lou☽

if it ain’t grayin’ i ain’t stayin’ | 21 ^ྀི

[hoseoch]

“what are you gonna do, cry about it?” yes . the fuck

[headoverharrington]

how i feel reading smut in the morning like it’s the newspaper

[groovyangelkisses]

oh to get pulled over for speeding by your husband sammy <3

shrugging your shoulders and forming a wince when you see the officer sammy bryant rolling up to your window. eyes squinted shut a bit at "okaaaay, license and registration."

when he finally gets a good look at you, he's cooing "baby... what the fuck? this is a 30, you were doing 45. what's the rush princess? whatsa matter?"

you're pleased to find out that crying does, indeed, still get you out of a ticket. you're hyperventilating as sammy watches, "shh, shhh okay, okay honey c'mon outta the car."

he opens the door for you, helping you stand up and hugging you, a gentle rock back n forth as he tuts into your hair "gotta be careful baby, you're precious cargo, you know that? huh?" sammy holds you for a few more minutes, big soothing hand running down your back to help even your breaths. you never did like getting in trouble, and it's even worse when you disappoint him.

after a few minutes and a call over the radio, sammy pulls back with thumbs rubbing at your arms. he meets your eye level, putting on that soft dominant voice you love so much, "now get your pretty lil ass back in the car, drive home- slowly now, okay? and go lay down for a little, you're too worked up sweetheart. i'll be home soon, kay? okay baby? alright.. g'head" tapping your butt as you get back in the car, closing the door for you on the way.

when you pull away he smiles at you, making the "i'm watching you" signal with his pointer and middle finger and flashing you his million-dollar, crooked, charming smile.

[popepout]

he’s so good to me (and to nobody else)

andrew “pope” cody & f!reader

content <𝟑 .ᐟ 18+, implied age gap, reader has been around the cody family for awhile but theres no relation to them, TABOO FICTION -> fauxcest between two consenting adults, use of big brother / little sis(ter), slight somnophilia, pet names, dirty talk, degradation / praise, dry humping / grinding, no prep.

andrew is reluctant to share his fantasies with you, despite you being just as depraved as he is. it takes a long time to get things out of him, it’s so difficult for him to swallow down his shame when it comes to sex and intimacy. so you’ve taken to dropping little hints when you have something that you both may enjoy in mind— hints that won’t scare him away or come off as pushy. you’ve learned that he can be flighty and stubborn if you don’t play your cards right.

“you’ve always taken such good care of me,” you mumble, watching him move around his room in nothing but sweats. his skin is freshly tanned from your lounge session by the pool, new freckles forming over his strong shoulders that you want to sink your teeth into over and over. you nearly lose your train of thought, but then he turns to face you with the very beginning of an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“even before we got together,” you continue. your voice is light as you sit up on your knees, crawling to the edge of the bed where he stands like a deceivingly cute wildcat stalking some prey, “maybe it sounds weird now, but i realized you were always like a big brother to me…”

you can see him take a moment to process your words. to realize that yeah, he was like a big brother to you at one point in your lives, and it came natural to him. it was him who looked after you, not his own brothers who are closer to your age, who you should have bonded with after all of smurf’s efforts. instead you decided to cling to andrew. you had heart eyes for him since day one and they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon, not when he treats you like you’re his whole world.

but still, he can’t help but ask— “where is this coming from?”

“what?” you feign a pout, “i can’t share my thoughts anymore?”

“no, no.” andrew’s hands find your warm face, holding your cheeks in his palms and looking down at you like you’re the most precious object in his room, “you know you can… you little minx.”

at that, you happily meet him halfway when he leans down fully to kiss your awaiting lips. it’s sweet and chaste, and you sigh into it before pulling him down onto the bed with you for your post-swim nap.

the room is bordering on pitch black when your eyes blink open.

everything is warm. so warm. andrew is holding you still, his strong arms are wrapped around your waist as your chest presses against his. you can barely make out his features— just enough to see his eyes meet yours before his stubble rubs against the side of your face and makes you whine sleepily. his hands wander, slipping up the shirt he gave you and into your cotton panties to palm your ass. grabbing and groping just enough to have you gasping into his shoulder.

