delicately in the neck, and you heard Cody sigh heavily through his nostrils. “Just give those a smell, Nightmare.”

Your eyes rounded as you watched your boyfriend lift your panties from his shoulder, holding them up, and the wet spot you’d created was unmistakable, glistening in the gentle light of the car. You gasped, Cody bringing your panties to his nose, and his inhaling was the loudest thing you’d ever heard, but fuck it all if you weren’t simply becoming wetter and wetter.

“That’s just from jerkin’ me off,” Roman pointed out, “and the little kisses and licks on my cock.” He snatched your face, much rougher than he had just a few moments ago, and you focused your attention on the Samoan god. “That reminds me,” he growled, “you got two spanks comin’ your way, don’t you?”

A car honked from behind the Lexus, and you nearly jumped out of your skin. The two men were calm, however, and Cody used the hand holding your panties to put the car in drive so he could pull out of the restaurant parking lot. As your boyfriend chauffeured you and Roman back to your house, the Tribal Chief ordered you on your knees and to once again pull his now semi-hard cock out of his pants.

“Now, your boyfriend can’t see you, so make sure he can hear you,” Roman advised, now with the freedom to shove your face into his crotch, your mouth opening just in time to accept his hot length, and the man was big enough to make you gag without even being completely hard. “That a girl, but I know you can do better.”

As Roman pulled your dress up, you impaled your throat on his cock, choking, coating the shaft in spit and drool, which allowed your hand to slide easily up and down, covering the area of his dick your mouth wasn’t able to reach. Roman’s coarse, capable hand barely grazed the soft, sensitive skin of your ass, and your heart drummed as you awaited your punishment. The smack came, hard, jarring your body, and you grunted around Roman’s cock, forcing it down your throat as far as you could as, what, a thank you? Penance?

“What do you say, slut?” Roman roared.

Your mouth popped wetly off his dick. “Thank you, Daddy,” you answered breathlessly, and he thrust his cock back in your mouth before you even got daddy all the way out. In and out, deeper with each pump of his hips, coughing, gagging, tears streaking your otherwise perfectly made up cheeks. The second spank came out of nowhere, jolting you once more, and you held his cock deep in your throat until you absolutely had to breathe. Pulling off, you sputtered, “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Goddamn shame your own man can’t take care of you the way you deserve,” Roman said, holding your face close to his eyes, admiring the mess of your mouth and chin. “But don’t you worry your pretty, little head … Daddy’s gon’ take care of you. Fuck you like a real man. Fuck you like the slut inside you deserves.” You grinned up at him, suddenly lethargic, enraptured by Roman’s beauty, reveling in his undivided attention. “So turn around and sit on my cock. I want you to be able to look at your little boyfriend.”

The two of you worked together as he slid to the middle of the backseat, and you turned your back to him, your thighs on either side of his, grabbing hold of those sinewy muscles before sinking down slowly onto Roman’s fat cock.

“Fuck,” you mewled, head falling back, eyes fluttering, fingers squeezing closer to Roman’s knees. Two hot vices gripped your hips, squeezing into the tender flesh, and you were encouraged to lean forward until your elbows were propped on the armrest between the two front seats. Then you were told to bounce.

So willing and more than able to obey your Tribal Chief, you squeezed your thighs against his and did just as instructed—you bounced. Roman released your hips briefly so he could lower your dress and release your breasts, which were without the hindrance of a bra, and then he returned them to your already-bruised skin. So as you bounced, so did your tits. You felt Cody’s eyes burning into your every now and again, as he had to watch the road, but your gazes finally connected, and the explosion of his pupils were like two tiny volcanoes erupting, spewing ash all across the land. You knew that look, you knew those eyes, and you gasped, jaw dropped, pussy clenching around Roman’s thick dick as your hips continued rising and falling, your ass undulating every time your bodies came together.

“Tell him how bad you needed the Tribal Chief in your pussy,” Roman said.

Looking up at your boyfriend, who was now attempting to focus on the road, you panted, “I need the Tribal Chief in my pussy so fucking bad. I feel so fucking empty when he’s not inside me.” Cody reached down to adjust himself, and your attention fell to the incredible bulge threatening to stretch out Cody’s tailored pants, and you’d known he’d be turned on, but it was still a welcomed sight—validation.

“And tell him how much of a fucking slut you really are.”

You couldn’t help the diabolical grin that spread your lips, teeth slowly sinking into your bottom lip. “I’m such a slut, baby,” you told Cody, almost blissfully. “I can’t help it. I fucking love this shit.” The drool from the face-fuck earlier was sliding down your neck, making its way to the valley between your jiggling breasts. “I love fucking the Tribal Chief in front of you. I love when he fucks my face and spanks my ass. I love calling him Daddy.”

Roman guffawed, yanking your head back by your hair. “Listen to that mouth!” he hollered. “Never had a slut like this before. Riding me in front of your boyfriend? Slutty as fuck.”

“Fuck yes, my Tribal Chief,” you moaned. Cody squirmed in the driver’s seat, loosening his tie and the first few buttons of his shirt. “Such a fucking slut for you.”

“Turn the fuck around,” Roman suddenly demanded. “Put this cock back in that filthy mouth.” Eyes on Cody, you lifted your hips, slowly allowing Roman’s massive cock to fall out of your dripping cunt, and then you turned, knees on the seat as you bent over. He snatched your head and stabbed his drenched cock straight into your throat, wrestling that strangled choking sound from you that he seemed to love so much. You tasted a hint of his salty precum, but mostly you tasted your own luscious essence, which thickly coated Roman’s dick from root to tip, and as soon as you were able to quickly catch your breath, you went straight back down for more, stuffing his cock as far as it would go. Roman’s hand was on the back of your neck, lithe fingers curved around the column so he could feel the bulge in your throat with each pump of his steel cock. “Mmm, listen to that sound, Rhodes!” Roman exclaimed. “You like it when I choke your slutty little girlfriend with my cock? Hmm?” He abruptly yanked your head back, your scalp screaming, pussy throbbing, and he forced you to look at him. “Give your boyfriend a kiss,” he spoke quietly. “I want him to taste my cock in your mouth.”

As Cody changed lanes, you maneuvered your way back between the front seats. Cody’s cheeks were a dusty rose, his sapphire eyes bulging, and he had one hand controlling the Lexus, the other massaging his cock that appeared to be mere seconds from launching itself through his slacks and smacking against the steering wheel. This specific moment hadn’t been discussed beforehand or between you and Cody at all, so you weren’t quite sure which avenue to take. If you didn’t obey your Tribal Chief, you’d probably be in for another spanking, unless he thought of a more creative way to punish you. And if you did follow his instructions, how would Cody react? He liked watching and listening, that much was incredibly clear, but how involved did he want to be?

You settled for a compromise—you planted sloppy, sticky kisses to Cody’s cheek, the corner of his mouth the furthest you were willing to take it without the okay from your boyfriend. Cody’s tongue snaked out of his mouth, gathering the residue left behind, and his eyes fluttered.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

“Come here,” Roman ordered, “get back on this dick.”

He had you face him this time, straddling his hips, lowering yourself onto his still-rock hard cock. Gripping his shoulders, you set your hips in a moderate rhythm, feeling him nudge each and every corner of your cunt, tapping your cervix, and you cried out.

“So fucking wet,” Roman gushed, licking one of your nipples, sucking it into his mouth, giving your other breast the same attention. “I’ll remember that for next time. That all I gotta do is take you to a fancy restaurant, give you a little taste of my cock, and I get to fuck you stupid in front of your boyfriend.” He grinned like a damn fool, brandishing his sparkling teeth, and all you could was keep grinding on him, panting into his mouth, too afraid to go in for a kiss. “And I could just roll this window down and show the whole city what a real whore looks like.” Whimpering, you dropped your perspiring forehead onto Roman’s, thankful he allowed you to remain there, however short-lived it was. “What do you say, slut? If Daddy wanted to roll the window down …”

You gulped, immediately thinking of Cody, but you knew better than to turn and check on him, and the way Roman was fucking you would have made it impossible for you to move anyway. “Yes, Daddy,” you breathed, hips rocking to meet his, drawing him deeper inside you. “I want the whole fucking city to see how much of a slut I am for you.”

Roman’s brows knitted together, and he sucked and licked and nibbled at your breasts. “Beg for Daddy’s cum,” he mumbled against your skin.

“Please, Daddy?” you gasped. “Your dick isn’t enough for my slutty pussy. I need your cum, too. I need your cum all the fucking time.” Roman touched his damp, fleshy lips to your ear, whispering, and you sighed as his scorching breath ghosted along your neck and shoulder. You licked your own lips before following his orders, glancing over your shoulder, and asking, “Can Daddy please come inside me? I need it more than anything.”

Cody inhaled through his nostrils, cobalt eyes lifting to the mirror. “Yes,” he rasped, “he can cum inside you.”

You turned back to Roman, fully prepared to ride him for all it was worth, reaping the benefits of his load inside you, but you were disappointed when he whispered more filthy things for you to repeat. “Baby,” you gained Cody’s attention again, “tell me you wanna fuck me with the Tribal Chief’s cum inside me.”

“Fuck you, Reigns,” Cody erupted.

Roman howled. “Come on, you know you want to,” he taunted Cody. “Imagine how fuckin’ messy her cunt’s gonna be when I’m done with it. Goddamn slip-and-slide.” You collapsed against Roman’s chest, head on his shoulder, his cock scratching that itch deep inside your pussy. “Don’t get me wrong,” he went on, “still tight as fuck.”

“God, I’m gonna cum,” you groaned.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” Roman warned. “That little blonde boy doesn’t tell me how bad he wants to fuck you—”

“Baby, please,” you whined, near tears, squealing as Roman pinched and pulled at your nipples just because he fucking felt like it. “Please … I need to cum.”

“Come on, Nightmare,” Roman sing-songed, out of breath. “You really gon’ let your girl get fucked, and not let her cum?”

“Fuck, goddamn it, I want it,” Cody babbled. “I wanna see your fucking cum dripping out of her cunt before I shove my cock inside her.”

“Let me get that cum, baby girl,” Roman said to you, and your spine arched as you screamed, throwing your head back. Your pussy clenched around Roman’s cock, your entire body wracked with shudders. “Come on, you whore … milk this fuckin’ dick so the American Nightmare can get it up for you.”

Roman unloaded inside you just as Cody pulled the Lexus into the garage of your home. He thrust into you so many times afterward, you thought he was trying to get off again, but he was simply making sure he’d deposited every last drop of his cum inside you. Without warning, he lifted you slowly off his lap, your cunt pulsing as it mourned the loss of fullness, and laid you in the seat beside him. He grinned at you as he tucked himself away, adjusted and smoothed his suit, and opened the door, stepping out, where he came face-to-face with Cody. You watched, heart pounding, having no idea where this was headed, but you could feel the furious tension that was laced with arousal in the air. You gaped as Roman extended his hand, shit-eating grin on his face. Cody, massive bulge on full display as he doffed his jacket, shook Roman’s hand, and you could see their skin turn white from the amount of pressure being applied.

“Better get in there before my nut leaks out,” Roman advised, slapping Cody on the shoulder before strolling out of the garage, bound for his own vehicle parked on the street.

“Cody, baby, please,” you begged your boyfriend, who stared after Roman, fists clenched. “I need you.”

That seemed to break the Roman spell, and Cody looked at you. You jumped at the opportunity to slide your hand across your breasts, tweaking a nipple, as you scooted closer to the door. You spread your legs, Cody’s cerulean irises instantly drawn to what was probably an incredibly wrecked pussy. You felt Roman’s cum begin to seep from your used hole, and Cody suddenly reached out for your knees, holding them open, pushing them closer to your chest.

“My god, I’ve never seen anything so fucking sexy,” Cody admitted, leering at your entire body, but mostly your swollen, weeping pussy. He made swift work of his belt and pants, his long, slightly curved cock popping out. The head was red and seeping precum, and you licked your lips as your mouth watered, as it did every single time you looked at Cody’s dick. He adjusted your hips to the correct angle and height so that he could comfortably—for him, anyway—slip his cock deep within your cunt. He groaned, eyes closing briefly before opening again so he could watch as he leisurely pulled out, his cock coated in not only your cum, but also Roman’s cum.

“Oh, my fucking god …” you sobbed, your boyfriend squelching his way in and out of your flooded pussy. “Baby … I’m gonna cum again …”

“Do it, baby,” Cody encouraged, and your body contorted with the extra strength of this orgasm. “Because I’m about to …”

“Yes,” you mewled, body bouncing as Cody fucked you. “Please cum in my pussy. Please, please, please …”

“Fuck!” Cody cried out, hips slamming into you one final time before he paused, his muscular body, hidden behind slacks, a shirt, and a vest quivering much the same way yours had. After a moment, he chuckled, “You’re overflowing right now.”

You nodded dreamily, relaxing against the seat as Cody delicately pulled out, and you watched him as he watched all the thick cream he spoke of ooze out of your cunt. “I love you,” you said.

Cody smiled, shaking his head, still focused on the mess that was you. “I love you more,” he replied.

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milliesfishes · 1 day ago

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౨ৎ꣑ৎNobody's Son, Nobody's Daughter౨ৎ꣑ৎ

౨ৎThere's many different ways that you can kill the one you love (The slowest way is never loving them enough)꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: pregnancy, angst, mentions of sexual activity, miscarriage, struggles with eating, weight loss pairing: coriolanus snow x fem reader summary: coriolanus has always resisted the unexpected. you surprised him author’s note: some coryo angst for you my loves Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

Regret is a disease, in Coriolanus' opinion. It starts small, a thought in the back of one's mind, something that couldn't possibly be true. But time waters the roots until it towers over you, until you are unable to live anywhere but in its shadow.

There were things he wished he didn't do. Or, more accurately, things he wished he didn't have to do. But every movement was careful, every notion considered. He wouldn't be where he was today if it weren't for all he'd done. Both good and bad. It wasn't easy being the man of the house, a title he'd worn for more time than not.

His family was taken care of. Tigris was seeing a flourishing career in fashion, her designs paid for by the highest bidders. The Grandma'am had long passed, but her funeral was as regal and fine as any could be, true to the way she had lived. Coriolanus saw that fresh roses made their way to her grave regularly.

So really, it had all been worth it. He himself was doing more than fine, one of the youngest politicians in Capitol history. The pay gave him an extremely comfortable lifestyle, enough to provide for his cousin too, if she ever needed it.

Quickly though, he learned it didn't matter how much money he had now. Spending his formative years starving in every way possible had cut its mark, leaving a scar he wished he could cover up. The most frequent content of his nightmares consisted of being back in that dreary old penthouse, squeezing his feet into too-small shoes and gulping down a mouthful of watery cabbage before running off to school to maintain an image that had long died. He woke up in cold sweats, fisting his silk sheets, heart pounding. He'd look to the open closet door, where there was an entire row of shoes just in his size, and then ring for tea that was more than just boiled water.

These inner demons caused him to feel reckless. He kept it within for the most part, terrified at the prospect of lost control. Even though there was very little to hide anymore, he was well aware of how quickly good fortune could turn sour. The state of his savings was an indication of that, packed to the brim just in case something went awry.

It wasn't just money or lost investments to worry about. Coriolanus' entire career was dependent on the public eye, his perfect image. Of course, it was easier to maintain now that he wasn't lying about finances, giving him an up from when he was at the Academy. Other less than pretty facets of his past were well hidden, where only one who knew what to look for would find.

He was the only thing he couldn't control.

Being both the only person he trusted and the person he trusted the least was conflicting to say the least. On one hand, he knew himself. On the other, he knew himself. Knew that no matter how much he had, he would always crave what he wouldn't allow himself to have. The list wasn't long, but the contents took up a great deal of space.

Coriolanus had known he'd have to take a wife at some point. Politics were a family man's game. Being head of a household boded well for those wanting to lead the country, apparently. If that were the only requirement, he would have been president years ago. He held off as long as he could. It clearly wasn't that important if he'd been able to get this far.

