summary : rafe is willing to do anything to get his next fix
characters : male reader x rafe cameron
note : another work from ao3. i really gotta stop being lazy and lock in
warnings : bottom rafe, unprotected sex, various locations, marathon sex, submissive rafe, rough sex, dirty talk, idk what else
The best thing about an addict— they have no shame. And the best thing about having no shame as an addict? They have absolutely no problem being desperate.
Rafe Cameron was a player. A whore, if you will. Everyone knew that. He ran through almost every girl that was in his age group, fucking them a few times and leaving them for the next wet thing. And that only made him even hotter. Every girl would drop their panties for him, Kook or Pogue, if they had the opportunity to do so. That’s just came with being the most sought after guy on the island.
With that being his reality, getting his way often came easier for him than others. Girls would do anything to try and sleep with him. Guys would do anything to try and get in his inner circle— they secretly wanted to sleep with him as well. All Rafe had to do was snap his fingers, and someone, somewhere, would be at his beck and call. King of the Kooks he was. And King of the Kooks he would always be.
Yet you didn’t give a single fuck about that.
You couldn’t lie. The situation you found yourself in kind of did inflate your ego a bit. When Rafe came begging at your doorstep for anything you had to offer— hopefully an ounce of coke— you couldn’t help but feel bad for him. It was kind of— scratch that, it was absolutely fucking sad watching him itch and twitch and be in a constant state of irritation due to him having withdrawals. You never cared for any of your clients, but man. Poor Rafe. Just because you sold drugs as a living didn’t mean you were an evil guy.
Now while Barry would look out for the only person he considered a friend— besides you of course— you weren’t as giving. Business was business, and if Rafe wanted anything, even a second of your attention, it was going to cost some money. Yet for some reason, a Cameron of all people didn’t have any money on him. And since Rafe didn’t want to leave and go get some money, you opted for your next best form of payment. The look on his face was priceless when you told him what he’d have to do in order to get an ounce of cocaine.
But it was nothing compared to the face he was making now.
“Fuuuuccckk.”
Rafe’s mouth was temporarily stuck in an “O” shape as he stared up at the ceiling, his eyes glazed over with tears as he sat in the paralyzing realization of his situation. If you would’ve told him that he would be lying on a drug dealer’s bed with his legs pinned by his head, panting like a bitch in heat as his manhood was stolen with every brutal thrust you delivered, he’d punch you in your face. However, desperation situations called for desperate measures. Plus, the feeling of your 7 inch dick stretching his asshole open more and more as you fucked him into your mattress was honestly a great way to distract him from his withdrawal symptoms.
Your brows were furrowed as you focused on keeping up the fast pace you were thrusting at. “I didn’t think you were such a whore, Cameron.” you grunted. Anger surged through Rafe at your words, wanting nothing more but to punch you. But then again, you weren’t exactly wrong. He had easily gave his body to you at the mere thought of getting his fixed. So he had no other reason but to swallow his pride and accept that you were right. “F-Fuck you.” he spat, gasping for air as the feeling of your dick stabbing against his prostrate made him throw his head back against your bed.
“Already fucking you.” You grinned.
Rafe moans bounced off your walls as he dug his nails into your hands, holding on to you for dear life. It was hard to keep his eyes fixed on, the painful pleasure of your dick making his eyes roll to the back of his head involuntarily here and there, but he managed. He watched as you bit your lip, eyes glued to where you were impaling his hole. You looked so sexy when you were focused. He wouldn’t ever say that out loud— he was straight after all— but he couldn’t help but allow the thought to consume his mind. The thought of how every vein and ridge of your dick dragged against his sensitive walls, making his body shiver ferociously as if he was stuck out in a blizzard. The thought of how your mushroom tip collided head on with the bundle of nerves located deep in his ass, turning his once moans of protest into moans of encouragement for more. “What’s my name, Rafe?”
Before Rafe could even think twice about stopping himself, the name slipped off of his tongue without hesitation. “D-Daddy!” You grinned like a kid. Rafe Cameron just called you daddy. Nobody was going to believe you, but you were surely going to tell your friends when you were done using him. “Good boy.”
You leaned forward, moving your hands from his ankles to his shoulders to get better leverage. The new position forced Rafe’s legs down further next to his head, his knees touching his ears with your body weight now pressing down on him. The burn of his hamstrings working overtime as his body was folded into an unnatural position for him only added onto the feeling of ecstasy he was high on. His legs being spread wide only opened his hole up for you even more, allowing you to weasel the last few inches of your dick into his hole. Rafe’s eyes widen as he screamed out in pain, his hands wrapping around your forearm and squeezing with all his strength. “J-Jesus Pogue! How big is your di— oh my God!” he whimpered as the feeling of something warm and wet shot up inside him.
You groaned as your hips faltered for just a bit, the feeling of your sudden orgasm taking you by surprise. “Shit!” Rafe’s hole was as tight as a vice. You didn’t think you’d ever get enough of feeling him around you. You made a mental note to make sure this happened again.
Once you gained your composure, it was back to the regular scheduled program. You fucked your cum deep into Rafe, pressing kisses to his lips as he just laid there and took everything you had to give him. His eyes were glued to the ceiling of your room, vision blurred with tears as he simply reflected on every decision he made that led to this. How did he end up here? With his khaki pants and Ralph Lauren underwear pulled down just enough to expose his once virgin hole, being gaped open by the dick of a Pogue that sold drugs. He was moaning without any inhibitions, eagerly anticipating every kiss you gave him and still desperate for more. If he could see himself from your perspective, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself. All his life he had been the one doing the fucking, his ego inflating with every random girl he fucked stupid and left behind once he got his nut. Now look at him— being the one fucked stupid, his body betraying his mind and begging for more and more. He just hoped that you wouldn’t just leave him to dream of your dick forever after you were done nutting inside him.
As if you would ever be that stupid.
You had fucked Rafe Cameron into a cock hungry slut. Once you finished the first round, you had expected him to leave once you tossed a bag of coke for him to fetch off of your bedroom floor. Yet, Rafe didn’t move an inch to get the drugs, simply rolling onto his stomach and falling into a much needed slumber after you fucked his brains out. He looked cute when he slept. You were going to leave it at the round one— for now at least— but you never claimed to be a man with self control. When you came back into your room a few minutes later after cleaning your dick off, the sight of his perky ass sticking up in the air only riled you back up.
Rafe woke up moaning and gripping your sheets as you fucked him into the mattress. His aching dick rubbed against the sheets with every thrust, the friction causing his whole body to tense up as an orgasm approached. Him tensing up only made you moan yourself, as you tried not to cum too early with his hole gripping your dick with no mercy. No luck with that. You let another load loose into his hole as Rafe lifted his hips up to meet your thrusts as he reached his own orgasm himself.
Round 3 happened right after. You picked him up and bounced him up and down on your dick, the sound of his ass and thighs slamming against your hips echoing throughout the house. Barry had came into your room and told you to cut out the loud noise since he had his own little sexscapade going on. You didn’t even when he got home, but you didn’t care. You hadn’t even stopped lifting Rafe’s body up and down when Barry came into your room. Rafe wanted to be embarrassed by the idea of someone else seeing him be tossed around like a ragdoll, with a dick nestled deep within his ass as he audibly begged for more with no shame. He’d worried about that later though.
You guys were more considerate with round 4. Rafe held onto your thighs as he bounced up and down on your dick, head towards the floor to allow you to play your video game. By now he had got rid of his khaki pants and shoes, only in his tighty whities that had a hole ripped in the ass part to allow easy access. Not that they were needed— the front had been stained with at least 4 loads that had now dried and created a sticky, uncomfortable mess that Rafe would have to deal with later on.
Round 5 was on the same living room coach as you fucked Rafe doggystyle. His body hair had now began to collect a musk that filled your nose, and that plus the view of his ass jiggling with each thrust caused you to cum earlier than you wanted to. You made up for that with round 6, in the same position on the same couch, only lasting 4 full minutes. In which Rafe moaned loudly, begging for more and praising your entire existence the whole time. Not that you tried to stop him at all. You just felt bad for Barry and whatever girl he had brought over.
Hours, and plenty rounds, went by and Rafe had accepted that he would just stay the night at your place. You had to start giving yourself some longer breaks because after round 8, you had began to start shooting blanks and that was not benefiting anyone. All the while, Rafe nursed himself on your soft dick, cleaning any leftover fluids on your dick that you had concocted using Rafe’s gaping hole.
By time you guys finished at 1 in the morning, you had gone 13 rounds. Your body was sore as hell, and you had no idea how you were still standing. You always had a high libido, what teenage boy didn’t? Still, You didn’t think it was that high. You could only imagine how Rafe felt. He didn’t seem to be in any pain, in fact, from the dopey smile on his face as he laid comfortably on your chest as the two of you settled in your bed, you would assume that he had the time of his life today. You did too.
It didn’t take long for the two of you to fall asleep after the day that you guys had. All while you allowed your soft dick to rest inside Rafe’s hole, making him feel whole as he drifted off into a deep sleep that was much needed. Before he drifted off, he had caught sight of the bag of coke that still laid on your bedroom floor besides your bed. He had forgot that he had came over here for that originally— only to be taken advantage of and used by you for 7 hours. His body had no longer craved the high that came with doing cocaine, only wanting to be fucked by you and feel you dump another load into his inviting hole that had molded itself to be a perfect fit for you. He had no idea how he was going to move forward with this in the outside world, now having no interest in keeping his reputation as a womanizer anymore, but he did know one thing.
He had found his new addiction— and he knew for a fact that he would never get enough of you.
prompt - challenge , "you think you're better than me?"
contains - reader likes to ragebait buck out of love, buck thinks reader is taunting him , oblivious buck , angst , miscommunication trope , buck kinda becomes an asshole for a moment but he will fix it!
missed writing for him ♡
MAYBE Bobby was right. You were in over your head when it came to Buck. You were constantly pushing and shoving, riling him up to no end. It wasn't due to any evil intentions. No you were just addicted to the man. Seeing Buck standing up to his full height, body tensed, and eyes narrowed. It was too good. He was confident then, his bright blue eyes narrowed attractively. You liked when he was like this, bold and cocky. Ready to take you on, it was more attractive then you'd let on. Though, having to explain that to Bobby was embarrassing.
The man looked at you in disbelief, shaking his head. "What is wrong with you young people? Can you please just ask him out like a normal person, Y/n. I don't need anymore paperwork due to work place violence." You, red faced in embarrassment, nodded. You promised to try. And you did. But of course it wasn't going to be easy.
Buck took one look at you before scoffing in disbelief. "You think you're funny, Y/n? Oh how funny it would be to pretend like you like me. Oh that's so funny! Such comedy." He spun on his heel, leaving you standing like a sad puppy. You spent the rest of shift wallowing around like a kicked puppy. Not even Hen could help.
You couldn't give up now though. After shift you met up with your friends, complaining about your 'boy issues' as they called it. Your face was pressed against the cold counter top as you whined. "What do I do?"
Ella looked to Callie who just shrugged. The blonde sighed. She downed the last of her wine before settling a firm look at you. "Firstly you sit up and quit whining! Now here's what you're going to do to get your man, Y/n!" You sat up quickly, eyes meeting Ella's. "Now we're going to try simple and sweet. What's his favorite flowers?" Your silence left them groaning. "Y/n!"
That left you trying to find out his favorite flowers the next shift. Ella had given you a strong lecture the night before and you were not wanting to disappoint the scary girl anymore. So here you were standing by the firehouse entrance, silently waiting for Maddie to finish talking to her husband. You shifted back and forth, hands clasped together behind you. Finally, you saw her beginning to walk away. You quickly moved up to her, ignoring Chimney's curious look. You gave her your best puppy dog eyes. "Dearest, favoritest Buckley. I need your help!"
She gave you one look, immediately understanding. "Finally deciding to stop being dumb and properly try and ask Evan out?"
You squawked, mouth agape. "How!?"
She laughed, patting your arm. "You're extremely obvious, Y/n. Like embarrassingly. My poor, little brother is just too obvious. Now what did you need help with?"
Your face burned with embarrassment, but you couldn't let that get to you right now. You swallowed. "What's his favorite flowers?" You asked, voice turning shy.
Maddie's smile turned sweet. She squeezed your shoulder. "Lilies. Specifically orange ones."
Your expression turned soft with a dopey grin, though you weren't aware of it. "That actually makes a lot of sense. Pretty flower for a pretty-" You cut yourself off with a cough. "Uh, thanks Maddie! Bye!" You rushed off quickly.
Maddie turned to her husband with a knowing look. "That poor lovesick boy is going to have a hard time." Chimney nodded in agreement, though still a little confused.
Two days later you arrived early to the firehouse, it was your day off which gave you plenty of time to get things set up. You looked at the handmade bouquet of lilies in your hand ( your idea that you were proud of ). The bouquet was a mix of orange, pink, and red. It reminded you of the sunsets back home. You twisted the handwritten card nervously in your hand. You were extremely anxious, mind full of all things that could go wrong. You just hoped it wouldn't.
You glanced around making sure no one was around before quickly entering the locker room. You found Buck sitting in front of his locker, angrily lacing up his shoes. He was tense and it wasn't your doing this time. You briefly thought about fleeing and just trying another day. But you couldn't do that, not now. You shifted closer, chewing at your lip. "Buck?" His eyes jerked up to yours, he was glaring already. You swallowed hard. "I...uhh," you shoved the flowers forward. "I got you these."
His eyes narrowed, looking from you to the bouquet. "What now?" He stood up, stepping closer. You nervously took a step back. "Don't you ever get tired of fucking with me? Seriously what is your damn problem?"
Your shoulders dropped. You shifted, fidgeting with the flowers' bow. "I'm not fucking with you seriously! I asked Maddie about what flowers you liked because-"
A cold laugh left Buck's lips. "Of course, even getting my sister in this now. You just can't stop, can you? It's like you just can't ever leave me alone. It's fucking annoying, you're annoying. You drive me insane, Y/n! I just wish you'd fuck off for once and leave me alone!"
You swallowed roughly, eyes going glassy. You sniffled. Buck paused, his anger simmering down, leaving a confused expression in its place. You dropped the bouquet, hands shaking too much to hold it. "I..." You inhaled sharply, breath stuttering out. "I'll leave you alone. I'm sorry." You fled the locker room, knocking into Bobby and Hen, but you didn't stop. You couldn't.
They watched you leave, concern growing. They stepped into the locker room. Buck still stood where he was, frozen in shock. Hen was the first to notice the flowers then a small card. She picked up both. She opened the card, lips dropping into a frown. She looked to Bobby, letting him see it too. The older man sighed deeply, finally looking at Buck. "What happened?"
Buck swallowed, looking ashamed. "I think I fucked up badly."
Buck explained everything to them. Not once did he meet their eyes, starring down at the floor in shame. Bobby leaned back on the bench, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "You have to fix this Buck."
Finally, he looked up. His teary eyes meeting Bobby's tired ones. "How?"
Bobby glanced to Hen. They shared similar looks. "Well..."
◇ ◇ ◇
You laid sprawled on Ella's couch, your face pressed against her stomach. Her sweater tickling your tear stained cheeks. You sobbed. "I can't go back there El. How am I supposed to work there now. I can't. I rather die!"
She sighed, rubbing your back gently. "Don't be dramatic, Y/n. We can't lose you over some stupid boy. And don't you dare defend him, he's a complete asshole!"
You sniffled, sitting up to rub your face. "I can't blame him. He had every right to be mad. It just hurts."
Ella frowned. She took your hand in hers. "He could've been nicer at least."
Your lips trembled, "Maybe I don't deserve it. This is my fault. I shouldn't-"
Ella effectively cut you off, tugging you back into her arms. "Nope! None of that now. Callie bring the ice cream!"
◇ ◇ ◇
Two days later you returned back to work. You avoided everyone, especially Buck. Though it seemed he was doing the same too. All he wanted was for you to leave him alone. You could do that. You couldn't give Buck much, but quiet peace was one thing you could. You didn't antagonize him, joke with Chimney, or swap sports talk with Eddie. The growing tension was clear to everyone now. No one was used to you being silent. They were used to your cheerful smiles and constant jokes. They hated this, but none of them knew what to do. Only Buck could fix it now.
