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float-me-now · 1 year

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I have nothing against Summer but I literally dread every scene with her because I know that it's gonna include a super idiotic and biased take on why cowboys are always right, veganism is stupid and vegans are ridiculous spoiled idiots that it's fine to scoff at and I hate that shit honestly

John going on that stupid tirade about how 'unnatural' it is to be born in hospitals - DUDE that's called progress and I've never heard a vegan say that they hate hospitals??? Their point is that animals shouldn't fucking suffer like they do in John's ranch (for example) so what the hell does it have to do with hospitals wtf 😭

Also that fucking dinner. 'She can eat grass' come on, I'm sure elementary kids can come up with more original insults for vegans than this one.

And did I really hear Beth, who supposedly grew up on a ranch, lecture Summer about the fact that all herbivores have a 4 chambered stomach when FUCKING HORSES LITERALLY DON'T???????? 💀💀💀

Do they even read what they write?? (Rethorical question I'd say)

#not the 100 #yellowstone #yellowstone pn #yellowstone 5x05 #5x05 #watch em ride away #summer higgins #beth dutton #john dutton #pro vegan #ur meat-loving bullshit is getting stale pals #'being vegan makes no sense because you could accidentally kill an ant to grow soy so it's no different from torturing and killing a cow'#do you hear yourself #ridiculous

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couleurlocale · 1 year

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Yellowstone (2018- ) 5x05

#yellowstone #5x05 #watch 'em ride away #finn little #piper perabo

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puppykento · 1 month

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daddy doesn't share - stepdad!toji x fem!reader [drabble]

a/n: i literally think about... stepdad toji once a day

cw: 18+ content, stepcest, daddy kink, possessive toji, p in v, hair pulling, creampie, cheating(he's married to reader's mom), implied murder threat(not reader)

Toji wasn't meant to be home for another few hours - with your mom out with friends, you thought you'd easily be able to sneak your boyfriend into your room and have some fun with him. You'd clearly been having too much fun, 'cause you don't even hear the footsteps leading up to your room or your door opening.

"Ay, you hungr-" The words get caught as soon as he takes in the sight in front of him. His stepdaughter on her bed with a boys hand halfway up her skirt. His grip on the door handle tightens enough that the wood it's attached to creaks in protest. You pull away from your boyfriend, but not quick enough.

"The fuck is this?" He hisses, his gaze flicking from you to your boyfriend. Toji's gaze is harsh and unyielding, and you're not surprised to see the way the guy shrinks back in fear at the look your stepdad gives him. "You got about three seconds to leave, kid, unless ya wanna end up on a missin' poster."

You're even less surprised to see the way he scurries off immediately. Toji doesn't even wait until he hears the front door shut before he's on you, pinning you down to the bed. He grips your wrist in one of his strong hands, the other gripping your face. He pushes down on your cheeks, causing them to squish together and make your lips pucker up.

"This how ya gonna act now, hmm? Knew you were a brat, but didn't take you to be a fuckin' slut." He growls, the corner of his lip curling as he looks down at you. You do your best to shake your head, but his hard with his grip on your face.

"No, dad, I'm not. Didn't mean to upset you." You tell him, voice muffled by how's he's got your lips all smooshed. Toji isn't stupid - he knows by 'didn't meant to upset him', you mean you didn't mean to be caught.

"You didn't? 'Cause daddy is real fuckin' mad at ya, babe. So you're gonna have to make it up to him, y'hear?" He doesn't wait for any sort of response from you, but he uses his grip on your face to force you to nod, a huge grin spreading across his face at the sight.

"Atta girl," he murmurs, letting go of your face and giving you two light smacks to the cheek. "Now, you're gonna let me do what that boy was gonna do to ya, yeah? I don't wanna hear no bitchin' or whinin'. If you can spread your legs for him, you can spread 'em for daddy."

˗ˏˋ ☆ ˎˊ˗

"Fuck, baby. Cunt's even better than your mama's." He groans as he bottoms out in your tight walls in one thrust, his hips smacking against the fat of your ass. He's got one hand gripping onto your hair, his other hand gripping one of your hips to pull you back to meet his thrusts.

His cock is a bully, the girth of it splitting you open as he bumps into your cervix everytime he fucks into you. Every shift of his hips feels like it's punching the air out of you, his fist forcing your face against the pillow.

"Takin' me so well, princess. Knew you were a slut. Your mama cries like a fuckin' bitch if I try 'n fuck her right." He grunts out, pounding you against the mattress. Your pussy clenching around him, trying to suck him in everytime he pulls back.

"She don't even want me to leave... your cunt's just beggin' me to stuff 'er full." His words make you whine, your cunt clamping down on him as you feel the coil in your stomach snap, your pussy gushing slick all over him. His nails dig into your skin at the sight, a loud groan spilling past his lips. His thrusts grow sloppy as he chases his own release. His hips rut his cock into your sloppy hole until he shoots his load deep inside of you, his hips stuttering as he rides out his orgasm.

He lets out a shaky breath, his hand slowly loosening in your hair. He pulls away from you, his eyes flicking down to watch his cum leaking from you before he gathers it back up onto his fingers and pushes it back inside.

"Keep daddy right there, baby. Gonna fill you up a few more times before mama gets home." He coos, using his other hand to give your ass a little smack. He pulls his hands away, watching your fucked out face with satisfaction.

"Oh, and darlin'? Next boy you bring home is gonna end up buried in the yard. Daddy doesn't like sharin'."

#nyx drabbles☆#toji♡#jjk smut #jjk x reader #toji smut #jjk toji #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you

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chaosandmarigolds · 28 days

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yeah yeah Simon Riley with an equally badass partner sounds great but-

pre-k teacher?

Simon swore he had never seen something so...perfect in his life, and he had seen something pretty amazing things for all of the horrible things

Simon who is pretty certain he isn't good for you, after all he towers over you and whenever he does come by to help Price with a bake sale the kids stare up at him as if he's quite literally...a ghost

Simon and all of his scariness that melted away when you smiled up at him, a sweet thank you on your lips as you took the box to help clean out your classroom for the summer

Simon who told price he would find a way home on his own so he could stay to help you get all of the decoration down from the walls and get everything packed away

Simon who would snatch something he deemed too heavy with a hoarse, 'I gotchit, luv' not even realizing the pet name slipped out because it felt so...natural

Simon even though he tried to make your son sit on the small patch of carpet and keep him entertained with his book- he ended up becoming a playgym and babysitter while you did most of the heavy lifting

Simon who found your son to actually be pretty neat, unlike a lot of other children, telling the kid very censored versions of his time in the war as the little guy sat atop of his shoulders

Simon tried to very politely decline the dinner invitation (plus ride home) once the room was all packed up but gave in when you aptly took his hand and began to drag him to your car

Simon sat in the passenger seat as you apologized for the toy car that lay in the seat as you buckled your son into his car seat, smiling at the small photo that sat snug on the car screen

Simon encouraged the boys to sing along to the obscure children's song while you scolded him for it in the form of a light pat on the leg as you drove to the nearest child friendly restaurant (chick-fil-a or something along those lines)

Simon who paid for the dinner against your many denials and used it as the perfect excuse to hold your hand as he tapped the card against the reader

Simon who watched in wonder as you helped your son get his little boots untied so he could go play in the play area, your delicate hands and smile upon your perfect face...

Simon listened intently to everything you rambled about, from the happiness of teaching and why you chose it to your son and how he was the greatest blessing in disguise you had been given- funny, because he thought that about you

Simon when he heard that you would have to find a nanny for your son for over the summer since you'll need a second job wouldn't let that be for even a millionth of a second

''ll watch 'em, luv."

"Simon, that's so kind bu-"

"No buts, like the lil' guy, no problem."

Simon who does like the little boy you call your son, but who was mainly using the free babysitting as a reason to see you

Like it?? Part two is right Here!

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shotmrmiller · 3 months

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this is just another pathetic!simon blurb. Not the second part to this. unedited.

Johnny is Simon's wingman.

One quiet evening, Johnny sits you on the bed and asks you if you'd do Simon a solid.

"A favor is me washing his clothes, or making him breakfast, Johnny! Not sucking him off!"

He is completely undeterred by your reaction and just grasps your hand to press a kiss on it. "Ach, dinnae be like that." He's out of his fucking mind, you think, and you move to walk away when he blocks the exit with his body.

"Bonnie. Just hear me out. Ghost, err, Simon, he's lonely. He's a big man, with an oppressive air about 'em, aye? His stare is unnerving to say the least. Lasses run for the hills when they see em— if they aren't frozen in place with terror."

You can feel your soft heart crack because Simon is so sweet, so kind— how can anyone be afraid of him? and that's what you tell Johnny.

He tightens his lips into a firm, white line to keep from telling you that the Simon you think is just so sweet, has shoved his tactical knife in between the ribs of his enemies remorselessly, and breaks their necks without a second thought. He snuffs out life as if it were the only thing he was good at.

"Aye, bonnie. He's not very good when it comes to lasses. He can be intense, and not a lot of people can handle that," Johnny kisses the palm of your hand, "But not ye— yer good at handling intense." And then he says the most pitiful thing you've heard. "It's been decades since someone's touched him willingly."

Johnny's eyes glow as he physically sees you give in, and you've barely given your assent when he's bolting out the bedroom door.

With a shaky exhale, you get up and start to change into something more comfortable. You're probably gonna be on your knees for a while.

You gape once you see Simon pull out his manhood. "Er...How are you, uh- what?"

Simon's cock is huge. Monstrous, even. It's so heavy it doesn't even stand erect— just falls downward. He's so thick, you don't think you can even wrap your hand around it. His balls hang low— full and would overflow your hand if you cupped them.

At least he trims.

Simon took his mask off for this, so when you look up at him through your lashes, his cheeks are ruddy, and he's nervously biting his bottom lip.

In a comforting gesture, you extend your hand and take his hand in yours, applying gentle pressure to his curled fingers, coaxing him to let go of the tension.

"Relax, Simon. You're alright. Nothing I can't handle."

Johnny is watching you proudly as he sits next to Simon on the edge of the mattress.

"Aye, LT. She'll treat ye right, wont ye bonnie?"

You nod, and shuffle closer, to be inches from Simon's length.

"I've got you. Just feel, hm?" Slowly and deliberately, you interlace your fingers with Simon's. "I'm gonna start now, okay?"

Sticking your tongue out, you tentatively lick his slit, tasting the leaking pre-cum, and swirl your tongue around his head. When you encase your lips around his tip, his hot, salty seed is instantly coating your tongue.

You let go of his hand to wrap it around him and pump as you bob your head, helping him ride out his orgasm. The moment you feel him stop twitching in your hand, you pull away and are about to swallow— only for Simon to lean down and slant his lips over yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth. He curls it around yours, completely uncaring that he's tasting himself.

He breaks the kiss and licks his cum and your saliva from the corner of his lips.

Johnny laughs as he reaches down to wipe the mess left behind with his thumb.

"That was a filthy kiss, wasn't it bonnie?" and then he turns his attention to Simon, murmuring into his ear loud enough for you to hear. "How was Bonnie's mouth, LT? Was it like ye hoped? Her slick tongue against your slit? I bet it felt heavenly."

You don't know if it's the thought of your lips wrapped around him, or if it's Johnny so close to Simon's ear that his lips graze the shell of his ear, but Simon's length stirs, rising to half-mast.

It's been 2 minutes, and he's ready to go again.

Simon must've gotten more comfortable, or his mind is simply hazy with lust, because the moment you put him into your mouth, he harshly thrusts into you, blocking off your air and triggering your gag reflex.

The hurck you choked out was unattractive and thank goodness Johnny was here because his reaction was almost instantaneous.

"Ghost, no— ye cannae do that, aye? Yer much too large for her, have tae take it slow," and chuckles. "Otherwise, she might bite."

Simon speaks for the first time that evening. "I don' mind a little teeth."

Johnny cackles. "Whether ye like it or nae, ye have tae be considerate. Let her work ye, she knows what she's doin'."

You stick him in your mouth again, and this time flatten your tongue as you go as deep as you can, and curl it to drag along the thick vein on the underside of his cock when you pull back.

Johnny hisses and asks Simon if it feels good. If the tip of your tongue is snagging on the ridge of his flared head— if it feels like your throat wants to swallow him whole.

Simon's ears are red, and he's panting harshly as he jerkily nods at what Johnny's saying, never looking away from you as you work him into another peak.

He comes with a snarl when you cup his balls, and a fingernail scrapes the thin, sensitive skin of his perineum.

Johnny coos at Simon, "Oh, that must've been delicious, the way her fingers stroke ye. The way her throat closes up around ye when ye push a little too far."

Simon spurts more cum onto your tongue when he hears that.

You've been on your knees for what felt like hours, and Simon comes for the fifth time that night when you slightly pinch the tender skin of his head with your teeth.

This time, Simon grabs himself to come over your face— viscous, globs of cum over your eyes and nose. He taps his cock on your cheek, a sticky slapping noise resonating in the room.

You sit with your eyes closed and hear someone get up and walk toward the bathroom, hopefully to get you a bloody towel, when you feel a strong, wet tongue drag across your cheekbone.

"Gross, Simon."

"Nae, bonnie, it's really not that bad. Otherwise, ye widnae have swallowed most of everythin' LT gave ye."

"Gross, Johnny."

@pieckyghost i aint finna get locked up again!

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod #simon ghost riley smut #john soap mactavish x reader #john soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #simon riley #ghoap x reader #drabble

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envy-of-the-apple · 2 months

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The Earth Kills the Moon

Dark!Gojo Satoru x reader

Word count: 6.3k

Part two of The Sun Eats the Moon

Synopsis: A retelling of The Sun Eats the Moon in Suguru's perspective

(Warnings: forced relationships, bullying, non con touching, non con kissing)

Suguru liked you.

It wasn't even a crush. A passing interest, maybe. You were pretty. You had a nice smile. Though, he'd never directly spoken to you, he could tell that you were kind. Not in the artificial cherry most people were. Natural, like honey, never spoiling. You share the same homeroom as Satoru, and he'd always tended to be observant, unlike his friend. One thing he liked about you was how observant you were. You were constantly looking out for your friends, mere acquaintances, and everyone in your vicinity. Often, Suguru wondered if being a people-pleaser was natural or from a fear of not fitting in.

Suguru is observant. He notices the lingering gaze Satoru gives you when you walk away, hurrying to catch up with the rest of your friends. Satoru then turns back to the carton of chocolate milk you'd left him.

"Cute," Satoru says after a minute. It's more of an afterthought than anything. He pops the carton open. Suguru hears the fabric tear. He hums in agreement. The topic switches to something else, a hot celebrity maybe? Suguru can't remember. That day had been so insignificant to him. It hadn’t mattered to him for Suguru to remember anything further.

A few days later, Suguru noticed Satoru was spending a lot more time with you.

It was hard not to notice, actually. His friend attached himself to you like he'd die if he couldn’t. Satoru went everywhere with you now. Suguru caught him walking you from school, offering you rides in his new car, following you to the lunch hall. And if he couldn’t go to where you were, he’d drag you back to him. Watching you and Satoru was a bit like watching two magnets. North pole and South pole. So different, yet constantly finding the other.

“Tryna’ run away from me, now?” Satoru asks, a teasing lilt in his voice as he watches you fiddle with your bag.

You laugh, continuing to fish out your lunch box. “Just grabbing lunch.”

“Eat with us,” Satoru insists, “we found a great spot up at the rooftop.”

You meet Suguru’s gaze just then. He’d been silently lounging on a nearby desk, observing the two of you. He gives a smile. You return it. Polite. He wonders if your mother taught you to smile like that.

“I thought students weren’t allowed up there?” You ask Satoru.

The boy rolls his eyes. “So, who cares? It’ll be fun.”

You pause, right then. The tiniest of hesitation. Suguru wonders if you’re noticing just how different you and Satoru were. You, the people pleaser, meek, always more than willing to bend towards authority. Satoru was rougher, more resilient, uncaring of signs and rules. The gap between the two of you is astronomical. Could you feel it as well?

Whatever you’re thinking, it’s gone in a moment. You rise, giving Satoru another laugh. To Suguru, it sounds pretty.

“Well, have fun for me. Besides, I can’t ditch my friends. They’re waiting for me.”

With that, you give both him and Satoru a tiny wave, before disappearing out of the classroom. Suguru waves back. Satoru doesn’t. Instead, he keeps his eyes on your back until he can’t see you anymore.

“Got ditched again, hm?” Suguru teases. Satoru only groans, tossing his head back as he leans dangerously on the chair.

“Always leavin’ me for ‘em, too,” he complains, “so fuckin’ annoyin’.”

Suguru can only smile, getting up to follow his friend out the door. He can barely count how many times he’d seen this before, each with a different person. It starts the same. Satoru will cling onto you for a couple more days, and then ask you out. When you say yes, he’d date you for a few weeks before eventually getting bored and dumping you.

It’s a cruel cycle, something that’s just an inevitability with Gojo Satoru. The boy can’t stay in one place, he’s constantly moving around, never one to stop. For Satoru, Suguru was the most permanent thing in his life. Which made sense, they were pretty similar in terms of ideals.

A cruel cycle, and Suguru feels a tiny bit of sympathy for you. You were sweet, unlike the type Satoru typically went for. Honey. Natural. Truthfully, Suguru was a little disappointed as well. The type of disappointment he’d feel when someone took the last crab stick before he could. A fleeting feeling, one that ultimately wouldn’t matter.

◉

From the day they first met, Suguru knew one thing: Gojo Satoru has never been told no before.

It made sense. He was the only child to one of the most powerful families in the country. Spoiled from day one, some could say. Satoru grew up knowing nothing but wealth and prosperity. They met when they were both still in elementary school, still with high-pitched voices and large eyes. Suguru’s family was fairly affluent as well. Now that Suguru thinks back, perhaps their meeting had been orchestrated by meddling parents in order to form more connected. It didn’t matter, either way. It had benefitted all three parties, after all.

Yes, Suguru knew from the moment Satoru pointed at him and declared him his ‘best friend’, that Satoru had never been told no before.

Satoru was the Sun. The universe revolved around him, catered to him. Suguru supposed he wasn't much better considering he too spoiled his best friend in that sense. They were different. They'd been born different, coming from families who cherish them with wealth and power. Suguru supposes it was natural for them to be so intertwined. Like calls for like.