“i always wanted a little sister, y’know.” andrew confesses, lips moving against the soft skin of your forehead. he speaks over the sound of your breathing picking up, “guess i had one this whole time, huh? i didn’t know that she’d be such a slut, but what can you do?”

“not a slut,” you mumble back weakly. it doesn’t help your case when he presses you into him with his hold on you, forcing you to feel the hard outline of his cock hiding away in his sweats. a whimper immediately falls from your lips, small and raspy from your slumber.

“no?” he breathes back, “i don’t know, baby. i don’t think innocent girls want to be fucked by their big brother.”

before you can protest again or let out a pitiful whine, his lips find yours. the kiss is messy— needy and syrupy with lust that’s been stirring inside of him for the past hour while you were out cold. he had plenty of time to think, plenty of time to touch you and feel how bad you need him even while you rest.

his tongue presses past the seam of your pouty lips, rubbing against your own while you mewl into his mouth and drool pathetically. his hands remain on your plush ass, using his grip as leverage to rock your hips against his own and grind against your already damp panties. he pulls away from your kiss with a groan, knowing your cunt is probably sticky and fluttering around nothing.

the string of saliva that’s faithfully keeping you two connected snaps once he brings himself to speak again.

“fuck— i bet i could slip riiight into your pretty pussy, little sis.” andrew grits out, moving you against him as your thighs shake on either side of his waist, “wanna see if i’m right?”

“andy,” you whimper. you’re far gone, unable to notice the way one of his hands moves to shove his sweats down while his other yanks your ruined panties to the side, balling the wet cotton up in his fist and making it dig into the seam of your thigh as he tugs.

“shh, shh… i know, i know. thinking is hard, huh?” he hushes you, lips moving against yours as he guides his thick cock to slip over your silky folds, “be good ‘n lemme just—”

you gasp in sync when he works himself in with a perfect stroke that has your toes curling already. there’s little resistance as he predicted, but the subtle burn from the stretch is still there. it still makes you tremble and whine against his jaw when he rears his hips back with no warning and presses himself back in, keeping you so close to him that your little huffs and puffs for air mingle with his own.

“good fuckin’ girl,” andrew snarls, guiding your hips to meet his and reveling in the way you just let him. he presses kisses along your face, mumbling to you in an airy voice as you hiccup out your own sugared sounds, “feels like you were made f’me. you were made for your big brother to use, huh?”

your gaze finds his. your eyes are already brimming with tears, you’re already fluttering your lashes as you try your hardest not to let them roll back yet. you’re babbling as if every movement is knocking more words and broken syllables out of you.

“made for you,” you repeat dumbly, digging your nails into his shoulders until he hisses above your ear, “i love you— i love you s’much, love being your little sis.”

andrew nearly floods your tight cunt in that very second but he steels himself, pinning your sleep heavy body to his own and cooing, “that’s it, sweet pea. gonna take such good care of you, like i always have.”

[oogaboogasphincter]

i’m the opposite of a cougar. i only seek men who are greying and withering. a snow leopard, perhaps.

[luckieangel]

him snapping a photo of you with a digital camera and smiling as he says, “you look real pretty like this, baby.” this being you stuffed with his cock …

[tojisteddy]

Pretty when you Cry

cw: 18+ mdni, d/s dynamics, dacryphílía, ov3rstím but he talks you through it!

Jack Abbot should’ve known something was wrong with him when he felt the crown of his cock twitch when he saw you crying in the hospital stairwell after a shift.

You’d been nothing but cool headed on your shift, showing compassion and drive when need be but nothing but aloof and nonchalant when it came to anything else. If you two didn’t look so different, someone would think you and Doctor Shen were siblings.

But it had been… a night shift for sure. Breaking up a fight at the nurses station, calming down some frustrated parents, having to take over for Lena because she had an emergency to take care of, saving lives, losing one, sprinting down the hall to calm a patient down. An usually you manage to carry it home with you and scrub it all off in the shower. But you just needed a second to recoup. A second, a second, a second— maybe it was five minutes. You’re not all too sure, neither was Jack. But when he saw you pressed against the wall of the stairs, in that shitty orangey hue, long lashes damp with hot tears down you’re angelic face, nose a little runny and that full, kissable bottom lip of yours wobbling—

Abbot knew he had to make sure there were… other ways to prevent you from being in another situation like this again..