Though even he was unsure. He was sitting in the locker room again, turning the card between his fingers. He had yet to read it, afraid it would make him feel more guilty. He wasn't ready yet. Quiet steps appeared then stopped next to him. Hen sat quietly beside him. Eventually she nudged him with her shoulder. "How long will you let this go on? You're both miserable."
Buck shook his head. "Can't ."
Hen sighed, shaking her head in disappointment. "You're an adult, Buck. This isn't helping either of you. Just read the card. That's all I ask. Then you can decide from there." She stood and left. Leaving Buck to stew a little longer.
He smoothed his thumb over the front of the card. His name was sprawled across it in neat cursive blue ink. He chewed the inside of his cheek, finally he opened it.
Hi Buck,
I wasn't sure how to do this. I've been irritating Maddie and my friends constantly about this. I've never felt so strongly like this before. I didn't know what to do. I know I can be immature sometimes and annoying, but I just like your attention. Embarrassing to admit, huh? I know, but I just can't help it when it comes to you. You're addicting Buck. Your a constant thought I can't shake. I find myself constantly wondering; what would Buck think? Would Buck choose this or that? Would Buck like these snacks? Would Buck like me in this? Again, I know it's embarrassing to admit but I don't care anymore. I can't hide it anymore Buck. I want you. And not in some quick fuck and forget way. I want you in every way, good and bad. I want to be the one you can look to. To depend on. I know you may hate me, but I love you Evan Buckley. So much it hurts.
Buck sobbed. Tears fell down his cheeks in streams. Y/n loves him? Buck couldn't believe it. He thought it was just one big joke. He fucked up badly. He had to fix this. No matter what it took.
𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : You Had just woken up, seeing Scott laying there on his stomach just did something to you. You couldn't resist the urge that hit you—wanting to start the day waking him in the most intimate way possible. | drabble + porn without plot
𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 + 𝐅𝐃𝐍𝐈 mature content below.
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : Smut, Dom!Male!Reader, Fluff, Sub!Scott Moaning, Praising, ass eating, oral, Scott (receiving), swearing, Explicit Content, Cum, Dirty Talk.
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭
You stirred awake beside Scott, his body sprawled out on his stomach, the sheets tangled around his waist. His broad back rose and fell with each steady breath, his dark hair against the pillow. The sight of him like this—stirred something primal in you. You couldn't resist the urge to wake him in the best way possible. Sliding down the bed quietly, you positioned yourself behind him. Your hands gently gripped his hips, pulling the sheet lower to expose the firm curves of his ass. Scott mumbled something incoherent in his sleep, shifting slightly but not waking. You leaned in, your breath warm against his skin, and pressed a soft kiss to one cheek before parting them with your thumbs.
Scott let out a low groan, still half-asleep, his hips twitching upward. You started slow, your tongue flicking out to trace the rim. The taste of him filled your senses as you licked a long. You lapped at him hungrily, the wet sounds of your mouth working against his ass echoing softly in the quiet room. "Fuck... what..." Scott mumbled, his voice rasped with sleep, eyes fluttering open. He lifted his head slightly, looking down at you between his legs. A lazy grin spread across his face as realization dawned. "Morning to you too, babe. Starting the day right, huh?" You hummed against him, the vibration making him shudder.
You didn't stop, your hands kneading the muscles of his thighs as you thrust your tongue in and out, fucking his hole with it. Saliva dripped down, slicking his crack, and you added a finger to tease alongside your licks, pressing just the tip inside to stretch him open. Scott's breaths came faster now, his face buried back into the pillow as he moaned. “Oh shit, right there... yeah, eat my ass like that. Don't fuckin' stop.” His cock hardened beneath him, trapped against the mattress, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body. You sucked gently on the rim before plunging your tongue back in, swirling it to hit every sensitive spot. Scott arched his back, pushing himself onto you, his voice breaking into a growl. “God, your mouth feels so good. Deeper—fuck, make me cum just from this.”
His body trembled, muscles clenching around your probing tongue as you worked him relentlessly, determined to push him over the edge. "Oh fuck, yes—right there," he growled, arching off the bed. "I'm close... don't you dare stop." His words dissolved into a guttural moan as his orgasm hit, cock pulsing untouched, spurting ropes of cum across the sheets. His hole twitched around your tongue, drawing out the pleasure until he collapsed back, chest heaving. You licked him clean with gentle swipes, savoring the aftershocks that made him twitch. Finally, you crawled up beside him, pressing a kiss to his lips. Scott tasted himself on your mouth and pulled you closer, murmuring, "Best fucking wake-up call ever."
pairing → roman reigns x gender neutral!reader
word count → 1.8k
warnings -> dom!reader, sub!roman, metal bondage, brat taming, subspace
notes → based on this ask on mother’s blog @lov3rla03 and this idea from anon!
kinktober masterlist. general masterlist. taglist.
You knew this would do the trick.
Roman had already proven that he could destroy nearly every restraint you could buy. It didn’t matter if it was made of rope, plastic, leather, or even metal. Roman was strong. Stronger than any other submissive you’ve dominated. But he wasn’t all-powerful.
You watched in amusement as Roman knelt on the floor, thrashing wildly against the chains that held him down. You had decided to splurge and buy the heaviest, thickest metal chains money could buy, installing anchors in the concrete floor to ensure that no one, not even Roman Reigns, could break free.
You leaned back in your chair, one leg draped lazily over the armrest, as you watched the show. Roman had his teeth bared like an animal, the chains rattling loudly as he continued to tug and yank on them.
“You can fight as much as you want, sweetheart,” you sighed. “But this will go a whole lot easier if you submit now. Don’t want to hurt yourself, do you?”
“Fuck you,” Roman spat, his lip curled into a feral snarl. To anyone else, it might be terrifying, but to you, it was every other Tuesday.
“Suit yourself,” you shrugged. “I’ve got all night.”
Roman continued to struggle, his face red with anger and exertion.
You knew this was hard for him.
When you’d first discussed what he was looking for, Roman had admitted that he never felt that he could truly submit to anyone. Part of it was pride and ego, but it was also about respect. He’d never crossed paths with anyone who could truly break him, a quality he’d been searching for but never been able to find. He was just too strong, both physically and mentally. Most dominants gave up on him.
But not you.
You might not be the biggest or strongest dom in the world, but you knew how to take care of your boys. And you knew what Roman needed, more than anything, was a chance to fight. It was the only way to break him.
He needed a chance to struggle and resist, using his full strength against restraints that wouldn’t break to prove to himself that he was completely helpless. Only then would he submit, both physically and mentally, to someone else. No other dominant had been able to do it. No other dominant had the patience to try.
But not you.
You pulled out a nail file and began shaping your nails, whistling softly to yourself as Roman continued to thrash in his restraints. While you were putting on a good show of being aloof, you were still watching him carefully. You didn’t want him to hurt himself.
Roman let out a long, creative string of expletives, shaking his hair wildly as he attempted to tug on the heavy metal collar around his neck. You’d hardly given it any slack, forcing his head down to where it was bolted into the floor. The manacles around his wrists and ankles were no better, each of them anchored in the floor with barely any room to move. Still, you knew Roman could find a way to hurt himself if you didn’t keep a close eye on him.
Roman finally stopped his thrashing, his head bowed as he struggled to catch his breath. You paused your filing to look over at him.
“You done?”
“Not even close,” he growled.
“That’s okay. Take your time.”
Roman’s lip curled again, tugging uselessly on the chains around his wrists. You knew this would take awhile. Roman had impressive stamina, which is why he’d given you the next few days to do this. You both knew that this would be a process.
“You know, you look very beautiful like this.”
Roman paused his struggle to look back at you, his eyes burning with hatred. “Fuck you.”
“No, I mean it. My big strong man on his knees where he belongs. It’s a beautiful sight.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
You chuckled. “Oh, I’m getting used to it. I’m starting to think I’ll keep you here awhile. It’d be nice to have a big scary dog on a leash here in my basement. Then I could come down and play with you whenever I want. Would you like that?”
“That’s not gonna happen.”
“Hm, I don’t know. Doesn’t look like you’re going anywhere to me.”
Roman glared at you. “I will.”
“Well, go on then. Leave.”
Roman renewed his efforts to escape, once again thrashing in his restraints.
So you waited.
The hours passed by. Roman’s movements grew slower and slower, his energy slowly draining. You’d padded the inside of the manacles, but you could still see how his skin had reddened from how hard he’d been tugging on them. His body was dripping with sweat, his hair completely soaked and hanging low over his face.
“Do your knees hurt?” you asked.
Roman refused to answer.
The floor beneath him was padded, but the human body could only take so much. He’d been on his knees for hours. He’d been using every ounce of strength he had to fight the chains that restrained him. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t change positions. He was stuck there, bound tightly in the center of the room with no chance of escape. Surely he was broken by now?
You crept forward, feeling emboldened by his stillness. You could see he was still breathing heavily, his face covered by his long hair. You stood in front of him, waiting.
He didn’t look at you.
Feeling even more confident, you reached out a tentative hand to brush some of the hair from his face.
Suddenly, Roman’s head jerked up, his teeth snapping viciously at your hand.
“Whoa!” you chuckled, pulling your hand away. “Not tamed yet, sweetheart?”
“Not in a million years,” Roman seethed, a few droplets of sweat rolling down his cheek and landing on the floor below.
You sighed. “That’s too bad. I was hoping for a sweet, obedient boy to play with.”
“Don’t get your hopes up.”
“We’ll see.”
So you waited.
When the sun rose, you knew you were getting close.
Roman was tugging dejectedly on the manacle around his left wrist, his head bowed in defeat. He looked exhausted. He’d been sweating so much that the floor around him was soaked with it, small droplets splattering with every tired shake of his head.
You reclined in your chair, waiting patiently. You wanted to make it clear that you weren’t going anywhere. It didn’t matter how long this took. You weren’t giving up on him.
Roman made a low sound in the back of his throat and you leaned forward, watching him carefully.
“What is it?” you asked. “What do you need?”
Roman glanced up at you. He tried to curl his lip menacingly, but the gesture was half-hearted, his breathing ragged.
“Sweetheart, I need you to use your words for me. What do you need?”
Roman closed his eyes, letting out a resigned sigh. “Water.”
You were quick to bring it to him.
You brought the bottle close to his lips, though when he leaned forward, you hesitated.
“You gonna bite me?”
Roman’s jaw tightened. “No.”
You stared at him. For once, Roman didn’t seem interested in lashing out. Instead, his eyes were flickering to the bottle in your hand, already parting his lips in anticipation. You allowed yourself to relax.
“Good boy.”
You brought the bottle to his lips again and Roman gratefully accepted it, nearly downing the entire thing until you finally pulled it away.
He stared at you.
You could see the desire to submit beginning to shine in his eyes, but he still seemed distressed, his brow furrowing as he tugged on the manacles again.
“It’s okay, baby,” you murmured, reaching out another tentative hand towards his face. “It’s okay if you’re ready to let go.”
Roman pulled away from you, his eyes burning again. “Fuck off.”
You sighed.
“Okay.”
So you waited.
A few more hours passed. You had returned to your seat, still watching him carefully. You had to admit you’d never had a sub hold out this long before, but Roman never made things easy.
He’d stopped struggling a while ago, though you couldn’t be sure what he was thinking about. All you could do was watch his chest rise and fall.
Rise and fall.
Rise and fall.
He hadn’t looked at you in hours.
Then… something shifted. Looking back, you couldn’t be sure what it was. Perhaps Roman’s muscles finally relaxed, his body surrendering to the restraints. Perhaps it was the expression on Roman’s face, something new and vulnerable shining in his dark eyes. Whatever it was, it made you quickly rush to his side, kneeling down in front of him to push some of the hair out of his face. Somehow, you knew he was no longer a threat to you.
“Sweetheart?” you murmured.
Roman looked at you and that’s when you saw it. After all his fighting, all his defiance and resistance, he was finally, finally broken.
“There he is,” you breathed. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Roman let out a low sound, looking more vulnerable than you’d ever seen him.
You knew what you needed to say now. This part was important.
“You put up a good fight, baby,” you murmured. “A very good fight. But you know what this means now, don’t you?”
You kept your tone low, your words sickly sweet. You wanted him to feel this. “You can’t escape. You can’t leave. You can’t fight me. There’s only one thing left for you now.”
You cupped his cheek and stared at him, driving the point home.
“Submit.”
Roman’s bottom lip quivered, letting out a small, broken sound at your words. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest. What would he say? What would he do? What did the great Roman Reigns look like tamed and broken?
To your surprise, Roman leaned into your touch, his eyelids fluttering as you continued to stroke his cheek. And when he let out a whimper, a foreign sound from the normally proud Tribal Chief, you couldn’t help but smile.
“There’s a good boy,” you whispered. “I knew you could do it. Such a pretty, submissive new toy for me to play with.”
Roman looked up at you, his eyes beginning to glaze over as he sank into subspace. You suddenly felt emotional. Roman had told you ages ago that he’d never been in subspace before. He didn’t think it was possible for him.
“I’m so proud of you, baby,” you murmured, reaching out to pet his hair. “So, so proud of you.”
Roman hummed happily. You’d never seen him this way before–his handsome face open and vulnerable, completely trusting as you continued to stroke his hair. You thought he’d never looked more beautiful.
“Who do you belong to, pet?” you asked.
“You.”
There was no hesitation. No fight. No resistance.
You smiled again. “Good boy, Roman,” you whispered. “Good boy.”
pairing → roman reigns x seth rollins
word count → 5.9k
warnings → stalking, breaking and entering, possessive behavior, dubious consent, unprotected sex, exhibitionism, destruction of property (seth destroys roman’s house and blows up his car)
kinktober masterlist. general masterlist. taglist.
Roman rubbed his temple in frustration. It had been a grueling Friday. Brock Lesnar, his newest adversary, had been nothing but a headache since he’d arrived to SmackDown. Of course, his Wiseman was doing nothing to help the situation.
“You don’t even need to be concerned, my Tribal Chief,” Heyman fawned, scurrying behind Roman as they made their way to the penthouse suite. “Brock Lesnar won’t even be a problem. At Crown Jewel–”
“I don’t want to hear anymore, Wiseman,” Roman snapped. “You’ve said enough.”
Paul quickly shut his mouth, though he cast a concerned glance at the twins. The Usos frowned. They had been wisely staying out of the conversation, clutching their tag team titles and avoiding Roman’s eyes like the plague. They weren’t in the mood to deal with his temper tonight.
“So, um…” Jey moved up to Roman’s side, his expression guarded. “Whatchu wanna eat tonight, uce? Room service? Or we can go out and grab something.”
Roman didn’t look at him. “I just want to get to the room and be left alone.”
Jey gave a curt nod. He knew better than to argue whenever Roman got like this. “Sure. Yep. Sounds good. We’ll stay out of your way, uce. No worries.”
Once they reached their private elevator, Jey was quick to press the button, his eyes flickering nervously to his brother. Jimmy shrugged. He knew Roman was unpredictable whenever his temper flared and he wasn’t eager to provoke the older man to action. He’d seen more than his fair share of the Tribal Chief’s anger.
Their trek back to the penthouse was quiet. Roman did his best to control his breathing, but his mind kept flashing back to what had happened tonight. He kept seeing Brock Lesnar’s smug face, his cousins thrown on the ground from earth-shattering F-5s. He was already seeing red, his hands nearly shaking with anger as they approached the penthouse door.
But something was wrong.
Roman’s anger retreated once he noticed the jimmied door handle. A thin piece of paper had been wedged in between the latch and doorframe to prevent the lock from turning, the door slightly cracked.
Paul let out a nervous sound. “Should… should I call security, my Tribal Chief?”
Roman raised his hand to silence him, slowly pushing the door open to view the darkened room. The Usos were quick to peek over his shoulder, their gaze curious.
“What is it, uce?” Jey whispered. “Did someone break in?”