Still, the higher he climbed, the more of an issue it became. At dinners with his colleagues, he was the only single man attending. During parties, he discovered there was only so much he could do without a partner at his side. A wife would help him make connections, soften his image. He was aware of how he came off because he'd gardened himself to be that way. Getting married was the only way to fix it without changing himself.

The requirements were more than generous. Someone young, pretty, who could hold her own. Beyond that, he couldn't care less. The dreaded L word was so far out of bounds that it was the opposite of a necessity. He observed debutantes with a critical eye, approaching the few he found to be acceptable. Going as far as calling on one or two, he resigned himself to mediocrity, even looked forward to it. This would open doors he'd long wanted to get behind.

Coriolanus met you at a dinner hosted in your father's home. You were seated next to him, beautiful posture and face not unnoticed by him. When you spoke, he heard music, and he didn't even like music. But there must have been a siren in your mouth, because he found himself hanging onto every word that fell from your lips. And then when you turned to him, asked his name with eyes that reminded him of the stars, he knew he was gone.

He'd sworn off love long ago, resisted the strongest of temptations in every facet of his life in order to stay perfect. But you were an aphrodisiac tuned to his senses; a poison hidden behind a flower. You'd smiled at him so sweetly, asking him questions about himself that he hardly heard through the beat of his own heart. At the end of the night, he was forced to accept the truth- that he was wholly enchanted by you.

This was the opposite of what he wanted. Coriolanus told himself to distance himself now that he'd identified the problem, to turn to one of the other girl's he'd picked out and make himself content. The last thing he'd expected was to be swept up in a single girl, to have her face in his mind during waking and sleeping hours. His nightmares turned to dreams of you sitting beside him at the fireplace, lips ever so close but never touching.

This was worse than the nightmares. He could reassure himself that those weren't real. Sleeping pills weren't something he'd touched before. Too addictive, too risky. He started taking two with his nightly tea.

Dreamless sleep didn't fix his waking hours. He couldn't help inquiring about you, learning every tidbit anyone could tell him. You were an accomplished student, raised to perfection for society's prying eyes. Various accounts detailed your charm, your beauty, your genuine sweetness. The vice within him only bloomed with every new detail, until he found himself on the front steps of your dwelling, telling himself he was only going to call. Nothing more. It would satiate his curiosity.

Of course, you were lovelier on your own somehow. A diamond in the rhinestone pool he'd dived into in search of a companion. His calls increased in frequency, the other options forgotten. In what felt like no time at all, the ring he'd carefully selected was on your finger, sitting there like it was always meant to be. Like he'd fixed in the one piece that made you short of the whole puzzle.

He was deep in the whirlwind that was you, under your spell. When he kissed you for the first time, it was dizzying, your touch shutting off his mind. In this way, he claimed you, put his mark where everyone could see it.

All his life, he'd had to guard his possessions, from food to pride to image. He lived at less than half full for the sake of holding onto these things. One sip of posca. Only a few more bites so he could eat tomorrow. Keep yourself alert or they will take everything from you.

You were the one indulgence he allowed himself. He told himself he deserved it, just this one time. Something good on purpose. Something good that was unplanned. Maybe...just maybe. He sobered up quickly on his wedding day.

Seeing you standing across from him, eyes soft, looking a vision in white, it hit him what this meant. He had you. And now he was in danger.

Love had consequences. Love made him blind. Love had almost cost him everything in the past. He'd broken his own rule, made himself a target for tragedy. Worse somehow, he risked you.

Marriage meant sex. Sex meant babies. He'd known that before, of course, but it as staring him in the eyes now, a knife to his throat. Memories of his mother's screaming and her pale, lifeless face were ghosts before his eyes as he recited his vows. His one indulgence couldn't have been a worse one. Your smile suddenly felt haunting, not sweet.

All through the reception, he was making a new list in his head. Now that he'd done the one thing he'd vowed not to, he'd have to deal with the aftermath the only way he knew. Love was a wildfire, and he was prepared to fight it, contain it as best he could. Coriolanus Snow could control the uncontrollable, steer himself away from the wreckage he'd caused.

He had what he'd wanted, even if followed by a worse issue. Till death do us part.

As far as regrets went, you were his biggest one.

Your nightdress tonight was red. A last-ditch attempt. Coriolanus seemed fond of the color, the same as his precious roses, his favorite suit, the Snow family crest. Even his leather briefcase had a maroon tint to it.

When he entered the bedroom, stone faced as usual, he made quick work of unbuttoning his shirt and removing his shoes, barely nodding at you. Sitting up straight, you smiled hopefully, waiting for him to say something about your appearance.

He was quiet as he approached you, getting on the bed and holding out a hand, which you took, heart beating optimistically. His hair was a little messy, eyes unreadable as he took you in. When he pulled you closer, you almost sighed at the feel of his skin on yours, the warmth of it making you want to curl up against him forever. Coriolanus leaned in, and you tilted your head up, hoping for a kiss.

Instead, your husband exhaled, looking at you in a way you didn't understand. Patting the mattress, he slid his hand to your back, nudging it a little. "Come on."

Your heart sank, thudding in your belly. Trying not to let your face show it, you rolled onto your belly, his arm sliding around your waist. Another night of this, and he still refused to look at you.

It'd been the same since your wedding night. He'd come into your room, push up your nightdress, and take you the exact same way, not a hint of emotion in the act. You couldn't have predicted this in your courtship, or else you wouldn't have agreed to be his forever.

A friend had detailed the act, describing it as something painful, a task to be done. But she'd smiled at you after describing her experience. "I don't think it will be like that for you. He really cares about you. Anyone can see it."

You'd believed her. Why wouldn't you? He'd been perfectly doting, telling you everything you wanted to hear and bringing the sweetest gifts. The men you'd been called on by before were generic in their efforts. Coriolanus had remembered things about you, spoken like he understood. It was easy to fall for him.

He was handsome and successful, yes, but there was something more to him that you managed to unlock. It was the way he touched you, the way he spoke to you. It felt as though he cared. You would have followed him to the ends of the earth if he'd asked, so smitten you'd grown wings. He kissed you and it made you weak at the knees, something inside you panting for more. If this was how he loved outside, the way he loved within the bounds of marriage was sure to be life changing.

As a child, you were left at the mercy of nannies and tutors to learn how to live. Your parents were distant, participants of an endless social calendar you had to pen yourself into. All through growing up, you longed for a hug, a kiss, a soft word. You'd gotten a taste now. Coriolanus left you starving.

It was rare now that he touched or even looked at you. A switch had flipped after the wedding, and now he was a version of himself you'd never known. Someone who no longer wanted to speak to you, who only called on you when he needed to be seen at your side.

Obviously, you'd done something wrong, but you couldn't decipher what. Had you said something at the reception? Had someone told him something about you? Either way, you had no idea, and he certainly wasn't going to tell you. So you tried to make up for it in any way you could.

The pretty nightdresses. The photographs at every event. You played the part as well as you could, making yourself completely perfect for him. All the while, silently begging: love me, love me, love me. Want me the way you did before.

You never spoke of it directly, but you knew the goal was to conceive as soon as possible. Why else would he partake in such an activity every night, one that he didn't seem to enjoy at all? Hope was your constant. If you were good for him, things would go back to the way they were before. He would be pleased with you and your sex would morph into lovemaking. And you would be happy again.

The week you missed your monthly, you immediately phoned for an appointment with the doctor, elated that you might finally be pregnant. You held off until after confirming to tell Coriolanus, practically bouncing in your seat on the couch by the door. Every second dragged until he finally entered, looking tired as usual from his time in the office. He was handsome as ever though, and you started daydreaming about what the celebration would be like after you revealed your happy news.

"Darling," he greeted, setting his briefcase on and loosening his tie. Since he would only do so if the door was locked, you leapt to your feet, feeling weightless with excitement.

Coriolanus looked at you curiously, removing his coat as well. "Is everything alright?"

Nodding, you reached up and straightened his collar, wanting to touch him more than ever. He hesitated before setting his hands on your hips, and a jolt of joy urged you forward. Palms flat on his chest, you looked into his eyes, the color of a summer day's sky. Unable to help your smile as you said it, you said, "I'm pregnant."

Silence. You held your breath, watching his face.

Then he leaned forward, kissing your forehead. You closed your eyes, smiling in relief. "Good," he said, brushing your cheek with his thumb. Leaning into his touch, you waited for it to turn to more, for him to pick you up and carry you to your bedroom and tell you how proud he was, how well you'd done for him.

His hand fell from your waist. You opened your eyes in confusion, watching him disappear from sight. Footsteps, the ones you laid awake and waited for every single night, sounded down the hallway until you heard the familiar click of his office door shutting.

The feeling didn't overwhelm you at first. It poked your shoulder, tilted its head at you and settled, curling into your feet before you could ask what it was. It carved a hole into your heart, the spot you'd saved for him. And then you realized that maybe it'd been hollow all along, this just smashed the wall that hid it from you.

You scrambled for something to cling to, coming up short. The new life growing inside you wasn't enough, and neither, it seemed, were you.

Dragging yourself to your room, you didn't bother to change into one of your nightdresses. In the closet, you'd laid out a special one, in deep red and edged with lace, when you were sure tonight would end in triumph. You didn't think you could bear to look at it right now.

Instead, you draped yourself over your side of the bed, facing the wall. Your hand automatically crept to your tummy, but you forced it away, clinging to the blanket under you instead.

There were his sharp footsteps again, getting closer this time. You perked up, but didn't move. Maybe he was coming with good intentions after all. After all, you knew the news of becoming a father must have been shocking. Maybe he'd only needed a moment to collect himself.

You closed your eyes, waiting for him to come around to your side of the bed so you could open them and smile up at him and have all be well. His belt clinked with his pants button when he unbuckled it. You knew every move just by the sound. Shoes off. Unbuttoning his shirt. Pants off. There was a dip in the mattress, and then the light clicked off.

The feeling found you again, coming on stronger this time, winding its fingers around your neck. Tears built up in your throat, and you couldn't suppress a sniffle, hoping he wouldn't hear. Coriolanus muttered your name, but you didn't move.

Perfectly still, you resigned to him.

The loss of you was a chasm Coriolanus tried to skirt. He failed miserably.

You were still present of course, your heart still beating, blood still running through your veins. But you couldn't have been further from alive if you'd tried. Gone was the fresh-faced girl he'd married. You were quiet now, paler and thinner.

He knew it was his fault. Coriolanus bore that burden every day, convinced now more than ever that it would be worse for you if he let himself be near. He'd hurt you enough in the process of conceiving a child. That was enough for a lifetime.

After you informed him of your pregnancy, he was finally able to distance himself from you altogether. There was no more touching, no more sex that left him dizzy and wanting you. You were his forever and that was bad enough for you.

There was a twinge in his heart each time he saw you. He tried to reason with himself. It was for the best. You didn't need the likes of him around while you were already dealing with something like your pregnancy. He could barely process that it was his child. Something he'd done to you.

The doctor's reports that darkened his desk each time you had a check in only grew more concerning in content. Losing too much weight...decreasing appetite...not safe for the baby...

Coriolanus pushed the evaluation to the side, despite the growing pit in his heart. You were seeing the best doctors in all of Panem. Surely, they'd find a way to help you before it was too late. He tried to focus back on his work, picking up his pen and staring at the words in front of him. It was dark, the only light in the room coming from the lamp on his desktop.

His mind wandered. The image of you the last time he'd seen you- gaunt and ghostlike, curled up on a chair and staring at the same page of a book for near twenty minutes- was burnt into his eyes. Even through his avoidance, you would always try to speak to him, ask about his day or chatter about yours. He'd found it painful at the time, when he was forced to brush you off. But now that it was gone, he missed it.

One night, he had decided to go downstairs for dinner, though he usually didn't take meals with you. Telling himself he only wanted to check on you, he entered the dining room and found it empty. Not even a light on. The staff were very consistent about mealtimes. He only grew more confused at the fact that everything in the room appeared untouched.

A single ask, and he learned that you weren't taking regular meals, simply ringing up for tea every now and then. "I send a sandwich or two up with her tray," one of the cooks told him shyly, wringing her hands. "I feel right awful for her, in her condition. And the plate always comes back empty."

It was on his mind as he stared at the doctor's report where he'd pushed it. Tapping the end of his pen on the desk, he tried to suppress the draw of you from your bedroom. It was as if there was a rope tied around his heart connecting it to yours.

He dropped his pen, watching it clatter atop the document he'd tried to study. Pushing back in his chair, Coriolanus stood up, wincing at the ache in his legs from sitting so long. Being holed up in his office for close to days at a time was beginning to take a toll.

There was no thought, his feet took him to your door in an instant. When he opened it, you were right where he'd seen you last, not even trying to pretend to read the book in your lap. Your hands were folded primly. He looked to the wall as if he'd see whatever you were.

Waiting a moment, he stood still in the doorframe. You didn't acknowledge him, not even a head turn.

Finally he broke, making his way over to kneel at your side. "Darling," Coriolanus offered softly. "How are you feeling?" His head was telling him to walk away, but the rope gave a tug, and he remained beside you.

"I'm fine," you whispered, voice raspy. Your hand migrated over your belly, and his eyes went with it. There wasn't much to see yet, but he could immediately tell the difference. The way your belly was rounding with something he'd sworn he imagined until now.

Looking back at you, he suppressed every protest that arose. "Have you eaten yet?"

You finally met his eyes. He found himself suddenly in need of more air. "No."

Coriolanus nodded once, keeping his expression neutral. Tearing his gaze away, he said, "I'll ring for something for you."

When he began to stand, your hand shot out, curling around his wrist. Fire. He was getting burned and he didn't want it to stop. "You're not staying?"

The disappointment in your voice nearly caused him to deny it. But he'd never lied to you, and he wasn't about to start now. "No."

"Oh." The word was a defeated, empty thing and he wanted to scrub it away immediately. Your eyes dropped, and you began to pick at the skirt of your dress.

"I still need to get work done," he explained keeping his tone even. "Eat something. It'll make you feel better."

"I'm sure." That got his attention. Your tone with him had never been anything but soft, but now it was flat, nearly sarcastic.

He stopped. "Is there anything else you need?"

"Nothing you want to give," you said, standing up and smoothing your dress down. "I don't need you to ring. I want tea."

"Darling-" You shook your head, and he felt like a scythe had been driven through his chest.

It was quiet for a moment. The look on your face crossed the bounds of language, and he felt his heart dip.

Every horror he'd endured paled at the hollow space in your eyes. You watched him, seeming to wait for something. When you spoke it was soft, but he was tuned into every word. "What did I do wrong?" It was the unsaid that threatened to bleed him dry. The tears he could hear gathering behind your eyes with five words.

Then he realized what you'd said. Brow furrowing, he shook his head before he could get his response out. "Nothing. You've never-"

"I must have," you interrupted, voice breathy with unborn crying, eyes wide as a baby deer's. Your hand found the sweater material of your dress over your collarbone as your breathing grew unsteady. He was too stunned to do anything but watch. Months of marriage and this was the first time he'd seen this side of you. "You won't touch me. Or even see me anymore." Blinking fast, you whispered, "I thought you would love me."

He spent nearly all his time loving you. "I'm doing what's best for us," he maintained, straightening and ignoring the way you seemed to sink further into yourself. "This is for the best."

"I did do something." You nodded, looking away and swallowing hard. Though he could see the tears in your eyes, you did not let a single one fall.

Then, your posture leveled, and you lifted your chin, and he found himself in the starlight of your eyes once more. "I want to fix it." You stepped forward, grasping his wrist in one soft hand. He forced himself to stay in control, hand limp as you held it with both of yours. "Let me."

Coriolanus nearly crumbled. Every weakness he possessed was urging him into your light. Your touch, your scent, your eyes, your voice. The sight of you with his ring on your finger and his child growing within you.

But he had to. Pulling his hand away, he exhaled, resisting the urge to take you into his arms. "I'll ring for your tea. Eat something."