Put your prefect little salty droplets to better use.

You never stood a chance.

The older man slid into your life so easily, it was as if he’d been missing the entire time. Jack takes care of you so well, you forget you can hold your own sometimes. But it’s mostly all in good nature, checking in on you during your shift, making sure you’re eating and hydrated, driving you home after your shifts and making sure you follow your nighttime routine, letting you lean against him for a minute our two before he gets called away, little touches to your back, your neck, your fingers. Becomes the safe haven you know is there for you.

So when he’s got his fat dick stretching your slippery walls out to the brim and his thumb pressed up against your throbbing little clit again tonight in the bedroom, you can handle it.

He’s made sure of it.

“Fuck, Jack- hck- wait- wait!” You choke out, crawling up the bed but it’s no good.

“You sure you wanna quit baby cakes?” His other hand is at the small of your back, arching your back into him as he slowly pulls his length out to the top. “Look at how she won’t even let me go, clinging on t’me like she needs it.” He shudders, pre blending in youth your dripping wet cunt.

“Sure you want me to stop?” He asks innocently.

Your chest is heaving, sweaty, the old man has basically fucked you into the mattress, you’re curls sprawled out and frizzy from the way he has been giving you the meanest and sweetest strokes of your life. Running your hands through his greying curls, hands going down his freckled back from the pain and the pleasure, all you can think about is Jack, Jack, Jack—

“—Jaaack.” Your mewl out, you’ve got that glint in your eyes he can read a mile away. Biting the inside of your lip, head all tilted to the side.

He almost cracks a smile at you, calloused hands caresses down your tummy, right where he could press and feel his cockhead pressed uo against your cervix not too long ago. He lets his hand travel further up, circling a finger around your hardened nipple, “Your words sugar.”

You whine, pouting and those pretty and glossy brown eyes staring up at him, unconsciously wiggling your hips, god you’re too damn adorable, “Jack- mmph- Jack- I-I need you.”

“There you go,” his voice is so sweet in your ears, smooth, ramming back into you with a snap of his hips. “You’re my gooood girl baby.” He croons, taking your legs above his shoulders.

His thrusts are relentless, deep, he’s aiming for your sweet spots like a damn target, spreading your swollen pussy lips to see the way you’ve got his manhood glistening with your juices. He’s still holding your hips up and in place, watching how you claw at his forearms, mouth slack while you let out such pitchy and breathless moans, “Aaangh! Jack! Fuuck- nnngh-”

And then you feel his give your pulsing bud a little pinch, tears pricking your eyes, shaking your head “Please, please- ‘s too much-”

“ ‘Please, please, please give me more Dr. Abbot’ “ he teases in a high tone ever so lightly, smirking down at you, “And I am, you’ve got it sweetheart, just gotta ride it out f’me. Know you can.”

It’s too much at once, the way Jack grinds right into that gooey g-spot of yours that has those fat tears streaming down your face that he’s been itching to get for weeks. His thumb presses down your button, rubbing it that makes your body jolt and shake. Sobbing out his name as you squeeze onto the pillows holding your head for dear life, your legs shaking.

“I knoooow baby, I knooooow, shiiit- ‘a lot, doin so good though honey- fuck, so good.” he coo’s, but this fucking maniac is still pistoning his length through your walls, only getting harder the more you tremble and cry. You’re stunning when you’re fucked out, only thinking about your boyfriend and how he can fix you in this moment. Too damn sexy for your own good. The way you babble for him to hold you, and he does with a loud groan, wrapping your arms around his neck and rocking into you while the bed creaks with every thrust. Kissing your wet cheeks and then slipping his tongue down yout throat till he feels your pussy grip onto him like the life line he is.

And he’s got sparks in his eyes, slipping himself out of your pulsing cunt while his cum paints your stomach.

He’s panting, “Good job sugar, shit, did so well,” he cups your face, wiping your tears while your body goes limp in his arms. You murmur his name once more, just to feet his weight press down against your body. Holding you in his warm and loving arms.

“So pretty like this gorgeous.”

a/n: but you haven’t seen my man, you haven’t seeeeeeen my man. I didn’t realize @/superhoeva already wrote something exactly like this till I finished😵‍💫😵‍💫. But that’s mother regardless!!