Suguru isn’t aware of the exact details, but he knows you rejected Satoru.

The boy doesn’t have to tell him. His friend is uncharacteristically quiet during that weekend. He has no interest in the arcade, or the next basketball tournament his team is going to compete in. Satoru just sits on top of Suguru’s bed, casually sucking on a carton of chocolate milk. Suguru glanced down at the abandoned PlayStation remote. He’d lost yet another game against his dark-haired friend with no complaints. Satoru didn’t even play

You’d really done a number on him, Suguru thinks to himself. Suguru would assume it’s heartbreak, but he knows his friend better than that. Something burns in his chest, but he’s pushing it away before he can figure out why. Nipping it in the bud. It was a cruel thought. A bad one. He should ignore it.

Well, it’s done. It doesn’t matter anyway. Satoru would eventually get over it. He’s not known to sulk.

He’s not there to see what Satoru tells them, but he’s there to see the effects.

It starts out small. Or perhaps just not noticeable enough. Gojo Satoru has always attracted attention, whether it was satisfactory or not. Lackeys, Satoru often calls them because they're too far beneath him to even be called equals.

Suguru notices their sudden interest in you before even you can. A harsh word here and there. Giggling at the word 'easy'. You peacefully trek on, not noticing the abuse until it turns physical. That starts at the end of Monday.

By Tuesday, they're already shoving you down each chance they get. You get surprised when it happens the first time, then the second, then the third. You have soft skin, plushy, Suguru could tell. He wondered if it was getting marked now. He wonders if you go home, peeling of your uniform, staring at the bruises of hands on your skin because you’re so fragile.

(They never go too far, not enough to completely injure. Suguru knows this because one time, one of the idiots had pushed you too hard. You’d stumbled, nearly hitting the back of your head with a metal locker. Satoru had seen. Suguru doesn’t know what Satoru did, but that particular one was gone the next time and the rest got the memo to scare, not injure.)

Satoru never takes part in this, but he keeps an eye on you sometimes. Tuesday evening comes and they both silently watch you through a window. You move through an empty hall, before they arrive again, slapping your binders out of your hands, chortling with each other. They're too far away to hear, but Suguru could bet it would sound like nails scraping against a chalkboard.

Out of the corner of his eye, Suguru watches his best friend. Satoru looks impassive, face blank as he stares down at your figure. Akin to a child watching ants burning through a magnifying glass, instilled with that innate desire to see them explode into ash.

When the lackeys leave, you bend down on the floor, collecting your stuff. Your hair covers your eyes, so he can't see your expression, but he can see your shoulders tremble. Were you-

A corral of people run to you. They lean down, picking up the stuff you had missed. You look up, your eyes are shiny but you're laughing when they say something. You wipe at your eyes, standing up as they lead you out of the hallway. Suguru had seen them hanging out with you before. They all seemed like they supported each other, supported you.

Suguru feels his frown deepen, conflicted. He doesn’t like it.

"It's not nice to pick on the weak, Satoru," he quietly says.

Satoru's eyes trail your figure out the door. He gives a small hum.

By Wednesday, your friends disappear from your side.

The abuse is getting worse, noticeable to the point where the rest of the student body is heavily avoiding you. Teachers won't raise a finger at what's happening. As much as they like to preach about their 'zero tolerance for bullying', Suguru knows they'll willingly turn a blind eye when matters involve Gojo Satoru. No teacher wants to deal with the wrath the Gojo family is more than willing to unlease for the sake of their heir.

Yet, you aren't getting it. You don't break, don't bend. He can feel the humiliation roll off of you in waves, yet you don't react. Which was strange because he knew your archetype. A people-pleaser, constantly bending over backward for other's sake. You want nothing more than to become part of the crowd again, completely invisible. You’re community-oriented. You thrive off of companionship. This ostracization must be killing you. Suguru doesn't get it until he spots your face, just once, narrowed eyes, anger.

Pride. He'd forgotten other people had that too. Though, Suguru admires it, a part of him knows it shouldn’t last.

Suguru thinks he does it because he pities you. You're a little naive. Suguru has your thought process figured out. You think if you take the torment long enough, Satoru would eventually just forget about you all together. Once he's done with you, you'd focus on picking up the pieces that used to be your life. It's not a bad plan, if you weren't dealing with Gojo Satoru.

The boy is a hurricane. Fast, unrelenting, unforgiving. Satoru won't stop. He won't stop until you're ruined and broken. Turned into a mere asteroid of what you once were.

So, Suguru decides to give you a push in the right direction.

The students have already created a wide circle for you by the time he steps in, bending down, picking up the stuff you had dropped. You're silent until he hands you his pieces. He doesn't bother responding to your timid thanks.

"Give in," he tells you, watching the way your eyes widen as you look up at him.

You're weak. Physically, emotionally. He could easily pick you up with one hand, crush your body with his fist. Satoru could eviscerate your body from existence. You don't stand a chance with him. With either of them.

His advice to you is good. Reasonable. And yet, he sees the face you make, the way you slowly get up. You won’t listen. That same burning feeling in his chest starts. It's gotten more painful.

You don't listen to him until you lose nearly everything. Just as he warned you. Friday comes. You become Satoru's. And it's a little too late for everything.

◉

Suguru doesn't think you ever learn that Satoru loves messing with you.

Or, perhaps you do, but you can't help it. You're too honest, too open. He often wonders if that's how you were raised. To be honest, open, vulnerable. Your parents must have filled your thoughts with delusions, coddling you with words of cheap motivation. The world is your oyster. You just had to reach out and take it.

Maybe now you're finally realizing, sitting on Satoru's lap, that all men aren't created equal.

Clearly, you weren't happy about it. Yet, you aren't complaining, sitting there pliantly legs firmly crossed, hands curled into tiny fists, staring rigidly on the floor. The first few times Satoru had done this in public, you were always biting your lip, tears threatening to fall. Now, Suguru thinks you just dissociate, coming back when Satoru laughs at something, jostling you in his arms.

It's a bit like watching a helpless bird on the ground, twitching and spasming after it had just collided with a glass window. Pitiful, but there was nothing that could be done. It's the inevitability of it all that makes him pity you more than anything else, really.

Every so often, your eyes would catch his. It's a quick glance, as though you were wondering if he was watching. He can barely catch it, but Suguru is observant. Much like you. It's meaningless, and your gaze returns to the floor. Your fists tighten.

Granting you mercy, Suguru stops looking at you during those times.

He's not sure how Satoru sees you. Perhaps, you're akin to a dog for him. Though, that might not be very good for you. Satoru hadn't been very good with animals when he was younger. Satoru had always been rough with any pets he came into contact with, pushing and tugging. Suguru doubted that had changed.

Satoru's is your official title. It isn't a relationship. It's an ownership. Unequal from the start. The one who holds the leash in the end, will always be Satoru.

It took a while for you to fully learn that.

Suguru didn't mean to catch the two of you. Looking back, it was probably because Satoru couldn't care less if someone was watching. Maybe Satoru was being obvious on purpose. It was a little while after school had officially ended. Suguru knew your usual routine would place you right at the library, scrolling through books. Satoru would most likely be there too, pestering you about this and that. It's the scene Suguru prepares himself to walk into.

Instead, you're wedged in between the white-haired boy and the wall, there's no space for you to do anything but sink. You're already crying (when was the last time you smiled?), trying to pull away but Satoru isn't letting you. He's gripping you by the chin, forcing eye contact. His sunglasses are off, tucked on his collar.

Suguru's close enough to hear. You're begging. Apology after apology. It's barely a whisper, but they're spilling out of you like a prayer. He can't discern the context, but he knows enough.

You made Satoru angry.

He's still smiling, but it isn't sincere. Almost bordering on mania as he tightens his grip on you, forcing you further into the wall. Suguru doesn't think Satoru has ever hit you before, but now he's wondering if quick violence was preferable to this.

"Don't be like that," Satoru chides as another squeak leaves your lips, "Where was that smile you were givin' him, hm? C'mon, pretty girl. You were wearin' it just a second ago."

"It-it wasn't like that, I swear," you continue to plead, still not realizing that it's too late, "he was giving me his notes. Please-please Satoru-"

"Wrong answer," he cuts you off, you flinch at his harshness but Suguru decides Satoru's being nice to you. He's been known to do worse, "we've been over this before, haven't we? Or did your stupid brain forget?"

You're choking down another hiccup. It takes a minute for you to calm down enough to speak clearly. Ever impatient, Satoru's hand digs into your shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Satoru," you say, "it won't happen again."

He tilts his head, waiting. You wilt under his gaze.

"I'm sorry...’Toru."

Satoru gives a satisfied hum, pulling back and Suguru can practically see your lungs sag with relief. His mania is gone, replaced by something much more lighthearted and carefree. Suguru'd seen it before, but it was certainly something watching Satoru go from one high to the next. Even to Suguru, it's terrifying to witness.

Suguru decides to make himself known right then. He comes out of the shadows, acting as though he'd just arrived. His friend lazily gives him a wave, curling an arm around your waist. You try to scrub away your tears with your forearms, unaware of how much Suguru had seen. Another mercy Suguru grants you. He doesn't acknowledge it.

The three of you sit in the library for half an hour until you're done pretending that you're studying. When Satoru walks you home, Suguru follows. He notes that you barely hesitate to give Satoru a chaste kiss on the lips, and he wonders how often his friend has demanded one from you for you to be so casual about it.

He thinks he gets it when he and Satoru are walking on the street without you. To Satoru, you aren't a dog. You aren't a pet, something that he keeps to see bark.

No, you are just Satoru's.

◉

Towards the end of the year, Suguru realizes that Satoru loves you.

He's nicer to you, now. Suguru doesn't think you've realized how softer Satoru's gotten, but the change is there. He spots less marks on you now. The biggest evidence he has is that stolen moment of you and Satoru. You'd accidentally fallen asleep during lunch break, dozing off on your desk. Satoru was right next to you, gently pushing your hair out of your face. Satoru loves you.

You've changed too. Adapted, he should say. You cry less, now. Each time he sees you, you look more and more put together. As though, you're done mourning. The final stage of grief. Acceptance.

Despite how much nicer Satoru is to you, he's still just as clingy. Suguru notices that even now, none of your former friends speak to you. No one at school does. It's an unspoken rule to not mess with Satoru's things.

Suguru can still remember the last guy who hadn't gotten the memo. A new student. Freshly transferred. Suguru had heard the conversation. The guy was hardly interested in you. It was nothing more than small talk. The pat on your shoulder had been thoughtless at least, friendly at most.

Satoru beat him until the boy was bloody and had a broken nose. A week later, he'd transferred again.

You're off limits. To everyone but Suguru.

The Earth is the only planet capable of sustaining life within this cold solar system. It's close enough to the sun to feel the warmth, yet far enough so it doesn't burn. It's strong, too. A powerful magnetic forcefield, capable of shutting down the sun's cosmic radiation. Thus, the Earth spins happily around the Sun, surrounded by a sea of dead planets.

So, sometimes when Satoru can't walk you home. Suguru does.

It was just the beginning of spring. The school year was starting to end. The school itself was starting to slow down. Teachers were getting less and less strict, less work was given out. It didn't matter. Colleges had already been picked. They were all close to the end.

You don't say much when the two of you are alone. Suguru understands. It's hard to say much of anything when you're crushed by the weight of Gojo Satoru. But Suguru could have sworn he'd seen a flicker of relief when he came to pick you up and not his friend. You're clearly happier when it's him. Suguru decides he likes how that feels. It's a quick feeling of superiority. Something that quickly disappears when your eyes flick down.

He knows where your house is, but he lets you take the lead anyway. Suguru figures it's the least he can do, give you that sense of control when nothing you do ever really does anymore.

You and him have forged a shaky companionship. He's not sure what he is to you entirely, but you seem reliant on him in some way. it’s his fault, he thinks. He wonders if it has to do with the contraception he'd given you. He can still remember the trembling hands as you took it from him, curling the packet into your grip. That day he went home and his fingers felt strangely itchy.

Does the Earth ever wonder if it can turn the Sun?

When he asks you a question, you answer. At least you aren't mute, though Suguru doesn't think he'd blame you if you ignored him. Your voice is stilted, with enough words to answer the question, but still not enough to fully sate him.

And then, you break.

Just a bit.

A tiny piece of you shatters, and you show yourself to him.

He'd been talking about something insignificant, college, his plans. Just ramblings. Somehow, Satoru comes into the conversation and he's talking about the area of his friend's college campus, how Satoru mentioned that he's looking for apartments for the two of you to stay in. And then, you're uncharacteristically scoffing.

"Right," you say, head faced down on the sidewalk as you kick a rock, "because I'm following him there."

Suguru can't help but place the sarcasm in your voice. The bitterness. He's heard it before, but it's a fascinating thing hearing it come from you. And then Suguru realizes that you accidentally gave something away.

You were leaving.

Somehow, it never crossed Suguru's mind that you were still rebelling, even now. And yet, he can't shake off the heat in your voice, your words.

You seem to realize this too, freezing.

He lets you falter for a few more moments before giving you a reprieve.

"Satoru's idealistic like that," he let out.

Your shoulders lower, and for the sake of both you and him, he doesn't press any further.

He doesn't let himself let it go, even when he drops you home, arriving to his own house. Always cold. The mansion's lights are always off. No one's ever home. And Satoru's out of town.

It's better this way, Suguru thinks as he lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling. No distractions, he can think better, as he replays your words over and over again. You were leaving. You were leaving. You were leaving Satoru.

The night passes. When Satoru comes back to town, he's joyful as always, an arm slung around your shoulders. Suguru watches the way he coos at you, saying how much he missed you. You take his affections the way you always do, with a strained smile and wavering eyes.

You glance at Suguru. Suguru stares right back.

For a moment, Suguru thinks he understands why people are so enthralled with solar eclipses. The moon is seen as an underdog in most instances. It must be thrilling when a weak satellite can cover the sun's rays. Even for just a little bit.

Suguru doesn't tell Satoru. He pushes the burning in his chest, ignoring the itchiness in his fingers. Things are better this way, right? After all, the two of you come from completely different worlds. It's nonsensical to think otherwise.

Two weeks before graduation, you disappear without a trace.

And Satoru breaks.

It's a slow dissent. It comes in stages. The boy is angry at first, searching for you at school, when he can't find you there he loses his facade and demands where you are from your parents. They can't give him a clear answer because you're an adult now and you barely told them a thing before moving out. Suguru doesn’t think they knew what Satoru was to you. He doesn’t think they ever will.

The heat fades day by day, Week by week. Satoru starts to deflate the longer you aren't in his hold, his to mangle, and grab, and keep. He stops taking care of himself. His skin became paler, cracked lips, hollow cheeks. His eyes turn into this grayish blue that Suguru can't bring himself to look at for too long. He loses weight day by day.

Suguru had never seen him react this way before. Satoru was always shining. He was the sun. Now, the center of the solar system was dying. He can feel himself dying with it.

Satoru hadn't just loved you. Satoru had been obsessed with you. He breathed you in, inhaled your essence like oxygen. You'd been a part of him; a necessity. And then, you tore yourself away, leaving him bleeding on the concrete.

Guilt. Suguru feels it in his stomach, rising to his throat, threatening to stain his clothes. It's too late to say anything now, so he keeps it huddled deep inside of him. Suguru hopes it'll never come out. He helps the best he can, being there for his friend, his best friend.

It takes a month for Satoru to start eating properly again. A few months later he starts regaining his usual physique. The gray in his eyes stays for a bit longer than Suguru likes. Suguru supposes he should take what he can get.

A year passes like that. The evidence of what you left behind fades, like bruises disappearing on skin. Suguru and Satoru become college students. Then, they graduate.

When Satoru joins the business, Suguru, his right-hand man, his second, his best friend, is right next to him. They’ve always worked well together, but that doesn’t change as they shift into adulthood. Despite how different Suguru and Satoru were, Suguru liked to think that their personalities were stagnant; unchanging even to the times.

What Satoru feels about you remains stagnant as well.

Suguru doesn’t think about you often, these days. Barely a few times a year, when he feels nostalgic enough to get out his old high school yearbook. He’d page through, spot your smiling portrait face. He’d find himself staring at you far longer than he liked too.

At first, Suguru thought Satoru was the same. Much like how one thinks about a lost toy they cherished when they were younger. The resentment would fade with time. Satoru didn’t speak about you for years.

Suguru hadn’t expected the girls, however.

He doesn’t notice the first one. He sees her, but he doesn’t internalize it. She’s hurriedly putting on her clothes after a clearly exciting night, so Suguru respectfully averts his gaze. He’s more focused on his exasperation at how Satoru had missed yet another meeting with the board. They would be less than pleased if they discovered Satoru didn’t show up because he was hungover.

The second time it happens, Suguru has a passing thought of how familiar the girl looked, despite being sure he’d never seen her in his life.

The third time it happens, Suguru realizes all the recent girls Satoru’s been bringing strike an uncanny resemblance towards you.

It’s not anything too obvious, but all of them would look a bit like you. Most would have your skin tone, your hair. One had your eyes, not the color, rather the shape of it. Satoru had kept her around the longest.

Suguru doesn’t say anything about it. Part of him wonders if Satoru is even doing it on purpose.

Suguru loves Satoru like he would his own brother, but his recent hobby was starting to get on his nerves a bit.

“So much work,” the man complains, “Why can’t we just send all this off to Ijichi?”

“He has his own work to complete,” Suguru reprimands, “the sooner you stop complaining, the sooner we can finish.”

Satoru rolls his eyes but moves to another page of meaningless paperwork; Something that would be scanned into their system and then tucked away into a random file cabinet. They currently sat in Satoru’s grand kitchen, lounging on the barstools after Suguru had pounded Satoru’s door in. Satoru had let him in with an irritated look, complaining that it was the weekend and he had ‘stuff’ to do.

“He’s my assistant,” Satoru retorts, “my work is his work.”

“The reason why we’re in this mess in the first place is because you kept pawning off your job to the poor man in the first place. You’ve given him wrinkles from just the stress of being in your vicinity.”

“That’s insulting,” Satoru counters, “my presence is nothing but calming.”