All the way back to his office, his ears were ringing. He made sure to call for your meal before collapsing into his chair, chest nearly heaving. It had gotten to a point of no return. Everything within him was warring, fighting to be heard. And everything was right.

Never before had he been so wholly consumed by a single person, so much so that it hurt to be apart. Coriolanus pressed a hand to his chest, willing the ache to lessen. There was no point in denying the problem any longer.

You thought it was your fault. He'd never even considered that his distance would cause something like this. And your guilt was literally eating you alive.

It was his fault for being close to you. It was his fault for not being close enough. Both options fought until the image of you bloody and pale reemerged, silencing everything in his head. Even the sleeping pills couldn't prevent this nightmare.

When he went to bed, your tea tray was being retrieved by a maid who kept her head down as she passed him. Both halves of the sandwich were still on the plate.

Shadows. The tile was cool on your cheek, and you were too weary to open your eyes.

Blooming. Your body was burning, a fist tearing something from your lower belly that you would have fought if you weren't so weak. Something wet and sticky pooled at your thighs, but you couldn't move. Your dress was ruined, you knew without seeing it.

This was it. The end of your loveless years. Losing. Every hope you'd gained was shattered at your feet along with the one thing you'd thought could save you.

He crossed your mind, just once. Yet another thing you'd chased away. You'd tried so hard to be perfect that it had driven him from your side. You'd been tricked into life's truest bind, but now you were being released.

The ring on your finger was heavy in a comforting way. It reminded you how desired you once were, that old dream coming back like a fond memory. Oh, to be so naive again.

Someone was calling your name. An angel? You mumbled, waiting for the searing pain to fade into nothingness.

Instead, a pair of hands found your body. Your heart found relief, one desire fulfilled. The most impossible one, you knew, although you couldn't recall what it was.

Your mind cut out before you could remember.

His visions had come true. Coriolanus had been convinced he'd imagined it to life as he'd collapsed at your side and bellowed for help. you barely stirred as he pulled you into him, every wall he'd built shattered into nothingness.

Whispering your name over and over like it was a cure, he'd held you to him until help arrived, leaving him alone on his knees in your blood on the bathroom floor.

The doctor worked quick, apologizing in hushed tones for his loss when he was finished. Coriolanus barely felt it. All he heard was that you were alive, that you would open your eyes once more. He went through the motions of cleaning himself up rigidly, returning to your side as soon as he was able.

His heart was numb. The unthinkable had happened. But you were still here. This upset the balance in his head, leaving him reeling for answers. All his life had been a game of the worst cause and effect. Goodness triggered loss of it. But you were still here. You were still here.

Coriolanus found himself kneeling by your bed as if in prayer. Your breathing was steady, and you looked more at peace than in months. His tight grip on control began to loosen as he watched you sleep, let himself linger on the smooth surface of your skin, the curve of your lips. Every detail he'd pretended not to notice in his destructing act of protection.

He didn't need it spelled out, but the doctor told him anyways. Stress. Of course, the man couldn't possibly know the cause of it. The guilt cloaked him until he sank to the bare truth. He'd be atoning for the rest of his life. Beyond, if he was lucky.

Everything he thought he knew was in ashes. He wanted to retreat into himself, hide away in his office and bury himself in a shallow grave of paperwork. Ignoring everything as if he were a concept and not alive was his usual style. But the lesson stood tall above the wreckage. The only thing worse than having you was losing you.

Succumbing to the wildfire, his eyes didn't leave you when you began to stir. Your eyelids lifted, and he saw stars again.

He wanted to shoulder the weight he'd added to you. With his ring, he'd ruined the perfect girl he'd sworn to love and protect. With one of those notions, he destroyed the other.

Locked in your eyes, Coriolanus hesitated, sentences fading between his tongue and teeth. Everything he wanted to say was beyond words, instances that took more time than he had. There was only this moment to begin. And so, for the first time, he let his heart guide the way.

Reaching out, he almost expected you to withdraw. But when he settled his palm on your cheek, you merely shut your eyes again, tilting your head up into his touch. He had a foot in the door.

When he removed his hand, you didn't react. But when he crossed around your bed to sit beside you, stretching his arm out so you would rest on his chest, you snuggled close, blinking sleepily. His touch was careful, almost sure you would shatter under it.

Your ear covered his heart, listening to it beat for you. His hand smoothed your hair. The warmth of your body distilled the ache for now. Reaching down, he kissed the top of your head, holding his nose there to breathe you in.

The disease had switched courses. Regret now laid in the past, not the future.

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almostfoxglove · 2 hours ago

Text

MALLORY!!! oh my god, what a perfect follow up to suburban sparks. this is such a lovely balance of I'm-ripping-my-hair-out-with-need smut and aaaachy yearning (the best kind) - I couldn't put it down. my god. I loved it sososo much?? and YEAH IT DID GET ME ALL CHOKED UP, WHAT ABOUT IT asdfkjhsdfkj

I'm popping some of my favorite bits below the cut, but FRICK I'm obsessed with this <3

His tongue licks a path down your neck, tasting the condensation on your skin. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” is softly repeated against your sensitive skin. The way you softly moan back makes his legs weak. You sound so good, you taste so good, you feel so good.

SDFLKHASDLKHFAL WHAT DO YOU MEAN oh my god. mumbling pussy-drunk javi is actually going to ruin my life like I need him SO bad you don't underSTAND (except clearly you do)

He’d always be the one to call. Phone bill be damned, he made good money.

this feels so perfectly javier?? that really small, unspoken gesture that he'll be the one to shoulder it and take care of her in this really tiny way because it's the way that he can - MY HEAART

He’s not the one for you, though you’re the one for him.

straight up mumbled 'oh my god' under my breath when I read this for the first time, then went back to read the paragraph again like twice more before continuing, because FUCK THE YEARNING IS SO FUCKING PERFECT

He thinks about you curled up on the couch during your late-night calls, wrapped in an oversized sweater, your voice soft and sleepy. He dreams of one day being on that couch with you. In a perfect life that he’ll never have.

:,,,,,) do you see the oceans rising??? that's because of my tears

“Your green shirt.” His spine straightens. “Oh yeah?”

YESSSS GIRL YESSSSS THE GREEN SHIRT YESSSS THAT'S SO CORRECT

Another sleepless night, another internal battle, another lonely sunrise, another cup of black coffee to try to wake him up.

'another lonely sunrise, another cup of black coffee to try to wake him up' is actually so fucking beautiful and so fucking sad and so fucking javi?? I just. I'm standing in that kitchen with him, watching him suffer privately, WISHING I COULD HUG HIM

It doesn’t feel like his place at all, but a Polaroid of you that leans against his bedside lamp makes it feel like home. He'd chosen this place for the view, telling himself it was because he'd always wanted to live somewhere with a skyline again. But deep down, he knows it's because he wanted to look out at the city you love.

oh GOD there are just so many perfect little setting descriptions that just take me right into the room with him, and this is another one. like fuck. my heart is going 'squeeze' in the most delicious, angsty way - you're playing me like a fiDDLE and I LOVE YOU FOR IT

The exact opposite of an old, grizzled DEA agent haunted by his past.

SWEET STUPID JAVIER OH MY GOD SOMEONE LET ME HOLD HIM PLS

“I’d rather be alone than a stranger.”

thinking about him being in the theatre to see her perform as I write this is actually going to make me cry all over again. it's so good. so hopeful and also so sad and UGH. MALLORY. YOU'RE A STAR.

I FUCKING LOVED THIS. I looooove how you incorporated the newspapers from the moodboard - it's such a perfect, both intimate and a little removed way for javi to connect with her, and ugh. my heart. this was so good. thank you SO much for joining the challenge and delivering us this masterpiece :,) I am forever in your debt!!

Long Distance

A followup to Suburban Sparks Pairing: Javier Peña x Steve's Little Sister Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: He knows he shouldn't fall for you, he knows he shouldn't pick up the phone, but you're all he can think about. Warnings: Javi's POV, angst, guilt, yearning, pining, heartbreak, impressionist paintings, using a Clairo lyric as a play monologue, jealousy, smut, phone sex, secret bathroom sex, dirty photos. Takes place after S3. Words: 8,320

A/N: Written for @almostfoxglove's Angst Challenge, who made the GORGEOUS mood board for inspo. It truly fit the vibes of exactly what I was thinking would be the next step for Steve's Little Sister and Javier. My thanks to @devineconjuring, @mothandpidgeon, and @schnarfer for filling up my draft with suggestions, reactions, and edits and always letting me yap and ... them. Masterlist

—-

His heart thuds against his chest with every descending step. He hears the clatter of plates and silverware mixed with soft conversation– hears your voice. You’re awake. His eyes immediately catch yours when he walks into the kitchen. You sit at the breakfast table in an oversized sweatshirt that hangs off a shoulder, the same shoulder he kissed before he snuck out of bed and back to his room across the hall.

You’re so beautiful, he almost falls as he takes a seat.

“Damn, Peña, still drunk?” Steve asks as he flips the last pancake.

“Just tired,” he responds. “Morning,” he casually nods towards you, trying not to let his gaze stay on you for too long.

You nod a casual “hey” as you reach for the orange juice, your fingers wrapping around the glass. He loses his breath as he remembers how those same delicate fingers felt wrapped around him.

“Coffee, Javi?” Connie asks, pulling him from his reverie.

He nods, mumbling a response as you smirk. This is going to be an interesting breakfast.

“Good breakfast, thank you,” you say as you rise. “I’m going to get a shower before I go back home. Landlord still hasn’t fixed the hot water heater.”

“Help yourself,” Steve nods. “And Jesus Christ, find a better place.”

Javier takes a sip of coffee until the thought of you under the warm running water, naked and wet, flashes through his mind. He coughs as he chokes on the hot liquid.

"You okay there, partner?" Steve asks, eyebrow raised.

Javi nods, clearing his throat. "Yeah, just went down the wrong pipe."

As your footsteps fade upstairs, Javi focuses intently on his breakfast, avoiding Steve's gaze. He can feel Connie's eyes on him, a hint of suspicion in her expression.

He eats his breakfast, listening closely to the rumble of the water heater as Steve and Connie discuss their plans for the day. The water heater turns off, snapping Javi back to the thought of you just upstairs.

"I should get ready too," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact as he picks up his plate and coffee cup, dropping them off by the sink. "Thanks for breakfast."

“‘Course, you’re our guest,” Steve says.

As he climbs the stairs, his heart races. The guilt over Steve sitting just downstairs getting drowned out by the anticipation of seeing you again.

He passes the bathroom door and then retraces his steps, standing in front of the white wooden blockade. You’re right behind the door. He knocks softly.

The door cracks open, a cloud of steam escaping as you peek out. Your face glistens with moisture, drops of water clinging to your skin. You take his breath away.

Your eyebrow quirks up before you open the door wider, stepping aside to let him in. He slips inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. You’re wrapped in a towel–one measly towel. A drop of water trails down your collarbone to between your breasts, and his mouth waters, thinking of how good it’d taste.

"Javier," you whisper.

He steps closer. "I know, I know. We shouldn't."

But, as the words leave his mouth, you’re already reaching for him. His mouth crashes against yours, desperate to taste you again. You instantly mold into him, your fingers tangling in his hair as he backs you against the cool tile wall.

The towel slips, pooling at your feet. He breaks the kiss, his eyes reverently roaming your bare skin. “Fuck,” he breathes.

You grab the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling them down. “We don’t have much time.”

He nods, helping you pull down his boxer briefs, his cock already hard for you, weeping to feel your tight pussy around it.

He lifts you onto the countertop, spreading your legs wide and groaning when he feels how wet you are for him. Your eyes stare into his as he sheaths himself in you, both of you gasping at how good it feels. Your legs wrap around his waist and pull him closer as he begins to move. His hands grip the counter as he quietly fucks into you, the faint sound of his skin against yours and your soft moans echoing off the tile.

Your hips meet his as his thrusts become more urgent as he listens for the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He wishes he could savor you, hear you scream his name, fuck into you for hours, but he can’t. He has to be quick. His hand travels down your smooth skin, and his finger begins circling your clit as his other hand grips the plush of your breast, kneading it in his hand. Your head falls back, your bottom lip captured between your teeth to stop yourself from making any more noise.

It’s forbidden and wrong. He knows this, but the way your body trembles underneath his touch, your hands exploring the broadness of his back, your tight pussy beginning to clench around his cock–he can’t say no to you. He circles your clit faster and harder, his fingers working in quick, tight circles as he fucks into you faster. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your nails digging into his shoulders as you fight to stay quiet.

“Cum for me, baby,” he whispers. “I need to feel you cum.”

Your body tenses, a strangled moan escaping your lips before he presses his mouth against yours, swallowing your cries as he chases his own release. You pulse around him, and it’s too much. He buries himself inside you, his body shuddering as he cums, spilling inside of you. He stays buried in your heat, even though he knows he needs to leave. He just can’t. He rests his forehead against yours, listening to your soft gasps, trying to savor the moment for as long as he can.

“Wow,” you whisper, your voice lilts in awe.

He nods, trying hard to swallow the guilt. “I know.”

He pulls out slowly, both of you wincing at the loss of each other.

You hop off the counter, grabbing your towel, and wrapping it around yourself again. Javi tucks himself back into his pants and runs a hand through his disheveled hair.

"You should go," you say softly, not meeting his eyes. “You know… just in case.”

He nods, his hand already reaching for the doorknob. "Hey," he says, waiting for you to look at him. When you do, he sees the conflict in your eyes, knowing it mirrors his own, but he ignores it. “What’s your number?”

—-

The phone line hums, building a bridge between Laredo and Washington, D.C. He waits all day to hear the sound of your laughter spill through the receiver–sweet and warm, like honey. Most of the time, silence settles between the two of you, content to just stay on the line with each other 1,800 miles away.

He’d always be the one to call. Phone bill be damned, he made good money.

On some nights, after too many whiskeys or beers, he’d let some of the burden of Colombia off his shoulders. He’d tell you about the girls, the bodies, the nightmares. You’d meet every revelation with understanding and acceptance, letting him talk as little or as much as he wanted.

It’s simple and comfortable, something he never felt like he deserved. But he can never have simple and comfortable–there’s always a complication. You are Steve’s little sister, after all.

He hates nights like this when the guilt creeps in and gnaws at him. The world is hushed, his thoughts loud. He tosses and turns, sheets tangling around his legs as he wrestles with his heart. He’s falling for you–Steve’s little sister. The same Steve who had his back in Colombia, who became more than just a partner.

He stares at the ceiling, your voice always echoing in his head.

It’s been three months since he met you at that ordinary suburban party. He replays everything in his head to calm himself–your smile, the sweet lilt of your voice, your wide eyes as you stared at him. The sound of your muffled moans escaping from behind his shirt, the warmth of your body pressed against his as you drifted to sleep.

Now, the memory of your soft skin under his fingertips haunts him, an almost bittersweet reminder of what he can never have. It could never work. Steve’s so protective of you that Javi can’t even imagine how he’d react if he knew someone like him was falling for his baby sister. He can’t do that to you… or Steve.

You’re in your twenties, still full of life and promise. While he’s forty, scarred from the long life he’s already lived. He pictures you growing resentful, feeling held back by his world-weariness, longing for someone more carefree and unburdened. He’s not the one for you, though you’re the one for him.

He turns, shuffling his cold sheets up around his shoulder as he stares out the window. One night spent together in his friend’s backyard and guest bedroom. One morning spent in a white-tiled bathroom. Countless nights on the phone.

—-

Javier Peña never reads the news. He doesn’t pay attention to the news. He doesn’t care about the news. He doesn’t want to hear about the news—that is, until you entered his life.

“Any news?” he asks, hearing the rustle of your newspaper crackling through the phone.

“Hmm, lemme see.”

He can imagine you scanning the headlines, your finger running down the text, brows furrowed in concentration. You love the news, love reading and learning, love being informed. Now, Javier Peña reads the news.

"Ohh! The Smithsonian's got a new exhibit opening next week. An Impressionist Sensibility. It says the paintings in the collection are linked through a shared sensibility about American cultural aspirations at the turn of the century."