[thykingdoncome]

untouched, xo

summary: you need help getting one of J's asshole friends to stop hitting on you.

|| pope cody x reader || angst, heavy making out, touchstarved!pope, jealous!pope, fake dating trope, pope is v socially awkward (leave my baby alone!!), age gap, non canon timeline, no specific season but earlyish, mentions of drugs and alcohol consumption, character study || a/n: based on diet pepsi by addison rae - potential smutty p2? wc: 3k

Pope wasn't sure if he hated the summer or loved it.

He hung out awkwardly in a chair by the pool, cold beer sweating in his hand under the glare of the early summer sun. San Diego had a habit of being hot nearly all year round, but there was something about the end of spring that had everyone and their mother calling the Codys for a party. Bikinis, drugs, old friends of his brothers he barely talked to. All in the name of summer. By noon the backyard already smelled like chlorine, sunscreen, cigarette smoke, and grilled meat from the burgers Deran was flipping on the grill. Music blared from the speakers mounted under the patio awning so loud it vibrated the large floor to ceiling windows of the house.

With J taking college classes too, there had been more people around. Pope always figured his nephew was more the loner type, same as him, even if girls seemed to flock to the kid anyway. But college had done something to J—it seemed to draw him out of his shell a little. He had more friends around the house, more nights out, more people filling Smurf’s backyard until Pope barely recognized half of them anymore.

That's how they'd met you, too.

You—just a friend of J's, you'd clarified more than once to Pope—who looked so fucking cute in that little red bikini you had on. He could just see the red ties of the bottoms poking from cutoff shorts with the frays brushing your thighs every time you moved. A can of Diet Pepsi sat in your hand with one of those little pink straws poking out the top so you wouldn’t ruin your lipstick. Pope always made sure they stayed stocked in the garage fridge, even if he didn’t spend as much time at Smurf’s house anymore. But when he knew the guys were throwing something, when he knew J would be here, he somehow always found his way back over. Because if J was here, there was a good chance you’d be trailing in behind him sooner or later.

But he often wondered what you and J truly were, no matter how many times you said he was a friend. Why were the two of you tied at the hip so god damn much? It made Pope's knuckles blanch when he thought of all the time his nephew got to spend with you.

Now you were standing across the yard with your head tipped back laughing at something J said while Nicky stood beside you smoking a shared joint, the end burning bright orange each time she inhaled. Smoke curled through the air around all of you, mixing with the sharp chemical smell of pool chlorine baking under the heat. Pope watched J lean down closer to hear whatever you were saying over the music and felt his jaw tighten hard enough to ache.

"Hey—"

He looked over to see Craig handing him a fresh beer. Pope hadn’t even realized the one in his hand was empty already, his knuckles white around the neck of the bottle.

He merely grunted, taking it from his brother.

"You look like you need something harder than a beer, but I know you better."

Pope's lip twitched, hardly stealing a glance at him.

Craig let out a low whistle. “What’s got your panties in a twist today, huh?”

Pope finally looked over at him then. Craig had his sunglasses shoved up into his hair, dark locks tucked behind his ears, blue eyes narrowed with curiosity and amusement.

"Go away." Pope said simply.

"Oh, now I really wanna know." Craig grinned as he sat down beside him.

Pope clicked his tongue against his teeth and twisted the cap off the beer, taking a long drink of the cold amber liquid while his eyes drifted back toward you again. By then the back gate was opening, and he watched your entire demeanor change.

First, it was your smile that slipped. Then your eyes flicked toward the guys coming through the gate, then over to Nicky beside you, and you murmured something to her, but Pope was too far away and it was so fucking loud out here to hear anything. His attention sharpened immediately anyway, ears pricking up like a mutt waiting for a command.

The guys spilling into the backyard were long and lean in only that college-kid kind of way. Floppy hair, muscle tees loose over wiry arms, sunburnt shoulders, a thirty pack of Bud Light swinging between them. Pope knew the type without ever stepping foot on a campus himself.

"Oh, shit." Craig muttered when he followed Pope's hardened gaze.