“You do the exact opposite, actually. A black hole that sucks the soul out of everyone who hangs around you.”

“You hang around me all the time and you don’t have wrinkles.”

Suguru smiles. “It’s because I don’t respect you enough to listen to anything you’re saying.”

Satoru’s about to respond, when another voice interrupts him. Alluring, feminine.

“Satoru,” she coos, “When are you getting back here?”

From his seat, Suguru has a clear view of Satoru’s bedroom. Only her head is peeked out, and Suguru notes her bare shoulders. Your eyes, and your lips this time. She’s tilting her head, mouth curved in a coy smile.

Of course. Suguru can only roll his eyes. There’s that same burning feeling in his chest. During the years, it hasn’t really gotten any better.

“Coming, coming,” Satoru calls back, “just a minute, babe.”

“Stuff to do, hm?” Suguru drawls with amusement. Satoru flips him off.

"Worry 'bout yourself," Satoru says, "when's the last time you got any, huh? Honestly, when's the last time you've taken a break? A vacation?"

"I can't," Suguru replies, "I'm always stuck babysitting you."

“I’ve been waiting for half an hour, ‘Toru." The woman interrupts. "Can’t you just do it later?”

Suguru hadn’t even noticed it. He brushed it off, barely hearing their conversation as he shuffled around the papers.

Satoru had.

He hums. Straightening his back.

“Yeah, I’ve changed my mind. You should head on home.”

At first, he thought Satoru was talking to him. Then, he hears the woman’s annoyed huff.

“Hold on, you’re kicking me out?” She asks.

“Yeah, sorry,” Satoru says, not sounding very apologetic, “I got a lotta’ stuff to do and you’re not gonna wanna stick around.”

His tone is light, but Suguru can’t help but place a sense of annoyance in them. The anger. His posture is stiff, almost like he’s primed for a fight.

‘Toru. She called him ‘Toru.

You used to call him ‘Toru.

“Seriously, I-”

“I hate repeating myself: Get the fuck out.”

There’s silence, and then Suguru can hear her mutter to herself as she shuffles inside the room. She comes out minutes later, not quite dressed, but presentable. She shoots Satoru a glare, to which he only waves off. The door shuts with a noticable thud.

“Back to work,” Satoru says, “do you feel hot? The AC has been acting up, lately.”

He carries on like that, back to normal, as though he wasn’t about to snap just a few minutes ago. Suguru follows suit, not aknowledging the outburst, much like he doesn’t aknowledge most things regarding you.

Later, Suguru laughs about the hypocrisy of it all. Satoru brings home physical reminders of you, but he refuses the remnants of you. The most intimate parts, he’d kept hidden away from his life, yet he still wishes to touch, to feel. He wonders how you’d feel if you knew that Gojo Satoru is wrapped around your finger, even now.

◉

Satoru had done something yet again. It's always something with Gojo Satoru. Suguru should have left him to deal with the legal team himself, but here he was, trailing beside the firm’s directors as the man droned on and on how well Mr.Gojo would be well taken care of how here our clients are family. He forces himself to push away that feeling in his chest, scorching his throat. He was getting sick of the constant blabbering. He’d glanced away for just a second.

And then he saw you.

You, not some remnant, not some picture, not someone similar. You. He knew it was you. A little older, a little taller. You’d switched the high school uniform for a blouse and a pencil skirt. Suguru stares. He’s tempted to say your name, seek you out, as though you’re old friends-

He reels himself back in.

You disappear through a frosted glass door, completely unaware of his gawking. You hadn’t seen him. Good. The firm’s director didn’t notice his pause, carrying on as though nothing happened. Suguru smiles and laughs at the horrible ice breakers, but he also steals a glance at the name of the door you went through.

Later, Suguru looks up Higuruma Hiromi. A well-established lawyer. Worked at the firm for nearly a decade.

You are his sole paralegal.

Law. He had never considered it for you. Now, he thinks it’s a little fitting. He can’t help it. He looks you up. You have no social media, most likely from a remnant fear, but he finds where you went to college, what your area of study was, where else you’d worked, your life. Questions he’d had for nearly a decade he finally has an answer.

Honestly, Suguru was a little mad it was all so easy.

He can’t see the entire scope of your life, but he knows you were happy after high school, away from Satoru. You seemed happy when he caught that glimpse of you. There was a slight smile on your face, you never did that with Satoru around.

Satoru’s a little pathetic, a thought he has to concede to. He’s still hung over you, while you clearly hadn’t thought of him in years.

Suguru stares at your picture a little more.

The burning feeling comes back again. Hotter, melting.

Oh.

Suguru is disgusted by you.

You, that bitch loitering in Satoru’s bedroom, that greedy firm director. Disgust, that sick feeling crawling down his stomach, seeping into his bones. He’s disgusted by the weak.

He’s even more disgusted when they think they can defeat the strong. Decieve them.

You always thought you were better than Satoru, better than Suguru, even from the beginning. Even when you rejected him. Even when Satoru’s goons were torturing you, you still thought you could get out of it somehow. Even when Satoru had his hand on your shoulder, claws sinking into your flesh, you were still looking for a way out. It was like watching a rat trapped in a cage, pathetically sniffing around for an exit.

The weak could never escape the whims of the strong. It was a truth of the world, something he’d always known and yet it’d take a decade for him to put the words together. The weak could never make a fool of the strong.

You are weak. A mere satellite floating along, before getting trapped in the Earth’s gravitational force. Suguru could crush you with one fist. Satoru could evisirate you to atoms.

Does the Earth ever wonder if it can turn the Sun?

“I’ve put together a legal team that will represent you.”

Suguru places the neat stack of documents onto Satoru’s desk. The white-haired man barely gives them a glance. Suguru knows Satoru won’t ever look at them, even when your name is hidden somewhere within the sheets, along with Higuruma’s. Suguru wonders how long it’d take for Satoru to figure it out. It’s a shame he won’t be there to see it unfold in real-time, but perhaps, once Satoru puts the pieces together, he’ll thank him.

Here, in the present, Satoru types away at his computer, barely paying attention to Suguru’s words.

“Oh, great,” Satoru says off handedly, “thanks, man.”

Suguru sighs.

“Uh, I love you?” Satoru tries again.

“Never repeat those words to me ever again,” Suguru responds, “I wish you’d be a bit more interested in this, considering it’s your fault the company is in this mess in the first place.”

Satoru gives a hushed hum of agreement. Suguru smiles.

“In other news: I won’t be here next week.”

That catches his best friend’s attention. Satoru gapes at him.

“You’re quitting?”

“No, idiot. I’m taking your advice. I’m taking a few weeks off. I already put it in the calendar that you never check so why did I even bother.”

“A vacation? You never take vacations, even when I beg you to,” Satoru squints at him, “What’s the occasion?”

Eventually, Satoru will figure it out. For now, Suguru wants to enjoy this.

“I worked hard this year. I should reward myself, shouldn’t I?” He reasons, “oh, and I have a surprise for you showing up in a week or so. Let me know what you think of it.”

“A gift? For me?” Satoru beams. “You really do love me.”

“Don’t push it.”

If Satoru was the Sun, then Suguru supposed he would be the Earth. Close enough to receive the star's radiance, but with a strong enough magnetitic field to shield from solar winds.

If Suguru was the Earth, then Suguru supposed you would be the Moon. A tiny cratered satellite he tugs along with him, forever in sight of the burning sun.

#yandere #yandere jjk #dark content #dark gojo satoru #dark jjk #non con touching #gojo satoru #yandere gojo satoru #x reader #bullying #harrassment #non con kissing #geto suguru

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baynetta · 10 months

Note

riding miguel would literally be a sport omg the way he’d have to lift you up off his lap because your body is too exhausted

riding miguel! (nsfw)

they should considere it to put it up to a olympic sport atp cause it’s something that just takes a lot of time and work. i definitely feel they’re some days that he would come home and he’ll be more than pleased to give you a hand. but not today. he’ll come so tired of all the late work that he had to indure. you didn’t know how much he crave for it, to have you all by himself. and why not to try something new, now that you had some practice before why not ride him all by yourself. this time, no guidance and definitely not help. at first you’ll be a little bit intimidate by it, having him staring at you, full in display, on your own bed, him observing every minute detail of your performance. it felt like your first time all over again (who btw was with miguel ofc🤭). he’ll grab you by the wrist to get close to his throbbing cock, he’s been painfully hard the whole day, thrilled just for this moment, so he’s now very impatient. “c’mon just sit on it baby” “don’t be acting like a prude right now”-. he muttered as you start to accommodate his tip already glassed in pre-cum on your entrance, you had it grabbed by his base giving it slow strokes, as your going in you feel how it slowly rasps making his way into your cavities, you yelp at the feeling, mostly bcs you didn’t had any prep. he usually will take his time before fucking you, he’ll eat you out and stick his fingers on your tight cunt till it’s fully mixed with both of y’all juices before he can burried his length into you. but not today. he wanted to feel how you strech yourself with his hardness, how good it i’ll start to dilatate and contract while his tip reach for the cervix.

as you were making it fit, you were whimper and sobbing mess and miguel could feel how tensed you were, how he was ripping his way up. “honey. escúpele” he demanded as you’re half way in. you spit on the palm of your hand and start glazing and rubbing his shaft with the mix of your sticky saliva and arousal. you watched miguel throw his head back off, shutting his eyes. fuck he’s been fantasizing about it for so long. and mind you, you haven’t reached to the base yet. abruptly you feel miguel’s hand groping your mushy hips and dragging you all the way down. it felt so violent the way you took him in one sitting, that you cry loudly at being now fulled by him. “fuck that’s it” he spit, you cry as you clench tightly on him, and fuck he’s having way too much fun, “ahora de nuevo”—he hissed while looking proudly at how well your taking him, such a good girl. you go all the way up again, with one hand on his base trying to keep the control of it, and drop slowly until your inner thighs are crashing with his pelvis, fuck it stings badly, you feel how hard his cock is stretching your walls as well your thighs are starting to cramp and burn as it’s holds your entire body weight. you tried to support your hands on miguels defined abs but he just slapped them away, “don’t fucking try it, put em behind”—you wanted to protest be he’s already giving you that “say it o you’ll regret it” look. you put them behind as you start going up again, and get down giving little semi circular movements, hissing as it starts to hit the right spot. “fuck.. que apretadita estás”- you cry as he’s hitting it, over and over again, your legs burning, the way your hips are loosing the tempo making all the movements messy and desperate for a guidence.

the room has been a mixing sounds of grunts, whimpers and sobbing messes, the filthy noises of the headboard slamming and the loud sounds of skin slapping as your crushing down hard and squirming all over him. miguel throwing his head back groaning and mutting the dirtiest praises “fuckk..such. a dirty. slut” “stop crying or i’ll be worse”. he’ll constantly switch his grip between your hips or your bouncing tits, he’ll twisted and squeez it. he fucking enjoying it watching your tired body starting to collapse. your pretty eyes closed, trying to endure all the pain and pleasure coming from all the parts that his hands and cock are abusing. the minutes you been on and on it’s almost miracle that you didn’t faint, as he sees you getting all flustered and sweaty he’ll grab you by the face, “don’t. fucking. stop”—.you can feel now his thumb digging dip in your jaw, making you gasp. you feel your full body start trembling, you try to inhale and exhale but your lower back and thighs went on shock. the exhaustion in your face as you implored and begged for miguel's help. until you just can't help it anymore and drop your weakened body on top of him. miguel inmidiatly will embrace you in warm and intimate hug, lift you up off his lap, stand up while he’s still inside you. he'll leave a trace of kisses from your collarbone up to your face whispering how good you were and now he's gonna take care of you.

pd: the stamina of this guy GOD he’s probably goes on an on all night 🤭

trad:

-spit on it

-now again

-you’re so tight

#.𖥔 ݁ ˖eyza’s mail #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara smut #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x you #spiderverse

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suguruplsr · 6 months

Text

Agoraphilia

featuring.. Toji Fushiguro

✰ ✰ ✰ What's life like for Toji when he's dating a celebrity? A celebrity that just so happens to be you. And of course, life's nice.. but you just can't keep your hands off him. Who cares about paparazzi? Let 'em see.

,, model/influencer! Toji x fem actress reader , fluff + smut w/ small crack , based off “agora hills” by doja cat , toji is referred as a Zenin w/ small angst + comfort about it , PDA , dirty talk & pet names , mentions of sex in public places + limousine scene , mention of fans taking clips of you two kissing/ getting a bit touchy , choking , oral (f & m) , face fucking , riding + unprotected , clit licking , he spanks you once , reader wears makeup , you guys got recorded having sex (only audio + it was non-con) , exhibition kink (reader and toji aren’t that bothered abt anything at all) , it’s a lot pls lemme know if i missed smth <3

↬ 1K Event Masterlist

wc: 3.4k+

- divider @/benkeibear

Toji would say he has a good life. food, expenses always paid, access to practically everything in life, plus a big area to work out (his favorite), nice mansion, clothes, money, cars, and a lovely woman who is the love of his life, you. you’re quite the famous actor, making six figures and playing in multiple series that he makes sure to religiously watch. cuz’ he loves to see his woman on the big screen. and it’s not like he doesn’t work, mostly modeling and unexpectedly becoming an influencer, a good use of his name he’d say. posting workout videos and rating shit with his most honest opinions. there’s definitely complications of his most out of pocket opinions.

and perhaps there are a few things toji could say he doesn’t like about dating a famous person. like your fans. before your relationship was public, those damn losers had no restraints, trying to meet you in random places with any chance they had or getting touchy when you allowed hugs at meet and greets. he hates it even more when they try to touch you while you’re walking through the big crowds at events. like, let a woman be.

there’s other pet peeves, like nosy interviewers or weird directors you ended up working with, only to drop from their cast out of disgust. things any normal person would find annoying. the worst? pda. okay, it isn’t a pet peeve. but he wasn’t expecting someone as private as you to be all over him like you do. at first, he thought it was because maybe you just get bored out and about, but no. you just.. really fucking love him. and his dick of course.

“Somethin' different about you

Love it when he hit and smack too

Baby, let me lick on your tattoos”

“fuck, you’re wild.” toji grins against your lips, pulling away to adore the needy look covering your face. you two were laid in bed, him leaning on the headboard with you on his lap. a place you always find yourself at. you bit your lip, looking up at him with eyes full of want. “yea, just f’you though.” you didn’t understand the exact feeling you have for the large man. it’s more than just love. but it was something that you could only convey with physical affection most of the time.

you just need him, to feel him, to show him just how much you want him. you feel so comfortable with him. you two have been dating for over five months, already smothering each other in love in every way possible. “so corny baby.” toji, shakes his head, yet with an undeniable smile forming as you trace the tattoo that reached from his right shoulder up to his neck.

it was simple, a snake with an arrow shooting through it. you remember on a hot summer night, you two were laying in bed and just learning each other's bodies with small touches and kisses. you were on his chest when toji explained to you the meaning of his tattoo. rebirth and healing. to signify him not only getting away from the toxic environment of his family, but also healing from it. at that time, you didn’t know all the details. you knew what kind of people his relatives are, but to think they could’ve treated their kin in such ways broke your heart.

that day, you, drunkenly, swore to kiss and love that tattoo to hopefully give him the love he didn’t receive.

you still do.

“yea? you love me though.” you grin, making toji hungrily chase after your lips. it was messy, something you two love in your own way. raw and undefined as your lips lock perfectly. you hold onto his shoulders, him pushing you down into the duvet and towering over you. your eyes open slowly as he pulls away with a parting bite on your lips, so dreamily and entranced by him.

“damn right. can’t get enough of you.” he chuckles, sitting back to spread your legs. to think someone like him feels the same way as you. sometimes you think you’re too much, but he might argue the opposite. toji gives a small slap on your thigh, tugging away your panties to bless himself with the sight of your wet pussy. “can you eat me out t’night?” you whine, lifting your legs up as he gets comfortable between them.

his head disappears under, mouth muffled into your skin as he kisses your clit. “was plannin’ on it..” and he gives a fat stripe in your folds, causing you to gasp and lock your legs around his neck. he continues, amused with your ‘response’ and holding your thighs to pull you closer. he licks up and down, no care for your squirming and teasingly rolling the muscle around your bud.

“mm’yea love your big tongue toji~ wan’ it in me!” you whimper, tugging his hair and eliciting a guttural sound from him, his dick twitches in his sweats, tongue entering your pussy that welcomed him in with no qualms. the taste of your juices has toji moaning in your cunny. he gets sloppy, careless with his movements and flexing his tongue as deep as he can, kissing your folds periodically or opening his mouth wider to suck your clit and have you pull his hair harder.

“That's true that I like PDA, take it to a seedy place

Suck a little dick in the bathroom”

“you really into this?” toji grunts as you nod, keeping your crouched balance on your heels and unzipping his pants. amazing really, he thinks. you two were at some function hosted by a friend, snucked in a bathroom that someone is surely going to bang on if you two take too long. “yea, it's somethin’ we shouldn’t do. but fuck, you look so good.” you pout, fishing out his cock and kissing the tip. you don’t want to waste time, melting from the taste of his length and letting it sit on your tongue.

“really? shit.. c’mon baby, just get on your knees. i’ll get you a new pair of tights.” toji grits his teeth when you obey, giving your ‘thanks’ by taking his girth down your throat. you hold one of his thighs, other hand finding the base of his cock and jerking off what you couldn’t reach. it’s almost humiliating how quickly toji’s muscles are tightening, falling weak to the feeling of being so deep in your throat.

you let go of his cock, hands now clutching his thighs, and looking up at him all teary. he knows what you want, for him to just fuck your face and cum down your throat. he’s hit the fucking jackpot.

toji reached down with two hands, mindful of your hair that took so long to do and settling for grabbing the sides of your head. “want me to fuck your throat huh? yea ya do. gonna get rough baby.” he smiles, watching you get closer to him, wanting whatever he’s going to give you. he gives a low moan as he eases himself completely down your throat, you hollow your cheeks expertly, flush against his pubes before he begins moving.

he fucks your throat harshly, holding your head still as you moan around his dick. you look up at him through your blurry eyes, and he’s so handsome. jaw clenched with the veins in his arms popping, he gives one particularly hard thrust, slowing a bit and giving you time to actually suck his cock. the warm cavern of your mouth is just perfect, something that he could never want to get rid of.