Roman frowned, taking another step into the room. Nothing seemed out of place. Their luggage was still neatly stacked in the main living area where they had left it. The leftover pizza from lunch was still sitting on the kitchen counter, three slices still remaining. The room was quiet. Still. Undisturbed.
Then Roman smelled it.
Armani.
His signature cologne.
Roman froze.
“You good, uce?” Jimmy asked, moving up beside him. “What’s wrong?”
Roman curled his lip. He wouldn’t dare. Not in his penthouse. Not like this. He shoved Jimmy to the side and made a beeline to the master bedroom. His bedroom.
He found the bouquet of red roses on his bed, a small card resting beside it. Roman took a shuddering breath. He’d made it clear they were over. Roman couldn’t take it anymore: the possessive behavior, the jealousy, the manipulation. He had ended things. He was done.
Clearly, Seth didn’t agree.
He didn’t even realize the twins had followed him, Jey was quick to catch the card as it fluttered to the ground, falling from Roman’s shaking hands. He raised an eyebrow as he read the words.
“Is this from–?”
“Don’t.” Roman’s tone was warning, his voice strained. “Don’t say it.”
Jey pursed his lips, allowing Jimmy to take the card and read it himself. The older twin whistled in disbelief.
“Damn, uce. It’s like that?”
Roman snatched the card from his hand, his eyes fiery. “It doesn’t matter,” he spat. “He’s gone now. We won’t be seeing him again.”
Jimmy didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t argue with him.
“He broke in, my Tribal Chief,” Paul whispered, glancing warily around the room. “Shouldn’t we tell someone? Maybe Hunter–”
“Shut up.” Roman ripped the card, tossing the remains to the floor. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter. He won’t be back.”
Roman didn’t know it yet, but he was very, very wrong.
The next time Seth broke in, it had been in their locker room. The Bloodline had returned to find their duffle bags rummaged through, another bouquet of red roses resting next to Roman’s shoes.
The act had sent Roman into a rage. He threw the flowers against the wall, running his hands through his hair so much that it was beginning to stick up in wild tufts. The twins stood in the doorway and watched him with wide eyes, Paul Heyman cowering behind them.
Roman wasn’t sure what he was more upset about. The fact that Seth broke in or the fact that he was actually tempted to unblock his number.
Roman should have known things wouldn’t stop there. He had managed to stay strong enough to avoid unblocking Seth’s number, focusing instead on his match at Crown Jewel. But, of course, Seth wasn’t one to let things go easily. Another bouquet of red roses was sent to his locker room that next Friday, the card expected.
Roman ripped the card up before the twins got a chance to read it. He didn’t even destroy the flowers this time, simply allowing Jimmy to take them home to give them to Naomi. He wasn’t going to think about Seth again. They were done.
Done.
Roman wasn’t on social media. One of the WWE social media managers ran all of his accounts, only posting to promote his upcoming events or matches. But he did have a phone. And unfortunately, his cousins were not blocked.
Roman groaned. He knew the twins were in different cities right now, which meant they were doing that weird twin telepathy thing where they both knew to text him at the same time. While Jey’s text was annoying (he did not care about whatever angst Seth was going through right now), Jimmy’s text was downright concerning. He was right. The background in Seth’s photo was familiar.
Too familiar.
Roman felt like ice water had been dumped down his back.
He wasn’t… there was no way…
Against his better judgment, he unblocked Seth’s number and called him, unsurprised when the fucker answered on the first ring.
“Hey, baby,” Seth purred, his nasally voice already far too smug for Roman’s liking. “Been waiting for you to call.”
“When the fuck were you in my house?” Roman did his best to keep his voice steady, but he knew he was failing epically. Seth always knew how to rattle him. “I took that key from you months ago.”
“What, no hello? We haven’t spoken in months, Ro. I missed you.”
“Don’t start,” Roman snapped, his temper flaring. “You were in my house. I saw the picture.”
“I posted that picture two days ago.” Roman could practically hear the pout in Seth’s words. “You’re just now seeing it?”
“When the fuck were you there?” Roman demanded. “I told you I didn’t want you at my house anymore. What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I just had to swing by to pick up a few things,” Seth replied, his tone casual. “It’s no big deal, Ro. It’s practically my house too.”
“No, the fuck it’s not.” Roman’s voice was a low growl. “It’s my house. Not yours. How did you even get in?”
Seth cackled, the sound grating on Roman’s nerves. “You’re being ridiculous, Roman. You know I’ll always find a way. Don’t you remember all the flowers I left you?”
Roman forced himself to keep calm, but it wasn’t easy. Seth knew how to press every single one of his buttons.
“Besides, you’re never there anyway. I might as well use it whenever I’m in town.”
“When the fuck are you ever in Tampa?” Roman snapped. “You’re doing this to get my attention, but you may not like it once you get it. If I catch your ass near my house again, I’m calling the cops.”
“Ooh, I’m shivering in my boots.” Seth cackled again and Roman considered throwing the phone at the wall. “Come on, Ro. Don’t be like that. I know you’ve missed me too. You’ve never done well without me by your side.”
“I’ve been doing just fine on my own.”
“Yeah, I heard about your little tantrum on SmackDown. How’s that Bloodline of yours doing? Be careful, Ro. Soldiers are delicate things. Push them too much and they’ll turn on you.”
“You’re the last person I need to be taking advice from,” Roman spat. “Besides, shouldn’t you be focused on Raw? I heard it hasn’t been the most seamless transition.”
Seth let out a sigh. He sounded disappointed. “What can I say? I miss you, Ro. It’s been lonely without you. When are you coming to join me? The Bloodline could do well on Raw. If you stop pushing them away, that is.”
“I’m not coming to Raw. And you’re not coming back to SmackDown. We’re done, Seth. I don’t want to see your face again.”
“Is this about that little fight we had a few months ago? I told you I was sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to lose my temper like that. You know how I get sometimes. I just don’t like it when other people steal your attention.”
Roman took a deep breath. “I’m not talking about this with you again, Seth. We’re done. Over. Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Don’t post about me. And if you go to my house again, I’ll have you arrested.”
“Well, someone’s in a bad mood.” Seth didn’t sound concerned. “But don’t worry, baby. I know you’ve got a lot going on right now. I’ll call you later tonight, okay?”
“No, Seth–”
“Bye!”
“Seth–”
The line disconnected and this time Roman did throw the phone at the wall.
After destroying his phone, Roman was forced to get a new one. He had never memorized Seth’s number, so he couldn’t block it, but Seth found him all the same.
Roman blocked the number before Seth could send any more, but it did nothing to stop him. More texts just kept coming, all from different numbers.
Eventually Roman stopped trying. No matter how many numbers he blocked, new ones kept popping up. And clearly there was no point in changing his own number if Seth had found the new one so easily. Roman resigned himself to his fate. Seth may be texting and calling, but he wouldn’t answer. He wouldn’t.
Roman didn’t like dating. Not after what happened with his last relationship. Dating was just an excuse for someone to get close and hurt you. He’d already been through enough with Seth. He didn’t want more problems.
Unfortunately, his family was insistent that he try to find someone. That was the only reason why Roman had agreed to this stupid date in the first place, allowing his cousins to set him up with a nice girl from an Italian family out of Harlem. He’d been dreading it for weeks. He didn’t like New York. He didn’t like dates. He certainly didn’t like blind dates, but he had agreed to this one just so his family would give him some space.
She was pretty in the way that women were with dark eyes and a kind smile. He didn’t want to lead her on, but he knew that something good had to come out of this date or else he’d never hear the end of it.
They were in a private corner of the restaurant. His cousins had already ensured that the two of them would have privacy, knowing just how easily the paparazzi and fans could ruin this if word leaked out about where he was. The Tribal Chief Roman Reigns on a date? It would be splashed on the cover of every tabloid magazine for weeks.
The girl seemed nice enough, but Roman wasn’t interested. Instead, all he could think about was how much work he had to do. SmackDown was on Friday. He’d have to take the jet and pick up the twins. He had a meeting on Thursday with Creative that he couldn’t miss. Then on Wednesday…
“Is that your phone?” The girl’s voice interrupted Roman’s thoughts and he blinked, trying to gather his bearings.
“Uh… what?”
“Is that your phone?” she repeated, motioning to his coat jacket. “It keeps making a noise.”
“Oh.” Roman fumbled with his phone, surprised to see a list of notifications from his Ring app. Ever since Seth’s last little visit to his home, he had installed cameras everywhere.
There is motion at your Front Door.
There is motion at your Front Door.
There is motion at your Front Door.
There is motion at your Front Door.
“Sorry,” Roman said, quickly standing. “I just need to check this. I’ll be right back.”
The girl smiled. “Okay.”
Roman made his way to the bathroom, watching as more notifications continued to flood his lock screen.
There is motion in your Living Room.
There is motion in your Back Yard.
There is motion in your Master Bedroom.
There is motion in your Kitchen.
His stomach dropped. Was Seth still waltzing in and out of his place like he owned it? How had he gotten past the new security system? But when Roman opened the live camera feed on the app, he knew it was much more serious than that.
“Do you hear me, Roman?” Seth was yelling, a baseball bat in hand. “You think you can replace me just like that? Like I’m nothing more than a piece of trash?”
To emphasize his point, he took the bat and smashed a nearby lamp, pieces scattering across the room like shrapnel.
“The same man who got mad every time I tried to take him somewhere nice? That same man wants to take a prissy bitch from Harlem out to dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in New York?”
Another lamp shattered.
“Yeah, what a fucking joke. You really think you can replace me with her? You better be glad I’m here and not in New York blowing her fucking car up!”
Seth suddenly decided he didn’t like the look of Roman’s curtains, grabbing and ripping them off the rod to expose the living room windows.
“You goddamn sack of fucking shit!” Seth took his baseball bat to one of the windows and glass scattered across the floor. “I’m gonna destroy this entire fucking house. All for thinking you could replace me!”
He raised the bat, no doubt intending to smash another window, but Roman turned on the microphone.
“Seth, stop!”
Seth froze. The baseball bat still hung precariously over his head, his eyes sliding to the camera in the corner.
“Put the bat down!”
Seth’s lips peeled back to reveal a sinister grin, slowly lowering the bat to approach the camera. “Aw, I was waiting for you to show up, baby.” Seth’s sickly sweet voice was a sharp contrast to the anger he’d heard moments ago. His eyes were glinting with mischief, now twirling the baseball bat idly in his hands. “Did you miss me?”
“Seth, what the fuck are you doing?”
Seth shrugged, suddenly innocent. “I had to get your attention somehow. You haven’t been calling me back. I missed you.”
“You’re destroying my house!”
“You deserve it,” Seth replied smoothly, knocking over a few books that had been piled on a table. “Trying to fuck another bitch while we’re still together. Nobody likes a cheater, baby.”
Roman’s hands were shaking with anger, his jaw clenched so tightly he was certain it would break. “We’re not together,” he gritted out. “And I told you if I caught you in my house again I would call the cops.”
“Well, do it then!” Seth’s voice was loud again, his baseball bat up again as he smashed another window. “I’ll make sure we get TMZ down here too! Then the whole world can see what a fucking cheater you are!”
Roman wanted to hit something, preferably Seth’s face, but he forced himself to stay calm. He couldn’t crash out in this random restaurant in New York or else TMZ really would be on his ass.
“Put the bat down!” he snarled. “This is your last chance before I call the fucking cops!”
“You’re sooooooo full of shit,” Seth laughed, approaching his TV. “You don’t want the press here. Good luck explaining all this to Hunter.”
Roman’s eyes widened when he saw Seth raise his bat again. “No! Seth, don’t–”
The TV exploded into fragments, the sound echoing through the camera like a gunshot.
“That’s it! I’m calling the cops!”
“Do it! I fucking dare you!”
Roman quickly exited the Ring app, already typing 911 into the phone, but he hesitated to press the call button. Unfortunately, Seth was right. If the police showed up, the entire situation would be a scandal. Everything they’d worked so hard to keep out of the public eye would come to light. His reputation would be ruined. Their faces would be plastered on every magazine and website for months. This could jeopardize everything they’d built. Affect their career. Tarnish their legacies.
Roman closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe. He’d known, even from the very beginning, that Seth was unstable, but he’d fallen for him anyway. And maybe there was some sick part of him that liked it. The only reason he’d left was because Seth had grown borderline feral. While Roman normally didn’t mind a little bit of danger, it was just too toxic. And now that he was getting older he just wanted something stable. Calm. Normal.
Seth was none of those things.
You decided to call someone else instead. Thankfully, Jey answered on the first ring.
“‘Sup, uce? How’s the date going?”
“I need you to get to my house.” There was no time for small talk. “You’re both still in Tampa, right?”
Jey paused. “Uh, yeah. Why? What’s wrong?”
Roman passed a hand over his face. “It’s… Seth. He broke in again.”
“Shit, for real?” Jimmy’s voice was in the background. Jey must have put him on speaker. “You ain’t gonna call the cops, uce?”
“You know I can’t do that,” Roman snapped. “Just get over there and handle it. He somehow disabled the alarm system.”
“Damn, he’s a fucking psycho.” Jey sounded concerned, but Roman was just glad to hear the jingle of keys and the sound of a door closing.
“He’s destroying my fucking house,” Roman hissed. “Deal with it.”
“You got it, uce. We’re ten minutes out.”
Roman hung up, returning to the Ring camera feed. Seth was in the kitchen now, smashing every plate in sight. Roman was enraged to see that he had found Roman’s best liquor and was throwing the bottles against the wall, sometimes pausing to take a few sips.
“Seth, I swear to fucking god!” Roman bellowed, ensuring that his voice came through on the camera. “You need to stop. Leave now and I won’t press charges.”
Seth cackled, grabbing his baseball bat to destroy his dishwasher. “We both know you won’t do shit, Roman. If you want me to stop, come down here and stop me yourself.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Roman chuckled darkly. “I’ve already got someone on the way.”
Seth paused, another sinister smile on his lips as he turned to the camera. “Let me guess. You sent your cute little guard dogs after me.”
“That’s right. And unless you want to get your ass beat by the twins, I suggest you leave.”
Seth’s smile never wavered. “Alright. Show’s over.”
Seth took his baseball bat to the camera and the feed cut out, an error message flashing across the screen. Roman pulled up each camera, but Seth was methodical. He made sure to go to every room and destroy every camera, cackling loudly as he did it. Eventually the only camera remaining was the one by the doorbell and Roman was able to watch as the twins arrived a few minutes later. They stormed up to Roman’s front door, nearly ripping the damn thing off the hinges before stepping inside.
A few moments later his phone rang, Jimmy’s name on the caller ID.
“Please tell me you beat the shit out of him.”
“He gone, uce. He ain’t here. Must of cut and run.”
Roman’s lip twitched, his jaw clenched in anger. It was taking all of his willpower to avoid destroying another phone.
“Check the entire house,” Roman gritted out. “Make sure he’s gone.”
“We checked everywhere, uce. We’re sure he’s gone. If you want, we can–”
Roman hung up, forcing himself to take a few deep breaths. He had no idea how Seth had learned about his date or how he had managed to get past Roman’s new security system. The entire situation was beyond disturbing. He stared at himself in the mirror. It was time to end this. Once and for all.
Nobody had seen Seth all week. Roman had done everything in his power to track him down, but it was like he had vanished. No texts, no calls, no social media posts. He didn’t even show up to Raw on Monday, though Hunter had sworn up and down that he had no idea why. Roman suspected the old man was covering for Seth’s lying ass. Maybe Seth had sunk his claws into Hunter the same way he had with Roman. He was good at that.
At SmackDown, the evening was mostly uneventful. The twins defended their tag team titles. Roman screamed at Paul backstage, demanding that he find Seth Rollins or be exiled from the Bloodline. Other than that, nothing was out of the ordinary.
When the night was over, the Bloodline packed up their things and exited the building, eager to take the car back to the hotel. While the twins were happy with their victory, they knew better than to celebrate right now. Not when their Tribal Chief was on edge, still snapping at Paul as they made their way out to the parking lot.
“I don’t want anymore fucking excuses,” Roman seethed. “You find him or your ass is out. I don’t give a shit what you have to do. Just do it.”