One of the guys had walked right up behind you, tossing an arm over your shoulders familiarly, and yet Pope saw your whole body go still under it. He couldn’t see your expression from here, only the way your head turned slightly toward Nicky. Across from you, J stood with his beer hanging loose in his hand, watching quietly, his face flattening out into that cold look he’d gotten better at lately. The Cody look.

"Easy, man. She's fine." he heard his little brother say beside him.

Pope felt like he was vibrating as he watched, ready to jump at any sign of this asshole giving you a hard time. He knew you could handle yourself too, but there was something about this guys confidence, how he thought he could come into his house and prey on his girl.

Pope stopped himself there. Not his girl. Not his house, really, either. He bit down on the inside of his cheek until his mouth filled with the taste of iron.

Then you slipped neatly out from under the guy’s arm, moving away from the group while lifting your drink toward the questioning looks they threw after you. Gotta get a refill. you called over your shoulder, as you walked away quickly.

But the second your back turned to them, your expression dropped. Plain annoyance sat across your face clear as day. Your shoulders folded inward a little while you crossed through the yard, weaving between people with your drink clutched against your stomach, making yourself smaller.

A little bit later, when you came back out into the yard with a new cold drink in hand, Craig was talking about some job he'd found—some mattress warehouse with a safe stacked with cash. Pope was only half listening. His attention snagged the second you stepped through the sliding glass door barefoot, little beads of condensation sliding down the side of your soda can onto your fingers.

You paused halfway across the patio, clearly intending to head back toward J, but the view of all those guys still talking around him seemed to make you pause. Your fingers tapped the side of the aluminum can in your hand, and then—to his surprise and horror—your head swiveled, and you were looking at him.

At Pope.

And now you were walking towards him. His heart lept in his chest.

Craig noticed immediately, straightening up in his lounge chair with that easy grin he wore around pretty girls.

"Hey—" Craig started, but you weren't even looking at him.

“Do me a favor?” you asked Pope quietly. He didn't even register the question—the answer would always be yes for you. He was nodding before he knew what you needed.

Your gaze flicked over your shoulder at the sound of footsteps coming across the concrete.

It all happened very quickly, and yet—he remembered it as if it was slow motion.

You bent toward him, fingers slipping around his wrist first, then into his hand—cold and wet to the touch from your soda—and his callouses scraped against your soft skin. You lifted his hand carefully, guiding his arm out of the way so you could turn yourself between and sit down onto his lap. The soft wash of your shorts brushed against the black denim of his jeans, your weight settling over his left thigh, and Pope stopped breathing for a second.

You—you were touching him. Sitting in his lap. In front of everyone.

His hand stayed where you’d moved it, hovering awkwardly over your hip, fingers flexing in midair, his brain choking on what to do next. He could smell your green apple shampoo when you leaned back into him, could feel the heat of your legs through his jeans.

Was this a joke? Had you planned to make fun of him? To show all your little friends how much of a freak he was?

"Just go with it," you whispered into his ear, your hand coming up behind his neck, manicured fingers delicately cupping his skin. Despite the heat, his flesh rose up in goosebumps. You were balancing your soda awkwardly in the other hand while reaching back for his still-hovering arm, guiding it around your waist yourself. Your fingers pressed gently against the back of his hand until he held you properly, as if soothing him.

Most of his palm landed against the rough denim of your shorts, but his fingertips brushed frayed fabric and warm skin underneath. The bare top of your thigh. He wouldn't let himself look at you properly— the skimpy red bikini top showing more skin than he could handle so close to him, bare shoulders shining with the glow of sunscreen and your chest dabbled with sweat. He swallowed thickly.

Your head turned towards the guys who were walking over, and the one in the middle—Asshole who put his arm around you—had stopped completely. His shoulders were tight, his glare ice cold.

But Pope was meaner. He knew how to do this, at least—how to play the guard dog, the meanest, eldest Cody brother. It was a role he slipped into easily, like second nature. The two of them stared at each other for a long minute.

Then J appeared beside the kid, clapping a hand onto his shoulder and saying something about putting their beer in the fridge. The group drifted away slowly after that, disappearing through the sliding door.

You let out a long sigh, your shoulders lightening as your fingers unlatched from Pope's neck. He missed the touch almost immediately.

"Thanks," you said.