“oh shiiit, fuck, fuck, fuck. fuckin’ love your mouth, gonna make me cum baby.” toji blabbers, groans filling the walls as you roll your tongue around him as much as you can. his voice, all deep and raspy, makes your pussy wet. closing your legs tight together and rubbing them to try dealing with the growing heat between your legs.

he pushes his hips forward, making you choke. “sorry baby, j-just gonna— fuck. gonna cum down this throat.” toji moans, looking down at your expression, he almost feels bad for the way he’s ruined your face. but he knows you love it, every single time. there’s loud wet sounds reverberating throughout the rest room. both of you hearing little ‘shlicks’ as spit drips from your lips and coats his cock. you squeeze your eyes tight as when he stops, your nails digging into the fabric of his pants while his dick basically quivers in your mouth.

you can hear the thick lump of cum before it pours down your tongue, pussy throbbing at the salty taste as the warm liquid slides down your throat until it turns into tiny little spurts. opening your eyes, you see toji’s head thrown back, body shaking in pleasure as he gives a drawn out moan. “d-definitely should do that often..” he mumbles.

“Who that man with the big strong hands On her ass in the club with the paps?" Baby, that's you”

‘whose the guy you were dancing with at the club in your recent post?’

you read the question aloud, already feeling giddy once you remember your activities over the weekend. “oh! that’s my boyfriend!” you grin, watching how the comments flowed faster through the insta live. it’s not like you hid him, if anything, you’re just always seen with him. but maybe he’s been mistaken for a bodyguard? you ponder. thinking about the recent comments and articles about you, they’ve never seen his face. well, at least not anywhere around you.

a damn shame. such a handsome man. your, handsome man.

‘yea who is he? he was so big lmao.’

“toji— wait!” you pause yourself before you let your big mouth rant, flipping the phone on the couch as you run through the house. you really hope that by some miracle they weren’t able to hear the name that slipped from your lips. considering you never really talked with the man about publicity, especially with all the extra things PR and management might force onto you.

shaking your head, you open the door of your gym room. if you could even call it just a room, toji was in the middle of his set of planks, headphones on and shirtless with a pair of baggy shorts. you almost let yourself get distracted, eyeing his sweaty form as you walk over to him. how the hell can he be so broad? well, you’re seeing in real time how he does it— but fuck, the mere structure of his neck and shoulders makes you want to wrap your legs around him.

“hey beautiful.” toji grunts, sitting himself up at the sound of his timer ringing through his ears. he slides off the headphones, grabbing the towel you hand to him and taking a sip of his water bottle. you stay silent, biting your cheek as you think about your next words. “what’s wrong?” he sighs, and you immediately cave, giving an exaggerated groan. “okay so maybe i may have just accidentally said you’re my boyfriend on live like three minutes ago and perhaps i could’ve just made a really really big mistake that i kinda want but i was just wondering—“

toji stands up with a chuckle, stopping your small rant with a pat on your head, hand moving down to hold your flustered face. “what’re you tryin’ to say baby?” “i was getting to that. but would you like, want to go public with me? like y’know.. actually tell people we’re dating..” you mumble, looking down as he shrugs. “i thought we already were since ya drag me practically everywhere. but go ahead. i don’t mind.” and you gasp, no way.

but it seems to be yes way from the kiss of affirmation toji gives you on your forehead before you run, more like slide, through your house in glee. getting back to your phone and confirming the wild comments that didnt stop.

“so yea, im dating toji zenin. y’know that hot guy from that one family..”

“Hot News! Actress [Name], popular for her character in — reveals that’s she’s dating the distinguished model, Toji Zenin, a workout influencer who is also a part of the well-known family—“ read more at…

“Front-seat chillin' with the window down I be ten toes down on the dash, gettin' fast food”

“that shit better be f-fucking soundproof..” toji groans as you shuffle his cock out his slacks. giggling with a sweet smile on your face that rivaled the dirty stuff you’ve whispered in his ear the whole ride. you have too much on your mind about your man to think about the partition separating you two from the driver. “it is.. maybe.” you mumur, mindlessly running your thumb along the slit of his cock. it glistened with pre, leaning towards you with small twitches as you greeted it with your lips.

you kiss the tip, purple lipstick stanning the lightly red muscle as you go further down. you have to remind yourself you can’t play with the hefty balls stuck in that stupid clothing, opting for simply pressing on them, knowing that was enough for him to shift, trying to feel the friction more. “fucker better not look at us weird— fuuuck baby, yea, just like that.” toji desperately wants to push your head further down as the warmth of your mouth envelops him.

you’re devilish. doing more that just sucking his cock and getting him off quickly. the image of him getting ready earlier was plaguing your mind, and even just the way he sat across from you ten minutes ago had you salivating. legs spread for freedom as his dark eyes watched you munch on the snacks left on the small table. you can’t get enough toji. but you damn sure are trying by bobbing your head up and down, not moving too fast, lips sucking tightly so he could hear the nasty sounds of spit.

“doin’ so good f’me. you can go a bit deeper, mhm, yea you can.” toji coos, placing a hand on the back of your neck, appreciating the show of your skin and running it comfortably. but it was so big for him to wrap it around your neck, choking you from behind and lifting your head up to see your fucked up face. or to push you further down, listening to the gurgling sounds as you choke on his length. “shit. that’s so hot baby.” he grunts, pulling you up for relief as you hiccup, clearing your throat and looking over at him.

you’re so gorgeous, he think— knows. the way your expensive ass make up was ruined, mascara and eyeliner smudged and he thinks some stained his pants too. but he could care less. especially from the way you kiss his jaw, him tilting it back further so you could paint it in little bits of purple lipstick that was left on your lips. “a few blocks away. please, lemme make you cum toji.” you whine, pouty lips meshing all over his skin as you move onto his lap, rolling up your dress.

thankfully, you were wearing a mini version of your sleeveless dress. allowing you to grind into his length, feeling the fat cock between your thighs. maybe you should post a small review to fashion nova later.

“baby.. fuck, don’t look at me like that.” toji grunts, falling victim to your puppy eyes as you eagerly move to align him with your hole. you take him in one go, both of you moaning as you fall onto his lap with a ‘plop!’. you love it, the familiar sensation of his dick molding your sweet insides, it’s like your comfort place. soothing you into placing your head onto his chest as your mind processes the feeling of him inside you. “makin’ me do all the work huh?” he scoffs, bringing his hands to your sides and starting to bounce you on his cock.

he didn’t have any remorse, you started this. he sets a quick pace that has you clawing his button up, each ‘plap!’ of your flesh meeting leads to his dick reaching up into your goey walls and hitting your g-spot. over and over again. “toji.. mm fuck, i love your dick..” you mumble, head tilting back with your tongue lolling out, too fucked out to even understand anything. only able to comprehend how good your man’s dick feels.

well at least the driver knows too?

“Hot News! Limousine driver goes viral for breaking the law and uploading an audio with the sounds of his clients apparently having sex in the back of the car. It’s not said who the people are, but fans suspect it might be—“ read more at…

“Hope you can handle the heat, put your name in the streets

Get used to my fans lookin' at you”

“baby they’re lookin’” toji groans, holding you tightly as you pepper his face in kisses, even daring to go lower to the skin of his neck that peeked out his collared shirt. “and?” you huff. you came to the airport to pick him up. and who were you to not love your man after nearly a month of being apart?

sure you could’ve waited, but fuck, you just missed him. “c’mon baby. i don't like those cameras on ya.” toji feels hot, something about knowing his woman having no care for the rest of the world does something to him. the clicks of cameras seemed infinite, and he almost felt bad for the bodyguards surrounding you two, keeping the phones and curious people at bay.

“just one more..” you mumbled into his skin, an arm reaching up around his neck and pulling him in. there was a loud sound of ‘aw’s and cooing as you two kissed. and despite his previous words, it edged toji on a bit, making him press further into you, leaning closer. his body trapped you, not letting you leave for air and keeping your lips locked. your tongues battled against each other, his winning and exploring your mouth so vigorously it made you whine against him.

as soon as your legs buckle, too hot and bothered from his actions, he pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your lips until he gives you one more quick n’ sloppy kiss. “we’re gettin’ out of here. fuckin’ wet arent’cha?” he whispers, grinning when you nod quickly, wrapping your arms around him as he picks you up.

the men in black surround you two through the paparazzi until you reach the designated ride. your head was tucked into his neck as toji throws the crowd a smirk, winking before shuffling you two into the car.

“Hot News! Famous actress, [Name], seen to be making out with her newly introduced boyfriend, the, Toji Zenin. is this a good pair? there’s already clips of—“ read more at…

“Fuck what they heard, I don't fuck with them birds

I'm a mean kitty, don't get stabbed with the rat tooth”

“shit baby. i think someone saw us last friday.” toji grunts, turning on the bed, phone in hand and showing your groggy self a video. it’s kinda blurry, the recorder whispering to themselves and getting a glimpse of you and toji sneaking away from a small secluded area. in the video, toji was close behind you, fixing the back of your dress as you fixed your messed up lip gloss. you only hum, reading the caption,

‘saw them at the VMA awards last week.. were they doing you know what? in public too?’

you grin up at toji, bringing a hand up to read through the comments. most of them were assumptions that you two did fuck. considering there’s already a few small infamous clips of you two kissing or getting touchy in public places. you notice that people mention it to be shameful, which you admit, it kinda is.

it’s only shameful if you feel shame.

“you don’t care huh?” “nah.” you giggle, watching him put away the phone before pulling you over onto his chest. you give a small yelp, looking down at his tired form and dragging your hands along his body. “why not baby? don’t you gotta rep? hope y’r not getting emails or stuff about this too..” he sighs, gripping the plush of your thighs and meddling with it as you lean down to kiss him.

“yea, but i don’t care. we still get offers, opportunities and stuff. everything’s well. soo..” you shrug, making him laugh as you grind on his chest. you two were barely clothed after your activities last night, your panties being the only thing keeping your cunt from his defined muscles. “you’re crazy.” and you grin, “your love’s got me lookin’ so crazy right now—” “oh hush, c’mere n’ kiss me..”

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devilmademewriteit · 1 year

Text

Playing Dangerous

part 2 of Salvatore

pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader

summary: sure, the fact that he’d schemed up an entire, elaborate ruse to get between your legs was upsetting. more upsetting was the fact that he refused to fess up, insisting that you needed to be protected (or at the very least—cautious) because your life was in ‘grave danger.’ most upsetting, however? that would be the fact that through it all and above everything else, you still wanted him—badly.

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, oral [m receiving]) so 18+ only content; afab fem reader; mentions of reader having long hair; bratty!reader; brat-tamer!javi; alcohol consumption; smoking; pet names (baby, sweetheart, cariño, hermosa); some angst; dubcon (slight intoxication, power imbalance, age gap).

word count: 10.7k (sorry again)

no use of y/n in this fic

hello here is part twooooo! thank you for all the love on Salvatore I absolutely love all of you so much. you don't rly need to read p1 to enjoy this, just know that: reader is the ambassador's secretary and is an asshole, Javi is also an asshole, they fucked for the first time a few days ago b/c he took her home after someone seemed to be after her life.

don’t forget to join the taglist if you’re nasty; feedback, asks, comments, smoke signals and carrier pigeons always welcome. kisses. -em<3

—

read part 3, Dark Paradise, here.

—

Let’s get in the back of your cop car, officer! - Playing Dangerous

“I am not speaking to you.”

Murphy’s eyes come alive with exasperation, a striking shift from their usual half-asleep, perpetually vacant gawp. Not quite at the point of impatience yet, his voice is soft when he responds.

“Please.”

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms. An impassive sneer makes its way onto your expression.

Not a fucking chance.

Not only were you not planning on ever doing Steve Murphy—and especially, his asshole partner—even the smallest of favours throughout your remaining time on this godforsaken planet, you’d come to the conclusion (quite recently, in fact) that you’d rather dance barefoot on broken glass than be in the same room as either member of the pair.

And it was a shame, really.

After that (now regrettable, once incredible) night at Peña’s place, everything had been fine.

More than fine. Not even awkward.

For a glorious moment, waking up next to him, ruined and sore and bruised and satisfied, sharing a morning coffee and then a ride to work—peace (and the planted seeds of something else, too) had finally settled across the worn-in battlegrounds between you, solid roots spreading with each passing second spent not bickering. For crying out loud, when he’d gotten called away to Bogotá that very same day, you’d put yourself to work keeping his place clean, going so far as to anticipate his return.

Everything had been fine.

Until, of course, you’d gotten the old Chevy serviced.

“Car’s running fine, señorita. Put that missing part back, s’good to go.”

“Missing part?”

“The spark plug—wasn’t in there when we looked.”

And the missing pieces fell into place.

How he’d waltzed into your car earlier on in the day, running his fingers along the hard, hot plastic of the dash—analyzing, observing, and finally commenting on your shitty engine. Then, he’d been conveniently there, waiting for you in the middle of the night, watching you wrestle your hood open in the parking lot after work. Hell, he took you to his place after he’d told you he'd seen a shady truck parked in front of yours… and you’d trusted him.

Without bothering to check for yourself, you’d trusted him.

You had to hand it to the man; it was a clever plan. Wear you down during the day only to corner you while alone, vulnerable, and at night, with no possible avenues for escape.

All to get inside your pants.

God.

Murphy huffs, bringing you back down to Earth. “Listen,” he rubs his temples, exhaustion weighing down the curves of shoulders, “We just want to make sure you’re safe. You don’t have to stay with him, either; Connie—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you snap, narrowing your eyes in full view of his own. “I keep wondering, though... seeing as you're… thick as thieves, these days,” you lean forward over your desk, studying his swallow. “Was it you that shot off that gun? Or did he get someone else to participate in his little scheme?”

The agent tilts his head to the side, putting on the air of a wordless 'really, sweetheart?' before launching into a recitation of a sorely well-versed explanation.

But you cut him off, unforgiving in your suspicion. “Don’t bother, alright? Even if I did believe that, what, some 'cartel sicario'—” you emphasize the ridiculousness of the statement by tossing up a couple of well-timed air quotes “—was after me…?” and then you’re gesturing wildly to yourself, fingertips pointed straight to your heart. “I would rather die—really, seriously, die—than step foot into your home—or-or fucking Peña’s—Ever. Again.”

The mounting ire behind your breathless rambling finally wears him down; he surrenders his complexion to a look of genuine defeat. His arms drop to his sides, heavy and limp.

As you try to appear busy, fidgeting with the scattered papers and documents lying listlessly across your desk, Murphy turns on his heels, stooping toward the exit.

For a brief moment, he hesitates, coming to a slow halt halfway down his holy pilgrimage of freeing you from his fucking presence.

“Did you…” and he briefly trails off, anticipating your wrath with a wince. “Did you fill out that form?”

Irritation clouds your thoughts. Its manifestations in your body feel almost violent.

“What do you think, genius?”

You scare yourself with the aggression underpinning each and every word.

Inside the safety of your mind, your inner dialogue treats him even worse.

Go, motherfucker. Go, go, go, go, go or I’ll tear us both apart, I’ll explode, I’ll—

You hope that it’s Luck listening to your prayers (and not God), because as soon as your brain has time to register the nature of your wicked, near sacrilegious thoughts toward the man, Murphy’s yellow-dusted crown is drooping down in eventual resignation, leading the way as he trudges back to his corner.

A relief.

A short lived one.

Too short.

Because…

Well, because those fucking memories won’t stop replaying inside your mind, etched like crude Botticellis on the backs of your eyelids.

Overlaying the non-stop highlight reel of a vicious fight with Peña, just that morning—

“Well, I didn’t see a car. What I saw was you, whipping me over to your fuck-pad—and now? I see your whole... fucking masterplan to get me into bed.”

“You’re talking fuckin’ crazy. There’s no pussy in the world that’s worth pulling all that.”

—are flashes of his bare, glistening chest, an almost tangible haze of longing obscuring his eyes. You’d taken him in your mouth; you’d felt him all over: against you, with you, inside you.

And when you’re not seeing him, you’re forced to hear him, over and over and over again.

“You fuckin’ sing for me when you’re comin’ on my cock.”

So, you push certain memories away by calling on certain others, repeating every cruel word you’d ever exchanged with each other like a mantra, an affirmation.

They remind you of the man that Javier Peña truly was.

“You are the worst person I’ve ever had the shit-luck of meeting, Peña.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not too crazy about you, either. Got some serious growin’ up to do, sweetheart.”

A loud snap wrenches you back to your senses. You unfurl your fingers to reveal the broken remnants of a poor, innocent pencil you’d been white-knuckle-death-gripping.

What really had you ticking was that, after you’d hurled accusations and insults at him for the better part of an hour—totally monopolizing the space of the familiar, dusty old filing room—he’d had the nerve to continue on with his little act.

“You don’t have to stay with me—”

And his voice had been coated in poison, laced with the kind of fiery contempt that surely only a guilty man could achieve.

“—but do me a favour and just don’t be a fuckin’ idiot. It’s shit work, hiring new secretaries.”

He hadn’t waited around for an answer, leaving you alone with his final words and a mountain of your own unsaid ones.

So, you’d hissed a “fuck off” to the lingering ghost of his presence in the room, trying, in vain, to slow your shallow breaths.

You heave a sigh, forehead dropping to lay heavy against the desk.

If only you could take your brain out for the day. If only you could run it under cold water. Better yet, if only you could scrub it clean with bleach, put it in the dishwasher, run it with the damn laundry—anything to make it shiny and new and untainted.

Peña was lying.

He had to be lying.

What kind of shit sicario goes after secretaries who, beyond not knowing what they’re supposed to know about, don’t care enough to actually retain any of it?

Not a good sicario. Definitely not one who would still be alive in Medellìn, today.

It was all bullshit.

You weren’t the kind of person who attended work parties.

They always ran excruciatingly long. On top of that, you had to watch traumatized coworkers drink. A lot. Then, there was, of course, after-hours work-talk.

None of that had ever screamed 'best night ever!' to you.

Tonight, however, you hadn’t been given a choice: the ambassador had needed 'someone there, you know, just in case work stuff comes up’ which really meant that she was banking on you to give her a ride home at the end of the night.