Paul’s face was pale. “My Tribal Chief, please. Rollins has been missing for almost a week. I can’t work miracles.”
“What did I say about excuses?” Roman snapped. “You find him and drag his ass back here. Or else–”
“Or else what?”
Speak of the devil…
Seth emerged from behind a nearby car, his eyes twinkling with mischief. He looked absolutely ridiculous, wearing nothing but a lace, see-through shirt and matching lace pants. He was, thankfully, wearing some kind of black shorts beneath the lace to remain somewhat modest, Versace sunglasses perched on the edge of his nose even though it was nighttime. He offered the Bloodline a cheeky wave.
“I heard you were looking for me, Ro. That’s sweet. I’ve missed you too, baby.”
“Just say the word, uce, and we’ll fucking drop him.” The twins had already tossed their bags to the side and were watching Seth with wary eyes. Jey’s fists were clenching and unclenching at his sides, the same way they always did whenever he was itching for a fight.
“Aw, your guard dogs are adorable,” Seth cooed, offering Jey another wave. “I remember when I had guard dogs like that. Though they were more like hounds, weren’t they, Roman?”
Roman’s eyes flashed in anger. “You got a lot of nerve to show up here. Did you really think I was going to let you get away with it?”
“Get away with what?” Seth asked innocently. “I didn’t do anything wrong. Just needed to teach you a lesson for trying to replace me.”
“YOU DESTROYED MY HOUSE!” Roman bellowed, throwing down his bag in rage. “You should be glad I didn’t press charges for all the damage you caused!”
Seth seemed amused by Roman’s anger, leaning against a nearby car to watch him. “Aw, come on, baby. Don’t be like that. You know I just lose my temper sometimes. And can you even blame me? You were on a date, Roman. That hurts! I thought we had something special.”
“Do you want me to call security, my Tribal Chief?” Paul whispered urgently. Roman ignored him.
“Jesus Christ, Seth. We are not together! What do you not understand about that? I don’t want you around anymore. We are done. We are over.”
Seth’s eyes simmered dangerously, his lips peeling back to reveal another sinister smile.
“You’re wrong.”
Roman hadn’t realized that Seth had been holding something behind his back, a strange contraption now in his hands.
“We are far from over,” Seth continued. “You can’t get rid of me, Roman. No matter how hard you try.”
Roman realized too late that the contraption in his hands was a detonator.
‘Wait, stop.” Roman had no idea what Seth was planning, but his body went cold. He knew something was very wrong. “Seth, whatever you’re thinking don’t–”
“I guess I just haven’t been clear enough.” Seth still maintained that sinister grin, a new manic glint in his eyes. “But don’t worry. You’ll understand. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Seth!”
Seth pressed the button on the detonator and Roman’s car exploded.
The heat from the blast burned Roman’s face, his ears ringing from the noise. He stumbled backwards, watching with wide eyes as a small fireball rose above the parking lot, casting all the other cars in an orange glow. He could hear Paul screaming behind him, the twins cursing and shouting for one another in the confusion. Pieces of burning shrapnel were raining down around them, the air hot and stifling from the blazing inferno.
Roman turned around, instinctively reaching for his cousins, but something collided with him, knocking him back onto the pavement. He landed with a grunt, too disoriented to understand that Seth was now straddling his lap, his rough hands on Roman’s shoulders to pin him to the ground.
“Like I said,” Seth purred, his expression gleeful. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Roman looked around in confusion. The force of the blast had knocked Paul to the ground and he was struggling to stand, screaming for help. The twins were the only ones standing, clutching each other and watching with wide eyes as Roman’s car burned.
Seth grabbed Roman’s hair to force Roman’s eyes back to his, cackling loudly as the fire raged behind him.
“You always said you liked big shows of affection,” Seth was saying, his tone far too casual for what was going on behind him. “That’s what this is, Ro. I just wanted to show you how much I love you. How badly I want to stay with you. You’re not mad, are you?”
Roman could hardly think. He was vaguely aware of Seth’s hands tugging on the waistband of Roman’s pants, but the action seemed so foreign and strange with the chaos around them that Roman wasn’t sure it was real.
“Seth…” he breathed, his hands instinctively reaching up to grab Seth’s hips like he’d done a million times before. “What are you…?”
“Aw, you’re already holding me, baby. Old habits die hard, don’t they?”
Seth’s hand found Roman’s cock and Roman jolted in surprise. This… this wasn’t supposed to happen. Seth had just blown up his car. They were in the parking lot. His cousins and wiseman were nearby, struggling to orient themselves in all the confusion. Staff members and wrestlers were emerging from the arena, alerted by the explosion and fiery car still burning in the parking lot. Still, for some reason, Roman’s length hardened beneath Seth’s talented hands and Seth grinned triumphantly, his other hand still fisted in Roman’s hair.
“Always so responsive for me,” he cooed. “Your body still remembers me, doesn’t it, baby?”
Roman could hear shouting in the distance, though it sounded muted and far away. He gasped as Seth’s thumb swiped across the slit of his cock, his hips bucking forward instinctively at the feeling.
“That’s it,” Seth murmured, ripping the lace of his pants. “That’s it. Get wet for me, baby. Need it so bad, Roman. Missed you so fucking much.”
Paul had finally made it to his feet and started hobbling back towards the arena, waving his arms and calling for help. Jimmy was on his knees now, Jey kneeling down beside him in concern. Roman couldn’t see it, but something seemed to be wrong.
“Eyes on me,” Seth hissed, tugging on Roman’s hair again to bring his eyes back. “Don’t worry about them. They’re fine.”
But they weren’t. Jimmy had been hit by a piece of shrapnel from the explosion, his face bloody. Roman’s stomach lurched.
“Fuck,” he gasped, now pushing Seth away. “I have to–”
“Be still,” Seth snapped, tangling his fingers so tightly in Roman’s hair that he hissed in pain. “I told you, they’re fine. I want you focused on me. Haven’t you missed me, baby?”
Seth fished Roman’s hardened cock from his pants, ripping the thin material of his lace shorts to reveal himself.
“I already prepped myself for you,” Seth murmured, spitting on Roman’s dick to provide more wetness. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to wait. I’m tired of waiting.”
Seth lined up above Roman’s cock and began to sink down on it, causing both men to moan at the feeling. Roman’s eyes fluttered in surprise and pleasure. He was still a little too disoriented to understand everything that was happening, but his body was already responding, his dick twitching as Seth’s wet, tight heat began to envelop him.
“Yessssss,” Seth groaned, throwing his head back to expose the long column of his throat. “God, yes. I’ve missed you so much, Roman. You don’t even know. I’ve needed you so badly, baby. I can’t live without you.”
Roman could hear more shouting and Roman instinctively turned to look before Seth’s fingers dug into his scalp again.
“On me,” he gritted out, his gorgeous face twisted in pleasure. “I need your eyes, baby. Don’t look away. Stay with me.”
Roman couldn’t help but obey. Seth had always looked beautiful whenever he rode cock like this. His pretty body would always flex with each little bounce, his dark eyes always sparkling with pleasure and maybe a little mischief whenever he met Roman’s gaze. Though right now it seemed less like mischief and more like mania.
“I knew you didn’t really want to leave,” Seth murmured, moving up and down on Roman’s cock like a trained professional. “Knew you wanted me back. You just needed to be reminded of what you were missing, didn’t you, baby?”
Roman could barely keep his eyes open. Seth felt good wrapped around him. Too good. Almost like he was made for this. Roman let out a small sound and Seth was quick to loosen his grip on his hair, now petting him gently in apology.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. And you’re not leaving me again.”
Seth continued to bounce on Roman’s cock, his feet planted firmly on the ground to get good leverage as he rose up and sank back down into the cradle of Roman’s hips. Roman couldn’t help but hold Seth closer, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of Seth’s hips. Seth hummed his approval. He always did like a little pain.
“That’s it,” Seth gasped, his movements picking up speed. “Let me fuck you here, baby. Right here in front of everyone. Let everyone know you’re mine.”
Seth leaned forward and captured Roman’s lip in a messy, possessive kiss and Roman felt helpless to resist him. In fact, he felt helpless to stop any of this. Dean had once joked that Seth was Roman’s only weakness, but it was true. When it really came down to it, Roman could never deny Seth anything. He was putty in the Architect’s hands. All he could do was hold on for the ride.
Seth moaned again, the sound so beautiful that Roman stared up at him in wonder. “You feel so good inside me, Ro,” Seth gasped. “God, you’re fucking perfect. That’s why we’re soulmates. You know that, right?”
Another explosion from the car sent another small fireball into the air, the flames dancing in Seth’s manic eyes.
“Don’t be scared,” Seth cooed, a strange giggle spilling from his soft lips. “I’ve got you, baby. You know I would never hurt you, don’t you?”
Seth landed brutally on Roman’s cock again and Roman struggled to hold back another moan. He could hear more shouting behind them, police sirens in the distance, but for some reason he didn’t care. Instead, all he could do was watch as Seth bounced beautifully in his lap, that gleeful smile still on his lips.
“You’re crazy,” Roman realized, though he still kept his hands on Seth’s hips like they belonged there. And maybe they did. “You’re fucking crazy…”
“Crazy for you, Ro,” Seth replied, his smile far too wide, his eyes far too wild. “Only for you.”
Roman let out a distressed sound and Seth was quick to reassure him, leaning down to pepper Roman’s face with kisses.
“It’s okay, baby,” Seth whispered. “I’m going to make it all better. You’re going to let me fix this, right? You’re not going to leave me again, are you?”
Seth slammed his hips back down and Roman’s fingers dug into Seth’s hips, his heart pounding out of his chest from pleasure and fear.
“Seth, please–”
“I know you want this, Ro. I know you want me back. Just say it. Just say that you want me. Please, baby. I need to hear it.”
Roman shook his head. No, Seth was wrong. They couldn’t get back together. He couldn’t put up with the craziness anymore. He needed peace. He needed normal.
Seth began to grind against him faster, his velvety hole clenching around Roman’s length so tightly that Roman moaned in pleasure. Seth grinned.
“Your body doesn’t lie, Roman. You need me. You want me. Just say it.”
Roman could feel himself teetering on the edge, his body betraying him. No matter how hard he tried to fight it, he knew Seth was right. It didn’t matter that Seth was batshit crazy. It didn’t matter that he had just blown up his car. It didn’t matter that he was fucking himself on Roman’s dick in front of the entire arena while the cops arrived. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. He loved the crazy. God help him, he loved Seth. He couldn't fight it anymore.
“God, I missed you,” Roman choked out, pulling Seth closer. “I missed you so fucking much.”
Seth cackled, though it didn’t sound like it usually did. It sounded… manic. Like something inside Seth had slipped and fractured. The flames reflected in his dark eyes, his face twisted into something wild. Something insane.
“I knew it!” he crowed. “I knew you were just pretending. It was all just a game, wasn’t it, Ro? You were testing me. Did I pass? I must have passed. I fucking knew it! We’re soulmates, baby. I’m never leaving you. Never ever ever ever ever ever…”
Roman knew this was crazy. He knew Seth was crazy. But it didn’t stop him from spilling inside Seth’s tight hole, once again claiming what’s his. Because no matter how insane Seth was, he would always be his.
pairing → jey uso x gunther
word count → 2.6k
warnings → dom/sub, deepthroating, degradation, humiliation, violence, loss of consciousness, no aftercare (gunther is very cruel)
notes → saw this from the incredible blog of @sapphicsamizayn and was inspired!
kinktober masterlist. general masterlist. taglist.
The champion’s private locker room was cold. Always cold. Gunther liked it that way. The cold deterred visitors. It kept people from overstaying their welcome. It ensured that anyone stupid enough to bother him in his private space would want to leave as soon as they crossed the threshold. Keeping the room freezing ensured everyone stayed away.
Well.
Almost everyone.
Gunther watched with a smirk as Jey Uso once again opened the door and entered. He didn’t knock, but why should he? His presence was expected.
Jey always looked adorably embarrassed whenever he showed up like this. Gunther knew he took great pains to ensure that he hadn’t been seen, ducking behind corners and wearing a hoodie to avoid unwanted stares. Because people would certainly ask questions if Jey Uso, Gunther’s bitter rival and number one contender for the world title, was caught sneaking into the champion’s locker room. It was amusing.
Gunther watched as he shuffled forward, his eyes glued to the floor and his hands stuffed in his pockets. He wouldn’t ask. He never did. In fact, he hardly ever spoke unless Gunther made him, though Gunther usually kept his mouth too occupied to speak anyway.
The champion reclined further in his leather chair, his legs crossed and his eyes narrowed as he watched the older man approach. Gunther’s heavyweight title gleamed on the table beside him, no doubt taunting Jey as he took another reluctant step forward.
“Stop.” Gunther raised a hand and Jey froze, his face already blushing harder. He knew what was next.
“If you want to be at my feet, then you will approach me correctly.”
Jey hesitated. That wasn’t new either. There was always a mental battle here where he was no doubt asking himself the same questions over and over again:
Why am I here?
Why am I doing this?
Why do I let him do this to me?
Gunther indulged it. He didn’t mind waiting. He was patient. Besides, he knew the end result.
Eventually whatever battle Jey was fighting in his pretty head won out. He dropped to his knees, just like he always did, and crawled on all fours to the Ring General’s side. Ever dutiful. Ever obedient.
Gunther couldn’t help but laugh and Jey flinched at the sound, his head hung low so Gunther couldn’t see his red cheeks.
“There we go,” Gunther murmured, holding out his hand for Jey as he grew closer. “I knew you’d be back soon, Jey. I just didn’t expect it to be this soon.”
Once Jey reached the leather chair, he reluctantly placed his cheek in Gunther’s large hand, his dark eyes fluttering at the rare show of affection. He knew the Ring General did not extend many offers of kindness and he was grateful for even this. Gunther chuckled.
“It was the promo tonight, wasn’t it? All those cruel words I had for you? I knew you’d like them. You always do.”
Jey’s cheek seemed to grow hotter in Gunther’s hand, no doubt remembering the degrading words Gunther had taunted him with in the ring.
You’re not as capable as me. Face it, Jey. You’re not on my level. And if I were you, I would stay out of championship business.
The crowd had eaten it up, but Jey had too. Gunther hadn’t missed how Jey’s pupils had dilated at his words, the smallest blush creeping up his neck as Gunther moved closer, his presence commanding respect and power.
And Gunther knew, even before he left the ring, that Jey would be back in his locker room tonight. Because no matter how much he tried to fight it, Jey yearned for this. He enjoyed this–the cruelty, the degradation, the humiliation. He got off on this. He needed this.
Gunther removed his hand from Jey’s cheek and chuckled when he let out a small, hurt sound.
“Remove this.” Gunther demanded, motioning to Jey’s hoodie. “I want to see it.”
Jey hesitated again, but he eventually obeyed, tugging the hoodie over his head and tossing it to the side. Tonight he wore a blue crop top, the shirt so small it left little to the imagination. But that wasn’t what Gunther was interested in. Instead, he stared at Jey’s neck, marveling at the bruises that were forming there. Bruises Gunther had left there tonight.
“Mm…” Gunther hummed in appreciation at the sight, his fingers ghosting across the purple marks forming on the delicate skin. Jey’s Adam’s apple bobbed beneath his fingers, no doubt swallowing his pride as Gunther traced a particularly nasty bruise under his jaw.
“You liked receiving these, didn’t you?” Gunther murmured, watching in amusement as the Samoan’s face flushed red again. “You liked it when I choked you out and left you unconscious on the mat. Go on, admit it.”
Jey didn’t, but he didn’t argue either. Instead, he clenched his fists in his lap and said nothing, looking everywhere but Gunther’s face. Gunther didn’t like that.
“Look at me.” Gunther’s hand quickly wrapped around Jey’s throat, his fingers digging into bruises that were already tender and sore. Jey whimpered but obeyed, his dark eyes pleading and round as he gazed up at the Ring General's snarling face.
“You like it when I treat you this way, don’t you?” Gunther demanded. “That’s why you keep crawling back to me week after week, even though I’ve already humiliated you in the ring. You want me to give you what no one else will. You want me to be cruel to you.”