"Yeah?"

“Yeah, it looks really cool, Jav.”

He loves it when you call him Jav. It’s so casual, so comfortable. Nobody ever calls him Jav besides you. He listens intently as you read, letting the sound of your voice wash over him.

"Sounds pretty interesting. Sounds like something you have to see in person."

You hum in agreement, a wistful note in your voice. "It does. Maybe someday we could…"

The sentence hangs unfinished, both of you acutely aware of the complications that keep you apart. He clears his throat, pushing away the surge of longing that threatens to overwhelm him. Move on, agent.

"My turn," he says, unfolding his paper. "Let's see what thrilling news Laredo's got today."

—

“Tell me I did good, Jav. Tell me to stop obsessing over it. Tell me they didn’t notice I paused a little too long between lines.”

He chuckles. “You did amazing. I’m sure of it, cariño.”

He doesn’t know how you can be so brave, going up onstage in front of auditoriums full of people. All eyes on you. He could never do what you do.

“Really?”

“I’d surely cast you if I could.”

“Mm, I’m sure you would,” you respond. He can hear the smile in your voice.

You’ve been so nervous over the audition for the play. He remembers how you'd practiced your lines with him, how he stayed up late listening to you recite the main monologue over and over just so he could hear your voice. He could hear the emotions. You’re so talented, there’s no way you’re not going to get the part.

“You’re going to get it, cariño.”

"You really think so?" you ask, a hint of hope in your voice.

"I do. When will you find out?"

"Rehearsals start next month, so hopefully soon," you answer.

"You've got me to keep you distracted."

“I swear, I’d lose my mind without you…”

—-

He’s lying in bed awake again. He’s getting to a point of no turning back with you. He closes his eyes, and all he can see is you.

“I swear, I’d lose my mind without you…” repeats through his head.

He reaches for his phone on the nightstand. It would be so easy to call, to hear your voice one more time. But he can't. He won't.

Instead, he pushes himself out of bed, padding barefoot across the hardwood floor of his apartment to the sparse but functional kitchen. He pours a glass of whiskey, hoping it’ll help drown out his thoughts.

This feeling is so foreign to him. He hasn’t felt this way about anybody since Lorraine–and even then, he fucked that up. He shouldn't have let it go this far. Shouldn't have knocked on the door of that guest room, shouldn't have kissed you like a drowning man praying for air. But he did. And now he can't forget.

You’re too young, too bright, and too adventurous. You’re so full of potential. What the hell are you doing talking to him every single night? He has to step away and let you go. But he won’t. Because underneath all of those accomplishments and pursuits, he’s still a coward.

—-

You softly moan into the phone, and he can hear the swishing of the sheets as you get comfortable on your bed. He can almost see you, feel you, remember how sweet you tasted. He thuds his head against his pillow, an ache of loneliness from his heart traveling down to his cock.

“You can’t do that, cariño,” he lowly growls.

“Huh?”

“Moan like that,” he responds. Now, he’s the one adjusting. “I–it’s been a while.”

You chuckle, a low, tempting sound. He’s in trouble. It’s been a month of talking to you almost every night, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t constantly fighting the urge to touch himself while listening to your voice. But he’s resisted, not wanting to cross that line and make things even more complicated than they already are.

“Sorry, my bed feels really good. Quite lonely, though,” you pout, your voice dripping in saccharine sarcasm.

Fuck. He’s so needy for you, he’s already growing hard.

“What are you wearing?” he asks, feeling a little ridiculous at the question, hoping you’re just as turned on as him.

“Don’t laugh. Promise you won’t laugh.”

“What? Why would I laugh?” he smiles, shaking his head.

“Because Javi. Just… don’t laugh or judge.”

“I won’t. Trust me. Tell me what you’re wearing.”

“Your green shirt.”

His spine straightens. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You wear it a lot?”

“Mmhmm, I sleep in it all the time.”

“I’m sure it looks real good on you, doesn’t it?”

“I think it looked better when it was stuffed in my mouth while you were fucking me.”

He groans, his heart racing as he reaches down and grips the heft of himself tucked away in his shorts.

“That was a good night, wasn’t it?” he asks, softly squeezing himself.

“It was one of the best, Javi. I think about it all the time.”

“Me too,” he divulges, remembering the brightness of your eyes, the sweet taste of your lips, the feel of your pussy clenching him. “I also really liked the morning in the bathroom.” You laugh–a sweet sound that makes his heart beat even faster–before you sigh. “I wish you were here, Javi.” “I do, too, cariño.”

“What would you do if you were with me?” you ask, your voice low. You’re such a temptress.

His voice drops to a sultry whisper as he closes his eyes and imagines you in his bed. "I'd start by getting you out of that shirt, real slow. I’d get to take my time and kiss every inch of skin."

You let out a soft moan. "Mmm, then what?"

"I'd push you back onto the bed, trail my fingers up your soft thighs." His own hand mimics the motion, sliding up his leg. "I’d spread your legs and kiss my way up, before giving your sweet pussy a long lick, savoring just how good you taste."

"God, Javi. Please," you whimper.

"Touch yourself for me, baby. Pretend it's me."

He can picture you perfectly–laid out on your bed, his shirt bunched up around your waist, your hand between your legs.

You let out a gasp and a long, low moan. He pulls his shorts down and gives himself a tight, slow stroke.

“Feel good, baby?” he asks, rubbing the bit of precum he’s leaked out across his head.

“Mmhmm,” you moan. “I love it when you call me baby.”

“Baby,” he groans as he spits in his hand and strokes himself.

“Fuck, I’m so wet,” you breathe into the phone.

“I wish I was there with you, baby. I'd slide two fingers deep inside your tight little pussy, curl them just right to make you moan for me." He strokes himself faster, imagining the slick heat of you clenching around him.

You let out a whimper. “I need you inside me.”

“I need to be inside you too, cariño,” he replies, his hand moving faster along his length. “Tell me how badly you want me.”

“I want you to fuck me hard and fast,” you moan. “God, I think about it all the time, Jav.”

He grunts in response, imagining your body writhing beneath him.

“Oh god,” you cry out.

He squeezes his cock harder, picking up the pace as you whine and moan for him.

“You sound so good. I love the way you moan for me. You’re all I ever want to hear.”

“Fuck,” you pant. “Gonna cum.”

“That’s it, cum for me, cariño.”

You let out a loud moan as your orgasm hits. It floats through the phone into his ear and down to his cock. He lets out a long, low “fuck” as he reaches his own release, grunting your name as his cock pulses in his fist, streams of cum spilling out onto his hand and stomach.

All that can now be heard is heavy breathing and soft moans as you both come down from your highs.

He feels the guilt begin to show its ugly head just as you say his name.

“Javi, that was… wow.”

“I know, baby, I know.”

—-

He pulls an envelope out of his mailbox. Your handwriting is neat and flowy–he smiles at the bright green marker you chose.

So, this is why you wanted his address.

He’s opening the envelope before his door even shuts. He hasn’t been this excited to open something since Christmas morning thirty years ago.

He pulls out a handmade card–a dark green Christmas tree adorned with little red hearts is painted on the front, with MERRY CHRISTMAS JAV written in cursive above it–and his face lights in a wide grin.

As he opens the card, a bundle of Polaroid photos tied together with a ribbon falls out and lands on the table.

A simple message is inside the card.

Surprise! I hope you like them. xoxo

With a quick pull on the silky ribbon, the bundle is untied. He slowly flips through each photo, his heart skipping a beat as he assesses each one like evidence.

You’re smiling in a few of them, his green shirt hanging loosely off your shoulders. You look so beautiful, so carefree and happy. He traces a finger over one, wishing he could touch you.

His breath catches in his throat as he flips to the next photo. You’re still in his shirt, but you sit, wearing only that on your bed. Your smooth legs bent to the side of you, your eyes hooded, with a coy smile playing at your lips. He swallows hard as he flips to the next photo.

His mouth goes dry. You’re completely naked, lying back on your bed. Your body is on full display for him. He runs a hand through his hair, feeling slightly dizzy, his cock twitching at the sight of you.

It feels so forbidden, so wrong to have these photos of you.

“Fuck,” he whispers when he turns to the next picture. You’re kneeling on your bed, your hands resting on the back of your neck. Your tits are pushed out, your nipples hard. He can see the glistening wetness between your thighs. He wants to taste you so bad.

The following picture makes him gasp. You’re lying across your bed, one hand gripping the soft swell of your breast while the other is between your legs. Your lip is caught between your teeth. He can almost hear the breathy moans you’re letting out.

He flips to the next one, and his cock throbs painfully against his jeans. You’re on your hands and knees, your head turned, peering over your shoulder at the camera. The sight of your ass makes his mouth water. He wants nothing more than to grab your hips and pull you back onto his aching cock.

With a shaky breath, he reveals the final Polaroid. Your hand is outstretched towards the camera, a drop of your arousal glistening on your fingertip as if you’re offering him a taste of you. The image is so visceral he can almost taste you.

He sits back in his chair, the Polaroids tightly clutched in one hand while the other palms himself through his jeans. This is, without a doubt, the best gift he’s ever received, but he still feels wrong to have it.

—-

“So, any news?” you ask, your voice still a bit slow and low from the orgasm you just moaned out for him. It’s now a nightly ritual–phone sex followed by sharing local articles.

He scans the headlines. “The Laredo Little Theater is putting on a production of Our Town next month.”

“Our Town! I was Emily a few years back.”

“I-I’ve never seen it.” Frankly, he’s never heard of it. He’s never really seen a play–unless he counts the couple of productions Lorraine was in during high school. He wishes he was more cultured for you.

"I still remember my lines. Emily's monologue at the end about realizing what she missed in life. It's always stuck with me."

He leans back against his headboard, intrigued. "Tell me about it, cariño."

You clear your throat softly. "Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it — every, every minute?"

“Wow,” he whispers after a long pause. "That's beautiful, baby.”

“Thanks, Jav. I just wish…”

Your voice trails off, and his chest tightens.

“I know,” he sighs. “Me too.”

He knows exactly what you’re thinking. If only things were different. If only there wasn’t a shadow of guilt and secrecy. He knows he’s already fallen for you.

Silence stretches. He clears his throat. “Your turn, cariño. What’s in the news?”

—-

Another sleepless night, another internal battle, another lonely sunrise, another cup of black coffee to try to wake him up.

The shrill ring of his phone cuts through the silence, startling him from his brooding. He glances at the clock–8:17 a.m.–an unfamiliar number with a DC area code on the screen.

"Peña," he answers gruffly, his voice rough from whiskey and lack of sleep.

"Mr. Peña, this is Agent Thompson from DEA headquarters in Washington. I wanted to inform you personally that we'd like to offer you the position."

The job. The one he'd interviewed for months ago, the reason he'd been in DC. The reason he'd met you. He should feel elated, triumphant even. Instead, dread settles in his stomach and heart.

"Mr. Peña? Are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here. Thank you for the offer. When, uh, when would you need me to start?"

"We'd like you here in two weeks, if possible. Is that doable?"

Two weeks. Fourteen days to uproot his life, to move across the country. Fourteen days to figure out how to tell you… or if he should tell you at all.

"Mr. Peña?"

"Yes, that's fine. I'll make it work," he says, his mind already racing.

After hanging up, he stands motionless in his kitchen, the half-empty whiskey glass from last night sitting on the counter. The job he'd wanted, the fresh start he'd been seeking for so long–it's all here for him. But now, it feels like a curse.

He imagines being in the same city as you, knowing you're just across town. The temptation to see you, to touch you, would be constant. And Steve–how could he look Steve in the eye, knowing what he's done with you?

The guilt gnaws at him, heavier than the weight of everything else. He should be honest, should tell you about the job offer. But the words stick in his throat every time he thinks about picking up the phone.

Days pass in a blur of packing and paperwork. You try calling, leaving a message each time. They start out sweet until the third day when you sound upset.

"Javi, hi, it’s me. I-I don’t know what’s going on, but please call me.”

Each night, he stares at the phone, his hand reaching to grab it. But he can't bring himself to dial. Can't bear to hear the excitement in your voice when he tells you he's moving to DC.

On the sixth day, you leave another message.

“Hey Javi, it’s me again, I… I hope you’re okay. I… did I do something? Please just call so I know you’re okay.”

He has to call you. Has to think of some way to let you down because he knows, deep down, that he can't have you. Not really. Not without destroying his friendship with Steve, not without ruining your relationship with your brother. Not without tainting the pure, beautiful thing that's grown between you.

By the tenth day, you’re mad.

“Hey, Javier. I ended up having to ask Connie if she had heard anything about you, so that was real fun. Listen… I don’t know what the hell is going on. If you found someone else or… got tired of me, but I just—I hope you’re happy. I… I guess I’ll… I don’t know. I hope you’re fine.”

His heart clenches as your voice cracks on the last words. He can hear the hurt, the confusion in your tone, and it tears him apart.

He can't take it anymore–the guilt, the longing, the fear. It's all too much. He picks up the phone and dials your number.

Ring… ring… rin–

"Hello?" Your voice is hesitant, guarded.

"It's me," Javier says. "I'm… sorry."

There's a long pause on the other end. He can hear you breathing, can almost feel the tension radiating off of you through the line.

"Javi?" You sound uncertain, like you can't quite believe it's him. "Where have you been? I've been so worried."

He closes his eyes, leaning against the wall. "I know, I'm sorry. There’s been a lot going on. I… I got a job offer last week. The job in DC is mine."

Another pause. "Oh," you say softly. "Javi… that’s great news. Congrats.”

"Thanks," he says before taking a deep breath, steeling himself for what he knows has to be said. "Listen, I-I think it’s best if we don’t keep doing this."

The silence on the other end of the line stretches. He can almost picture you, your eyes wide with confusion and hurt.

“This?”

“Yeah, talking and… I just fear it’s gone too far.”

"What?" you finally whisper, your voice barely audible. "Why?"

He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He feels his heart break as the words get caught in his throat, but he forces them out. "It's complicated. I’m so much older than you, and you’re… you're Steve's little sister, and I’ll be working with him again. It's not right. It was never right."

He hears you take a shaky breath. "So, you ignore me for over a week and then call to let me know this? I know you’re older than me. I know I’m Steve’s sister. That’s fucked Javi. How could you? I thought we had something speci—”

"I know," he interrupts. "I know, and that's why we have to stop. Before it goes any further. Before anyone gets hurt."

You gasp, and his heart clenches at the sound. He wants to take it all back, to tell you he didn't mean any of it, but he forces himself to stay silent.

“Yes, before anyone gets hurt…”

“You deserve more than me, cariño. I’m old, and I’ve been through so much. You’re still so young and full of life… I’d only hold you back. I’m sorry.”

"I see," you say, your tone suddenly cold and distant. "Well, thank you for your honesty, Agent Peña. I hope your new job in DC is everything you've ever wanted."

The formality in your voice cuts him deeper than any anger could have. He opens his mouth to speak, but you've already hung up.

—-

He stands at the windows of his new apartment in Arlington, gazing out at the lights of DC across the Potomac. Snow falls outside, and he reminds himself he needs to buy some warmer clothing. It’s beautiful, he thinks. His eyes search the horizon, wondering if your building is visible.

His apartment is nice–modern and spacious with sleek furniture that doesn’t suit him. It’s more than he needs, really, but the DEA had been generous with their relocation package. It doesn’t feel like his place at all, but a Polaroid of you that leans against his bedside lamp makes it feel like home.

He'd chosen this place for the view, telling himself it was because he'd always wanted to live somewhere with a skyline again. But deep down, he knows it's because he wanted to look out at the city you love.

He imagines what you might be doing right now. Are you curled up on the couch, reading a book? The newspaper? Are you, like him, standing at a window, looking out at the city and wondering what might have been? Or are you out with your friends, trying to meet somebody else? Do you miss him like he misses you?

He tries to dislodge the thoughts with a shake of his head. It’s been two weeks since that phone call. Since he broke things off. Since your cold voice let him go. He tells himself it was the right thing to do, that he’s protecting you from the darkness that follows him.