Like that was happening. She hadn't been pleased when you'd made it clear to her that you were out of commission, off-the-clock, done-zo starting at fifteen to ten. You'd hoped that, at that point, she would've rescinded her original request.

She hadn't.

Still, Noonan had spent the week being remarkably kind to you—maybe her invitation was her (deeply misguided) way of trying to make up for the shit-storm she’d watched you face over past few days (whether she believed Peña’s dystopian, hitman fantasy was uncertain; either way, she’d witnessed your torment at his hands, and both realities seemed equally as emotionally taxing).

Despite all the hints you’d dropped about wanting the night off, she either hadn’t noticed, hadn’t cared, or thought you were just trying to be polite.

Come on.

She’d been your boss long enough to know there was no chance of you pussy-footing around out of politeness.

The event was meant to commemorate some big accomplishment—a narco sting gone right (or else, some big narco boss gone six-feet-under). The reason behind the festivities wasn’t of any importance to you—getting through the next few hours as quickly and as painlessly as possible took up all of the remaining (albeit limited) space in your head.

Because, afterwards? You were going out.

A good friend’s bachelorette, a shit-ton of dark tequila, and the warm lips of a total stranger.

God, you needed that. Every intimate spot on your body was in desperate need of a cleanse. Your tongue, the soft skin between your thighs, the peach-fuzz on your cheeks…

They remembered him.

They made sure you couldn’t forget him.

About half-way through serving your sentence in regulatory purgatory, someone turns on the stereo. A Queen song—the one that everyone knows. You’re looking around, trying to locate the source of the sound.

It’s mostly administrative and political bodies crowding up the office's stuffy foyer. There’s an odd clink of glass meeting glass whenever someone new walks in, or else when a deal’s finally graduated beyond the negotiation stage.

It’s too highbrow, too boring and white-collar for restless DEA agents, you remind yourself.

Slowly, slowly the hours trickle by.

The music helps—every Diaz song has the minutes moving double-time.

And after what feels like centuries of excruciating small-talk, of brushing off endless, casual condescension, of staring at the clock hanging off the wall, finally, it’s time to go.

First, a last minute change (you’re not wearing a damn button-up to the bar—it’ll be a tight dress and cute shoes or absolutely nothing at all) and a quick refresher in the bathroom. Then, you’re trailing a bee-line towards the exit with 'home-free' on the tip of your tongue.

Keep your head down. Nod. A chagrined smile to each pair of gawking eyes.

‘Cause soon? You’ll be dancing.

You’re straddling the office doors, left foot in, right foot out when an authoritative voice calls your name from behind.

Christ Almighty.

Turning slowly, you find yourself triangulated between Noonan and…

Fucking Steve Murphy.

That one looks apprehensive. The former?

A bit red in the face.

“Murphy, here,” the ambassador gestures sloppily towards the agent’s uneasy form, “Tells me he needs something. Papers, right? Think we can get that to him before you leave for your… little soirée—what do you say?”

She doesn’t catch it, but he does; your unbridled, aversive stare pierces him right between his eyes. Forcing it down (and oh, does it ever burn your throat) you etch a reluctant smile, nodding wordlessly to your boss.

God, if only money were an object. This damn job would be a short paragraph on your resume, a blip in your timeline on this Earth.

Noonan slaps Murphy on the back, harrumphing as though she’d just solved world hunger. Quickly, she finds someone new to accost (or be accosted by), swept into a different, equally-boring conversation before you can even begin to feel angry at her for putting you into such a… distasteful position.

And you whir on him.

Before the rush of accusations gets a chance to part from your lips, Murphy interrupts you, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

“I didn’t say a thing.” He sounds serious, sincere. “Swear. She came up to me and just… knew all about it.”

You narrow your eyes in suspicion. Nonetheless, your fingernails slowly retreat from their burrows in the skin of your palm.

It’s not because of his earnestness.

No.

It’s because only a serious maniac would flaunt their under-the-table bullshit so publicly, flying it right under the ambassador’s nose. Whatever those records were for (and whatever the reason why Peña and Murphy so badly needed them), it was becoming increasingly clear that they were not intended to land in either of their hands.

Murphy hadn’t been nervous because of you. He’d been nervous because of her. A little less drink, a bit more curiosity, and Noonan would've been privy to whatever it was that the pair was up to.

“Fine.”

He exhales, shoulders relaxing, dropping like stones with the release.

Without another word, you make your way down the hall, charging toward the alcove harboring your desk. Murphy trails behind, five feet back at all times like a recently-scolded school-child.

Good.

It takes a few, long minutes to get the job done.

He waits around anxiously, fiddling with your stationary (until you slap his hand away from your beloved pens and planners) and pacing around the room.

When it's done, you don’t read the form, you don’t investigate. The less you know, the better.

And frankly?

You couldn’t give less of a shit.

As the papers slide out of the printer, you warn him: “You’re gonna need a signature from their side, you know. I can only get you so far.”

He nods, taking the precious sheets in hand. “Think we got that side covered.” Then, he’s reading them over, checking to make sure everything's in order. You stand with your hand on your hip, waiting impatiently for his goddamn approval. After an eternity (really—by the end of it you’re genuinely wondering whether the man should get tested for dyslexia), Murphy hums in satisfaction, giving you an awkward, “Thanks, again.”

You scoff, crossing your arms over your half-exposed chest.

Didn’t even thank me a first time, asshole.

He spins around, aiming for the exit, when another body appears before him.

And the man stops Murphy in his tracks, deep-brown eyes trailing down to the packet of papers cradled between his partner's hands.

“Noonan came through, then.”

It’s all he says.

Your nostrils flare.

The skin on your face positively burns.

Of course it had been him. He was probably the entire reason behind the ambassador’s unusual tipsyness, too. Hell, he’d probably fed her Prosecco and half-compliments ‘til she’d been more than happy to do him a million favours.

Wasn’t that his M.O., anyways? ‘Get ‘em drunk and get my way?’

Three comfortable, familiar words find themselves sliding—easily—off your tongue.

“Fuck off, Peña.”

You surprise yourself with the cruelty of your tone, the biting emphasis of each word.

He settles his onyx eyes on you. They glaze over with hunger, with amusement, with danger.

Fuck.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, sweetheart—I will in a minute,” and he nods at his partner, effectively dismissing him.

Murphy hesitates, eyes jumping between the stand-off taking place before him. Likely, he was trying to decide which one of you was going to murder the other first.

Finally, with his beloved form tucked under his arm, Murphy heaves a sigh of resignation, and then he’s gone.

Leaving you alone with Peña.

The corners of his lips pull back into an arrogant smirk as his eyes rake over your body—done up, dressed down, and positively fuming in your little kitten heels.

“You look hot.”

It’s all he says.

Some girls would’ve killed to hear those words from him. You’d spent years watching their eyes trail his movements in the office, listening to their puling voices—'is Javi there?'—over the phone.

But it just makes you want to scream.

Fearing the actual possibility of that coming to fruition, you keep your mouth sealed shut. Tight.

Silence won’t do for Peña.

“What’d you tell me, once?” He muses softly, making his way towards your desk. “Somethin’ about this place not bein’ a… a what’d you call it? A brothel?”

Dog.

He yanks a retort from your lips as if he had full command over them. “I’m going out, asshole.”

His face twitches ever-so-slightly, just enough for you to catch the hint of emotion. Then, it’s gone.

“No, you’re not.”

Casual as ever, he does that thing: runs a finger from the corner of his bottom lip down the length of it, looks up at you through thick, dark eyebrows.

You bristle at the sheer, unwinding effect it has on you.

“Yes, I am.”

He raps his knuckles against the desk in irritation; nevertheless, his voice is soft, imploring as he persists. “C’mon, baby. I need you to listen to me, right now. It’s..." and he undresses you with a mere look, "It's not a good time for you to be goin’ to those kinds of places.”

Just like any other man.

Probably, Peña’s ego was so over-inflated that the mere thought of any of his conquests colluding with another man had him on the brink of spontaneous combustion.

Because God forbid you fuck anyone else.

God forbid you even think of touching anyone else.

And this strange, uncharacteristic possessiveness, this… need for control—it was wearing extremely thin.

The man had zero authority over you. He certainly didn’t get to preside over the choices you made during your free time.

“Don’t call me baby, Peña—I’m not your baby.” The snapped retort makes you sound so young, to the point where, for a moment, you understand why the agent had called you a brat so many times that one, fateful night.

Still, you soldier on, focussed on freeing yourself from yet another one of the evening's grueling set-backs. “And I’m not gonna ‘listen to you’ just ‘cause you think you’ve got some sort of… machismo claim over me.”

A deft muscle in his jaw tenses. He rounds the desk, moving just a half-foot closer to you; that alone is enough to jump-start your heart, and you’re almost sure he can hear it, jack-hammering away inside your chest. You both know that being the first to step away signified weakness—concession—so you stay put (even when your legs yield to a slight wobble).

And he’s almost crooning. “You can spread those legs for half the country, for all I care, baby.” A condescending look, cast down at you over the bridge of his nose. “Not what this is about.”

Yeah, right.

“Please.” You roll your eyes. “Still working that angle?”

He takes a step forward. “Is it so crazy to think that I could just be tryna look out for you?” Meeting your gaze, he speaks earnestly—pleading through his irritation.

“I don’t need you to ‘look out for me’,” Your back grazes against the ambassador’s doors—you kick yourself internally for having subconsciously conceded to a back-step. “Especially not since the last time I thought that’s what this was?” your fingers gesture wildly between the (lack of) space separating your bodies, “You totally took advantage of me.”

A pause as the agent fluctuates from bafflement to genuine offense.

“Took adv—are you being serious?” he scoffs, shaking the coarse, dark hair on his crown. “I gave you, like, one drink.”

Victory courses through your veins at the sudden, intense flood of irritation marking his tone, the vein popping in his jaw.

Anything to get to him, to make him tick, to scratch that itch.

Dig. Dig. Dig.

A shrug. “Maybe you put something in it.”

His eyebrows jump up, eyes widening with the movement.

Just. So. Close.

“And… you know, I am a lot younger than you—”

“—okay, enough.”

Peña’s growled response has your voice fizzling out into nothingness. Closing what’s left of the distance between you, muscled form looming, he flattens you against the ambassador’s office doors. As one large hand slowly splays out next to your ear, the other comes up to grasp your chin. His fingers wrap around your jawbone, all the way from one ear to the other.

You’re stuck, frozen under the weight of that dominant leer.

“Y’know,” he muses, deep and low, “It’s really fuckin’ obvious what all this is actually about, sweetheart.” Trapped in his glare, you watch his eyes grow dark, his gravelly voice falling into a register you’d never before heard it descend to. And he’s so, so close to you, close enough that you can smell him: that distinct, earthy scent of man that never failed to have your head spinning, your arms weak. “This… highschool bullshit you’ve been pullin’ since I got back… accusin’ me of all kinds of shit—"

You deny yourself the pleasure of looking at his lips when his words withdraw into an almost-whisper.

“Makes you feel real innocent, doesn’t it?

You don’t respond, concentrating on stifling the growing ache in your core, the thump-thump-thumps inside your rib cage, the lump forming in your throat.

A rarity, a miracle, Jesus turning water into wine: words fail you.

“Know what I think, cariño?” His fingernails press into your cheeks, digging soft indents. Not to bruise—

To hold you steady.

To assure himself of his command over your full, devoted attention.

When he finally continues, his smoky breath raises the hairs along your exposed skin.

God, it must be, like, nine-hundred degrees in the room.

“I think”—and he’s toying with you, near-black eyes dancing with amusement—“You’re just embarrassed.”

Leaning in, his lips brush against the ridges of your ear, slow words washing over you in big, heavy waves. “‘Bout how easy it was for me to get between these legs.” Male, calloused fingers ghost over the skin of your thighs, creeping higher and higher up the length of your body.

“Remember how wet you got for me, cariño? Beggin’ me to fuck you so rough?”

And for a brief, suspended moment—

You do.

He leans back enough for you to watch his eyes harden, uttering an “I remember it all, baby,” as his thumb leaves your jaw to trace the highest point of your cheekbone.

And his tone turns to stone.

“Especially when you’re acting like you need a fuckin’ reminder.”

Your cheeks grow red-hot. The ground feels unsteady under your feet—and the spell breaks.

Pig.

“You’re fucking vile, Peña,” you spit, wrenching his grip off your face. “And also, dead wrong.” Slamming into his shoulder, you aim to storm out.

He catches your arm, twisting you back around to face him. “If you go out tonight,” the man near-growls, lecturing down at you like a damn parent, “You’re putting your life and everyone else's on the line.”

You tear your wrist from his fingers, shrugging off his empty warning with a dramatic spin on your heels.

Strutting out, you leave him with a poison-coated, “Say ‘hi’ to the whores for me.”

And you’re gone.

It’s loud. Your feet are sore from dancing in your heels. A different, unfamiliar body is in reach in every possible direction from your own.

It’s perfect.

Five shots in and you still feel like you could take more, if only to forget the exhausting events of the day.

Less than 48 hours ago you’d been prepared—dear God, longing—to hand yourself over to a man you were now quite happy to never see again. With your hands wrapped around a stranger’s neck, you’re determined to cleanse yourself of his lingering traces.

He’s gazing down at you, male, hungry eyes gunning for the taking. Local, you guess, or at the very least South-American. After a daring look, you grab him by the collar, brushing your starved lips against his.

“Want to get out of here?”

The pronunciation isn’t great—but it does the trick. He nods enthusiastically, allowing you to take his hand in your own without hesitation. Too easy. The hard part is weaving through the agitated, bustling crowd with your nameless partner in tow.

It’s reckless. It’s stupid. But God, is it ever necessary.

Escaping your friends at the start of the night had been child’s play, and they could be counted on to be too fucked-up at this hour to notice your absence, anyway.

Good.

Your act of desperation would be remembered solely by its participants.

A gentle evening wind swirls around your tingling body, the day’s heat hanging thick in the air as you step onto the street, the syncopated thumps of Latin music fading unwillingly into the background.

Pivoting abruptly, you flatten yourself against the wall outside, pulling the stranger in close by the fabric of his blue button-up.

“Yours or mine?”

He smirks, gentle lines forming by his golden eyes. Internally, you commend yourself: the catch was quite pretty.

“Here is okay, I think.”

Then, his lips are on yours, parting you open in a sloppy, drunk kiss.

This could work.

His traveling hands already seem to be numbing some of the tension simmering under your skin.

This could work.

His rough kisses overwhelm your senses, slowly filling the hollow ache lodged at the heart of your core.

Please, God—let this work.

Just as a hand reaches up to cradle the back of your neck—

(let this work, let this work, let this work)—

Just as a pleased moan travels from your lungs into his own—

Tires screech against the pavement, slamming you back into your body, wrenching you straight into the dire moment. Tearing your lips from the stranger’s, you peer over his shoulder, eyes widening at the sight of a black Camino screaming to a stop right before you. Time stops; the windows are down, and what you know to be the barrel of a hand-gun pokes out from the backseat.

“Get down!”

Maybe it's in your head (after all, it would make sense for your psyche to summon his voice in a moment so violent); or maybe it's real. Either way, you listen to the command, hitting the ground without any reservations. And those stupid heels—you stumble, face-planting onto the pavement, scraping every exposed part of your body against hot, rough cement.

A cry of terror rips from your throat as the sound of bullets punctuates the warm, summer night—Jesus, it’s louder than anything you’d ever heard before.

Somewhere along the chaos, the pretty stranger from the bar books it down the calle.

Everything happens so fast. A familiar Cherokee veers in the way, separating you from the attackers. The surrounding air becomes rife with lead, a terrified chorus of male and female voices joining the symphony, and you really can’t tell whether the pain in your chest is from the friction of your own harmonizing screams or if it’s bullets tearing through your body. From the ground, you watch your attackers’ vehicle take off down the street, haphazardly parting crowds of cowering civilians in its wake.

When it all stops, it doesn’t really stop.

Violence persists, ringing in your ears like a doomsday clock going off, an A-bomb alarm siren. The echoes are happy to prolong your torment.

The Jeep’s passenger door swings open. You scramble back, scampering down the pavement as adrenaline claims you in never-ending rushes.

“Get inside, now.”

You nearly sob with relief at the familiar voice. It hadn't all been in your head. Jumping up on unstable legs, you lunge into his car, jerking the door shut behind you.

Without sparing a moment, his white-knuckled hands yank the wheel to the side, veering onto a road just off the main strip.

Javier Peña’s never looked so stressed.

“You’re not gonna follow them?” It comes out as a cry, a desperate plea for retribution.

He doesn’t answer.

Which doesn’t stop you.

You want to see them punished for making you feel so helpless, and for the scrapes and bruises decorating your elbows, your knees, your palms.

“Javi,” a begging king of shout, “Why aren’t we following them?”

“‘Cause you’re in the fucking car!”

In the heat of the moment, the cutting edge of his harsh tone doesn’t bother you. If anything, it’s gentle compared to the violent sensations stewing within your body and mind.

“So?”

He takes a sharp right, slamming your side against the Jeep’s hard interior.

“Been in enough…” He grits his teeth, trying to keep his irritation in check, “Compromising situations tonight, alright? Now, just shut up ‘n let me drive.”

You pipe down, not awfully interested in getting yelled at again in your fragile state.

At first, it feels like the full-body trembles wracking your entire being won’t ever cease. And yet, by the grace of God, after a few minutes, the thundering behind your ribcage slowly subsides.

It helps that you’re still a little buzzed.

It especially helps when his driving slows and the streets begin to empty—when the shops and houses become more and more recognizable, when the night grows more and more tame.

You know where he’s headed. The safety of the intended destination has you relaxing, finally level enough to take deep breaths.

Eventually, he stops the car, cutting the engine in full view of his building's front door.

The rumbling stops, and suddenly, it's very quiet. Javier groans, leaning back against his seat, bringing a hand up to his temples. He doesn’t look at you, keeping his eyes closed behind the palm of his hand.

And oh.

He’s pissed.

“Go inside, lock the door, don’t open it for anyone.” His command, though dripping with ire, is underpinned with genuine concern. When you don’t respond, he finally shifts his gaze to meet yours, fixing you with an intimidating, severe kind of stare.

“Do you understand?”