Jey let out another whimper as Gunther’s fingers dug in deeper, though he made no move to fight him off, his body limp beneath brutal hands.
“Come here.” Gunther dragged Jey closer, opening his legs and shoving Jey’s trembling body between them. “Open your mouth, slut. Make yourself useful.”
Jey instantly obeyed, allowing Gunther to shove his massive cock into his willing mouth. Gunther groaned in appreciation, keeping one hand on Jey’s throat and the other in Jey’s hair to pull him down further.
“There we go,” he grunted. “Finally putting that mouth of yours to use. You had plenty to say in the ring, didn’t you? What was it you said? I need to put respect on your name?”
Gunther’s grip tightened on Jey’s hair and Jey nearly whined, drool beginning to leak from his bottom lip and onto his beard as Gunther forced him further onto his length.
“Do you feel respected, Jey? Is this me putting respect on your name?” Gunther laughed and the sound was mocking. “See, that’s why you come to me. None of the others can give you this. Not Cody. Not Sami. Not Damian. Not even Seth. They treat you like you’re made of glass. Like you’re something sweet. But we both know the truth, don’t we?”
Gunther pulled Jey off by the hair, watching with satisfaction as Jey gasped for breath, his mouth still open and drool coating his beard.
“You’re nothing more than a common street whore. Just a regular slut. You don’t need sweet. What you need is to be put in your place.”
He dragged Jey back onto his cock, shoving his length so far down that Jey coughed, his entire body convulsing as he tried to control his gag reflex.
“Take it,” Gunther hissed. “Take it because you know you deserve it.”
Jey didn’t fight. Instead, he opened his mouth more and drooled, instinctively holding his hands behind his back in the ultimate show of submission. The Ring General grinned.
“That’s it.” Gunther pulled him in further, the grip on his hair unforgiving. Jey went even deeper, gurgling helplessly as the massive length blocked his airway. “I know you like it, slut. You’d let me hold you here until you passed out again, wouldn’t you?”
Jey retched pathetically, his eyes turning glassy as he fought to breathe. More drool was sliding out around the cock in mouth, much of it dripping onto Jey’s crop top. When he gagged again, Gunther reluctantly pulled him back. He wasn’t ready for Jey to pass out just yet.
Jey let out rough, hacking coughs, the sound so loud that Jey’s eyes turned to the locker room door in fear, as if he were worried someone outside could hear him.
“Let them hear,” Gunther snarled, a sharp hand cracking across Jey’s cheek. “Let them hear how badly you want this.”
Jey stared up at him pitifully, his eyes wide with tears and hurt. Gunther brought up his hand again and Jey instinctively flinched, though he didn’t pull away, ever obedient. Gunther laughed loudly.
“Stupid whore. Let me hear you.”
He pulled Jey down once more, forcing him to take even more of his length. Jey coughed again, tears beginning to spill from the corner of his eyes. He was drooling all over himself, his crop top now soaked with it. Gunther tugged on his hair and Jey went even deeper, his nose nearly buried in the curls nestled at the base of Gunther’s cock. Jey’s cheeks turned an alarming shade of red and Gunther smirked, reaching out to cruelly pinch his nose shut.
“Choke on it, Jey. Show me how desperate you are.”
Jey bucked in Gunther’s grasp, fighting to breathe even though there was no air left for him. Gunther noticed that Jey still kept his hands behind his back, more willing to choke and pass out than be disobedient. It was adorable.
Gunther yanked him off again and tossed him to the floor, grinning sadistically as more hacking coughs filled the air.
“Get up here and do it again.”
Jey stared up at him like a kicked puppy, still gagging and drooling as he struggled to catch his breath. He looked completely wrecked–his lips raw from the stretch, his shirt soaked with his own spit, his face still red and his eyes wide with fear and arousal.
“Now, slut. I won’t ask again.”
Jey forced himself back up, moving back between Gunther’s to allow the other man to grab him by the hair again. He moaned and Gunther’s foot moved cruelly to the erection in Jey’s pants, kicking hard against it until Jey let out a broken sob.
“I bet you’ll come in your pants from this too. Fucking pathetic.”
Gunther pulled him down one final time, grinning sadistically as Jey started coughing again, crying and drooling around the Ring General’s cock like a cheap whore.
“Stay like that,” Gunther demanded, crossing a leg behind Jey’s head to hold him in place. Jey squirmed, more spit bubbling at the corners of his mouth as Gunther held him still. The feeling of Jey’s throat clenching and spasming around his length quickly had Gunther spilling down his throat, forcing Jey to choke it down. He continued to sputter and gag, his hands finally moving from behind his back to clutch desperately at Gunther’s thigh.
“Mmngh!” Jey made a pleading sound and Gunther grinned sadistically.
“Tap out then, Jey. You don’t have to pass out on it if you don’t want to.”
But he didn’t. He never did. Instead, his face got even redder, his throat trying to work around the cock lodged deep inside it.
Gunther watched in amusement as his eyes fluttered, slowly losing consciousness as he fought to breathe. Gunther kept that leg behind Jey’s head, only releasing him once Jey’s eyes closed, his body going limp as he passed out.
Gunther was quick to catch Jey’s head before it hit the floor, gently resting him on the ground as he waited for him to regain consciousness. It wouldn’t take long.
As expected, Jey eventually roused at Gunther’s feet, letting out a low moan as he struggled to open his eyes. Gunther was unimpressed, shoving his nice dress shoe into Jey’s head to encourage him to move faster. “Get up, whore. Clean me up.”
Jey feebly struggled back to his knees, his movements sluggish. Gunther kicked him again in the stomach and Jey let out a hurt sound.
“Come on. I haven’t got all night. Clean up this mess you made.”
Jey still seemed dazed and confused, but he obediently moved forward to lick at Gunther’s softening cock, cleaning the come and drool left behind. His pink tongue worked slowly, his eyes glassy and faraway, but Gunther was still displeased.
“And you made a mess on my shoes.” He held up one of his Oxfords, his dark eyes glittering with malice. “Clean them.”
Jey was too out of it to fight back. He obediently lolled his tongue out and dragged it across the expensive leather, his teary eyes fluttering. Gunther sneered, his next words cutting through the fog and causing pain to blossom in Jey’s chest like a gunshot wound.
“See, this is why you will never be a world champion, Jey,” Gunther taunted. “No one wants a pathetic slut to hold a title as prestigious as this.” Gunther reached out and grabbed the title sitting beside him, throwing it over his shoulder for emphasis. “This isn’t me being cruel, Jey. This is me stating the facts. You can’t beat me. You’re not strong enough. Not physically. Certainly not mentally. We’ve got five more weeks until Mania. Plenty of time for me to completely break you.”
Gunther kicked Jey in the face and this time Jey recoiled, shame battling with anger on his tear-stained face. The Ring General grinned.
“Ah, there’s that Samoan spirit. I was wondering where it had gone. Too busy choking on dick to care much about your pride or family legacy, huh?”
Jey’s face went red, this time from anger, and Gunther laughed sadistically.
“Eventually, the world will see you for what you are, Jey. A mediocre wrestler and a cheap slut. And you are pretty cheap, aren’t you? You let me do this to you for free.”
Jey lunged forward, as if to strike him, but his movements were too slow, his body still lethargic from his time unconscious. Gunther was able to dodge him easily, quickly grabbing him by the hair and yanking him close.
“You can fight it as much as you want, Jey. But we both know the truth. You won’t win at Mania. You won’t become World Heavyweight Champion. You’ll stay in the mid-card where you belong, licking my shoes and thanking me for even the smallest scrap of attention.”
His grip on Jey’s hair tightened and Jey hissed in pain, now struggling in Gunther’s hold.
“And even though you hate me, we both know you’ll be back here next week, offering yourself up for more. Because you want this, Jey. You crave it. The whole world saw it when you were with Roman. Right Hand Man Jey Uso? More like a pathetic dog begging for a leash.”
He slapped Jey in the face again and Jey snarled, his eyes alight with fury. Gunther thought he’d never looked more beautiful.
“So go ahead and fight this. I’m a patient man. I know you’ll come crawling back. Especially when I choke you out again in front of the entire world. Let’s hope this time the camera doesn’t see how hard you get from it.”
And that really was the worst part of it all.
Even as Gunther degraded him, held him up by the hair and smacked him around, Jey’s body didn’t lie. He was still hard as a diamond, his erection straining in his black joggers even when Gunther tossed him to the side and wiped his hands like he was nothing more than a piece of trash. Jey’s body trembled, his gaze downright murderous as glared at the triumphant Ring General.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Gunther sniffed, waving Jey away. “I’ve grown quite bored of you now. You can see yourself out. I know you’ll be back.”
Jey tightened his jaw, tears threatening to spill from his eyes again. He hated this. He hated Gunther. But unfortunately, Gunther was right.
request: List of Headcanons of Mickey Milkovich as an overprotective older brother (he is only two minutes older) and knows how to take care of him very well, but when he was younger he spent a few days in the hospital.
warnings: fluff, mentions of getting hospitalized, mentions of beating someone up, smoking, drinking
overprotective!mickey who acts like he's the boss of you since he's older but by only two minutes but he takes those minutes and runs with it
overprotective!mickey who judges all the guys you have come over and fuck you, calling you a skank but you know he doesn't really mean it
overprotective!mickey who was the first to know that you were gay (i guess gay sees gay am i right) and told you it was okay and that he still loved you
overprotective!mickey who told you he was gay while you were both smoking outside and you told him you already knew, which came as a surprise to him
overprotective!mickey who watches you like a hawk to make sure you don't get into any trouble with the law or some random cunt
overprotective!mickey who defends you from terry when he starts ranting about you being gay, mickey ushering you to your room before he's yelling at terry for being an insensitive fucker
overprotective!mickey who's always scoping out the men you date and/or have over to make sure they're good enough for you and not some incompetent shitheads
overprotective!mickey who solves any problems anyone has with you, whether that be illegal or legal he's making sure no one fucks with his sibling
overprotective!mickey who was the first to introduce you to ian, mainly because you barged in after mickey thought you would be out all day.
overprotective!mickey who asked you to be his best man for his wedding and after a little teasing you agreed
overprotective!mickey who's love for you came after you were injured by some bullies and sent to the hospital for a couple of days, he stayed by your side the whole time
overprotective!mickey who once you were safe at home took no hesitation in finding the bullies and beating the hell out of them, leaving them bloody and bruised
overprotective!mickey who's cared for you since youth, making sure you always had something to eat and clothes when terry was to drunk or shitty to take care of you both
there's literally no ian x male reader in here so let me request something for him rq :]
I saw this prompts on pinterest earlier and i thought they would fit ian so i was wondering if you could do smth with them
"Please don't cry, i can't stand seeing you cry"
"Just talk to me."
"Don't pretend you're okay because i know you're not"
bye byee!
tears are in your eyes
A/N - can i just say thank u to this anon for getting me back into the writing spirit frrrrr
this request was exactly what i needed bc i LOVE ian gallagher i literally dream about him
plssss let me know who u are anon bc ur right the lack of male reader ian fics is madness 🙏🙏
summary: you love Ian, but he's sick. and he loves you, but you're crying.
it all started in the morning.
you came round the Gallagher house at 11, looking for Ian. he hadn't taken your calls all morning, it wasn't like you were worried or anything. maybe a little. but worrying about Ian felt like more of a constant feeling recently. when you got there, Fiona was the only person around and she told you to check upstairs, saying she hadn't seen him since she's been up.
when you went up there, Ian was laying in bed, wrapped up in covers. you smile to yourself. he's an angel, he is, and you always think this. even just from the back of his head when he's half asleep. you love him.
"heya," you call to him, "you still asleep?", you shake his shoulder gently and he shrugs you away. you furrow your brow and sit on the edge of the bed.
"c'mon," you ruffle the back of his hair and he groans, pulling the covers further up his face.
" 'm just...'m tired," he mumbles, you shift yourself closer to him, your hand on his arm,
"hey, Ian, you gotta get up. it's past 11." you stroke his arm gently,
"just...just- leave me alone." his tone is harsh and it stings. you remind yourself he doesn't really mean it.
"Ian, c'mon, what's wrong?" you ask and he doesn't reply. the room is silent and uncomfortable, but your hand stays on his arm. you love him.
"just talk to me." you're almost begging now, and he grunts in response.
and that's how it's been all day. it's 4 PM now, and Ian's barely moved. you've stayed next to him the whole time. your hand has moved from his hair, to his hands, to his arm. you've spoken to him softly, you've shouted. he's only replied in grunts or mumbled words, or just stayed silent.
it's hard, to see him like this. but you can't leave him, not like this. you love him.
it's 5 PM and nothings changed. you're lying behind Ian, arms wrapped around him, holding tight. he's holding your hands, loosely, but he is.
"Ian-" you start, whispering right next to his ear,
"no- no, don't," he stops you, "i'm fine- it's fine, i'm just...i'm tired." his voice is barely a whisper, and you hold him tighter.
you pause. there's a depressive intimacy happening, that you don't want to break.
"don't pretend you're okay because i know you're not." you wait for his reply. it never comes. you kiss his cheek and try to hold back tears. you love him
"he's still not up?" Fiona's in the doorway, holding two plates. she looks at you sympathetically, she knows how it feels.
"uh, no." you pull yourself away from Ian, he doesn't try and and hold you there. you sit up, taking the plates from Fiona. "thanks." you say, out of politeness, because you know you both won't eat.
"y'know you don't need to stay here, i can take care of-" she doesn't get to finish before you interrupt her,
"no. i'll stay. i'm staying with him." Fiona tries to smile at you, but she knows, more than anyone, you're just fighting a losing battle.
"right, well, uh, try eat something. get him to eat something." you smile at her as she leaves the room. moving the plates to the floor, you lay back in the bed, staring at the ceiling.
7 PM now, and Ian is laying on his back, looking up. it's the most he's moved all day. you're sat up next to him, staring down at your hands. you pick at your nails.
you're thinking about Ian, who's right next to you but not really there. you think about how the top of his head smells. and his voice in the morning. his arms when he holds you. his smile and his laugh and how his jaw hardens when he's angry. and most of all, you think of how you love him even when he feels like nothing. when it's as if he's just air. you love him.
and then you start to cry. it's slow at first. tears that trickle from your cheeks and land on your shirt. then you can't stop. you rub your eyes harshly to punish them, because you don't want to upset Ian. the tears don't stop, they can't stop. Ian looks at you, his blank face showing concern. and it isn't that he doesn't care, because he does. he's kicking himself seeing you cry. but he just can't. not right now.
"please- don't cry. y'know, i, uh, can't stand seeing you cry." he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. you look at him, face twisted in emotion, your hands in your lap. he reaches out and takes them, kissing them. and you can't help but smile so wide you wouldn't believe it was because of something so small. he pulls you down into a hug, holding you to his chest.
"i love you." he whispers, breathing you in deeply, his nose pressed to your neck.
this time you don't say anything, you just smile. and it's not a lot, but it's perfect.
and you love him.
A/N: the day i stop writing shameless angst is the day i die - stay tuned for many fluff posts from now onnnn (title is inspired by the yo la tengo song ofc)
Warnings: mentions of emotional trauma, abandonment, past poly relationship failure.
Summary: Haunted by past heartbreak, the reader fears being left out—until Ian and Mickey remind him he's truly part of their love.
You heard them laughing from the other room earlier. The kind of laugh that’s inside-jokey and full of old history you weren’t there for. The kind that tightens your chest, even though you know better.
You’re not mad at them. Not really. Just… afraid.
"Hey."
You flinch. You didn’t hear Ian come in. He steps quietly sometimes—something left over from the old Gallagher house.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
You give the same answer you always do.
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
He walks over, leans against the counter, watching you scrub the already-clean glass. His voice is gentle. “You think a lot when you’re scared.”
You freeze.
Ian doesn’t mean it cruelly. He never does. But it still feels like he read a line you hadn’t meant to say out loud.
“I’m not scared,” you mutter, too defensively.