In a perfect world, you’d be here, looking out the same window as he wrapped his arms around you. You’d lean back against his chest, fitting perfectly in his embrace. There’d be no hesitation, no guilt. Just pure happiness, waking up next to you every morning. In that world, Steve would be happy for you both. In that world, Javier would be happy. But he knows all too well this is not a perfect world.

—-

He goes to the Smithsonian alone, wandering through the halls of the art museum on a quiet Sunday afternoon. The same exhibit you read to him about. The same exhibit he dreamed of taking you to, holding your hand and kissing your cheek as you gazed at the paintings. He moves slowly, hands clasped behind his back, taking in each painting. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, how to describe what he’s seeing, or how to feel… he wishes you were here to help him understand. None of it makes sense to him. Are the paintings supposed to look unfinished and kind of blurry? He imagines you beside him, telling him all about the break from tradition these paintings represented. He’d nod, pretending to understand, the same way he’s nodding as he reads the guidebook.

He pauses before a painting. Vibrant flowers grow amongst the dappled sunlight–the bright colors remind him of the way your eyes light when you laugh. He can almost hear your sweet voice reading the exhibit description to him again. He wonders if you’ve been here, if you’ve stood in this very spot, admiring the same painting.

As he moves to the next painting, a flash of familiar color catches his eye. For a moment, his heart stops. A woman stands across the room, her back to him, wearing a dress in the same exact shade of green as the shirt he’d left you. She resembles you from the back, and he takes a step forward, your name on the tip of his tongue, before she turns.

It’s not you. Of course, it’s not. All that’s left now is a hollow ache in his chest.

What would he do? What would he even say? What is he doing here, a cop trying to be cultured?

He moves on, trying to focus on the art. He thinks of you again, imagines your voice in his ear. “Art is for everyone. There’s no right or wrong way to experience it. Just let yourself feel.”

Feel. He doesn’t want to feel. All he can feel is how much he misses you. How much he knows he’ll never have this with you, seeing the world through your eyes.

Each painting seems to hold a piece of you. The soft light of a Twachtman landscape captures the glow of your skin in the firelight. The bold strokes of a Sargent portrait remind him of your spirit and personality.

He pauses in front of a Renoir. A man leads a woman, her hand in his. His eyes focus on their fingers intertwined with each other’s, imagining the feel of your hand in his. He rubs his hand against the denim of his jeans, trying to warm the coldness running through his veins.

He turns away, unable to bear the sight any longer. The weight of his regret, his longing, settles heavily on his shoulders as he exits the gallery.

He'd pushed you away to protect you, but being here, surrounded by a softer, more beautiful world, he wonders if he made the right choice.

—-

He finds himself driving through the busy streets of Adams Morgan, the same neighborhood you call home. His heart pounds stronger with each turn as he navigates the unfamiliar roads.

He parks his car and steps out onto the sidewalk, feeling out of place as he takes in the colorful row of houses and stores that line your neighborhood streets. He walks down the street, his eyes scanning the bright buildings until he finds the taco place you’d always rave about.

“I bet it’s just as good as Laredo, Javi,” he remembers you saying. “You have to try it when you’re here.”

He hesitates for a moment before pushing open the door. The small restaurant is packed.

His order is simple: two al pastor tacos and a Topo Chico, just like you’d recommended. He takes a seat at a small table by the window and waits for his order.

How many times have you walked down this very street? Have you sat at this very table?

He takes a bite of the taco. It’s good. Damn good. Almost as good as home. He can practically hear your triumphant "I told you so!"

People pass by on the sidewalk as he eats. He imagines you and him–his arm wrapped around you, your body close to his as you walk around your neighborhood. Your face lighting up as you show him all of your favorite places. He'd follow you, unable to resist your enthusiasm… or you.

The winter wind snaps against his skin as he steps out of the restaurant. He starts walking with no real destination in mind. Colorful murals, bright storefronts, and eclectic homes line the street. This is your world, he realizes. These are the sights you see and sounds you hear every day.

He wonders how close he is to your apartment. He imagines you coming home from work and stopping at one of the little bodegas on the corner for some milk or bread.

He doesn’t think he’d fit in well within this world, but he sure as hell would try, just for you. God, he misses you.

—-

Steve drops a pile of files on Javi’s desk.

“New case. Have some fun. So, how’s DC treating you?” Steve asks, casually leaning against his desk.

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. Trying to hide the sadness that consumes him. “It’s different from Laredo, that’s for sure.”

Steve laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “Yeah, I bet. Hey, you should come over for dinner sometime. Connie would love to see you. I’ll invite the usual group.”

Javier’s heart skips a beat as he tries to keep his face neutral. “Yeah, maybe,” he says noncommittally. “Been busy settling in, you know how it is.”

“Well, find time, Peña.”

The guilt, a constant companion these days, gnaws at him as he watches Steve leave.

—-

The early spring evening is warm. His heart beats faster as he gets out of his car and walks up the pathway to Steve’s front porch.

He steps through the front door, breathing in the scent of a happy home, feeling so out of place among the marital bliss and designer furniture.

“Javi,” Connie breezes over, looking like the perfect hostess she always is. She pulls him in for a hug. He’s always liked her, felt comfortable around her.

"Hey, Connie," he says, returning her hug. "Thanks for having me."

"Of course! I’m so happy to see you," she beams. "Come on, everyone’s outside.”

Everyone. Does that include you? He's never been this nervous, not even when he saw Lorraine after all those years.

He follows Connie through the house, his eyes scanning for any sign of you. His heart races as they step out onto the back patio. Steve's at the grill, chatting with a few friends. There are kids running around the yard, couples mingling with drinks in hand. But no sign of you.

It’s as familiar as all those months ago. He felt like an outsider… until he met you. He still searches for you. Still no sign.

"Beer?" Connie offers, already reaching into a cooler.

"Thanks," he nods, taking the cold bottle from her. He takes a long swig, trying to calm his nerves.

"Peña!" Steve calls out, waving him over. "Get over here, man!"

He makes his way across the patio, overhearing a snippet of conversation. He hears your name and slows his pace, straining to hear more.

“She’ll be a little late. Rehearsals for the play ran long.”

The play. You got the part. In a perfect world, he’d be there on opening night, sitting in the front row with a bouquet of flowers for you. He’d watch you, so proud and in awe of your talent. After the show, he’d wait for you backstage, hold you close, and whisper in your ear how amazing you were.

Pride swells in his chest… until the guilt creeps back in.

“Hey, man,” Steve’s voice breaks through his daydream. “Did you hear me?”

“No, sorry. What?”

"I said, glad you could make it," Steve repeats.

“Oh, yeah, me too.”

“A couple of guys from work are here. I’m sure they’d love to get to know you. I’m tired of answering all of their questions about you.”

He lets out a tense chuckle. The last thing he thinks he can do is pretend to care about a group of rookie agents wanting to get to know the Javier Peña.

He really hates these parties.

—-

An hour passes. The sun begins to set, casting everything in Steve’s picturesque backyard in long shadows. Javi goes through the motions. He makes small talk with his new coworkers and Steve's friends, laughing at jokes he barely hears. His eyes keep darting to the gate, waiting for you to arrive.

He remembers the first time he saw you. You walked through the gate, your flannel shirt tucked haphazardly into your ripped jeans. He couldn’t look away from you. Maybe he knew he needed someone like you in his life–honest, bright, funny, and too cool for him.

He hears the click of the gate latch. His breath catches as he turns.

And there you are.

You look so beautiful. A plaid skirt sits just above your knees, paired with a simple white tank top under a soft, oversized cardigan. His heart hurts as he takes in your beauty, trying not to stare. You look happy, relaxed, glowing. He wonders if you know he’d be here tonight.

His rapidly beating heart sinks when you turn to say something to a man following you through the gate.

The man’s wavy chestnut hair falls perfectly in place, and thick-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, framing bright green eyes. He’s wearing a vintage t-shirt underneath a well-worn brown leather jacket. Everything about him screams, ‘hip theatre guy.’ The exact opposite of an old, grizzled DEA agent haunted by his past.

He envies the man with everything in his entire being. The way he gets to look at you–a wide smile, soft eyes that get to follow your every movement.

Javi’s jaw clenches as he watches you and your handsome stranger approach a group. Your eyes also scan the backyard, and for too quick of a moment, they meet with his… until you look away and laugh at something your companion just said. The sound feels like a knife twisting into his chest.

He’s hyper-aware of your presence all night, watching you from the corner of his eyes, each sight of you a blessing and a curse.

He tries to focus on his conversations, on Steve, on his coworkers–on anything but you. But his eyes keep drifting back. The man who came with you never strays from your side, his hand often resting on the small of your back or brushing against your arm.

He wants nothing more than to cross the patio, pull you aside, and explain everything. To beg for forgiveness, to tell you how much he misses you. But he stays rooted in place, trapped by his own choices and the consequences that followed.

The gathering begins to thin out as the night goes on. He watches as you say goodbye to a few guests, hugging them warmly. Your eyes sweep across the yard again, and for a moment, he thinks you might look his way. But you turn, whispering something to your companion before heading towards the house alone.

Before he can second-guess himself, he sets down his beer and follows you. He slips through the patio doors and can just make out the soft pad of your footsteps heading upstairs.

He follows you as if you’re a perp, softly ascending the stairs–just like that morning after he first met you. The light escapes under the door of the guest bathroom. He takes a breath, steeling himself as he waits for you to come out.

The knob turns, and his heart races as the door opens, revealing you in the soft light of the bathroom. Your eyes widen in surprise.

"Can I... can I apologize?" Javi asks hesitantly.

You shake your head, your voice barely above a whisper. "No, Jav. You can't."

Jav. Fuck. Hearing you say his name makes his heart drop. His hand taps against his thigh, fighting the urge to reach out and pull you into his arms.

"You hurt me," your voice trembles. Each word feels like a dagger in his heart. "I'm... I'm trying to let time pass by. To move on."

“Please, I never meant to—”

His plea is cut short by the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs.

Connie appears, her keen eyes taking in the scene before her. She reaches for your hand while shooting Javi a glance. She understands without a single word spoken.

“Go on, love, go back to the party. Elliott is waiting for you,” Connie softly says to you.

He watches as you nod and quickly leave, not even sparing a glance back at him.

“Javier,” Connie says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “She’s happy.”

He swallows, his brown eyes rounding with the guilt he too often has to hide.

Connie's eyes soften as she looks at him, her hand still resting on his shoulder. She leads him to the guest room where he spent that first night with you.

She closes the door and motions for him to sit on the bed. The same bed he held you close on.

"Javier," she begins, her voice gentle but firm. "I know what happened. I know you care about her. And I know she cares about you. She told me.”

He looks up at her, surprised by her words. "She told you? About us?"

Connie nods, a sad smile on her lips. "She was heartbroken. That first month after you told her not to call, she was a wreck. She tried to hide it, but Steve mentioned you while she was here for dinner one night, and she… she quickly got up and made an excuse. I found her crying in this room. She told me everything.”

“Steve?” he asks, feeling even more guilt wash over him, the weight of his choices crushing his chest.

She shakes her head. “He doesn’t know. I promised not to tell him.”

“I had to let her go–for her, for Steve, for everyone." He hangs his head, staring at his clasped hands. He squeezes them harder, needing to let the pressure out somehow. He searches for the right words. "She’s happy now? With him?"

Connie nods. "Elliott is a good guy," she says gently. "He treats her well. But..." She pauses and then sighs. “But I don’t think he’s you.”

A flicker of hope ignites in his chest. “How do I fix this?”

“I don’t know. If you really want to make things right, you need to tell her how you truly feel."

He nods slowly. “I can't stop thinking about her. About what could have been."

"If you really care for her–if you're willing to face whatever might come from being with her–then you need to let her know. But if you're going to run away again at the first sign of trouble, then you have to let her go. For good this time."

“And Steve?”

“Listen, he’s a big softy underneath it all. Might take him a bit to come around to it, but I’ll hide his gun for you. I know that, in the end, as long as she’s happy, he’ll be happy.”

He nods. He knows you’re the one. “Thanks, Connie.”

She stands, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Just think about it, okay? And whatever you decide, be sure. She deserves that much."

Connie leaves him alone in the bedroom. He runs his hand along the comforter, closing his eyes, and can almost feel the warmth of your body curled against his. He wishes he could hold you again.

He takes a deep breath, his decision made.

—-

The house lights dim, the audience hushes, and the stage lights brighten. The curtain draws back, and there you are, center stage, glowing like an ethereal being.

His heart soars with pride as he watches you mesmerize the crowd with your talent. You embody your character completely, and he’s in awe of you even from his seat in the back row.

He hears the familiar lines of the end monologue–the same lines he heard you recite over and over months ago. They transport him back to those nights spent on the phone with you. The familiar ache in his chest gets tighter, squeezing his heart harder. A lone tear wells in his eye as he mouths the final line with you.

“I’d rather be alone than a stranger.”

The crowd erupts into applause as the curtain closes. You were flawless. He knew you’d be amazing.

You return to the stage, a wide smile on your face, the stage lights glinting off unshed tears in your eyes.

Now’s his chance. He slips out the stage door, walking down a side hallway marked "Authorized Personnel Only." In this hand, he clutches a bouquet of bright flowers and the day’s newspaper.

He pauses at each door, reading the names scrawled on makeshift placards. He finally finds yours, glancing over his shoulder before gently turning the doorknob.

He’s never been in a space of yours before. He knows he has to be quick, but he takes a moment to breathe in the scent of your perfume.

He places the bouquet and newspaper on the vanity, before quickly exiting and slipping out the stage door.

—-

Javi paces in his apartment, unable to sit still. He can still hear your voice and picture how you looked under the stage lights.

It’s been hours since he left the flowers in your dressing room. Did you find them? Did you read his note? Has enough time passed?

He pours himself a glass of whiskey, hoping it might calm him.

As he raises the glass to his lips, the shrill ring of his phone cuts through the quiet. He sets down his drink and reaches for the phone.

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself before answering. "Hello?"

"Javi." Your voice is soft and hesitant. He closes his eyes, smiling at the sound he's missed so much.

“Hey,” he says, a relieved smile lighting his face. “Congratulations. You were incredible.”

“Thank you. The flowers are beautiful… and the newspaper?"

His heart speeds in his chest. “I-I was hoping we could read the news together like old times?”

Silence hangs between the two of you as he waits for your response.

“I’d… I’d like that. What’s your address?”

#read #bookshelf #javier peña fic #angsty fic #angst challenge shelf #ficrec #almostfoxgloveangst2

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bandgie · 10 hours ago

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Hidden Kinks - SKZ (Ot8)

BANGCHAN! | DISCIPLINE

(def). - discipline is a form of roleplay where certain acts are framed as "corrective" or as "punishment."

It's not often that Channie likes to be hurt, but if the mood is set and you mix some pleasure with pain? He's there. Chan likes to be good and he is, but there are times he'll be a little bad and won't listen just to see your eyes turn predatory. Tell him he's not being a good boy, that he could be better, and deprive him from what he really needs. You may not even touch him, but just clicking your tongue condescendingly and dragging a whip/your nails down his skin makes his eyes roll and cock leak after care? needed and a lot of it

LEEKNOW! | IMPACT PLAY

(def). - sex that involves the use of hands, paddles, whips, flogs, or crops on a partner's meatiest, or most nerve-dense, parts.

Complete control. Complete trust. Minho loves being rough with you and how much you're willing to give him. Wooden paddles for your ass and silicone ones for your swollen cunt. The wet smacking, the yelps, your begging for mercy...he thinks he might have something wrong in his head with how much he loves it. He likes bondage too, but because he wants you to struggle in it. To see your body tighten and fight against the restraints when his heavy hand comes down on your face. He's sweet with it strangely, kissing your saliva-slicked lips and soothing over your red marks. after care? obviously! he has ointment too :)

CHANGBIN! | CHASTITY

(def). - to prevent the wearer from engaging in certain types of sexual activity without the permission of the dominant.