At first, your impulse is to respond with a bitchy retort, to meet his intensity head-on with your own brand of unpleasantness. You stifle that reflex, taking stock of the situation at hand: Peña had just saved you from a flurry of bullets.

Peña… had just saved you…

And the realization hits you like a punch to the gut.

He’d been telling the truth.

Someone was really after you. Twice, now, they'd tried to take your life.

And, still? Your addled brain can’t seem to wrap itself around the idea of Peña’s innocence. Your bursting question takes you both by surprise.

“So, you didn’t take my spark plug?”

He stares at you, full mouth parted in genuine bewilderment. Then, he scoffs, breathing an exhausted exhalation. “No, I didn’t take your damn spark plug, sweetheart. That’s what I’ve been saying. If you’d bothered to actually fuckin’ listen for once in your life…” he shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, “‘Could’ve avoided all… this.”

Shame tries its best to seep into your core. You resist it, scrambling for reasons to justify your actions to him.

To yourself.

You hated being wrong. That feeling had a tendency of overwhelming everything else—of overriding rationality, itself.

So, you turn to a classic defense, an ol' reliable: deflection. “After all the shit you’ve put me through over the years, can you blame me for not, just like, blindly trusting you?”

He scowls, angling his shoulders to square off with your own.

“Never asked for you to ‘blindly trust’ shit, though, did I?” He huffs, “Jesus.”

You try not to wince as he continues on, as the truth of his words and the seriousness of his delivery render you mute. “You’re a secretary, sweetheart. This is my job—my life—okay? When I tell you to be careful, for the sake of your own damn good, you need to listen to me.”

There’s a long pause as his words tease out your final, entangled threads of resistance.

He was right. You’d been stupid in your denial, putting yourself and dozens of others in danger.

Putting Javi in danger.

It takes everything you have to fight the tears threatening to well along your lashes. But there's no sense in allowing yourself to mourn your mistakes—at least not at this very moment.

No, now was not the time to work through your shame.

Now was the time to seek forgiveness.

To make amends.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, trying to catch his downcast eyes.

And it’s true.

Javi shakes his head, resisting your apology. He says nothing, and your heart aches for him.

Whatever this man was—he hadn’t deserved a fraction of the hell you’d given him.

The hell you’d given him because…

Because he’d gotten close. Too close. Close enough to soften you, to see you in a way that not one single person had the right to. He’d been a novelty: the first man you’d trusted enough to be capable of handling the full breadth of yourself. And when that had started to feel volatile—as though he’d gained too much of you?

Well, you’d needed a reason to push him away. To wrench yourself back from him.

Because you’d been embarrassed.

Knowing that he’d been right about that, too, makes you feel so small, so young, and deeply naive.

Immature.

You lean over, crooning at his turned profile.

“I mean it, Javi.” His name is your weapon—you will it to wear him down—a reminder of what it sounds like leaving your lips. “I’m sorry.”

Again, silence.

It’s fucking unbearable.

Placing an unsteady hand on his knee, you trail it up his thigh—slowly. His chest hitches with the force of a deep, sharp inhale and yet, he still refuses to meet your gaze.

But you catch his reflection in the glass: a slight twinge of the eyebrows, a delicate parting of the lips, and a hint of longing within those furious eyes.

Wiggle room.

“Could you ever forgive me?” You ask timidly, seductively, fingers creeping towards the crease of his trousers and that big silver buckle looming right above it.

Finally, he turns, his expression meeting yours with a hungry (albeit still deeply annoyed) look.

That wanting you’d learned to recognize…

It excites you.

And as you tug at his belt, releasing it with tantalizing slowness, you keep your steady gaze on his undecided one, uttering a pleading, “I can make it up to you, baby.”

Wordlessly, he watches your fingers move to the button of his pants, then to his fly, working with dedication, with delicate care.

There’s movement as you reach your fingers underneath the fabric. He grows hard for you, burgeoning out of the fabric in a matter of seconds.

It’s all the invitation you could’ve possibly hoped for.

His skin is hot against your knuckles as they slide down his lower abdomen. Grasping the base of his cock, you use two hands to spring him free.

God, he’s even bigger than how you’d remembered him—bigger than even your guiltiest fantasies.

Javi groans softly when you pull him, releases a hot, shallow breath when you stroke him, and a low, breathy “fuuuck” when you finally, finally take him in your mouth.

He tastes like the salt of the ocean. This close, you can smell men's cologne mingling with sweat.

It’s heaven.

And you just don’t want him to be angry anymore. It’s all you can think about—lips cradled adoringly around his cock, tongue running up and down the long length of him—as he throws his head back in pleasure.

He eventually relaxes, conceding to the ecstasy you persuade him with. Almost drinking the uncertainty—the resistance—right out of him.

“Christ,” he groans, tangling his fingers in your hair, forcing you to take in every last inch of him. “Wanted to shut you up like this all fuckin’ day.”

It becomes a challenge to breathe, but air simply isn’t a priority with a man like him at your fingertips, as your responsibility. This, he knows, his heavy hand determining the slow, careful pace, the impossible depth, and the angle of your unspoken apology.

Growing wet and lightheaded at the same time, you loose a moan against his velvety skin.

Javi laughs, darkly. “Always got somethin’ to say, huh? Even with a mouth full of cock.”

You smile around him—taunts are good. Better than silence, anyways. “Mhmm.”

The sounds of his laughter rumbles soft and low throughout his middle—so different, so sweet and innocent compared to the wet, filthy ones produced by your mouth’s ministrations.

You give him everything you have, ignoring the droplets forming in the corners of your eyes and lips, the dull burning inside your lungs. When the tip of his cock lodges at the back of your throat, you keep him there.

Whatever Javi gives you, you take.

Happily.

Every last drop would find its home inside you, traveling down the length of your tongue and into all of your warmest places.

It was the least you could do for him.

But he has other plans. His hand bunches up your hair, tightening into a fist to pull you off of him. His cock pops out from between your lips; you’re guided up to face him.

He looks stern.

Dangerous.

Out of breath, tears sliding down your cheeks, lips glistening with the slick of your own spit—you’re a welcome sight to any man of his kind.

“Say it.”

He makes use of his free hand, wiping the coarse pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, clearing the string of saliva collecting there.

It’s not rocket science, figuring out what it is that the man wants to hear.

“I’m sorry, Javi.”

Neither of you had ever known how much an apology could sound like a prayer.

“Yeah?” Despite the gentleness of his tone, his eyes darken with lust to the point that you feel genuinely nervous about his intentions. “What are you so sorry for, hermosa?”

Fuck, the pet-names... the way his voice changed when reverting to its native tongue—rolling with confidence. At such an awkward angle, you’re forced to grip onto his forearms to keep balance. They feel strong and unbending beneath your fingertips.

Everything… everything about him draws you in.

He just makes you crazy.

Crazy enough to smile, to turn your profile to the side, laying a long, careful kiss to his palm. Crazy enough to answer his question in a needy, whiney whisper: “for being such a brat.”

He almost smiles, near-black eyes dancing with hunger, with approval, with a playful kind of ire.

Jerking his head to the right, he gestures to the backseat. “Wanna show me how sorry you are, cariño?”

You’re nodding before the question really even registers.

He releases his hold on you, deft fingers quickly untangling from your hair.

Victory. Victory. Victory.

Then, you’re stumbling out of the passenger side, opening the door to the backseat.

(You take a second to commend yourself for driving a man so wild, making him so impatient that he couldn’t be bothered to walk the ten feet required to fuck you inside his apartment. Or, maybe he just liked letting the neighbours watch.)

Before you can even step foot inside the car, you’re being hauled by your upper arms onto Javi’s lap. He manhandles you into his desired position, spreading your knees around his thighs until your dress is hitched up, only covering your ass half-way.

After snaking a hand between your bodies, the agent runs his thumb down the slick fabric of your underwear.

Already, you’re holding back a slew of pathetic whines.

“Next time you give me head”—God, the feeling of those fingers against your clit, the bliss of them pushing your panties to the side, assessing your readiness for him—“Wanna be able to see that pretty mouth while my dick’s inside it, sweetheart.”

His lust has him speaking a bit out of breath. It makes every crude, filthy word sound sweet, almost endearing to you.

Nodding in response, you work with him—lowering yourself onto his fingers as he pushes them between your folds.

“Jesus Christ,” he smiles, head falling back in appreciation, “You’re soaked.”

His fingers curl up, pressing to please in all the right places. Your answer arrives between gasps: “You tasted good.”

That pleases him.

“Yeah?” and he’s dragging his digits out of you, letting them trail through your folds and along your heavy, sore clit before leaving you wanting, leaving that needy cunt clenching around nothing. “I bet you taste even better.”

Then, his grip is on your jaw, pressing damp spots into your skin under his index, middle, and ring fingers. With the pad of his thumb pressed firmly to your bottom lip (and the row of teeth behind it), Javi eases your mouth open, wider and wider and wider for him.

“Show me—show me how good you taste.”

His index crawls onto your tongue. You close your lips around it, sucking him in until his fingernail scratches the back of your throat. He wants to be shown, so you show him: gazing intently into his eyes, you watch his brow furrow as he studies your every movement, as he drinks in your every moan.

“Fuckin' hell,” he groans, commending your efforts. “You’d do anything I asked right now, wouldn’t you, hermosa?”

Your bottom teeth graze the undersides of his index as you pull off—“yes, Javi.” Almost instinctively, you’re reaching your hand down, letting it coast down the hardness of his chest to rub circles around the slick tip of his cock, still peeking out from his open fly.

“Not yet,” he clicks his tongue, pushing his index, and this time, his middle and ring, too, back through the opening of your lips, “Need to clean yourself off every one of these fingers, first—thaaat’s right.” You listen, obediently sucking everything he gives you. He instructs and praises, “easy—easy, cariño, there it is,” as he watches you glide up and down him in slow, big pulls, all the way down to his knuckles.

It’s fucking filthy, and he loves it, unable to keep that arrogant smirk off of his face.

He’s practically in paradise, coming up with a mental list of creative ways to shut you up.

Still, Javi allows you to multitask: all the while, your fingers continue to explore the exposed parts of his cock. Only when he’s satisfied, when his length couldn’t possibly get any harder—only then does he free your mouth, letting his damp fingers trail down the side of your neck.

The feeling sends a shiver up your spine.

Without warning, he yanks down the straps of your dress and bra, pulling them all the way down until you’re postured on his lap, chest fully exposed; his abrupt movement has you loosing a stunned "Javi!" He runs his palms over the most sensitive peaks of your breasts, a hungry smile teasing the corners of his lips.

Then, he shrugs. “Told you last time I wanted to see them. Got the prettiest fuckin’ tits, hermosa.”

You don’t have time to roll your eyes, to laugh, or to really even register the vulgarity of his words, nor the taunting, degrading way they’re delivered to you. Javi’s already holding both you and himself up in one arm (and, oh, how you’d simply ached for the feel of his strength) pulling down the waistband of his pants. He maneuvers you into the proper position to receive him in, two pairs of downcast eyes watching his cock spring free, tip curving in, grazing against the fabric of his shirt.

He rushes, but it still feels torturously slow. You’re craving, needing, as he uses the dark head of his cock to ease your ruined underwear to the side, guiding himself towards your dripping opening.

This time, he’s far too impatient to make you beg for it.

Ecstasy forces your back into an arch as he pushes himself between your walls, as you feel him filling you up, up, and up—wordless mouth falling open, your heavy head collapses aaall the way back.

Immediately, a hand is at the back of your skull, forcing your gaze back downwards. “No, no, no, baby, you let me see—let me see you when you ride,” and his voice is a little strained, a little desire-stricken, a little bit softer as he settles his every last inch inside your cunt.

Your irises could be forest fires as you set your sights on his own, seeing nothing, absolutely nothing but Javier in that moment.

Moving your hips in tandem, you set your pace.

Mother Mary—it’s hard, so fucking hard to keep your legs steady when he stretches you open—wide fucking open—and as his head grazes that spongy spot inside.

He doesn’t help, either. In fact, while your hands dig anchors into his shoulders (sometimes his chest, his neck, his waist) just to keep yourself upright, his own are trailing up to the pocket of his shirt, pulling out a pack of smokes.

You mewl softly at the heat building inside your cunt, loosing an indignant whine as Javi neglects his responsibilities toward your climax.

“Gave me such a hard time today, baby,” he muses, placing a cigarette between his fingers and tossing the rest aside, “Wanna hear a fuckin’ ‘thank you Javi’ every time you come.”

His words dance around you like streetlights passing in the night, barely registering inside your disintegrating mind. How could they? With the feeling of his thighs grazing the undersides of your own, the buttons of his shirt nudging against your aching clit… how could anything else even exist?

All you can give him is an “Mhm.”

He pulls a lighter out, smirking. “‘Tough-talker ‘til this pussy’s all full, huh?”

“I-I’m sorry, baby, I’m s-sorry.”

And he laughs. “Don’t say it, cariño,” he takes your hand, placing the light inside your fist. “Fuckin’ show me.”

He rolls his hips. Your weight collapses against his chest.

“C’mon,” he coaxes, pushing you off, straightening you up before placing the cigarette between his lips, “Aaall you gotta do is light up the tip. You got it, sweetheart.”

His hands travel down to your ass, giving it a rough squeeze before his fingers splay out. He spreads you open over his thighs, watching the etchings of your lust corrupt your expression as he fucks himself—slow, deep, hard strokes—inside you.

“Fu—please, Javi—I can’t, s’too much, baby—please—”

A smile, full lips parting around the dart. “S’wrong, baby?” The words are low, breathy, teasing, contorting around the smoke in his mouth. “Can’t focus?”

God, just make him happy.

It’s the only thought you seem to be able to form. His request doesn’t seem to be up for debate, either.

So, summoning every last bit of control still lingering inside you, you bring a trembling hand up to the unlit end, a string of moans and ‘Javi’s rising from your throat.

And fuck, he’s beautiful, brimming with playful passion, orange filter hanging off those pretty pink lips.

Trying to still yourself, you flick the lighter on—the flame dances between you, illuminating the expansive darkness lurking inside his gaze. It takes everything, everything you have left to light it for him, to make that white tip glow red hot, to stay steady enough, to keep from burning him.

And also, to hold your pace. That grip of steel wrapped around your hip serves as a constant reminder—

Keep taking it.

In those final moments, he picks up his pace, of course. Your simmering blood bubbles to a boil, the flutters inside your cunt graduating into pulsing throbs.

As the flame finally takes, you feel every muscle inside your core tense—when Javi inhales his first drag, you straddle the precipice of your orgasm.

Your weight falls onto his shoulder. One of his arms reaches up to ash the cigarette; the other wraps tightly around you, bouncing you against him as exhales a cloud of smoke into your hair.

“Baby—Javi, I’m coming, I’m coming, I'm c—”

Heat builds between your thighs, and as that bundle of nerves grows heavy, pulsing with the rush of your orgasm, his thrusts only deepen.

He pulls you in close.

“I know, cariño,” Javi coos, condescending into the shell of your ear, basking in the feel of your cunt near-strangling him in adoration. “Can feel you, y’know? Got such a grateful lil' pussy,” he places a kiss to the side of your neck, groaning against the soft skin. “Always lets me know how much you love having my cock buried inside it.”

As he speaks, you try to catch your breath. To come down from your high.

It doesn’t work. Not while his hips continue to grind against yours, not while cradled between his arms like his holy beloved, and especially not with his tip still pressing against every available, wanting spot on your walls.

Javi takes another long drag from the dart. “What do you say when you come, baby?”

A big, laboured inhale, and the words come out in one, rushed exhalation. “Thank you, Javi.”

He responds with a downright cocky laugh. “You’re welcome, cariño. Good girl.”

The praise… it makes you melt.

Tangling his fingers in your hair, nails grazing the skin of your scalp, he pulls you off of his chest. Your heavy breaths mingle together in the stale heat of the Jeep Cherokee.

You buck up, doing your best to keep pleasing him as he studies your devoted movements, as he leans back against the seat—groaning.

His hand—often glued to your rolling hip—provides you with only a mere hint of stability.

“That guy you were with,” he takes a drag from his cigarette, using his free hand to toy with one of your peaked nipples. “At the bar. You’d’ve done this for him?”

Your lips part, but no sound crosses the threshold of your lips. You’re dazed—still coming—and building to yet another peak. His unwillingness to move starts to ground you; the long length of every hard muscle beneath his arms, the round, bulging ridges of his shoulders… they become your salvation, places to lay your weight into. Riding him becomes second nature: you’re attuned to his rhythm and the desperate, commanding desires of your body.

Suddenly, you’re a part of him; when he exhales, the smoke creeps out of his lungs and into your own.

You burn right along with it.

He drops the still-smoking cigarette onto the seat next to your entangled bodies, bringing both his hands to rest against your dampened skin. One comes down hard, delivering a quick, harsh slap to your ass.

It would leave a mark.

“Tell me. Use that pretty mouth, hermosa. ‘Know you know how—used it—ran it all fuckin’ day.” Javi grunts, angling to bend over you, pushing into your guts as he wraps you in his arms, finally taking the burden of your weight off of your scraped up, wobbling knees. He continues on, “Tonight, too—been so easy, baby, lettin’ me put anything I want in there like a good lil' slut,” drinking in your cry of pleasure. He almost says it to himself, eyebrows furrowing as he reminisces, as your cunt begins to throb around his hardening cock once more. “You'd've done that for him, cariño?”

You swallow, trying to clear the stars dancing before your eyes, and that fuzzy sound of static. It muffles the symphony of Javi’s hoarse breaths, your own, helpless cries, and the filthy sound of skin colliding with—grinding against—skin.

He quickens, now, using you like a damn toy. Every rough thrust brings you closer to heaven; every ardent, breathtaking squeeze of his arms around your middle feels like angels sighing.

“No,” you breathe, closing your eyes. Your arms cling around his neck, fingers fanning through his thick hair—everything is him, him, him. He leans forward again, ducking down to kiss the hollow of your throat; you pull him in faithfully, moaning softly at the feel of his lips, his teeth under the valley under your jaw. “Only you.” It sounds like worship, sliding up an octave as that low ache worsens, as he compells a second climax out of your already-quivering body. “Only you, Javi.”