“Babe…” Ian sighs and takes the glass from your hands, setting it down. His fingers linger around yours. “You are. And it’s okay.”
The words unlock something, and suddenly, you feel it—this twisting in your stomach, this tightness in your throat.
You step back. “I shouldn’t have moved in.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” you insist, trying not to choke on it. “You and Mickey—you’ve been through hell together. You have all this history. You make sense. And I’m just… extra.”
“You’re not.”
You scoff. “I was, before. In my last relationship, I was the filler. We were three, then two, then one. Me. Left. And I told myself I wouldn’t do this again—wouldn’t be the third wheel on a tricycle built for two.”
Ian doesn’t try to interrupt. He just lets you spill.
“I love you both. I want this. But I can’t keep wondering if I’ll be the one who gets dropped again when things get hard.”
Suddenly, there’s a voice behind you.
“That’s not how we work.”
You spin to see Mickey in the doorway, arms crossed, face unreadable but eyes soft. He walks in, slower than usual. Deliberate.
“You think I’d let anyone in here if I didn’t mean it?” Mickey asks. “If we didn’t talk about it? Fight about it? Figure out what the hell it meant?”
You say nothing, afraid if you open your mouth again, you’ll just fall apart.
Mickey steps in close and grips your shoulder, grounding. “I don’t do this shit half-assed. Ian neither. You’re not a guest. You’re not a maybe. You’re part of this.”
Ian puts a hand on your other shoulder, his presence anchoring you like gravity. “You think we don’t see how hard you’re trying? You think we don’t notice the way you hold your breath every time we kiss in front of you, like you’re waiting to be forgotten?”
You swallow hard.
Mickey speaks again, quiet but steady. “We chose you. We keep choosing you. Every day.”
And just like that, your knees buckle a little.
Ian’s arms catch you before you fall, and Mickey’s right there, wrapping his arms around you tight, like you’re something worth protecting. They hold you like they’re not afraid of your pain—like they’ve got room for it.
You bury your face in Ian’s shoulder and let yourself cry—really cry—for the first time in months.
Summary: Ian Gallagher's not-so-new foreign boyfriend is a much needed change of scenery.
Content Warning(s): None :)
Other Pairings: German! Male Reader x Older Brother, German! Male Reader x Gallagher Family
AUTHOR NOTE(S):
Request by @hpxmcusworld !
hpxmcusworld asked:
Hiii! I hope your doing well! Sense you said you where doing requests for Ian Gallagher I was hoping to request one with Ian x male reader? The reader was born and raised in Germany and he and his older brother who raised him moved here, the reader (has a strong accent) and is always so confused with the stuff that happens, like why arnt the taxes included in the price? Or why is there different names for meet like pork and beef Instead if just saying cow meat or pig meat? Stuff like that and the reader everything him and Ian go out is always grilling Ian on his questions cause he doesn’t understand how it works. and Ian interduces him to his family and frank likes the reader which suprises everyone. You can make up the ending if you’d like.
Thank you I hope you have a a good day!
Hopefully this is close to what you were looking for! Thanks for the request :)
When you first entered the night scene of America you did not expect to find any major differences from the clubs back in Germany. And, well, you didn’t.
Except for your acute onset illness of attraction towards pale, red-headed white men of course.
Ian Gallagher was what you liked to describe as a Chicago breeze. Cold, harsh, and utterly chilling. The first time you told him this, on the shabby floor of the apartment you and your elder brother managed to acquire. Situated in front of a small TV playing Alien VS Predator, he’d looked at you as though you were the alien and he was the vessel you wished to lay your slimy egg in. You did not quite understand his offense though you suspected it had something to do with the way you said the already harsh sounding words. That and the two of you were only 3 months into your impromptu dating stage and you did not shy away from laying it on thick.
“Geeze.” Was the first word he managed out of his thin, pink lips before his eyes averted to the scene he’d lost track of in the midst of the warm laughter and soft kisses the two of you shared.
“What?” You’d responded back to him, shifting the covers off your shoulders, forehead puckering in confusion.
“That’s what you think of me?” He looked at you with a slight laugh.
“Yes,” you said, clipped and certain. “I do not understand.” You shook your head, a frown forming on your face.
Ian turns in his leaned position against the wall to get a better look at you. His brows too, are furrowed, and his eyes are scanning your face as though he may suddenly find the missing puzzle piece.
“That’s… mean.” He started, almost amused with his own explanation.
“Mean?” You echo, sitting up slightly.
“Yes.” Ian insists. “You said I’m cold and harsh.”
“Yes.” You too, insist. “I like it.” You nodded once in firm approval.
The furrow in Ian’s brow only seems to grow and the slight grin on his face falls as though he may never understand you.
It became a habit, this confusion between the two of you.
So much so that the two of you now had a long standing disagreement. Pity in nature yet, ever present in each respective heart.
“Why is the price not the real price?” You’d asked, receipt clutched in both your hands as you stared intently at the printed American currency. Your accent is a heavy, clunky thing that makes all your words seem important and serious and Ian, after many trials, has simply found himself undeterred by the sound.
The red-head accompanying you with a long arm slung around your shoulders blinked in confusion before realization dawned on his face. “Taxes,” Ian says simply, barely blinking at the receipt.
“Yes. I know.” You frown, smashing the paper pitifully in your left hand. “Why is it not… all inclusive? You do it in Germany. Everyone does it in Germany.” Your head is tilted at an angle as you peer at the bright red strawberry before you. “They trick you.”
“It’s not a trick.” He chuckles. “It’s just how we do it here.”
“Your way of doing is stupid. Stupid American.” You shake your head as though you are seriously distraught.
Ian shoots you a look. “So is saying cow meat instead of beef.”
“What does it matter? It is a cow. Why not just call it a cow? You do this with pig meat too. Pork. It makes no sense.”
“It’s to differentiate between the animal and the meat product.” Ian retorts matter-of-factually.
“It’s the same.” You tell him as you dig into your jacket pocket in search of the keys. “You are eating a cow. You say, ‘I am eating cow.’ It’s easy. You Americans like to make things… complicated.”
Ian laughs at this, pulling you into a quick kiss. “You’re such a weirdo.”
“You are so American.” You look at him with a judgment in your face that rivals that of his own disgust towards sexual intimacy with women.
The two of you pause as you reach the back end of you and your brother's shared vehicle.
“You love this American.” He boasts, puffing his chest slightly as he attempts to smother you with a kiss.
You lean back dramatically, your hands coming to press against his hard pecs. “No. You are loud, and impatient, and you eat too big of portion.”
Ian’s face scrunches in confusion.
“You are like… a big dumb puppy.” You say, still leaning away.
“Dumb puppy?” He repeats, face still twisted.
“Yes. Loud, and dumb, but you have a very nice smile.”
He grins at this and you feel a small, unexplainable pull in your chest as you press your lips against his.
It’s an accident really, that you’re forced to meet the Gallagher clan. Your brother has left for a “business trip” (which you assume to be a trip to get laid), leaving you all alone to fend for yourself. A task Ian does not find difficult and finds it even more absurd that you do find it difficult. Considering you're 21 years of age and that you were not, in fact, an infant.
The two of you are on the new found couch, some odd, action packed movie playing quietly in the background as you straddle Ian’s lap. His hands are resting on the small of your back, your head is thrown back in a blissful laugh at a joke he’s made that you don’t quite understand. The warmth radiating from him is a comfort, the scent of cheap laundry detergent and cologne. Everything about him is just that.
The lively conversing is broken by the sharp, shrill ring of Ian’s phone. He groans, pressing his forehead against your collarbone. “Ignore it.”
“It could be important.” You respond softly, running your fingers through the short strands of his hair.
“It won’t be.” He insists, lips brushing against your neck.
“Ian.” You warn, though it’s half-hearted.
He sighs in defeat, shifting you just enough to reach the buzzing device. He frowns as he reads the caller ID before accepting the call.
“What?”
You can’t make out the words from the other end, but Ian’s expression grows tense. “No, I can’t. I’m busy.” Another pause. “I know, but I can’t. Just have someone else do it.” His jaw is tight, a muscle ticking. “Fine. But only for a little while. I’m bringing someone.”
He hangs up, shoving the phone back into his pocket. He sighs, looking up at you. “Family emergency. I have to go home for a bit.”
“Okay.” You say simply, moving to get off his lap.
“No, you’re coming with me.” He says, pulling you back down.
“Oh. No. That is okay.” You shake your head quickly. “I will stay here. Your family… they will not want me there. In a crisis.”
“They won’t mind. And I’m not leaving you here alone.” He insists, already pulling you up with him. “Come on. It’ll be an adventure.”
The Gallagher household is not what you expected. It’s loud, chaotic, and smells vaguely of stale beer and something you can’t quite place. The moment you step inside, a small boy with a missing tooth rushes past you, out the door, followed closely by a girl who looks strikingly similar to Ian.
“Ian!” She yells, skidding to a halt. “Who’s this?”
“This is my boyfriend,” Ian says, and the words send a shock through you. You’ve never heard him say it so bluntly before. “This is Debbie. Deb, this is Y/N.”
Debbie eyes you up and down, a small smile on her face. “Cool. The rest are in the kitchen.” She gestures towards the back of the house before disappearing up the stairs.
Ian leads you into the kitchen, where the chaos seems to be centered. A man with a scruffy beard and a beer in hand is arguing with a dark-haired woman who looks exhausted. A younger boy is sitting at the table, methodically eating a bowl of cereal despite the commotion.
“Where the hell have you been?” The woman, who you assume is the Fiona you have heard of, asks Ian.
“I was busy. What’s the emergency?” Ian asks, pulling you closer to his side.
“Liam ate a whole bottle of vitamins.” Fiona says, exasperated.
“Is he okay?” Ian asks, eyes widening.
“He’s fine. I just needed someone to take care of things here while I took him to the clinic. Lips a no show and Frank won’t fuckin’ leave.” Fiona explains, finally turning her attention to you. “Who’s this?”
“This is Y/N. My boyfriend.” Ian repeats, and the word feels more natural this time.
“Boyfriend?” The scruffy man at the counter perks up, turning to get a good look at you. “Well, well, well. Ian’s got himself a foreign boy. I like it.”
This surprises you. Your brother had warned you about American fathers, about how they were often strict and disapproving. But this man, the suggested father, seems delighted.
The rest of the family seems to share this same sentiment, their heads on swivels for a moment as they all look at the man.
“Frank,” Fiona warns, but he ignores her.
“So, Y/N, what brings you to our fine country?” Frank asks, taking a swig of his beer.
“My brother. He got a job here.” You explain, your voice unfamiliar to the room.
“What kind of work does your brother do?” Frank asks, leaning in.
“He is… a chef.” You say, translating the word in your head.
“A chef!” Frank exclaims, clapping his hands together. “I like a man who can cook. Can you cook?”
“Some things.” You admit. “But I am not… as good as he is.”
“Well, you’re dating a Gallagher, so you must have good taste.” Frank winks, and you feel a strange sense of validation. You look at Ian, who looks just as surprised as you are.
“Frank, leave him alone.” Fiona says, though there’s no real heat in her voice.
“Just trying to get to know my son’s new beau.” Frank says, holding his hands up in surrender.
The younger boy at the table finishes his cereal and gets up, rinsing the bowl in the sink. He gives you a quick nod before disappearing into the living room.
“So, Y/N,” Fiona says, turning to you with a tired smile. “Welcome to the madhouse. Don’t mind Frank. He’s… Frank.”
“It is okay.” You say, a small smile on your face. “It is very… lively.”
“That’s one word for it.” She says, before her phone buzzes. “Shit, that’s the clinic. I gotta go. Ian, you’re in charge of dinner.”
“Fi, no.” Ian protests, but she’s already out the door, grabbing her keys and Liam on the way.
The door slams shut, leaving you, Ian, and Frank in the sudden quiet of the kitchen.
“Well, I guess it’s just us.” Ian says, looking around the kitchen as though he’s never seen it before.
“I can help with dinner.” You offer. “What do you usually eat?”
“Usually whatever’s cheapest.” Ian admits, a slight blush on his cheeks. “But tonight, we can have something a little better. As a celebration.”
“Celebration for what?” You ask, intrigued.
“For you.” He says, pulling you into a quick kiss. “For surviving your first Gallagher family crisis.”
The kiss is short and sweet, but it’s enough to make your heart race. You’re about to respond when Frank clears his throat.
“So, you two gonna make out all night, or are we gonna eat?” He asks, a smirk on his face.
You and Ian break apart, red tinted.
“Right. Dinner.” Ian says, moving towards the fridge. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
The two of you rummage through the fridge, pulling out various ingredients. Frank watches, offering unhelpful commentary every now and then.
------------------------
Bonus scene
Your older brother, the one who had raised you almost entirely on his own, was just as German as you were. Maybe more.
He sat at the dining room table when Ian walked in, a bagel in front of him, a knife clenched in hand, and a frown on his face. He didn’t look impressed.
“This is Ian.” You introduced, watching as your brother gave him a quick, dismissive glance before going back to his bagel. You could feel your shoulders tense, but Ian seemed unbothered.
“Nice to meet you.” Ian said, extending a hand, a smile plastered on his face that could rival the sun.
Your brother ignored it. “Are you the one who has been teaching him these strange, English words?”
Ian’s smile dropped, but only slightly. “I guess so.”
“Then I do not like you.”
Your face began to burn, a hot shame creeping up your neck, but Ian’s smile came back, full and genuine.
“I get that a lot.”
“I do not know why he likes you. You have weird hair.” Your brother stated before shoving the bagel into his mouth.
“Hey!” You protest. “I like your hair. My hair is weird, too.”
“Yeah,” Your brother says, looking at Ian’s hair. “His is weirder.”
That seemed to be the end of the conversation as your brother stood up and discarded the knife into the sink. Ian was left standing there awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck.
Hello! I was wondering if you could do Shane x Older male reader(maybe by like 5 years). M!reader had a career ending injury and is now helping with coaching the Metros. We all know Shane is a bit of a control freak but with m!reader he can relax and just be the pillow princess he is. Top male reader and cockwarming that hopefully leads to more please!
Bottom Shane Hollander x top male reader
⚠️Warnings!— Intimate sex, reassurance, begging, creampie, dominant-ish reader. And more!⚠️
The locker room lights were dimmed low after the Metros' optional evening skate, most of the guys already gone—showered, changed, chasing whatever version of nightlife or takeout awaited them. The place smelled faintly of sweat-soaked gear, Bengay, and the sharp citrus of the cleaning crew's last pass.
You leaned against the edge of Shane Hollander's stall, arms crossed, watching him methodically peel tape from his stick. He was still in half his underlayers—compression shirt clinging to the lean, defined lines of his torso, hockey pants unlaced but still on. His dark hair was damp at the temples, pushed back carelessly. At twenty-eight, he looked every bit the league's golden boy: disciplined, precise, untouchable. Except right now he wasn't looking untouchable. He was looking at you like he was waiting for permission to exhale.
Five years separated you. Not enough to feel like a generation gap, but enough that when your career had ended in a brutal knee reconstruction three seasons ago—right when the Metros had offered you a development/coaching role—you'd already been the veteran presence in the room. Shane had been a rookie then, wide-eyed and hungry, already carrying the weight of captaincy expectations on shoulders that weren't quite broad enough yet.
Now? He still carried it. But with you, he didn't have to.
"You gonna keep staring at that stick like it's gonna solve your power-play woes, or are you coming here?" Your voice was low, calm. The same tone you'd used on the bench when you'd pull him aside mid-game to adjust his positioning—firm, no room for argument.
Shane's lips twitched. Not quite a smile. More like relief masquerading as defiance. He set the stick aside, stood, and closed the distance in three steps. Close enough that you could feel the residual heat rolling off him.
"I hate optional skates," he muttered. "Everyone acts like they're optional, but I know they're watching."
"You're the captain. They're always watching." You reached up, thumb brushing the faint bruise blooming under his left eye from a high stick earlier in practice. He didn't flinch. Just leaned into it. "You played like shit on the PP tonight. Too tense. Shoulders up around your ears."
He huffed a laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Thanks, Coach."