Lock him up! That thick cock looks so good in a cage and looks even better when his balls are swollen. This kink pours into daily life if he chooses to wear it to work. But it best when you two are kissing, tongues sweeping deliciously into each others mouth naked. He's so shy, covering his leaking cage with his strong thighs, but all it takes is you opening his knee to see it all. It's twitching in the restraint, begging for any type of friction, but all Changbin gets is your soft tongue. Sometimes, you'll suck on his sack just to see him cry. He pouts so cutely. You think you'll never open the cage again. aftercare? A MUST. changbin experiences subdrop so you need to cater to him even days after.

HYUNJIN! | AMAUROPHILIA

(def). - kink or sexual preference in which an individual is aroused by or attracted to the experience of reduced visibility or blindness, either for themselves or their partner.

It's just super sexy, he doesn't care who wears the blindfold. If it's him, he loves the excitement that pools in his stomach. He tends to drool from anticipation and he'll feel your gentle fingers swipe the salvia and stick it back into his mouth. Not knowing what you're going to do when you're going to do it is so exhilarating. He's on edge, yelping at every touch and caress. Cums a lot this way. When you wear it, he's always touching you. Using one hand to stroke a dildo with lube while the other plays with your folds. He likes seeing you shake your head helplessly. Loves hearing you ask what he's doing he'll just giggle and say "you'll find out." It's all so cute and loving with him. In the end, he always takes off the blindfold and kisses you sweetly. aftercare? always with hyun, no question about it

HAN! | COCK & BALL TORTURE

(def). - a fetish marked by the desire to have pain inflicted on your own penis or testicles.

This may also involve a chastity cage, but he wants to feel you hurting him. Your hands, specifically. Flick the underside of his cock one too many times. Squeeze his tip until his voice turns high-pitched and whiny. If you're feeling extra mean, you'll have him on his knees humping your feet, crying out when you press down too hard. Always a good boy. He might have a potty mouth, but he always listens to you. Han wants to see his cock red, wants to see it throbbing from pain and overstimulation. If you have one of those wands that shoot electricity, even better. Put that on his balls while sucking/licking his tip and he'll be shedding tears in no time. aftercare? yeah. just gentle pecks to his cock to help him come down and a final one to his mouth.

FELIX! | GROUP SEX

(def.) - any sexual act involving more than two partners.

His dream, honestly. He wants to feel hands on his body. Wants to be pushed forward to choke on a cock and then pushed back to bounce on another. Felix doesn't have a preference for gender, he just wants sex that feels like he's being devoured. Maybe you're sitting on his face while he's being fucked. Or maybe he's keeping your legs open, his chest to your back, while someone fucks you. He loves the sweaty bodies, the never ending cum and slick. When one person finishes, another one steps in to take their place. If Felix finishes too soon, he likes turning over and watching them fuck you. Your breasts bounce, your chest heaves, and your face is flushed. Your poor pussy must be so swollen, your mouth so abused, but those hazy eyes want nothing more than utter bliss just like him. aftercare? mostly between you two! it's so sweet. Felix also likes kissing the guests goodbye when they leave.

SEUNGMIN! | PETPLAY

(def). - a form of roleplay where humans take on the persona of non-human animals or their handlers.

He's weirded out by his own kink, but you're so good at making him feel safe. He wants to wear the leash and follow you around on his knees. It takes a while to get into this headspace, to act like a dog, but with you taking the lead and encouraging Seungmin makes it easier. He likes some humiliation too. Tell him things like "does my puppy want to hump?" or "what game does my puppy want to play?" He doesn't answer with words, but with whines, barks, and yips. Sometimes you'll plug his ass with a tail, other times your strap on, but Seungmin does just fine without it too. If he comes too early or disobeys, you call him a "bad boy" or say "I thought my puppy could listen" and though he isn't wearing ears, your swear you see them go down. aftercare? yesss it takes a while for him to come out of his headspace and he may feel embarrassed when he does. needs lots of reassurance (and treats)

JEONGIN! | OBJECTIFICATION

(def). - the act of treating a person solely as an object of sexual desire (a sex object). Broadly means treating a person as a commodity or an object without regard to their personality or dignity.

He just doesn't want to have sex with you, he wants to use you. Complete domination to the point that you're almost not there for you own pleasure (but you always cum anyways). Jeongin chokes you, slaps you, twists and turns you into so many different positions like you're a doll. The fact that you listen so good, obey so well, is also a massive factor in his pleasure. He fucks your cunt so hard you can feel it in your throat. Fucks your mouth so deep you have to plead with him using your eyes to be gentle. Jeongin can lasts for hours if you let him. He absolutely loves the way you squeal when he pinches your clit while rutting into you. You leak so much, cry so prettily. And if you're a really good doll, he'll invite his friends to play with you too. aftercare? obviously & immediately. kisses and holds you close for hours. thanking you and telling you how grateful he is

I think Seungmin's was my fav to write lol

#smut #poly!skz #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids #skz #skz hard hours #skz hard thoughts #skz bangchan #skz changbin #skz lee know #skz hyunjin #skz han #skz felix #skz seungmin #skz jeongin

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yandereunsolved · 3 days ago

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𐚁 Yandere High Honor Arthur Morgan (RDR2) 𐚁

One misstep in a mission led him into what could only be described as a more torturous cycle of love and abuse than he has ever felt before. Real smart of him to fall head over heels, quite literally, with someone hell-bent on locking him up. And maybe he'd be okay with that if you were the sheriff and he'd get to tease you before making some grandiose escape. But you had to be a bounty hunter—and an annoyingly good one at that.

You just don't give up. But neither does he.

He always manages to slip through your fingers, as your heart has evaded his. You'll get him this time or die trying.

He really could leave you in the dust with his trusty steed if he wanted, but it's cute how hard you try.

He pulls on the reins as he narrowly avoids another tree. Damn forests. Always growing those things.

He sneaks a look back at you so eagerly chasing after him, a deer after another one of its kind. How fortuitous.

He shouts at you, hoping to provoke your wrath, "Aye. What's the phrase? Seventh times the charm?"

He chuckles near lightheartedly, but you only hear a vicious cackle. With a single bullet from one of his twin Schofield revolvers, you feel your horse's legs buckle under you before you get a chance to respond. You swear this man can be in two places at once. By the time you have rolled off, not being able to spare a second to look for injuries, and stood up, Arthur is sitting on his high horse, quite literally, holding the revolver a couple feet from your head.

"Sorry, partner. Seems like you winnin' jus' wasn't in the cards."

You raise your hands from your sides, keeping your fists closed, your small backup slip joint knife in one.

"Seems like you're hiding somethin', darlin', or is this just another one of your tricks?"

You realize you haven't responded to him at all, almost frozen. Damn it. Fuck it all. It's not time for your 'instincts' to kick in. You become disturbingly aware of the metallic copper taste overwhelming your taste buds.

"Come on now!" He gets off his horse, yours having limped off, not rideable in its condition anyhow.

"The big bad bounty hunter who has taken in some of Colm's men gets all shy when in my presence." He gets closer. He seemingly walks with ease, but you can see the tenseness of his muscles, a strange mix of conflicting emotions in his weary eyes.

"Seems you're easier than I thought," his chapped lips murmur into your ear, innuendo woven throughout his tone—unashamed, almost.

Your body goes into the motions before your mind has time to make a calculated decision. You open your slipjoint knife to slit his jugular. A dead bounty is better than a dead bounty hunter. His hand wraps around your wrist, twisting it, causing you to drop the knife. You fall to your knees in pain as his grip tightens, no joy in his eyes from harming you.

"A-Ah, hah... fuck me," you breathily moan out, the adrenaline that's pumping into your veins becoming feckless.

You don't know how willing I am to take you up on that offer.

Arthur shoves you onto the dewy ground. Your knees buckle beneath you as your chest makes itself well acquainted with the dirt. He straddles your hips, the familiar sound of rope moving in his… his rugged hands.

The world threatens to turn black on you, but you stay conscious out of spite.

"You'll rot in hell, Arthur Morgan. Arrested or not," you spit out through gritted teeth, your blood seeping into the earth and the collar of your clothes.

Your body sits somewhere between alert and comatose, trying to find a split moment to make your escape before hogtied.

He chuckles.

"You ain't the first person to tell me that. You are the most attractive," he gruffly huffs out.

His thighs squeeze your sides tighter as he roughly ties your wrists and knots them together. He lingers for a moment, admiring you in this position. But he is a respectable man, well, somewhat respectable. So he keeps an 'appropriate,' appropriate for an outlaw grip, on you as he binds your ankles.

"If I was a worse man, I'd kill you." If I was a better man, I'd let you go.

He makes it a point to show the difference in strength as he connects the bindings of your hands and ankles together. His hands wander to various limbs, holding them down as you begin to struggle, frustrated by how long he's taking. How embarrassing this is.

"Kill me or let me go! You won't do it, though, will you? Inside of that twisted, fucked-up mind of yours, you like me. Maybe I remind you of the innocent souls you've tortured, you sick—"

Your voice is dampened by the sweaty bandana he stuffs in your mouth and ties around the back of your head. You still try to shout, albeit quite muffled, and you're getting light-headed again.

Arthur wants to say, 'God, you look good this way. The things you do to a poor man like me.' But refrains. 'I really am too much of a sick, ugly fuck to expect love from you.'

"You talk too much, dear. This ole' trick should shut you up for a while."

He hoists you up onto his horse, securing you to it. In a last-ditch effort, you try to use the leverage of the horse to nudge the cloth out of your mouth. You get it a little ways out and cause one more uproarious ruckus with your mouth.

"Or I could take your tongue, but I suspect you like it."

You can tell by his tone that he isn't joking. You stop and quiet yourself. You almost want to curl up into yourself, but don't.

"Good job, darling. Seems you're finally leaning how to listen."

He talks to you sweeter than his horse. A shiver runs down your spine as your cheeks heat up, all involuntary, of course. As if it couldn't get any worse, he pats the top of your head, rubbing it as if you needed to be soothed like an animal in distress.

"We'll work on it. Together."

He mounts his filly, instructing her to start galloping. You don't know how long this ride will be or if you'll survive, although you suspect you will—and you'll have to play house or give in to whatever fucked-up fantasies are going on in that mind of his. You're too much of everything at this point. So you lie defeated, hogtied like some common criminal, on the back of the horse that belongs to one of the West's most notorious outlaws.

"I’m a poor, lonesome, cowboy." "Poor, lonesome, cowboy." "Poor, lonesome, cowboy." "Taking my darling back to camp."

#yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #yandere rdr2 #yandere rdr2 x reader #yandere red dead redemption #yandere red dead redemption x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #yandere arthur morgan #yandere arthur morgan x reader #high honor arthur morgan #yandere high honor arthur morgan

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dulc3vida · 12 hours ago

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if there was one thing you loved to do with pope, it was sucking his dick.

it gave you purpose. you never felt more important than when you were on your knees, worshipping his cock. pope was always very vocal, telling you how to suck and stroke, when to spit, and praising you endlessly.

"ohhh fuck." pope gripped your hair, the braided pigtails serving as handlebars as he guided you up and down. right now, the two of you were occupying john b's room at the chateau. hanging out with sarah was always a good cover for sneaking around with pope. your parents were happy to leave you unsupervised with either one of the cameron siblings so you took advantage of sarah's friendship. you thanked god for sarah. it made moments like this possible.

pope's grip on your hair became tighter as he began using your mouth like a fleshlight. the obscene wet sounds of you moaning and gagging on his dick filled the room along with the chorus of his own moans. your face was wet with your saliva and it was starting to drip onto john b's sheets. "i'm- i'm..." pope sputtered as he forced your head down, holding it in place as he shot his cum all down your throat.

it sat warm in your belly and you almost didn't want to come back up for air. you did though and while pope layed back on the bed, chest heaving with each breath he took, you held his cock and finished the ritual by cleaning him up.

"pope! we kinda gotta problem." john b's voice accompanied a knock at the door.

"so deal with it." pope grumbled and tossed a pillow at the door.

"rafe's here." it was sarah this time. just the sound of his name and you felt the tug of the diamond encrusted leash and chain tightening around your neck and yanking you far away from pope. you got up while pope put himself away and you checked out the window. sure enough, rafe was stepping out of his truck and approaching the house.

you opened the door to the room and faced sarah, who looked at you amusedly. you hadn't even gotten to clean yourself up and the evidence of your infidelity was all over your face. "john b's stalling." she grabbed your hand and led you to the bathroom. there, she pulled out makeup wipes, lip balm and perfume.

"you don't care that i'm cheating on your brother?"

"he's cheating on you and doesn't feel bad about it. i just wish you were getting more from him."

sarah stuck a piece of gum between your lips and insisted on kissing you to make sure rafe wouldn't taste or smell anything.

"just to be safe, babe." she cupped your face with her hands and kissed you, basically forcing your lips open so she could taste you completely. sarah always took any opportunity she could to experiment with you. she was like her brother in that way, always taking. "mm..." she moaned a little. "perfect. come on."

"jesus sarah, what did i tell you about bringing her around here? you can slum it down here all you want but i don't want her around your little pogue friends." rafe hadn't been expecting to see you here. he was only instructed to come pick sarah up from john b's place by his dad. as far as he was concerned, you were doing some bible study bullshit as he called it.

the rest of the pogues gathered on the lawn to watch the scene, pope sitting and watching you intently. rafe didn't like this. rafe never liked anyone, let alone pope, thinking he could have what was his. rafe knows that pope was probably using whatever nerd charm he had to get in close with you, the virginal weirdo he called a girlfriend.

"c'mere." rafe wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you in deep for a kiss, pressing you against the front of his truck.

rafe always liked putting on a show. he moved his hands up your shirt, squeezing your tits before pulling away and opening your car door for you. pope watched the exchange, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. it was simple things, like watching rafe kiss you after you were just choking on his dick, that made it all worth it.

you got in the truck with sarah, only the two of you knowing everything you got up to on your little adventure to the cut.

@starfxkrinc been thinking about them and sarah alot lately (also rafesarah)

#lamb!reader #rafe cameron x lamb!reader #pope heyward x lamb!reader #sarah cameron x lamb!reader

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evergreen-endo · 2 days ago

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you are literally crazy if you thought i wasn't gonna write this for my pookiepies too. + some extras.