He growls, lips dragging up to your ear as the hairs of his mustache tease your cheekbone. “Prove it,” he breathes, deep thrusts growing even more erratic— needier, sloppier. You can barely hear him over your own noises, but he continues his gravelly coos inside your ear nonetheless. “Gimme another one, baby—wanna feel you comin' on my cock when I fill you up so fuckin' full, baby—show me that you’re mine—z’this pussy mine, hermosa?”

“Yesyesyes—oh God, y-yes—m’yours, Javi, y—”

Your legs seize as yet another release tears through your body. The skin of his neck anchors you in place, and you hang off of him like a rosary, digging your fingernails into the warmth of his flesh with every ounce of strength at your disposal.

He fucks you through your second climax, headed straight for his own.

“S-such a good girl, cariño—f-fuck—” Arms, wrapped around your waist, tighten enough to snap you in two as Javi crushes you against his chest, using the momentum of your entire, shaking body to finish himself off. He comes with a grunted “s-shit”—and you pay attention, wanting to commit the divine sound to memory. Swelling between your silken walls, Javi spills everything he could possibly give inside you.

A final, abrupt thrust, married with the non-stop, involuntary clench-and-release of your cunt works to cover every square inch of you with him.

When it’s over, the man refuses to let you part from him (not that you had any real desire to do so, anyway). A big, shaking hand keeps your head cradled in the firm crook of his neck, and he slowly, slowly softens inside you. He basks in the final, weak flutters of your cunt as you lose yourself in the smell of his cologne.

His heart hammers in his chest. You can hear it with your ear pressed to his neck. Going limp, your damp forehead rolls onto the hard roundness of his shoulder.

That aching, sore opening soaks the skin of his thighs. You shiver softly, dripping onto the base of his shaft.

“Say it, cariño,” Javi murmurs, laying a rough kiss to your temple. He runs his hands up and down your bare spine, fingers dancing along your sticky skin.

You loose a breathy laugh against his golden skin. “Thank you, Javi.”

And you pull back just in time to catch his genuine smile.

It fucking melts you. Adoration, pride… spreading like tree-roots under rich, forest soil throughout your still-heaving chest.

He rubs the pads of his thumbs under your eyes, wiping clean some of the going-out makeup that had no-doubt become a total, leaking mess.

“‘Pretty when you’re nice, y'know,” he mutters, moving to cup your cheeks between his warm, hardened palms. And then he pauses, reconsidering his words. “But fuckin’ hot when you’re mean.”

A breathy giggle. “What can I say,” you whisper, trailing a few appreciative fingers up and down his forearms. “You bring out the very best in me, Peña.”

He scoffs, but smiles all the while.

Off in the distance, there’s music. Sounds of debauchery and excitement travel through the warm summer air, audible even through the closed windows. The night is alive for the rest of the city; somewhere far, far away, an engine growls, rubber tires squealing against the pull of hard pavement.

It takes him away.

Javi grasps your shoulders, pushing you up and back to effectively slide you off of his half-soft length. “I’ll wait for you to get inside,” he says, yanking his pants back up over his hips, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Make sure you lock the door, alright?”

Pause.

What?

“You’re leaving?” You mirror him, hastily rearranging yourself—skinny straps find their way back above your shoulders, your short dress finds itself yanked down to its rightful place.

It’s awkward work, given the confines of the space.

The agent slips out from underneath you. He opens the door, rising from the backseat and straightening up with a groan. “Think I know where he was going,” he responds, mostly to himself. “I’m only, what…” a flip of his wrist as he checks the time, “Thiiiiiirty? Thirty-five minutes behind him?”

Before you know it, you’re bristling with irritation.

Again.

You throw your heels down on the street, unceremoniously shoving a cramping foot in each one. “Don’t be an idiot, Peña,” and you try your hand at standing, buckling slightly on a pair of Jell-o legs.

He comes around to your side, steadying you on your feet. Reflected in his deep-brown eyes is the same annoyance flashing across your own gaze. “D’you just expect me to be there, sweetheart? Z’that it? Every time your ass needs saving?”

Shame heats the soft skin of your cheeks. Your eyes trail down to the ground, volatile, incomprehensible emotions building with every passing second.

“It won’t happen again—I won’t-I won’t be so stupid, or-or—I won’t go out, anymore.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, well, that’s nice 'n all, but it’s sure as shit not gonna change anything.”

When you don’t respond, when you don’t look up, his edges soften. “They went to your house, sweetheart.” With his hands on your shoulders, he implores you to see sense. “It’s either we get them or they… get you.”

You exhale, hard. “You’re being dramatic.”

That does it for him.

After an exasperated shake of his head, he’s grabbing your hands in his own, placing a set of keys in the cradle of your palm.

His tone is low, demanding, unbending. “Lock the doors.”

Then, he’s turning to leave, walking to the front of the Cherokee.

Before rounding the corner, he turns his hardened profile to the side. The glare of the building’s lights dance on his tanned skin, turning the whole scene into a sort of lucid dream.

“Y’know, you’re really starting to piss me off with this whole… utopian fantasy you’re livin’ in.” He barely even addresses you, mumbling the rest of his sentiment mostly to himself. “I’m fuckin’ tired of being the only one looking out for you.”

Utopian fantasy?

You try to dismiss him—to call him ridiculous, to throw yourself into the familiar task of poking holes in his arguments—but… you can’t. Over and over, his words rush you in waves: “the only one looking out for you” “utopian fantasy” “the only one looking out for you” “utopian—”

Suddenly, you’re on a different street. In the same clothes, and in the same body, but somewhere far, far away, facing a different man. It’s somewhere very loud, where tires and knees come to a screeching stop against cement, where the downbeat of every Latin measure is punctuated by the sound of a bullet, inscribed with your initials, ripping through the static summer air.

Panic hits you like a bolt of lightning.

It doesn’t go away, either.

Not even once you’re back on Javi’s street, fossilized in amber, watching him move to the driver’s side of his Jeep.

All the fear you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel…

You’d forced him to shoulder it for you, instead.

But, inevitably, what goes around comes around. And he’s dropped your burden right back onto you with a few well-timed words.

Truth bares itself to you, settling heavy atop your bones like an ancient, primal wound. The result is a pair of unsteady legs, a perennial tremor in both, white-knuckled hands, and a crackling voice, resisting use.

“Javi…”

Only when you hear the sound of your own terror echoed back to you do you permit yourself to cry.

And there you stand. Disheveled, confused, broken—clothing misplaced, ruined, broken—

And you just don’t want him to leave.

Not now.

Not when you need him.

Not when you need someone.

Not when you think you’ve finally got it figured out, and especially not when you’re so damn close to speaking it into existence.

Realization. Acknowledgement. Expression.

It’s not a customary pattern, in your experience.

Javi stops in his tracks, stunned to a halt at the sheer emotion in your plea.

It stings when you clear your throat. “I just…” and you falter, strange, unfamiliar words sticking to your throat, sickly-sweet dried honey. Each vowel reverberates back to you, amplified by the acoustics of the empty street and their novelty.

Still, you’re not quite sure how he’s able to hear you, given that you can only bring yourself to speak a handful of decibels above a damn whisper.

“I’ve just never been important, Peña.”

You wipe a self-conscious hand across your face, clearing the sea-salt from below your downcast eyes.

Before you’re able to put a stop to it—it all comes rushing out. Averting his gaze, you ramble on in agitation.

“Not beyond being a-a pair of hands to make fucking photocopies—or as the butt of some sort of “prissy receptionist” joke or even just as some—as-as a kind of fucking challenge to men—men like you, Javier—because I… well, because I’m mean, and I-I guess it’s just fun for everyone to see how far they can take it before—before I…” You give your head a fervent shake, trying to reel yourself back in, trying to close off the monologue.

But the cracks had formed, and with nowhere to go, the mounting pressure of the seven seas washes away the rest of your weakened dam.

The agent can't even get a word in.

“Anyways, that’s-that's not the point. The point is that it just… it didn’t seem possible that anyone in this whole fucking country would even think twice about me—even if it was just to… to kill me…”

A lump forms, lodging behind your larynx.

You start to rush.

“So I really am sorry that I acted like such an asshole, but none of this makes a fucking lick of sense to me—I’m-I’m a secretary, for fuck’s sakes—I’m nothing, no one, I’m not—” and then you’re frantic—

The gunshots, the tires, the music, the spark plug, a Camino—

“Just please, don’t go, don’t—I-I know you’re mad, just—please, just don’t—”

It’s impossible to catch your breath. Every heaved sob racks your lungs, shaking you all the way down to your buckling knees.

You want to turn, to run and hide, to fling yourself into oncoming traffic—anything to end the interminable humiliation you couldn’t seem to keep from putting on display in front of Javier Peña.

And shit. No man could see a woman in the same way after this. No man would care for a woman like this, destroyed and pathetic and—

“Oh, cariño—”

And he’s there.

Those arms—so used to taking—they wrap you up, pulling you into the heat of his body, protecting you from the pointed echoes of laughter and song breezing through the night air. Those hands, the ones that bruised, slapped, grabbed—they hold—the right unburdens you of your oppressive weight, pressed flat against the small of your back. His left cradles the back of your head, laying your temple to the side of his throat.

“You’ve always been important to me, sweetheart.”

His soft murmurs tumble down your spine. That smoky breath envelops you; it reminds you of those blankets in the movies—the ones that the firemen hand out after the disaster’s over, the survivors rescued. In the denouement.

“S’okay, S’okay. I’m sorry, baby, alright? I’m not mad, cariño, it’s okay.”

Running his fingers through your hair, supporting your head like a delicate, sacred object, murmuring comforts against the softest parts of your neck—Javi goes on and on. Despite the frequent shifts between Spanish and English, you manage to catch the main gist of his crooning.

“I could never be mad at you, baby.”

“It’s okay.”

“I’m not mad, cariño.”

“And I’m sorry, baby.”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad.”

“I’ll stay.”

“I’m sorry.”

After an eternity, you feel calm enough to pull away. You’re a wreck, gazing up at him with big, silver-lined eyes.

And it’s then that you see him.

That you really see him.

The concern, the anguish, the affection… You’d punished him for doing the very thing that you were incapable of doing.

Protecting you.

Caring for you.

As tears continue to leak from your eyes, you take note of his beauty. Not just of his looks, but also in the sheer power radiating from him, towering like a knight over you. In those capable, caring hands—hands that had torn others apart, that had put you back together—there was beauty in them, too.

You wipe your face dry.

And you soften your tone, aiming to lighten the mood. “Stop trying to get in my pants, Peña." A sniffle. "I don’t sleep with cops.”

He rolls his eyes, the ghosts of a smile tugging at his lips. “Y’know,” he cups your face, drying the final, lingering remnants of your melt-down off your cheeks, “I waited outside that fuckin’ bar for hours tonight. Just in case.”

Oh.

God, you’d never even bothered to think about how he’d gotten to you so quickly.

Of course he’d been there.

That truth feels… warm.

He goes on. “Watched you… saw you with that guy.” He scoffs at himself, shaking his head. “Had to look away when you came outside. S’why it… took a minute. To get there.”

That has your gaze trailing off, eyes cast down in shame, studying the worn-in rubber on the Jeep’s tires.

It would have never worked, anyway. There wasn’t a man on Earth who could ween your mind off of this one.

With the pad of his thumb against your chin, he brings you back to him. Javi commands your full attention with the just the sincerity of his stare.

“Even when you want nothin’ to do with me... I’m there, alright? I’m here, baby.”

Those eyes… softened with affection, hardened with conviction. Javier always had a way of straddling both worlds at once.

He waits for your signal, your quick nod of acknowledgement.

Then, he’s kissing you—softly. Fingers curling around his forearms, you borrow his strength to keep yourself from swooning. He holds your face as tenderly as he caresses your lips, and with every synced inhalation, he speaks yet another unspoken word into existence.

After giving you enough to make you feel whole again, he pulls away.

With his great-big-palm to your cheek, he says everything you need to hear.

“Let’s go inside, sweetheart.”

—

part 3

—

TAGLIST: @millllenniawrites @pining-and-tired @inkedells @stardust-chords-enthusiast @mattmurdocksgirlfriend @bookofbee @liviloo12346 @anyas-stuff @readingsunshine97 @maudlinflowers @sullysflm @sexygaypalpatine @livyjh @s-unflowxr @lostsoldieronahill @chapterhappygirl @raeluvshammett @silkiers @jupitersmood @supernaturaldean67 @razrsharpwhiteteeth @peqchsoup @corrodedcherries @hawsx3 @monboudoir @theonewithacrush @pono-pura-vida @totallynotastanacc @dzaga890 @swedishscumfuck @killerrxger @niallsbunny @cilliansangel @snowyarcher @grnherbs @mswarriorbabe80 @tercabed @sweettea-and-honeybutter @julesonrecord @bbyanarchist @thisgirl-knm @pedrit0-pascalit0 @princessdjarin @isitselfishifwetalkaboutmeagain @pseudonymist @goldengrapejuice @soullumii @jazzerbelle14

—

Officer Officer Everybody knows that I'm a good girl, officer No, I wouldn't do a thing like that, that's for sure The house was already on fire, I swear I'm not a liar (Well) I'm a little shaken, but I'm fine, thanks for asking Tell me, do you always work alone so late? Gosh, I'm a little shy standing here in my night gown Do you really have to put those tight handcuffs on?

Looking at me, then suddenly

I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane

I've been bad, I've been wrong Playing a dangerous game I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane, hurricane, hurricane

Let's get in the back of your cop car, officer You can ask me anything you want Anything, anything

Do you have a girl? I don't see a ring on your finger Well, that's interesting Have you ever thought of dating a singer?

The flames are getting higher So is my desire It's kind of exciting Don't you think?

Then suddenly he's uncuffing me

I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane

I've been bad, I've been wrong Playing a dangerous game I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane, hurricane, hurricane

Love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I'm in love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane I can be the bad girl I'm getting you so hot You can be the good guy Tell him please stop

Love, I'm in love Love in a hurricane

You can be the good guy (Officer) I'm in love Tell him please Stop (Officer) (Officer) You can be the good good (Officer) I'm in love Love in a hurricane

—

#Javier Peña #javier peña x you #javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena smut #javier pena fic #javier peña fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #narcos #Pedro pascal #Pedro Pascal x reader #Pedro Pascal smut #javier peña x y/n #javier peña narcos #javier pena narcos

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barcaatthemoon · 11 days

Text

she's with me || alessia russo x reader ||

alessia gets jealous when you befriend the new arsenal signing.

alessia's jaw was clenched as she watched you run around with the newest signee. you had been at arsenal for years, long enough to be the unofficial leader of the welcoming party. whenever alessia had signed, you had been the first one at the training grounds to let her into your group. it was customary for you to do with anybody who was new, but this time, alessia was taking it personally.

it wasn't your fault, not really. alessia wouldn't have even gotten upset if katie had unhelpfully pointed out your past relationship with the new player. alessia hadn't even known that the two of you had dated at first, but katie apparently knew all about it. in fact, she had told alessia everything that she could just to fuck with the tall blonde.

"less, babe, do you want to come out tonight with the rest of the girls?" you asked. there was a hopeful look on your face. alessia had been in a piss poor mood, especially around the rest of the girls. it was why you had, admittedly, been avoiding her. the two of you hadn't even been spending all of your normal alone time together because of alessia's behavior.

"of course i do, why wouldn't i?" alessia asked you. she seemed distracted, and you noticed how her gaze was still partially on your ex. it was nice to be friends with her again, despite how badly the relationship had ended. you wanted to explain to alessia that you'd never in a million years get back together with the other girl, but you doubted that alessia would have listened to you.

alessia liked to claim that she was above getting jealous, but you knew different. in fact, the more that you thought about alessia's recent behavior and your newly rekindled friendship with arsenal's new girl, you realized that alessia was jealous. she had been jealous, but instead of saying something and communicating, she had decided to throw a big, stupid tantrum.

"well, with the way you've been lately, i wasn't sure. i thought i'd check. if you weren't going to go, i was just gonna let em give me a ride." you knew that it was wrong, but you couldn't help yourself. riling alessia up was just too easy, and it must have been an irish trait to love doing it because you were sure that katie was at the root of this problem. she had been the only one on the team to know just how mad you had been for your ex.

…

"damn, if they get any closer, i think we'll get kicked out." alessia's face set into a frown as she looked over to where leah was pointing. there was a group of girls dancing with you, but alessia's eyes zeroed in on the way that your ex held onto your waist. it was far more tame than how katie was grabbing your body as she ground your ass against her hips, but alessia didn't care.

"i should go get her," alessia said. she tried to get up, only to be held back by sab and lotte. "they'll give someone the wrong idea dancing like that. i don't want anybody to think (y/n) and emily are together."

"emily isn't the problem. foord, go get your girlfriend!" leah called out. with katie being pulled away, alessia's attention was forced onto the only person touching you still. she sat there with leah keeping her down for an agonizingly long time. alessia was glad when the song ended and you came over to the table for a drink break.

"less, baby, are you okay?" you asked as you sat down in her lap. she didn't answer you, instead opting to pull you by your hair into a kiss. she knew just where to grab to get you moaning and whining into her mouth. it was a big show, one that had leah pushing the two of you out of the club. "what was that about? i'll tell katie to tone it down next time."

"better yet, tell that other girl to keep her hands off of you. you're mine now. she had her chance, and she blew it. not my fault that your taste improved with age," alessia said. she had never sounded so cocky before. normally, that sort of thing was a huge turn-off for you, but with alessia, you found yourself loving it.

"calm down, like you said, i'm yours now. you don't have to get aggressive with her, okay?" you placed your hand on alessia's chest as the two of you stood outside. she nodded as she took your hand in hers, but that didn't change the look in her eyes as she looked at you.

alessia looked at you like you were going to be her last meal. the intensity of her gaze didn't falter once on the way home. if anything, it seemed to grow in intensity as the two of you got closer to her place. you thought that alessia's stare was going to melt your clothes off by the time that you were walking through the front door.

"get back to the bedroom, i'll be there in a minute," alessia ordered you. there was a moment when you hesitated, prompting alessia to slap your ass as she turned you towards the hallway. you walked forward, cheeks burning red as you did. alessia followed you in a couple of moments later, dropping a couple of water bottles on the bedside table as she made her way over to you.