Pope looked up at you. You were smiling gently down at him, casual as anything, but he soon realized that you weren't making any moves to get up. Your arm was still around his back, his still on the top of your thigh, but neither of you seemed eager to move away.

He just nodded stiffly. "Sure."

Your smile widened as the two of you studied each other. He watched you lift your soda, bringing the pink straw to your mouth. Pope did his god damn best not to let his eyes flit over your lips as you took a long sip.

He heard a huff of breath beside him suddenly.

"Well, that guy seemed like a dick."

You startled a little, turning your head like you’d forgotten Craig was still sitting there at all.

"Oh, hey Craig, I'm sorry—" you said, and you moved to finally get up, but Pope held on fast. He wouldn't let his baby brother take this from him.

When you looked back at Pope, your brows pulled together faintly in question. Something curious flickered there for a moment, but then your expression softened, like you understood anyway. You leaned down, lips to his ear, "Let me just switch sides, that okay?"

Pope's lips tightened. He suddenly became painfully aware of every awkward thing about himself. The way his hand probably sat too stiff against your waist. The fact that your breath sent a tingle down his spine, making his jeans suddenly feel too tight. And the fact he hadn’t said anything smooth this entire time. Anybody else would've known how to play this—smile, flirt a little, maybe make you laugh. But no, you were the charming one. The one who knew how to flirt, how to handle him.

So, he let go.

You kept your promise, only switching to his other thigh, letting his brother get an eye full of you now. You did the same thing again—bringing your hand around so you could take his, pulling it against yourself without even a moment of hesitation while you looked at the tallest Cody.

“Sick party,” you told Craig, lifting your drink in distant cheers. “How are you?”

Craig smiled back, all shiny teeth and charm as he held his beer up in salute, "I'm doin' good. What's up with your little friend?"

You rolled your eyes, "The guy has been trying to get me to go out with him for weeks." you sipped your drink again, eyes flickering over into the glass windows of the house, watching Asshole and his cronies from afar, "Except his version of taking me out is fucking me in the back his mom's BMW."

Pope was in the middle of taking a sip of beer when you said it, nearly choking.

"What the fuck did you just say?" he demanded. It was probably the most words he’d strung together to you all day. Hell, maybe all month.

But suddenly his head was making up different scenarios, none of them involving you in the back of Asshole's car, instead, he was wondering what the kid's head would sound like bouncing off the concrete when Pope's fist met it.

Your brows jumped a little at his reaction, but you only shrugged, unbothered. “He’s a dickhead. I’ve been trying to tell him I have a boyfriend, but he doesn’t believe me.”

"Do you?" Craig asked.

Pope thought maybe his little brother wasn’t completely useless after all.

He saw you shake your head in his periphery, and his heart, the traitorous thing, began to pound in his chest a little.

“No,” you admitted softly. “And I don’t think our little performance convinced him much either.”

Your gaze drifted back toward the sliding doors just as the group started filing outside again. Pope felt your body tense slightly on his thigh before you muttered a quiet, Oh, fuck my life under your breath. The asshole slowed when he passed, taking another long look at where you sat in Pope’s lap.

And Pope stared right back at him, lip curling.

Once they had gone towards the other side of the pool, he heard his brother say lightly: “I bet if you made out in front of him, they'd buy it.”

"Shut your mouth." Pope snapped, his hard glare turning on his brother.

But you barely seemed to hear either of them. You kept looking over your shoulder toward the yard, eyes skimming from Asshole to J and Nicky talking nearby, chewing lightly at your lip while you thought about something.

When you turned back to Pope and his brother, you had a funny look on your face.

Pope frowned slightly. “What's wrong?”

You hesitated, studying his face. You had lost that easy confidence from a moment before, fingers playing with your straw as you looked at him.

"Would that… ? No, no nevermind." you said, shaking your head. You cut yourself off by lifting your drink to your mouth again, shifting a little on his thigh in the process. The movement dragged your hip against him, making him painfully aware of just how much he was affected by your closeness.

Beside him, Craig made a strangled noise trying not to laugh. When Pope looked over, his brother was practically vibrating in his chair, eyebrows climbing halfway up his forehead while he grinned like a complete asshole.

"Get outta here, go—" Pope barked.