18+ minors dni. perverted jack off/cum analysis ft. takiishi chika, endo yamato, kanon banjo, hiragi toma. pt. 1 here.

takiishi has such a pretty cock. long and tanned and veiny. a hard dick is such an inconvenience to him though. doesn’t really jack off with the intention of self pleasure, just taking care of business. it does always make him feel much better though. he just doesn’t do it that frequently! when he does, he’s pretty quick because he knows what he likes and how to cum as fast as possible. another one that prefers to stand so he can cum into something; like a sink, the shower, whatever. gets really breathy when he’s close. soft grunts and groans as he’s cumming. literally like…squeezes the cum out of the tip of his cock. can i say something? i’m going to say something. and listen. i love this man, i really do. but his cum is foul. all he eats is junk. i really do not think he ever drinks water. it is so, so thick. thickest of all the windbreaker men. and i’m not going to lie to you, it’s the kind that is like super gloopy, and sticky, and tinged more of a creamy yellowish color. it’s a bitch to clean up. and he cums a lot, and has so much stamina.

endo is so slutty with it. leaks so much precum. noisy as all hell, whines and whimpers and moans and gasps. throws his head back a lot, rolls his eyes back into his skull, thrashes around and bucks his hips. edges himself sometimes but he’s just a bit too impatient to do it properly. if he wants to cum, he wants to cum now. the day he discovered his nipples were sensitive he nearly exploded on the spot. gathers up some precum on his fingers so he can tweak and pinch at them while he works himself with his other hand. talks dirty like he’s not alone. so good, so so so good. just like that, yeahyeahyeah. fuck you’re gonna make me cum. gonna make a mess. and he does. strokes so much faster when he’s about to cum because he gets desperate so even if he were to shoot beautiful perfect ropes clean onto his abs, it ends up flying all over the place from the force of jerking his dick around. so out of breath and panting and gulping when he finishes because his mouth is so dry from having it hung open while he plays with himself. also! gets morning wood real real bad. humps his pillows, humps the bed, muffles his moans biting into the sheets, really likes being able to move his hips and thrust into something. again, he makes a huge mess. sweat everywhere he lays from exertion, spit soaked sheets and drool, and of course, cum all over his abdomen and the pillowcases.

kanon banjo is a SLUT. WHORE. and a SKANK. (affectionate). ahem. let me elaborate. he is so depraved. bites his lip till he damn near starts bleeding, the type to get really delirious and giggle and smile with pleasure. realllyyyy likes cock rings. he gets so sensitive and whiny and whimpery, twitches like crazy. edges himself till his tip is bright red. pinches the fuck out of his nipples like can someone get him some clamps. does a lot of breath play! holds his breath for as long as he can, hangs his head off the edge of his bed…genuinely might be stupid enough to try autoerotic asphyxiation but i’m not gonna get into it LOL. anyway. cums hard every time. his cock is so restricted the cum spurts out in forks, like three separate streams shooting out of his tip….n then it sets off his cum kink and he’s gotta scoop it all up and use it as lube for a second round.

hiragi the man that you are. jacking off is the stress release/medicine he can only get in private! gets home from something stressful and beelines to the bathroom to unzip his pants and whip it out. i mean, he strains against those leather pants all day, giving it some fresh air feels good in and of itself. not taking his pants off fully puts a little pressure on his balls and he likes that. sighs so heavy when he wraps his hand around it. def the type to end up fucking into his hand, hips moving more than his arm is. so much deep sighing. his tummy clenches up really pretty when he’s close, and when he finally cums, he lets out lots of sounds that seem really frustrated; breathy, choked groans and strained grunts. i think his cum is a really good consistency, not too thick or thin, but the actual streams seem thin because it shoots so far! he kinda likes the sound it makes when it drips onto the floor. will purposefully move a towel or rug out of the way so he can hear it go plap onto the tiles.

#wind breaker smut #takiishi chika smut #endo yamato smut #kanon banjo smut #hiragi toma smut #venus beyond the grave — ♱#in memoriam — ♱#haunts — takiishi ♱#endo my betrothed — ♱#haunts — hiragi ♱#haunts — kanon ♱

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bewaryofpity · 3 hours ago

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you couldn’t wait for the day to end. not that you weren’t happy, it was quite the opposite actually, but after being awake since way too early in the morning, the ceremony, the dinner, and the afterparty, you wanted to hit the hay as soon as possible. which would’ve been great if it wasn’t for the fact that both you and your now-husband were absolutely shit faced drunk and somehow full of energy.

the party has long ended but the alcohol was still in your system and nico has never looked this good. his jacket still missing, shirt slightly unbuttoned at the top, bottom out of his dress pants, tie sitting around his neck untied, hair a complete mess. but the best part of him was that gold band shining on his ring finger under the elevator light.

your daydreaming was interrupted as he hooked a finger to the fallen strap of your party dress, bringing it back onto your shoulder. his head rested on the elevator wall and with a loving gaze matching yours, his eyes travelled down to your neck, smirk turning from love to lust.

he tested the waters, not that this was new in your relationship, and slowly moved his hand to wrap around your neck, calloused fingers rough against your hot skin. and after he squeezed just enough to get your core warm, already ruining the white lingerie you put on just for him, he brought you closer to devour at your lips.

it was sloppy, hot, wet, and charged with the teasing game you decided to start playing earlier; tongues fighting for dominance and teeth clashing, his hand kept squeezing at your throat with the right pressure to make your knees buckle. he tasted so sweet, almost saccharine, that you couldn’t stop kissing him, and you whined when he pulled away to lead you out of the elevator and into your room. thank god it wasn’t far.

your hands roamed his body, feeling hazy as you dug your nails into the skin of his shoulders to bring him impossibly closer to you. a small fuck left his lips before resuming on biting into the side of your neck, leaving red marks behind.

lost in the moment, you gasped at the unexpected change of pace when he grabbed at your arm and threw you on the bed with force. you tried to turn around and face him, be more comfortable to undress yourself, but he pushed you back down onto the mattress with his large hand covering almost the whole small of your back.

“god, you’re so fucking hot like this” he said as you heard him get closer to you. you giggled, teasing him by wiggling your ass in the air knowing your tight short dress was now exposing your white thong. but your snicker didn't last long. one of his hands came into contact with your ass, a harsh slap echoing through the room, sure of the red print left behind.

“my wife,” he said placing one knee onto the mattress, “my beautiful fucking wife” as his other knee followed. the surface dipped slightly under his weight, feeling his body against your back when he shifted forward, his hands coming to rest by your head.

you arched your back as much as you could, bare ass making contact with the hard on in his pants and grinding. the sensation paired with the comforting weight of his body on top of yours was driving you insane and you started to beg him desperately to touch you, alcohol enhancing your lewd thoughts. and though your pleas fell on deaf ears, his carnal desire matched your desperation and he couldn’t hold himself from taking you just like this.

nico removed himself from atop of you to unzip his pants, fumbling slightly with his belt for the alcohol put him in a dazed state. he didn’t think he could ever crave you this bad, but you’re his wife now and you looked divine, goddess-like, fully dressed in white, symbol of the pure mind you didn’t have because you liked when he fucked you like a whore. and it was turning him on even more.

pants and boxers lowered enough to free his aching cock, he brought two fingers to your core, spreading your wetness around before moving aside your thong string to tease your entrance. your moans were muffled by the duvet underneath you, but that didn’t stop them from making his cock twitch in anticipation and push his fingers further in you.

you called out his name in pleasure, in plea, to stop teasing you and just stuff you full of his cock, but your cunt was squeezing his fingers tight and he couldn’t stop looking at the effect he had on you.

“nico, please i need you”

and he slowly pulled his fingers out, getting a taste of you before stroking his cock, tip red and leaking. he rubbed himself through your wet slit and your mouth stayed open in a silent moan as he slowly slid himself inside your dripping wet cunt until he bottomed out. but you screamed when he held you in place, your ass in midair, and fucked you like you were his own personal toy, slamming into your pussy with deep, rough strokes. you felt too fucking good he could cum inside you right now, yet your screams had him going harder, enjoying this feeling for as long as possible.

you cried out against the bedding, the rapid slapping noise of his body dominating yours. he palmed you softly before smacking the round of your ass. and you moaned and sucked in a deep breath as he leaned down to put his lips next to your ear. "lucky woman you are. you’ll get fucked like this for the rest of your life."

he pumped his hips hard, grabbing at your thighs and your backside. and how he had the perfect view of your body as you took him, cunt squeezing him with each stroke, making him wither.

you cried as he filled you up with his cum, yours coming not long after as he pushed his load deeper and deeper in you until he guided you down flat on your belly with his hand gripping at your ass. you were half crushed under his body weight, but you couldn’t care less, you were on cloud nine.

as he kissed along the back of your neck and ran his fingers softly up your arm, he removed himself from you and you hissed at the empty feeling. you turned around and plopped yourself back on the mattress, admiring the man in front of you, sweaty and panting.

“you ready for round two? because we’re gonna go all night”

and you knew he really meant it when he picked up the discarded tie from the floor to wrap at your wrists.

#this is like 1.1k words i’m sorry #nico hischier blurb #nico hischier x reader #nico hischier smut #nico hischier fic #nico hischier x you #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischier one shot #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl smut #nhl fic #nhl one shot #bewaryofpity writes

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lunarsworld · 20 hours ago

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ִֶָ࿐ jealousy, jealousy

warnings: MDNI, smut, unestablished relationship, unprotected p in v, overstim, squirting pairing: percy jackson x f!reader

(smut under the cut)

as one of the best archers in camp, you helped the new kid learn how to shoot a bow and arrow. the poor kid was a clutz and blushing the whole time, but he eventually got the gist of it. when the lesson was over you started walking back to your cabin and percy joined you. you noticed his eyes watching you and the new kid the whole time. a flicker of jealousy hid behind his eyes but you brushed it off, because it wasn’t like he owned you. the thing that bothered you about your whole “thing” with percy was that he never knew the right timing. “so, gonna start hanging out with that kid too?” he says calmly, however you can tell his tone is harsh. you open the door to your cabin and he follows you inside. “well, seaweed brain, it’s not like i’m your girlfriend! not like you claim me, so maybe now that i think about it i might-“ your sentence is cut off by percys grip around your throat. his grip isn’t tight enough to constrict your breathing but its enough to definitely make you shut your mouth. “not mine?” he chuckles. “we’ll see what you say by the end of the day, if you even last that long.”

he pulls the tie on your oversized shorts and they drop down to the floor. “no panties? ha- for all that talk you know what i like, angel.” he whips your body around so your facing the wall. he immediately frees his cock and spits on it. with no warning or prep he slams his cock into your weeping hole. “so fuckin wet for me angel. ah- your pussy fuckin loves me.” he groans. all you can feel is the tip of his cock thrashing at a violent speed into your cervix. “perce- fuck- m’ gonna cum.” you whine. “so who’s pussy is this?” he questions. you don’t reply, so he asks again, “didn’t hear an answer, angel.” you refuse to give into him that easily. “your not cummin’ till you answer baby, so it looks like we’re gonna be here for a long time.”

he grabs your body and throws you onto the bed. at this point it’s felt like hours of his abuse against your cunt. you were beginning to get fed up and just wanted to cum. the build up and let down of the knot in your stomach was becoming too much on your poor body. even percy himself was starting to feel bad (not really, your walls squeezing around him everytime was never a feeling he would get over).

percy had you in a mating press and was rubbing your clit at an almost extreme speed. through all your crying and whimpering from overstimulation, you begin to realize the friction on your bud isn’t just for pleasure, but its spelling something out. “what - ah- does it spell..” you muster out and he chuckles. “even your fucking pussy knows who it belongs to. just tell me baby and ill make you feel soo- ah- fuckin good.” you feel your climax approaching and there’s no way you can hold out anymore. “fuck baby, ‘m cummin. it’s yours, all fucking yours. i belong to you.” you whine out, fully letting go. “atta girl,” he says and smiles quickens his pace. “fuck- all mine baby. that’s right, squirt on my cock like the good girl you are.” the pleasure washes over your body like a tsunami and feel percy’s release immediately after yours. the hot juices of both of you mixing together was like what your body needed this whole time.

his body drops next to yours on the bed and he pulls you into his chest. “i know i was mean but i meant it y/n,” he mutters, kind of hoping you didn’t hear it. “meant what perce?” he turns to look at you. the running mascara under your eyes, the marks he left on your neck, your swollen lips from his jealousy. and so he said it. “you’re mine, always ‘n forever. i love you.” (like his insane jealousy wasn’t letting you know enough).

#lunarsworld #percy jackson #pjo fandom #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #percy jackson smut

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cha-melodius · 1 day ago

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If you're still doing these, I would love #26 with Lokius! I'm enjoying reading what you've done so far 💖

(Ok, getting to the last two of these from other fandoms!! Thank you for sending this one, I decided to keep my 2.06 theme going. Sorry that this turned into an absolute angst bomb. 😂 Slight canon divergence at the end of season 2. Find the other lokius hug ficlet here.)

26: The hug where you’re both holding each other, and neither of you want to let go, so you hold onto each other until you kind of have to let go or you’re gonna be stuck here hugging each other for an eternity.

The scene is much the same as it always is when he slips back to the Observation Room in the moments before the Loom comes apart. Everyone’s stopped—working, fidgeting, arguing. They all stand, bathed in the golden glow of the fracturing Loom, expressions of awe and dread on their faces.

How many times has he watched this happen? The number is uncountable, surely. Somehow it never gets easier. Somehow it’s even harder now, when he knows the only solution. What he must do to save… everything. What he must give up.

He’s not ready.

He’s never going to be ready.

Still, there’s nothing stopping him from looping this point in time again. Maybe he’s gone… soft, but he can’t feel bad for wanting his last moments of freedom to mean something.

Mobius barely glances away from the Loom when Loki strides over to him. But he turns when Loki puts a hand on his shoulder and frowns at what’s happening on Loki’s face. He’s honestly not even sure right now. It must be dire, whatever it is, because Mobius doesn’t hesitate or say a single word before he pulls Loki into a hug.

They’d shaken hands in the time theater outside of time, before Mobius came apart in front of his eyes. A mistake. How could he have been satisfied with that, after knowing this? Mobius’ arms around his back, pulling him close. The scent of his TVA-issue soap mingled with the subtle spice of his skin, filling Loki’s nose. The scratch of his stubble against Loki’s cheek.

Mobius holds onto him tightly, like he knows exactly what Loki’s about to go do. Like maybe he can change the outcome if he doesn’t let go. He holds Loki like he might be content to do so for all eternity. Loki can’t blame him. He wonders if it might be possible to live in this moment for centuries. Just the two of them, outside of time. For all time, always.

Talk about selfish. He’s tempted anyway.

But he wants more than that for Mobius. The chance to choose his path. The chance to have a life, even if that life doesn’t include Loki. Loki squeezes his eyes closed, though it doesn’t stop the stinging tears from forcing their way out. Any minute now, he’ll pull away and slip back to give himself enough time to tackle the loom before it destroys everything.

“Loki—” Mobius whispers.

Loki squeezes him more tightly, cutting off whatever he might say. “Just— a little more time,” he murmurs back. Any minute now, he’ll do what he must.

Mobius’ arms tighten, and he takes a shuddery breath.

Any minute now.

#lokius #lokius fic #loki series #loki x mobius #lokius fanfic #my fic #hug ficlets #made myself cry at the end of this whoops

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yayll · 3 months ago

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15!Dazai gives me cute aggression 😔😔 i wanna give him kisses and hug him allll the time and watch as his brain just blue screens because he isn’t to affectionate like that or the fact anyone wants to give him affection lime that anyway 💔

this is sooooooo true anon and you SHOULD say it

here at yayll we like to recognize the touch starved wet cat this man is and 15!Dazai not only is that but when faced with genuine affection has no other concept of what to do with it than to mimic it back to you in odd ways should he ever feel the same way. and if he does? it's over for you.

you gave him an unexpected hug? he'll try and give you one back, only for it to be unreasonablly tight and awkward, almost like he's trying to strangle you (he isn't, but he is.)

one day you patted him on the shoulder and he never felt such sweet validation that went beyond verbal acknowledgement... so to show you his appreciation, he patted you as well! on your head... like a dog...

my fav is when you both are clearly aware of each other's feelings and are a thing because then it turns up his cute aggression by a LOT. after that he just does things. he rolls his eyes and huffs like he's soooo annoyed and self sufficient but is secretly smiling to himself (he's so dramatic and needy) he also touches and overall invades your personal space WAYYY more now. it's still awkward and oddly interpreted! but it has purpose, it has heart, and it also has you wondering how could Dazai POSSIBLY get worse than what he already was?

"Okay, I really have to go and report now! I'll get chewed out if I miss another meeting."

he just tightens his grip on your wrist and swings it around like you're both skipping across a field and totally not at mafia headquarters. He smirks as he dismissively croons.

"... Awww, look who's so punctual. I'm an executive, they'll be fine with it. Besides! the timer's not up yet."

(yes he has a timer that you force him to set up when you both cuddle otherwise he will NOT let you go the entire day. BOUNDARIES OR WHATEVER.)

"Er, actually the timer went off 5 minutes ago... you just snoozed it."

He glares at you, and shrugs.

"Oh, that timer? I thought you meant the other one."

"What other one, Osamu?"