"are you going to get the strap?" you asked. alessia shook her head as she started to strip out of her clothing. you swallowed thickly as her body was revealed to you, something that never ceased to amaze you. "fuck, less."

"come here and turn around," alessia ordered. she was being very demanding, which you normally would have had a bit of a problem with. instead, you found yourself almost giddy about the way that she was telling you what to do. "your ass looks amazing in this skirt."

"thank you baby," you told her. she placed a gentle hand on your back, pushing the bottom of your crop top as she did. "you looked hot tonight. i wished you would have danced with me."

"this is much better than a dance, i promise. i'm going to make you feel so good, just relax." alessia placed a kiss to the small of your back. you were sure that she could feel how wet you were if she leaned in a little more, but alessia was careful to keep her distance. "can i touch you? i want to have a taste of what's mine."

"fuck less, you can always touch me," you told her. alessia smiled as she pushed your skirt up completely. she kept you bent over as she moved your thong to the side. the hand that had been on your back had moved down to caress your ass as alessia ran her tongue through your folds.

alessia moaned at the taste of you on her tongue. she lapped at your cunt, just trying to make you as much of a mess as she could. alessia didn't care about making you cum quickly, she wanted to tease you long enough to have you dripping down her face. alessia needed the satisfaction of knowing that she could have you coming completely undone on a whim.

"you taste so good," alessia told you as she brushed her thumb against your clit. "makes me clench my thighs to think about sometimes."

"y-you think about me like that?" you don't know why it surprised you so much to hear that. alessia was definitely not as innocent as leah and beth had you believing, but the idea of her thinking of fucking you spun you for a loop.

"all of the time, but i haven't gotten to touch you like this in a while. you've been running away from me because of your new little friend, but i doubted that she ever had you dripping like this. you're making such a mess on my fingers, one that i can't wait to clean up. i swear that i could cum at just the taste of you," alessia said. each one of her words had your stomach clenching. you were so close, but alessia was constantly giving you just enough not to cum.

"lessi, if i beg, will you let me cum?" you asked her. alessia leaned down and bit your ass cheek, causing you to squeal a little.

"you can cum whenever you want once you tell me that you love me." alessia had never been one to withhold your orgasms like that. the two of you had tried edging, but alessia's resolve had broken the moment she noticed tears forming in the corners of your eyes. you weren't on the verge of tears, but you knew that much more teasing would bring you there.

"i love you, alessia. i love you so much that it hurts me sometimes," you told her. alessia stood up and slid two fingers inside of you, pushing her hips in for a little added force. alessia gave you a couple of straight thrusts before she started to curl her fingers inside of you. "less."

"it's okay, i know baby. let it happen. i'll give you whatever you want after. doesn't that sound nice baby? just relax and cum for me," alessia cooed. her voice was soft, much softer than it had been all night. you felt yourself relax as your alessia seemed to be coming back to you.

your orgasm took your legs out from beneath you, but alessia was there to make sure you didn't faceplant on the mattress. she laid you down on the bed and moved to lay behind you. you felt her open up your legs before she started to clean you up. your body jerked and jolted a little, but alessia kept you pinned down.

"i know you're sensitive, but this is important," alessia reminded you. she took care of you, even if you didn't always it. alessia guided you into a seated position for you to drink one of the waters she had brought up. it had been sitting out of the fridge just enough to be deemed "drinkable" by you.

"you know that i do love you, right? you don't have to hold my orgasms over my head to hear it," you said as you shoved her shoulder. alessia nodded sheepishly, having felt a little guilty about it after the words had left her mouth.

"yeah, i know that you love me, and i love you too. it's just been messing with me pretty bad having your ex here, and katie won't stop reminding me about it. it's infuriating, and everything kind of got away from me," alessia ranted. you pulled her into your arms and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "i'm sorry if i've been a bitch."

"you have, but it's okay. i guess you can't be a total sweetheart all the time," you joked. alessia seemed to be glad that you weren't holding her behavior over the past couple of weeks over her head because now that she was back in your arms properly, she felt a bit ridiculous about being jealous in the first place.

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo x reader

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mellowwillowy · 6 months

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Yan! Gambler - Yan! Sponsor x GN Dom?Reader (NSFW)

—𝒀𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒐𝒃𝒆𝒓 - 𝑳𝑰𝒇𝑬 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒋𝒆𝒄𝒕 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕

Yan! Gambler who will fuck you on the damn game table with both your ankles resting beside his jaw. All cards and chips scattered, what were you even betting on? Right, a bet of who will be railed nuts.

Yan! Sponsor who sips down the wine that was served to him as he watches you ruined by him. Occasionally flicking your nipple while letting you sip on the wine as well, sharing it with him with a kiss.

"You pretty little thing, shouldn't have bet against Kai... you blew away all my chips."

"Oh shut up, you enjoy watching me wrecked either way."

"Eyes on me."

Yan! Gambler who hisses whenever you pay attention to the latter more than him, will drill into you even faster and harder just to keep your attention on him.

Yan! Sponsor who proposes the idea of playing a game of blackjack while the two of you fuck.

"Who'll be the dealer huh... wouldn't want anyone else seeing you naked."

"A game, you and me. Besides, what else can you bet on? Just be nice and wrap my cock with that cute little hole of yours yeah? I'll have a game with Kazuto first."

He mutters as he gives your cheek a peck, his hands rubbing your cheeks. Kazuto goes to open another brand new deck card, shuffling it swiftly before sliding it to him.

"The winner gets to fuck 'em yeah?" "Sounds fair enough."

The two of them play while you are endowed with the coiling pleasure that is settling in your stomach, you are close but all that ends the moment he pulls out. You figure he lost the bet with the other as he curses at him.

Kazuto cackles as he rounds his way toward you, examining your wasted body as he fingers you, his other fingers feeling your chest, "Be good for me okay?"

"Make it fast, I wasn't done yet."

He starts pumping his fingers in and out fast, scissoring it open before he slides his erected cock out of restraints, lining the tip in front of your gaping hole.

"That's why you should have just folded, pretty boy."

Kazuto slams his cock into you in one motion, making you moan out of surprise, adapting to his shape and length. The latter only grumbles as he pours himself another glass of vodka, gulping it down like a madman while he watches the two of you, his cock still hard and in need of relief.

You pity it, and so you beckon him to come closer. No, it is more of an order, "Come."

He rounds himself close to your face and your hand holds his cock, lightly pumping it while your lip kisses his angry tip, giving it a tease by occasionally licking it.

"Who's a good boy hm?"

""Me."" The two speak in union before glaring at each other.

You chuckle at them before you roll your hips around Kazuto's length, igniting a moan out of him. You waste no time in pampering Kai's cock as well, wrapping his shaft with your mouth while your legs are wrapped around Kazuto's waist.

Kai hesitates a bit before using your hair as a lever, chasing his own pleasure greedily. You bite his member lightly, reminding him to be mindful of his actions. The state shared between the three of you is clear now, who is leading and who is being led.

You pull away just before he gets to come, edging him by rubbing his head, eyes trained onto the other man. "How's my little mutt doing down there? Need me to ride you instead?"

"N-no, ahhn..." Kazuto shudders as he blushes from the moan that slips out of his lip. You merely smirk at him as you rock yourself on his length, your forearms holding your whole weight as Kai rubs one for himself.

"Be a good boy yeah? Sponsor me more so that I can bust it even more in these dumb games yeah?"

"Wh-whaa-? Wait, urgh- wait, I said wait! Akh-!" You yank his face toward yours by the collar of his shirt, slamming your lip into his while greedily feeling his chest, "Ya' think ya' get to make me wait?"

Not wanting to lose, Kai butts in and licks your face before you allow him to feel your mouth with a kiss, tongues swirling against each other while your hand pinches his nipple, giving him more stimulation.

"Come on boys, cum all over me now yeah?"

Just from your words, granting them permission to come, they start to chase their own pleasure at a more feverish pace. Rope of cum spluttered on your face while the other comes inside you, making your inside feels warm. You groan at how it is splattered on your hair as well, "Fucking aim, skill issue boy?"

"I don't know. You just look prettier that way."

"Don't say something that you will regret, I'll fucking return it to you twice fold."

Kazuto peppered your face with kisses as though he is trying to calm you down, his softened cock still resting inside you. "Now now, how about we play for another round?"

"Sure, I'll make sure you two can't sit anymore once I win."

And you sure are a person of words.

-- Crack

Yan! Sponsor: Please, have a seat.

NPC: ??? Why aren't you sitting down sir?

Yan! Sponsor: I suppose standing is one way of living a healthy lifestyle?

NPC: *visible confusion*

Yan! Delinquent: Cmon' pal, we are heading out.

Yan! Gambler: ...with a bike?

Yan! Delinquent: Well what else you shithead? On a cock? A stap-on?

Yan! Gambler: I'm passing that.

They are like, the second oldest Male casts in LIfE Pro (after Yulian) and the least favored one ffs. Just gonna drop this snippet here as some sort of memorial for them ☆ﾐ(o*･ω･)ﾉ

#yandere male #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere imagines #male yandere #yandere insert #yandere oc #yandere headcanons #yandere works #yandere smut #yandere writing #reader insert #x reader #oc #x gn reader #yandere husband #LIfE Project

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miniimight · 7 months

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❝ I LIKE YOU... / I KNOW. ❞ your confession doesn't shock 'em one bit

with mikey, ran, rindou + very nervous!reader (toman timeline)

notes just a wholesome confession scene lol mikey's just as much as a nervous idiot as you are, ran is ... ran, and rindou is also an idiot . also i promise im working on requests i have like seven to work through sobs

it's not like it was hard.

he always felt your eyes on him: passing you in a hallway, in class (which he barely attended, but found himself showing up just to watch you suffer), randomly bumping into each other while out with friends... at first, he didn't care. he had a lot of attention going for him and he thought of you as another drop in the bucket.

but then he found himself paying attention to you.

when you weren't not-so-secretly pining over him, you were looking out the classroom window, a peaceful expression on your face that told him that you were about to fall asleep. or maybe you were with your friends, smiling widely as you exchanged snacks. or maybe you were giggling, your face on fire as your friends helped you craft some kind of candygram.

whatever he caught you doing, he found it endearing. and he couldn't escape it. but for reputation's sake, he tried to hide his adoration and amusement underneath his tough guy exterior. that quickly broke when you finally approached him.

your friends peeking from the hallway behind you both, you gently tapped his arm and your heart almost stopped functioning from nerves.

he cast an uninterested look over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. it was you. "hm?" internally, he was intrigued; he never thought you'd actually come up to him.

"i, uh..." you bit your lip, trying to shock yourself into calming down, but your heart still echoed in your chest.

"did you need something?"

"i'm sorry!" you exclaim suddenly, squeezing your eyes shut as you thrust the snack into his hand. "i like you!"

MIKEY

mikey's heart skipped a beat. "i know."

"uhm..." you whined softly, your body on fire. this was so embarrassing. "okay, bye!" you quickly spun around, hoping that he'd forget it the moment you disappeared around the corridor. he knew?! he KNEW? the fuck did that mean?? WHY DID YOU LEAVE SO FAST?

"wait," mikey's hand gripped your wrist. you squeaked and tried to pull away, but that only caused you to drift closer to him. his own face was dusted pink. "thanks for the snack."

you cast your eyes to the ground. "yeah, i know you're always eating it, so..."

mikey smiled, his grip softening into a delicate hold. he would never dream of giving up a chance to be with the one he'd been yearning for ever since he noticed your starry eyes on him. "wanna ride around with me?"

your eyes lit up and you sent a excited look to your friends. turning back to him as you both walked to his bike, you nervously asked, "so, you said you knew?" you asked, dreading the answer.

mikey smirked, his eyes lidded as he teased you. "yeah, s'not like you were good at hiding it."

"ugh, seriously?" you cringed, hiding your face in your hands. mikey's chuckle brought your eyes to peek over your fingers.

"it's okay, it was... cute." his voice grew quieter, like he was a little embarrassed to admit it.

you blinked at him before you truly processed his words, your heart bursting. "what?!"

mikey looked everywhere except you. "you—you heard what i said! just—come on." he grabbed your hand and ran over to his bike. his hand gripped the top of your head and you were so confused until he pulled a helmet out and slotted it over you. he clasped the buckle under your chin.

he stared at you for a moment before smiling with adoration. your face felt warm as butterflies filled your stomach.

"heh." he giggled, holding the sides of the helmet so that you couldn't hide your face from him. "cute."

as time went on, mikey wasn't so bashful when expressing his love for you.

RAN

he grinned. "ohhhh, i know." he dragged out his triumphant proclamation. "i know."

your face burned and you didn't know what to say to that. so, you bailed. "uh... okay? see you around!" you quickly turned. he knew? why'd he have to say it like that?

it took a moment to realize he was following you.

"so, where are we going?" he asked, tossing the snack package up in the air and catching it. "s'okay if it's far, i got a ride."

you stopped dead in your tracks, bewildered. "what?"

he cocked his head to the side, a calm smile on his face. "aren't we going out?"

you nearly screamed at the suggestion, not expecting this from him at all. "i—no??" you shoved your face into your hands. "i don't know!"

he laughed, captivated by how flustered you were. ran was a guy who liked to sweet talk and see his effect on others, and your reactions were just too good. "come on, i know you've been wanting some time alone with me for a while. you're not so secretive."

you groan and shy away from him. peeking from behind your hands, you meekly asked "was it that obvious?"

he grinned. "yeah. but all the better for me, right?" he put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his side and leading you out the school. "knowing i got a pretty thing like you thinking about me all day."

you rolled your eyes, finally starting to come down from the high of your confession. "it wasn't all day."

ran smiled, so tempted to respond with well, that was the case for me, but he figured you'd probably faint. he'd save that for the next time.

RINDOU

"i know." he blurted out before he could think of something better to say. for all the bones he broke, rindou's resolve was weak. but he was good at faking it.

he could tell you were confused, not expecting his response.

you fidgeted with your fingers before you finally spoke up, your face burning. "uh... okay..?" how the hell is anyone supposed to respond to that.

rindou panicked internally, rubbing the back of his neck as he sighed. "are you free right now, or what?"

your eyes lit up as your downcast gaze snapped to look at him. "i am."

a smile cracked on rindou's face as he chuckled with amusement. "then, let me take you out."

"really?!" sure, it wasn't the most glamorous thing to say, but you couldn't help it. you were excited.

"yeah. i mean, you did buy me a snack, so." he held up the package proudly. "gotta return the favor, right? come on, i got a ride."

you tried to hide how triumphant you felt as you followed him diligently. he was awkward, not possessing the same level of finesse his older brother did. like, what does he say to you??

"so..." you started, taking the lead.

oh, thank god. he let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"you said you knew?" you mumbled, making a point to avoid his stare. "was it obvious?"

he smirked. "yeah, it was very obvious." you winced, but he continued. "don't worry. it was interesting."

you twisted up your lips in a cringe. "interesting as in a good way, or...?"

rindou racked his brain. ran was always good at thinking on the spot—what would he say? his lips moved before he could stop them. "interesting as in i couldn't stop thinking about you."

you both stared at each other—rindou in absolute shock of what just left his lips and you, completely flustered. your heads whipped away from looking at each other, lips pressed in a tight line as a million different thoughts ran through them. rindou was sure he creeped you out, but then he heard you giggle.

he looked back at you, reading every inch of your expression. you smiled softly. "that was so cheesy."

you kept on laughing to yourself, somehow enamored by his stupid line and he knew he was flying off the deep end.

#tokrev #tokyo revengers x reader #mikey x reader #manjiro sano x reader #manjiro x reader #ran haitani x reader #rindou haitani x reader #ran x reader #rindou x reader #mikey fluff #ran haitani #rindou haitani #ran imagines #mikey imagines #rindou imagines #bonten #tenjiku #toman #kanto manji gang

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dahliakbs · 1 month

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˖⁠♡Left In Metropolis✧⁠*⁠。 ( Batfam x Toddler! Reader)

(That one scene in home alone.) Masterlist

It was a short flight from metropolis to Gotham but they were finally back home, currently they were all at the airport conveyor belt standing from oldest to youngest collecting their luggage.

Bruce would pass down each of their bags as they came out of the machine and it seemed as if everything was going smoothly, that is until your luggage came out.

"Dick, pass this to (reader)" Bruce passed the luggage to Dick.

Then to Tim, Damian and then....

It hadn't yet clicked in Damians head that his little sibling was missing from next to him so he just passed the bag back to Tim.

"(Reader) isn't here" Damian passes the bag back to a sleep deprived Tim while he passes it back Dick and then to Bruce.

It takes a while but they all finally notice what just happened.

"What do you mean reader isn't here, I left them with you" Bruce asks Dick.

"And I left them with Tim" he turns to Tim who's a wearing a confused expression that slowly turns into one of shocked realization.

"And I left them in Metropolis..." he whispered but they all still heard.

"You left them in Metropolis, do you know how far that is from here, they could be dead by now" Dick suddenly shouts.

"Damian where are you going?" Bruce asked.

"Back to metropolis" he says curtly.

He hadn't really gotten to know you that well as a sibling but he still watched you from afar and knowing you were currently all by yourself in a large crime ridden country was all it took for him to move.

"And how are you getting there?" Bruce asks but is then cut off by the sound of Damian shaking the keys to the batplane.

Meanwhile your currently in the airport sat next to a worried Clark and Jon licking a small lollipop they bought you.

Luckily you remembered they're number and called immediately.

"Can't we just fly them home Dad?" Jon glanced over to you as you mindlessly licked away at the lollipop.

"Shhhhhh" you immediately went to place your sticky hands on his mouth.

"Nooo cave talk outside of the cave" though you stumbled over your words but he still understood.

"Either that or we keep em" Clark muses.

"What about him?" Jon asks while pointing to Jason who sat right beside you, watching you struggle to bite your lollipop with your small front teeth.

"I'm sure they'll take him back as well, seeing as they're the ones who brought him" Clark stated confidently

Safe to say Jason had to hitch a ride back home on the Clark Kent express. (Mainly because Damian kicked him out of the jet)

#batfamily #batfam x you #batfam x reader #batfam #superman x reader #superfam #batfamily x reader #batman x reader #batman #batman x child reader #batman x child! reader #dc x you #dc

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