"Not Coach right now." Your hand slid to the back of his neck, fingers threading into damp hair. You tugged once—gentle, but enough. "Bedroom eyes, Hollander. Not press-conference eyes."
Something in his posture finally gave. The perpetual straight spine, the clenched jaw—he let it all loosen. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, breath warm against your collarbone. "Fuck. I hate this part."
"What part?"
"The part where I have to stop pretending I'm fine."
You wrapped your arms around him properly then, one hand splayed across his lower back, the other still cradling his nape. He smelled like sweat and cedar body wash and something uniquely Shane—clean effort, quiet intensity. You pressed your lips to his temple.
"Then stop."
He exhaled shakily. "Take me home?"
"Already planned on it."
Your apartment was twenty minutes away—close enough to the rink that you'd bought it specifically for nights like this. Shane never asked to go to his own place anymore. Yours had thicker walls, better blackout curtains, and—most importantly—no nosy teammates dropping by unannounced.
By the time you got through the door, he'd shed the hoodie he'd thrown on over his Under Armour, kicked off his slides. You didn't bother with lights beyond the soft glow from the hallway. He backed you toward the couch, hands already tugging at your belt like he'd been thinking about it since the second he'd stepped off the ice.
"Slow down," you murmured against his mouth when he tried to deepen the kiss too fast.
He whined—actual, quiet whine—and it sent heat straight to your groin. Shane Hollander, darling of the NHL, control freak extraordinaire, reduced to needy little sounds when no one else was watching.
You guided him down onto the sectional, sitting first so he could straddle your lap. His thighs bracketed yours, strong from years of skating, but trembling now. You slid both hands under his compression shirt, palms flat against the warm skin of his back, feeling the subtle flex of muscle as he shifted.
"Shirt off," you said.
He obeyed instantly—peeled it over his head, hair falling messily into his eyes. You took a moment to look: the constellation of freckles across his shoulders, the faint scar from a skate blade along his ribs two years ago, the way his chest rose and fell too quickly.
You kissed him slow this time—deep, deliberate. Let him melt into it. His hands clutched your shoulders like you were the only solid thing in the world.
When you finally pulled back, his pupils were blown, lips swollen. "Please."
"Please what, baby?"
He flushed at the endearment—always did, like it caught him off guard every time. "Want you inside me. Just... want to feel you."
You nodded. "Stand up."
He did, shaky. You stripped him the rest of the way—pants, jock, socks—until he was bare in front of you, cock already hard and flushed against his stomach. Beautiful. Always so fucking beautiful.
You shed your own clothes more efficiently, then patted your thigh. "Come here."
Shane climbed back into your lap, knees sinking into the cushions on either side of you. You slicked yourself with lube from the side table (always prepared for nights he showed up like this), then guided him down slowly.
The first press of your cockhead against him made him gasp—head tipping back, throat working. You held his hips steady, controlling the descent.
"Easy," you breathed. "Breathe for me."
He did. Inch by inch, he took you until he was seated fully, your hips flush against his ass. His cock twitched against your stomach, leaking steadily now.
"There we go." You rubbed slow circles into his lower back. "Good boy."
Shane shuddered. His hands found your shoulders again, nails digging in just enough to sting. But he didn't move. Didn't rock. Just sat there, full, stretched, trembling.
You kissed along his jaw, his throat. "That's it. Just feel it. No rush."
Minutes passed like that—long, quiet minutes where the only sounds were his uneven breathing and the faint creak of the couch when he shifted minutely. You stayed hard inside him, throbbing occasionally, but you didn't thrust. Not yet. This was what he needed first: the surrender. The safety of being held, filled, taken care of.
His forehead eventually dropped to yours. "I... fuck. I love this."
"I know." You kissed him softly. "Love watching you let go."
He clenched around you involuntarily—both of you groaned.
"Shane."
"Sorry—can't help it."
"Don't be sorry." Your hands slid to his ass, kneading gently. "You want more now?"
He nodded frantically. "Please. Fuck me. Please."
You didn't make him beg twice.
You lifted him just enough to pull back, then thrust up—slow at first, deep, letting him feel every inch dragging against his walls. Shane's moan was broken, wrecked. His arms wrapped around your neck, face buried in your throat as you set a rhythm—steady, unhurried, but hard enough that each stroke punched the air out of him.
You shifted angles until you found the spot that made his whole body jerk.
"There—fuck—right there—"
You kept hitting it. Relentless. One hand wrapped around his cock, stroking in time with your thrusts. He was leaking all over your fist, slick and desperate.
"You're so tight," you growled against his ear. "So fucking perfect. Taking me so well."
Shane sobbed—quiet, overwhelmed. "Gonna—I'm—"
"Come on, baby. Let go. I've got you."
He came with a choked cry, spilling hot over your hand, clenching rhythmically around you. The sight—the sound—the feel of him shaking apart sent you over the edge. You buried deep, hips stuttering as you filled him, pulse after pulse.
For a long minute afterward, neither of you moved. Just panted against each other, sweat-slick and trembling.
Eventually you eased him down onto the couch beside you, still inside him for a few more lazy minutes while you kissed him slow and sloppy. When you finally pulled out, he whimpered at the loss.
"Shh." You grabbed a throw blanket, draped it over both of you. Pulled him against your chest. "Stay here. Not going anywhere."
Shane curled into you like he belonged there—face tucked under your jaw, one leg thrown over yours. His breathing evened out quickly. Exhausted. Sated. Safe.
You pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
"Love you," he mumbled, already half-asleep.
Your heart did that stupid flip it always did when he said it first.
"Love you too, baby."
In the quiet of your living room, with the city humming faintly beyond the windows, Shane Hollander—the man who carried a franchise on his back—finally let himself rest.
I keep thinking about Ilya's first time bottoming with m!reader + hollanov threesome. Both at them at the same damn time,,,
Gator, ever heard of a two-person blowjob?
Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov x male reader
Headcanons
Reader is a hockey player too, and this takes place post Long Game, so if you don’t want spoilers, don’t read. it's not like detailed or anything, but theres still spoilers. Only cuz I wanna rail both of them in the locker room.
I felt inspired writing this, for the first time in a long time. the power of Hollanov.
Okay, so. Imagine being the goalie of the Ottawa Centaurs, and having been on the team when Ilya and Shane end up on the team. You've always found them attractive, and they’re easy to work and get along with, so you don’t mind whatsoever.
And yeah, so what if you let yourself look a little bit in the locker rooms, you can’t help it. Both Hollander and Rozanov are hot, really hot. You know they’re together, so you don’t let yourself look too much. But just... a bit.
So yeah, you notice all the hickeys, bruises and whatnot on both of them. How anybody could believe that Shane was a meek and virginal guy, you had no idea, some days Ilya looks worse than Shane does.
And maybe you play flirt with the both of them sometimes. It doesn’t mean anything, they’re married, ya know?
Ilya is the first to react and even flirt back of the two, but you never take it seriously. Rozanov is just the kinda guy, everyone knows he’s head over heels for Shane so it’s just Ilya being himself.
Part of you thinks he gets off on Shane being jealous, and that's why he play flirts with you and Luca, and other members of the team, and maybe you get off thinking about what he and Shane are doing. You are but a mortal man, what else can you do.
It takes a little too long for you to realize that Shane is actually flirting with you. He’s... not great at it. Most of it is him looking at you with those eyes of his, biting his lip, and getting all shy about it.
When that all clicks for you, you kinda just... need a moment. Maybe it even clicks during a game, and you just dissociate the rest of it as you guard the goal as you are meant to do.
After winning you go about celebrating with the team and washing up in a fog, thoughts just spiraling. Did they know the other was flirting with you to that degree? Oh fuck, were they trying to cheat on each other with you? At the same time??
Any other time you may have jerked off to that mental image, but Hollander and Rozanov? With you? That made no sense, at all, right? Maybe they were just teasing, like foreplay.
You sit there on the bench with your face in your hands for so long that Shane and Ilya end up looking for you, only to see how you’re spiraling. Or rather, Ilya clocks it immediately because Shane does the same.
When you finally notice them, you sputter and try to explain that you didn’t mean to get in the way of anything, or to cause trouble, or ruin their relationship, so on and so forth.
Of all people, it's Shane that shuts you up, by grabbing the back of your neck and kissing you like he wants to eat you. A part of your brain notes down that you were right, he’s bossy.
When Shane pulls back, he’s got such a foxy cute little smile on his lips, looking exactly like the cat that got the cream.
You are left stunned, eyes blinking and lips parted in confusion and a growing want. Then panic grips you, and your eyes snap to Ilya, ready to be pummeled into the ground for kissing his husband.
Only for Ilya to chuckle at your face, shove his way into your space, and kiss you with as much hunger as Shane had done. They both use a notable amount of tongue when they kiss, it's really hot.
The kissing becomes more, hands groping and touching, hips rutting against each other, the sloppiest three-way kiss you’ve ever done, and coming untouched, inside your compression pants.
After one of the best orgasms of your life, fueled by just the sheer amount of want from the two men, you are invited back to their place. Obviously, you agree.
Shane is the one who takes the task of driving to their place, as Ilya slides into the back with you. Apparently, he’s the talker of the two, which doesn’t surprise you.
Your head is still swimming as he explains how Shane and he both enjoy your company, like you as a person, and how you have the same synergy with them that they’ve had with each other for the many years they’ve been a thing.
And maybe because of this swimming you stumble out that you’re a top, so you don’t know what you can really bring to the table that won’t get in the way.
The entire team have always assumed that Ilya is a strict top, with all the bruises Shane carries on his hips, his ass and his neck, looking like Ilya has been trying to eat him.
So yeah, you’re a little surprised when Ilya looks downright bashful as he explains he wouldn’t mind if you topped him, he’s just never tried it before.
You have been hard at this point, but somehow even more blood rushes from your head to your dick, making you worry you’ll get a nosebleed. The moan Shane lets out up front tells you he’s in the same boat.
Getting to their place, inside and into their bedroom is a blur, with you being too busy making out with one, or both of them, as hands paw at bodies and clothes is pulled off.
Seeing Shane fold his clothes is endearing, it’s such a Shane thing to do, and it makes your dick throb.
It doesn’t come as a surprise as Shane drops to his knees, immediately burying his face in your crotch and just inhaling. He always gave the vibe of someone with an oral fixation, you couldn’t explain why, but he did.
You have to dig your nails into your palm to calm yourself when Ilya joins him though, not expecting it, and especially not expecting them both to start licking, kissing and sucking with such need.
Both of them seem to like getting their hair pulled as you grab onto each of them, just to have something to hold, and to pull them off when they start sloppily making out around your tip, so you don't come right then and there.
You figure out a few interesting things about your teammates as you three fall into bed. First, they have a very nice bed, massive and probably more expensive than anything you’ve ever owned.
Second. Shane leaks like crazy. It leaves a whole trail up the bedsheets as he slowly crawls up, too busy biting and licking at your leg to feel the need to hurry.
Third. Ilya likes armpits, at least you assume so with the way he ducks under your arm to smother his face in yours, and the way he ruts against the bed as he does so.
And four, both of them are pretty sensitive when you finger them. This you discover when they both focus on your neck and pecs, letting you reach down to open them both up.
You're no superman, so you don’t expect to actually fuck them both, but Shane seems to really like being filled up, so who are you to take that away from him?
You are more careful with Ilya, seeing as this is his first time bottoming and all that. He doesn’t seem to get as ‘lost in the sauce’ as Shane, but he clearly enjoys it too. Shane just takes it up a notch.
When both are opened up enough, Ilya makes quick work of sliding a condom on you, and crawling on top. It feels safest this way, to let him take it at his own pace and still feel in control of the situation.
You just lay back and enjoy, a hand settled on Ilya's hip, as the other is still four knuckles deep in Shane, who can’t seem to decide if he wants to watch, or let his eyes roll back as he grinds his prostate against your fingers.
Ilya is tight, even with the stretching and taking it slowly. There is no rush though, as both you and Ilya need to take it slow so as to not finish too early.
When Ilya’s expression tightens with discomfort, you rub his side, and Shane collects himself enough to get to his knees so he can kiss his husband as he rides you.
And maybe it's greed. Being given a crumb makes you want the whole cake. And so maybe you grab Shane’s hips, pulling him up the bed until he’s sitting on your face. You keep him turned towards Ilya, of course, so they can keep kissing, holding hands, and all that.
Suddenly you have a much harder time trying to stay collected, mouth busy, hands busy, hips busy, and dick getting squeezed like Ilya is trying to kill it.
But you are a gentleman, so with much self-control and much mental prayer, you wait for Ilya and Shane to finish first. Feeling them both spill against your stomach is the end though, making you moan against Shane's hole as you come so hard your teeth hurt.
You feel worn out when Shane lifts off your face, his thighs trembling as he does so, which you take as a win. It’s almost enough to fall asleep if Shane didn’t pat your cheek to get your attention.
When you finally open your eyes to look at him, Shane motions towards Ilya, and what a sight. His skin is flushed, sweaty, and he’s trembling like a faun. Ilya’s eyes are so soft, warm in a way that makes your heart hurt, eyes that Shane are matching when you look back at him again.
After some kissing and dirty cuddling, Shane ends up being the one to go prepare a bath, because apparently these rich guys have a bathtub big enough to fit three hockey players.
In the meantime, you cuddle Ilya and praise him, making sure it wasn’t too much and that it was okay. You didn’t want to mess up his first time bottoming, and being with you, after all.
It still doesn’t feel real even after you guys have showered and spent a good hour in the bathtub, just talking and cuddling. Even as you lay in bed between them, Ilya and Shane's intertwined hands resting on your chest. And even as they kiss you goodnight, Ilya calling you some word in Russian you don’t understand, but feels important.
You guys will definitely need to talk in the morning, but for now, cuddling and kissing is all you need. All the other stuff can come later.
punishment time | ilya rozanov + shane hollander + male reader
request by @obsidianblood Could you please do a heated rivalry smut threesome between Shane Hollander, lIya Rozanov and male reader. Shane is a switch, the reader is a bottom and Rozanov is a top. Shane and Reader have a match against Rozanov. Just before the match one of Rozanov's team mates flirt with reader, Shane saw this happen outside the team dressing room. And Rozanov saw this happen just before the game. Neither Shane nor Rozanov could keep their anger in check, so at half time they both decided to give the reader a long rough lesson.
Part 2? Maybe, maybe
It was just before the game started.
“What the fuck?” Rozanov muttered, staring at the scene in front of him. His stupid teammate was flirting with you, and you were laughing too. Rozanov felt anger and jealousy rising inside him. He felt a tingling sensation and turned his head slightly to the left. Hollander was watching the scene just as angrily. Their eyes met, and one thing was clear to both of them: you wouldn’t get away with it so easily.
Later in the game, Rozanov could barely control his anger and burning jealousy. He glared at his teammates and deliberately skated between you and his teammate whenever he could. Hollander felt the same way. He watched you closely out of the corner of his eye and used his captain’s voice to keep you as far away from that guy as possible.
Finally, it was halftime. Rozanov casually grabbed his phone and texted Hollander where to meet you. He slipped out of the locker room and disappeared into a storage room. It didn’t take long before he heard your voices.
“Shane, what’s going on?” you asked nervously, but you got no answer. Shane grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the storage room. He slammed the door behind you, making you flinch. “Ilya?” you murmured, confused, but you couldn’t say more because Rozanov grabbed your face with his large hands and squeezed.
“Did you really think you could just flirt with my teammate without consequences?” Rozanov growled, and your eyes widened. Oh shit, this was really bad.
“Okay, listen. It didn’t mean anything. It was just fun.” You couldn’t finish, because Rozanov pushed you down onto your knees.
“Just fun? Hollander and I will show you what fun is,” Rozanov said and took his hard cock out of his pants. You whimpered and bit your lip. You looked at Shane, who was watching you with a hungry expression.
“Suck,” Rozanov ordered. You obeyed immediately and heard him mutter good boy. Blowjobs with Ilya had always been your favorite thing. You glanced up at him, tears gathering in your eyes, and he threw his head back against the wall with a loud moan.