"Did you just say my name? Ugh, that's so formal and so uncalled for. I'm adding 5 more minutes to the timer~"

he's secretly blushing so hard every time you address him so casually and directly, he'll think abt it alllll day and night.

it seems you truly created a monster, or maybe you created a safe space for him to be one. either way, he's yours! <3

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bumblingbabooshka · 10 months ago

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One of the best Voyager scenes to indicate Tuvok & Neelix's dynamic and how I think Tuvok is just as if not more 'annoying'(positive) than Neelix is when Neelix pours Tuvok a fresh squeezed glass of a fruit juice blend and Tuvok's like (paraphrased) "I don't want to drink this." and Neelix is like "Can you please try it?" and Tuvok's like "I don't want to, you're really bad at this sort of thing. It's going to taste bad." and Neelix says that Ensign XYZ said she LOVED it, she even had a second glass! And Tuvok says Ensign XYZ could drink poison without a second thought and Neelix is like "Tuvok could you please just TRY it? Just try a little SIP of it PLEASE??" and Tuvok sighs and rolls his eyes and sniffs it before taking a sip and it turns out he loves it. Turns out it tasted good actually. And then after all that Neelix tries to talk to him over eggs (which he's again cooking fresh for him) and Tuvok tells him he doesn't wanna hear "the life history of his breakfast." Absolutely insufferable this man I would have burned his eggs on PURPOSE!!!!

#I love Neelix so much and I think he and Tuvok are very funny together - irritating4irritating #People say 'Neelix is so pushy with Tuvok!' and you know what? I think Tuvok can handle it. I think maybe he does need to be pushed -#down a flight of stairs. (he's my favorite character and he's so annoying...TUVOK!!!!!)#Tuvok: -kicking and screaming- I don't want to drink the juice!!! It's poison!!! You're trying to poison me!!!!!!!!!#Neelix: Can you please drink the juice. The fresh squeezed juice I made for you Mr. Vulcan??? Can you please???#Tuvok: Fine but if I die it's your fault. If I die from the poison you're FORCING me to drink it's on y- Oh this is delicious actually.#and don't tell me 'Neelix didn't make it SPECIFICALLY for Tuvok' bc I know he didn't but he says #'I'll start squeezing that second glass!' after Tuvok finishes his sip so he IS freshly squeezing it #Neelix: -makes Tuvok fresh squeezed juice-#Tuvok: Are you trying to poison me???#Neelix: -talks to Tuvok while making his eggs-#Tuvok: Can you be quiet???#<- TUVOK!!!!!!!! I'M GONNA KILL YOU EHHEHEHEH <3 #Tuvok is the most annoying guy ever bc he doesn't care about what people think and is a snob with a lowkey superiority complex #vs Neelix is perceived as annoying (post his relationship with Kes) bc he cares a lot about being useful and helping the crew and sometimes #is too pushy because of that but listen...I think Neelix is sweet and genuinely trying his best - after the Kes plotline with him ends I #really don't find him objectionable. Just chatty & a bit overbearing maybe Meanwhile Tuvok !!!#Meanwhile Tuvok!!!!!!!!! HHEHEHHE #st voyager #star trek voyager #I think they should have done more with Neelix thinking the crew of Voyager were spoiled - specifically how Tuvok acts Like That sometimes #little lord Tuvok. oH SORRY...for DEIGNING to speak while preparing your eggs your HIGHNESS!!#I think people do a disservice to Tuvok by not talking more about how he's kind of a hardass and a snob v_v also a disservice to Janeway #indirectly bc her bestie is kind of a hardass and a snob and what does that say about her??#I also wish Neelix kept up a bit of that 'these people are crazy and also so soft oh my god shut up about the food being bad - we're trying #to SURVIVE!!! Eat the Leola Root!!' from the earlier seasons...I like when he shows he has a bit of bite #It's just funny and interesting that Janeway isn't friends with Tuvok bc he's 'not like other Vulcans' - she's friends with the most #Vulcany Vulcan ever and I love that for them.#CRIMINAL that we don't ever get any in-depth insight into their friendship #Tuvok

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gutsby · 2 months ago

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Bigger in Texas

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Joel won’t fit.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Size kink (seriously, don’t read if you hate big dicks / disgusting descriptions) Penis and pussy pronouns. Virginity loss. Age gap. Praise kink. Daddy kink. Joel ‘hung like a fucking horse’ Miller is a soft dom and also a good teacher. Competence kink (?)

Note: Somebody made a fic challenge to use penis pronouns, and I can’t for the life of me remember who it was. If y’all find them please show them this and tell them I love their brain 🫠

Update: @sp00kymulderr you’re a legend for this. Dick pronouns are engrained in my brain, and I’m forever grateful.

Word count: 2.3k

This wasn’t the life Joel Miller had pictured for himself.

The dead coming back to roam the world and eradicate most of its population, for one. The cold. Finding his baby brother way out here in Wyoming with a wife and a child on the way. The looks he was getting these days. It’s not like he’d asked to get mixed up with a girl your age. It just happened. And since damn near every-fucking-thing that had “happened” to him since outbreak day fifteen years back had been bottom of the barrel, full-blown nightmare territory, the second he saw a good thing fumble across his path, he’d seized it—you.

You, who were young enough to be his daughter.

You, who’d never seen a man fully before meeting him.

You, who hadn’t squeezed so much as a finger in herself.

But much like his past, Joel Miller was a sordid and sick kind of man, and he had the cock to prove it: presently weeping precum at the site of your softest, tightest hole, smearing the pearly-white slick through your folds with a sound so sweet it was nauseating. Begging for entrance.

“Oughta have a boy your age pop your cherry, kid.”

It was simple.

“Ain’t right havin’ a man my age all in your guts.”

And true.

The head of his cock made another wet, sickening noise through your folds, and as though instigated by the sound, your eyes flitted to the source. You smiled.

“Probably. But I want you,” you answered. Soft.

Joel got harder, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. His gaze joined yours, and the sight nearly finished him.

Beneath him, your legs had spread wider, showcasing that perfectly glistening seam alongside the head of his cock. He looked huge. Or you looked small. Or perhaps it was both, and he was old, and he really shouldn’t be doing this at all, but then his hips stuttered a bit and his length pushed in. Joel hissed and seized the headboard.

It wouldn’t even go in. The tip just stretched the rim.

“Baby, fuck—” Joel whimpered.

“He’s so big.”

Three little words from your lips, and it almost did him in.

Again.

You wriggled your hips and flashed another happy grin.

“He wants in, daddy. I can feel him pulsin’ like I am.”

You volleyed a look up to Joel as if to say, ‘So that means we’re ready, right? Will you let me have him?’

And, strangled by guilt as he was, Joel couldn’t resist.

He let his big, bulbous, leaking head sink in the tiniest bit, and he let out a groan. Your walls were so tight. This was him, too—his tip was oversized, just like the rest of him—and when it notched in an inch, Joel could see the pain flash quick in your eyes. His hips moved to retreat.

But then your heels were lifting and digging in his ass, and though strained, your voice made it out, weakly:

“Don’t, daddy. I want him.”

Joel couldn’t dream of refusing.

And his vision blurred more at that word, him.

“I-I know. He wants you too, baby—”

Another quarter-inch.

“—so, so bad.”

“Daddy!”

Joel had to blink to try and wake from his daze. His tip was so warm, hugged so perfect and snug and wet, that he didn’t even realize that was all that fit. He was stuck.

You whimpered again.

“‘S’too big, daddy. Just make him go in.”

Your eyes rolled with indignation and overwhelming pleasure alike, and your hips squirmed again. This time, you tried to nudge him in deeper, but your body simply wouldn’t budge; you’d reached the widest part of him.

“Honey, it’s—”

“Hurtin’! I need you inside me.” you cried, impatient.

“Just takes a little time to get there, darlin’—”

“Well, get to it, then. A tip ain’t enough.”

Joel’s face flushed. He might’ve been forced to bite back a laugh under any other circumstances, but this was your virginity. His bed. Your naked bodies, together, tonight.

He wasn’t about to rush it now and fuck everything up.

“This tip’s about to paint your pretty insides white and make you wait til next week to try again if you keep it up.”

That made you go still.

You shook your head while Joel released the headboard from his grip and took your hip in it instead. He grunted.

“Sweet pea, you gotta see—” he resumed, voice low, “—it won’t feel good for you or me if I just…push right in.”

You sighed, feeling his hold tighten.

“Tongue and fingers only do so much. You gotta learn.”

You whined, digging your feet in deeper when his tip drew back to your entrance. Looking a bit squeamish.

“Be brave…and patient for me.”

From the look in your eyes, Joel could tell you probably hated him right now. That was just fine. He adjusted his hips to a more comfortable place, and then he pinched your hip bone. He nudged you back, and he let you wait.

Then, right when you opened your mouth, he sank in.

Joel thrusted with only his tip, the size of a small lime, and he fucked your hole gently. Back and forth. Shallow.

It did enough. You squeezed both his forearms.

“Oh, daddy.” Your bottom lip trembled as you said it.

With his free hand, Joel smoothed your hair back.

“Yeah, what is it, baby?” he murmured, dulcet as ever, “Thought you said the tip ain’t enough for you, sugar.”

His words came slow. His strokes were delivered quick, though tenderly. Your brain appeared to be in a fog, or a trance, as your chin dipped down toward your chest, and you watched him breach the first inch of you repeatedly.

“Curious little thing.” Joel couldn’t fight the chuckle now.

“He’s so…” you trailed off.

You squeezed his arms, and he squeezed your hip back. He let you watch him fuck you with only his tip, and when your head began to tilt back from the strain, he reached up with his other hand and held the back of your neck. He felt you clench at that, and you both groaned.

“So…big,” you finished, eyes glazed.

“I know.”

This went on for the longest time: Joel stretching the first precious inch of your pussy with the head of himself, you watching and breathing deeply, whimpering occasionally, and him holding at the nape of your neck like a softer touch might lose you to him forever. Was this teaching? When you clenched again, he reckoned it was.

“That’s it, honey. Watch her swallow me.”

“Stretches real pretty for the tip, doesn’t she?”

“Bet she can’t even fit another inch of this cock.”

Suddenly, your head was jerking up under his hold.

Eyes flaring with a hot, juvenile kind of anger: “I can!”

Joel clicked his tongue against the backs of his teeth and pretended not to hear. He also had to feign indifference when your walls tightened and all but choked his head and a wave of new pleasure surged up through his body.

“She can, Joel, I’m serious!”

Another two seconds of this and Joel sensed he might see tears. Though his gaze had trailed up to yours, and the look in his appeared stern, deep down, he was just as quick to want to cave. He just hid it better than you did.

“You think so, sweet pea?”

“I know so. I need it.”

“Need him?”

“Y-Yes.”

How sweet you seemed. How naive you must be.

Joel might’ve been mean, but he wasn’t cruel. He also liked teaching lessons as much as he enjoyed showing you the way, so in the next second, he obliged. He took the last shallow thrust of his tip and sank into your cunt.

As he filled you, you whined. It only took an inch or two.

“Da-a-ddy. Please.”

You must’ve been begging for lenience. Joel retreated.

Then, much to the man’s surprise, you kicked your feet. Not in relief but in protest, shaking your head up at him:

“Put him back. Please. D-Deeper.”

It was as though Joel’s brain had exited through the back of his head and all rational thought escaped him, for the moment. The only voice he heard was yours. It was pleading. And in between your legs, you were soaked.

So drenched to allow him another inch. Then another. Then another. Joel fucked in gently and felt a seismic wave of pleasure seize his limbs—and likely yours, as well. It was as though in two blinks, you’d forgotten the pain altogether. You were suffused with need instead, eyes wincing and lips curling and sounds leaving your throat like an animal in heat. Want him deeper, please.

Joel sawed back and forth with just those five or so inches and made you writhe underneath him. Felt you clamp down on his thick, slippery cock and heard the remnants of your shared arousal making sounds as your body accepted him. Stretching wider. Getting wetter. Bringing him closer to the edge with every breath.

“She’s doin’…so good f’me,” Joel told you, brainless.

His thumb drifted to your clit. He rubbed it gently. No sooner had he finished the first circle around that nub when your hips were stirring again—this time incensed.

“Daddy.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

Joel kissed the top of your head, thumb insistent. When his eyes met yours, he was surprised to find them wet this time. Tears pooling and streaking down to your temples while your body bounced gently beneath his thrusts. A whimper trembled out, and Joel slowed.

He could tell from that look you didn’t want him to stop, though. It just felt so good. So, instead of dropping his pace too much, Joel cupped your chin in one hand, and with the other, he kept thumbing at your clit. Humming.

“Poor thing’s never had something this big in ‘er, huh?”

You shook your head. Cried a little more.

Joel kissed the tears on one side, lips smiling as he did.

“I can tell, baby. But she’s taking it so well.”

“Y-Yeah?”

His hips sped up a little. The thrusts were still shallower than they normally would be, given your state, but they seemed to be working well enough. You winced again.

Joel kissed the other side of your face to take more tears.

“Uh-huh,” he answered, “Openin’ up real nice for daddy.”

It was like his words worked as well as his thumb on your clit. You whimpered again, lips parting a little wider now, and the sound that came out was as desperate and feverish and fuck-drunk as Joel had ever heard it.

“S-Say it again,” you pleaded.

“Say what?”

“That he’s…stretchin’ me open. Makin’ me his.”

The soft, slick resonance between your body and his seemed to amplify even more—you were getting wetter, and Joel’s thrusts all but shook the bed with their force.

His eyes darkened when he felt you tighten again.

“Yeah? You like hearin’ all the filthy fuckin’ things your daddy’s doing? The way he’s breakin’ you in for him?”

You nodded. Your throat constricted with a moan.

And, just when a fresh set of tears seemed to be close on the horizon, Joel lowered himself to you. He held you to his chest, hips working relentlessly, and he watched your face screw up in pleasure. A trace of pain surfaced again, but it was soothed with a kiss. Joel grinned against you.

Between your thighs, his cock was throbbing with a feeling just as big. He knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer. Hurting and aching and needing as you were, he had to make sure that you would cum first.

When his cock grazed a fleshy, sensitive patch inside your walls, he knew it wouldn’t take much. He went on:

“C’mon, sugar. Daddy’s split you open on his cock so nice, least you can do is cum for him. Can you do that?”

His nose brushed yours. His thrusts sped up. You nodded, quickly, and when he shifted in the bed with his thumb still on your clit and his lips and his stubble grazing your mouth with every push of himself, he felt it.

It was a small pulse, at first.

Joel thought you might be adjusting—clenching—again, when the lips that were trembling against his own parted more. Your arms wound around his neck, and suddenly the throb of your walls around his member got tighter and tighter and tighter. One more second and your cunt might’ve squeezed the hot, sticky seed right out of his body and flooded your insides with it, but then came release. The ‘o’ of your mouth let out a shriek, at last, and your body went soft around him, beneath him, whining in turn, ‘Daddy, daddy, please’ while the muscles once taut and unflinching gave him reprieve. Fluttering repeatedly.

Joel fucked you through it. He talked you through it.

He stroked your hair, and he held you tight. Called you his sweetheart, pretty thing, perfect girl, you’re doin’ so good f’me. Keep going. That’s right, cum all over daddy. He told you to take what you needed, and without another word, he felt just that. Your cunt spasmed around him, and you consumed every inch he gave and drank every drop of spend shooting out in thick spurts.

You fell boneless on the bed when all was said and done.

You looked happy, and that made Joel even happier.

He stroked your cheek, and you leaned into it, clearly drained while your gaze held his in a weak sort of look.

It was soft. Loving, even. It could’ve been romantic.

Then Joel’s hand slipped down to the nape of your neck again. Your muscles were limp, like all the rest of you, but somehow, he was able to hold you up. Tilt your chin a bit.

Make you peer down between your shaking legs, where his cock was still sheathed inside you—partly, anyway.

Your eyes widened. Joel grinned.

“You did great, baby. Ready for the other half of him?”

can y’all believe this image is what inspired this fic HA

it’s only Thursday i’m sorry 😔

#I WROTE THIS IN A FUGUE STATE LISTENING TO KEITH WHITLEY #IF IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE IT’S PROBABLY JUST BC I’M SLEEP-DEPRIVED AND STUPID #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou #the last of us fic

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