You blew Rozanov for a while, feeling that he was close, and tried a little harder. You ran your tongue over his tip, and with a grunt, he came on your face. Suddenly, Shane grabbed you by the neck and dragged you away from Ilya. “My turn,” Shane said darkly, pushing his cock between your lips.
You moaned and sucked him with the same passion. Rozanov watched you both hungrily and glanced at the clock on the wall. You didn’t have much time left, but Shane was already so worked up that it didn’t take long before he came with a loud moan in your mouth.
You coughed a little and leaned away from Shane. You were still hard, and your knees were starting to hurt. You watched them pull their pants back up. You were about to say something when Ilya slapped your cheek.
“Bad boys don’t get to come,” he said with a nasty grin. You looked from Ilya to Shane, hoping your puppy eyes would help, but no luck. Shane gently stroked your cheek. “Sorry, but Ilya is right.” He didn’t look sorry at all, he was grinning. That asshole.
The two hockey players walked out of the room without looking back. You looked down and noticed how hard you still were. You bit your lip, and a thought formed in your mind: they’ll get this back twice as bad.
Ilya Rozanov Imagines ( I’ve added all my Ilya fics on Wattpad, so if you’d like to read more, feel free to check them out! I’ll leave the link here 💗)
The hallway outside the locker room still vibrates with leftover noise,distant cheering, skates scraping, a muffled announcement that sounds too cheerful for how your stomach feels.
You stop at the door, knuckles hovering over the painted logo. Inside, you can hear it: the sharp click of a tape roll, the low hum of the ventilation, the occasional murmur from staff trying to sound casual.
You push in.
Shane sits on the bench nearest his stall, legs stretched forward, one skate still on and the other half-laced like someone gave up halfway through. His jersey is gone, replaced by a gray compression shirt that clings to his shoulders. An ice pack is strapped to his knee with that medical wrap that never looks comfortable.
A trainer is crouched in front of him. “We need you to answer a few questions, Shane. Pain scale. One to ten.”
Shane’s gaze is fixed on a spot on the floor. “No.”
“Shane.”
“No,” he repeats, and this time his voice is sharper, like a blade drawn from a sheath.
The trainer exhales and looks over his shoulder, eyes catching on you. There’s a silent question there,can you?
You don’t say yes. You just step closer, and the trainer takes the hint, standing.
“We’ll be right outside,” he says carefully. “If the swelling gets worse,”
“I know,” Shane cuts in.
The trainer leaves. The door closes softly behind him.
For a moment, there’s only the sound of Shane’s breathing and the quiet drip of a shower someone forgot to turn fully off.
You don’t rush to fill the silence. You’ve learned that with Shane, silence isn’t empty. It’s space. It’s control.
You sit down on the bench a few feet away,not too close, not far enough to feel like abandonment.
Shane doesn’t look at you.
“You’re bleeding,” you say gently, nodding at a scrape on his forearm.
His eyes flick there like he’s checking the weather. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine if it gets infected.”
“It won’t.”
You tilt your head. “You have superpowers now?”
His mouth twitches, the tiniest almost-smile that doesn’t fully form. “No.”
“Okay,” you say, keeping your tone soft, “then let me clean it.”
“No.”
You don’t argue. You just open your small kit,always in your bag on game nights for reasons exactly like this,and set the alcohol wipe on the bench between you.
“It’s there if you want it,” you say. “No pressure.”
Shane’s jaw tightens. His fingers are curled into his palm so hard his knuckles look white.
Outside, the arena noise begins to fade, like a tide retreating. People are leaving. The game has moved on without him.
You watch his shoulders rise and fall.
Finally, you ask, “Does it hurt?”
He shrugs. A sharp, angry movement. “What do you think?”
You nod once. “Right. Sorry.”
His eyes snap to yours at that,like he expects you to defend yourself, to insist you meant nothing by it.
You don’t.
You just stay.
Shane looks away again, but his gaze doesn’t go back to the floor. It lands on your hands instead,how you’re resting them on your knees, relaxed, not reaching for him.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” he says.
“I got permission.”
“You shouldn’t,” he repeats, voice lower, rougher. “It’s… not your job.”
You keep your voice steady. “Being here isn’t a job.”
He lets out a breath that sounds like a laugh but isn’t. “Then what is it?”
You swallow. The honest answer feels too big for the room. Too bright.
So you say, “It’s a choice.”
That makes him still.
For a long moment, Shane doesn’t speak. He stares at the taped-up ice pack like it might reveal something if he looks hard enough.
Then, quietly, “They’re gonna want to talk.”
“I know.”
“I’m not talking.”
“I know.”
His eyes flick toward you. “Why are you agreeing with me?”
“Because you’re allowed,” you say simply. “You’re allowed to not want to talk.”
Shane’s throat bobs when he swallows. “They’re going to say I’m being difficult.”
You shrug one shoulder. “Let them.”
He lets out a slow breath through his nose, like he’s trying to steady something inside him. “It’s not that simple.”
“I know,” you say again. “But you don’t have to do it alone.”
His gaze sharpens, defensive. “I’m not,”
“Not alone,” you repeat, calm. “Not with this.”
Shane’s hands unclench, then curl again, like he can’t decide what shape to hold himself in.
He says, “It’s just a knee.”
You tilt your head. “It’s not just a knee.”
His eyes darken. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t… make it,” He stops, frustrated. He presses his thumb hard into the side of his index finger like he’s trying to push words out through skin. “Don’t make it emotional.”
You nod slowly. “Okay. No emotions.”
He stares at you like he can’t tell if you’re teasing.
You add, gently, “But you’re allowed to have them anyway.”
The corner of his mouth twitches again, more bitter this time. “That’s a trap.”
“It’s not.”
Shane leans back against the lockers, eyes closing for a second, like the bright fluorescent lights are too much. When he opens them again, his gaze looks tired in a way that has nothing to do with the game.
“Did you see it?” he asks.
You don’t pretend. “Yes.”
His voice goes flat. “The replay?”
“They showed it once,” you say. “I looked away.”
“Why?”
“Because you were on the ice,” you say, and it comes out simpler than you meant. “Because you weren’t getting up.”
His eyes flicker. Something moves under his skin.
He swallows. “I tried.”
“I know you did.”
“I tried to get up,” he says, like he needs you to understand the exact facts. “I wanted to. My leg just,” He cuts himself off, jaw clenching.
You keep your voice low. “That must’ve been scary.”
He scoffs, but it’s thin. “No.”
You raise your eyebrows slightly. “No?”
His gaze snaps to yours. “I don’t get scared.”
You hold his eyes. “Okay.”
He waits for you to challenge him.
You don’t.
The silence stretches again, but it’s different now,tight, trembling, like a string pulled too far.
Then Shane’s voice drops, almost a whisper. “I hate when they look at me like I failed.”
The words land heavy in the emptying room.
You don’t answer immediately. You let them exist without trying to fix them.
Finally, you say, “Who is ‘they’?”
Shane’s lips press together. “Everyone.”
“Okay,” you say softly. “And what do you think they’re thinking?”
He laughs once, sharp and humorless. “That I’m fragile. That I’m,” He shakes his head like the word disgusts him. “That I’m replaceable.”
You lean forward slightly, careful not to invade his space. “Shane.”
He flinches at the way you say his name,like it’s too gentle to belong in a locker room.
“I’m not,” he says quickly, almost panicked. “I’m not replaceable. I’m, I’m the best. I’m,” His voice cracks, just barely, like ice giving way under too much weight. “I’m supposed to be.”
Your chest aches.
You say, “You being hurt doesn’t change what you are.”
His eyes shine, but he blinks hard, like he’s angry at his own body for reacting.
“They’ll talk,” he whispers. “They’ll say it’s because I push too hard. They’ll say I’m obsessive. They’ll say it’s my fault.”
You keep your voice even. “Do you think it’s your fault?”
He hesitates,just a fraction.
That hesitation is an answer.
You reach for the alcohol wipe and hold it out,not toward him, but near enough that he can take it if he wants.
“You don’t have to punish yourself for getting hurt,” you say.
His fingers hover, then withdraw. “I wasn’t punishing myself.”
“You’re sitting here alone,” you point out softly. “Refusing help. Refusing to talk. Refusing to,” You stop before you say let anyone see you.
Shane’s nostrils flare. “I don’t want pity.”
“I’m not giving you pity.”
“What are you giving me, then?” he snaps.
You don’t flinch. You meet him head-on. “I’m giving you company.”
He stares at you.
“You can hate how it feels,” you continue. “You can hate that people will speculate. You can hate the looks. But you don’t have to earn love by being unbreakable.”
His throat moves again. “Love,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the word and deciding if it’s safe.
Your heart stutters.
You keep your voice calm anyway. “Care, then. If love feels too… loud.”
Shane looks down at his hands. His fingers are shaking slightly now, and he tries to hide it by curling them into fists.
“You don’t… look at me like that,” he says.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m,” He struggles again, words getting caught behind his teeth. “Like I’m disappointing.”
You shake your head once. “No.”
He lifts his eyes slowly. “No?”
“No,” you repeat, firm. “I look at you and I see someone who works harder than anyone I’ve ever met. Someone who cares so much it’s painful.”
His breath catches.
“And I see someone who got hurt doing his job,” you add. “That’s not failure.”
Shane’s lips part, but no sound comes out.
You wait.
After a moment, he says quietly, “If I can’t play…”
You don’t rush in with reassurance you can’t guarantee. You don’t promise miracles. You just say, “Then we’ll figure it out.”
His brows knit. “We?”
You nod. “If you want.”
His eyes search your face like he’s looking for a trick. For pressure. For a condition.
He doesn’t find one.
Shane’s shoulders sag a fraction, like he’s been holding himself upright with sheer will and finally lets it go.
He whispers, “Stay.”
You don’t smile. You don’t make it a big moment.
You just answer, “I’m here.”
He swallows, voice barely audible. “Closer.”
You shift on the bench, moving carefully until you’re at his side,close enough that your shoulder almost brushes his, but you don’t touch unless he does first.
Shane’s hand lifts, hesitant, and then his knuckles graze yours,an accidental-seeming contact that is absolutely deliberate.
You let your fingers curl slightly so he feels you there.
The arena outside is quiet now. The team is gone. The staff are gone. The lights in the hallway dim.
It’s just the two of you and the steady hum of the building.
Shane stares ahead, voice low. “If they ask me questions…”
You breathe in slowly, matching his rhythm. “You can answer what you can. And you can say you’re not ready for the rest.”
He nods once, barely.
“And if they look at you like you failed,” you add softly, “you can look at me.”
He turns his head, and his eyes find yours.
For the first time tonight, he doesn’t look like a statue trying not to crack.
He looks like Shane,tired, stubborn, hurting, human.
I keeping thinking about Shane and pup alone at the cottage. Shane has pup whining at the door to go out when Shane gets a phone call from Hayden. Pup still whining and Hayden question Shane just says he’s dog sitting and kind of just degrading his pup over the the phone to the oblivious Hayden
Shane Hollander and Ilya Rozanov x male reader
Rambles
The request: has no outright mention of watersports. Me, Gator: who up pissin they floor?
Most people all assume that Shane is as vanilla as they come, shy about everything and unknowing when it comes to kink. But, I think with time Shane has gotten comfortable trying things out, or being a bit (a lot) meaner when you guys play.
Ilya would have left that morning for one reason or another, but not before making love to Shane in bed, and giving you a lot of belly rubs and kisses.
If you thought about it, it was clear he and Shane were working together, as Ilya coos and praised you as you drank all your water, even pouring more for you. But you were just a dumb puppy, happy to wag the silicone tail attached to a plug you had, as you lapped up the fluids.
Somehow you never notice when either of your lovers is in a specific mood. Most days you guys are all loving and a (lot) bit kinky, there are days where Ilya wants to crush both you and Shane, or days where Shane likes to make you cry.
You are just way too busy laying at his feet, wiggling on your back to try and make your belly look so enticing, to notice that you haven’t been let out today to relieve yourself.
It should have been a sign that Shane was in a bit of a mean mood today, as he only rubs your belly with the sole of his feet as he writes emails on his laptop. It's not your fault you get a bit dumb as a puppy, but happy to be touched in any way.
You don’t even mind when Shane rests one of his feet on bare face, as Ilya hadn’t put your pup hood on this morning and neither had Shane. You just whine and start licking and nipping, because what else are you meant to do.
It's only when you get up to go chomp at some ‘kibble’ (a healthy cereal) that you notice, holy shit, you gotta go, so bad. It feels hard to even shuffle-crawl to the door leading to the yard. You have to clench your thighs together the entire time, already trembling, fearing whatever will happen if you leak on the floor.
But mean Shane doesn’t even look up as you whine and yip. His phone rings, and instead of letting you out, Shane leans back and answers. It's impossible to not let out a miserable warbled noise, as your bladder burns almost audibly sloshing around.
Even your dumb little foggy pup brain can tell its Hayden on the other side, and it only becomes clear when Shane puts him on speakerphone, so you can hear the conversation too.
As they talk about plans to meet up for dinner one of these days, you give a loud miserable bark as you feel your cock dribble, running down your thighs in pathetic little lines.
You almost start crying as Shane gives you a flat and disappointed look, as he tells Hayden he’s petsitting when his friend asks what that was. Pee drips from you as Shane starts to go on about how difficult the dog he and Ilya have been watching is, how it keeps causing messes and ripping up toys.
The look in his eyes and the upwards tilt of his lips makes it so clear he’s seen the puddle forming around your knees, and you can tell he’s not gonna be nice about it when he gets off the phone.
Shane finally stands up, and oh so slowly walks towards you. The closer he gets, the stronger your need is, like when you near the bathroom and you know you’re about to get relief.
But instead of opening the door, Shane simply leans against the wall beside it, resting against it as he keeps talking to Hayden, looking down at your trembling sweaty form and how tightly wound you are, trying to hold it in.
Him being so close means you have to try your hardest not to let out any audible cries or sniffles, so Hayden doesn’t hear, which means your tears joins the puddle growing under you.
You almost wanna bite him or something as Shane rests a hand against the doorhandle, running his fingers along it, like he’s teasing you.
You have no idea how long the phone call goes on, as you struggle to hold it in, to not make an even bigger mess than you already have. Finally, it wraps up, Shane says his goodbyes, and tells Hayden he will text him.
Only then, when his phone is tucked back into his pocket, does Shane start to crack the door open. It stands wide open right in front of you, but you haven’t been allowed to go, Shane hasn’t said your release word.
He looks so smug, like the cat that got the milk, like seeing you trembling, teary and already covered in your own piss makes him feel better than he does holding the stanley cup.
And finally, Shane says your release word. Normally you would have sped out, ready to lift your leg and relieve yourself in his favorite bush or plot of grass. But now you can barely shuffle tiny little wiggles, trying to hold in all the liquid sloshing around inside.
Shane wasn’t done though, as he gives a light “go on pup” as he taps your balls with his foot, his voice so condescending that it feels thick enough to run down your spine.
That little tap proves to be your limit, as everything you’ve been holding in spurts out like a hose, a miserable sobbed whine leaves you. Your vision is blurry from tears of both misery from breaking rules, and from pleasure at how good it feels to let go.
It's borderline orgasmic, the borderline purred scoldings from Shane melting into the pleasure. On instinct you lift one of your legs just barely off the ground, your head filled with cotton and noise as a line of drool runs down your chin.
In all your misery and then euphoria, you hadn’t noticed Shane pull out his phone to record, to send as a little treat to your shared lover who wasn’t there.
Shane would be so incredibly mad about you getting your fluids all over his floor, about it soaking into his socks, and the smell of it all, but some part of you knew he liked it. You also knew, that Shane liked to make you lick some of it up after, before he put you to work cleaning it all up, only using your hands in paw mittens and what you could hold in your mouth to do it.
And who knew what Ilya would do when he got back, he’s been so clear that morning, when he told you to be good and behave. Right now though, you could only focus on the pleasurable trickle dribbling out of you as you pant and whine, and the feeling of Shane's hand in your hair as he insults you in the most delicious way.
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