Craig finally lost the fight against his grin. He held both hands up in mock surrender while getting up from the lounge chair and walked away, shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Sorry,” Pope murmured once his brother was out of earshot.

He took another swallow of beer and leaned down to set the bottle carefully beside the chair, his movements slower now, more aware of you sitting there against him than anything else.

You shrugged, "It was…a good idea."

Pope's brows pulled together when he looked at you. God, you were so fucking close. The feel of your warm, soft skin against him, the smell of your apple shampoo mixing with sunscreen and the syrupy fake-sweet scent of the Diet Pepsi in your hand. He still couldn't believe you were sitting on his lap. Touching him. Pulling his arm around you as if it natural, like there wasn’t anything strange or dangerous about him to hesitate over.

And now you were looking at him with that look, something behind your eyes he couldn’t immediately sort out, and the fact he couldn’t sort it out made his stomach knot. As uncomfortable as he made people feel sometimes, Pope could still catch onto things. Patterns. He was always used to the way people acted, knew if they were lying because they started acting differently around him. But you never did that with him, and you never looked nervous around him like this before.

A thought occurred to him, one that made his stomach hurt even worse. Maybe you saw him for what he was—scary, mean; Smurf's dog made to heel and bark and bite when she commanded it. He became horribly aware of himself under your searching gaze—how tightly his hand was holding your thigh, how he could still just feel the top edge of your skin, your shoulder bumping into his chest when you'd shift.

And maybe you'd just realized whose lap you were in.

"Andrew…" you murmured, "Are you okay?"

He nodded.

You set your drink down in a hurry, cold aluminum knocking lightly against the concrete beside the chair before both your hands came up to his neck, fingers spreading against his skin as you tipped his face upward toward yours. Your touch was cold, wet from the soda.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I'm sorry."

You were touching him again. Both hands on his neck. Your face was so close to his. Noses nearly bumping. He could make out every clump of mascara around your eyes, your smudged lipstick. It made him nearly nauseous with want. Your eyes—they were worried. Why were you so worried to be around him now?

"I shouldn't have asked—or even—I don't know, Craig said it and for some reason I thought maybe—"

The gears in his brain finally started catching up after spinning uselessly for the last few minutes, thoughts grinding slowly into place one after another while he stared at your mouth moving so close to his.

What Craig had said… What had his brother said?

I bet if you made out in front of him, they’d buy it.

“You…” he managed finally, his mouth dry as cotton, heart thudding so hard it hurt. “Want to…?”

You licked your lips nervously, and the movement nearly derailed his thoughts again immediately.

"Not if it makes you uncomfortable. I just…” You sighed and glanced over your shoulder toward the yard. Your hair brushed lightly across his nose before you looked back at him again.

“I’m gonna lie to you and tell you it’s only to make this guy get off my back, okay?”

“What’s the truth?” he asked quietly, somehow finding enough nerve to force the words out.

Your teeth caught your bottom lip. “I just need you to tell me if it’s okay to do this—”

You leaned closer.

Pope’s hand moved before he could think better of it, wrapping carefully around your wrist to stop you there. So soft—the delicate bones of your joint in his rough hand.

"Y-yes but—what's the truth?" he echoed. He had to know. He had to.

You were hardly listening now, your attention splitting somewhere between him and the movement in the yard behind him, and Pope’s brain kept trying to grab onto something solid, some version of this that made sense, because he had to be out of his fucking mind to think maybe you meant what he desperately wanted you to mean. Maybe you actually—

But then your eyes flicked over his shoulder again, and Pope’s gaze followed yours automatically, catching the group of guys heading back across the patio towards you with J in tow, and suddenly your fingers tightened against Pope's face.

And then you turned into him, and kissed him.

You tasted like aspartame.

That syrupy sweet taste from the soda, like the waxy, cherry lipstick that you kept in your pocket. The smell of apple shampoo and sunscreen filled his nose while your lips pressed hard against his with a little gasp that went straight down his belly and into his dick. You didn’t kiss him shyly either. Pope could tell immediately you were trying to make a point, trying to push this far enough that anybody watching would understand exactly what they were seeing.

When he felt your tongue trace the seam of his lips, he didn't care anymore. He didn't care if this was some ruse to get Asshole off your back, he didn't care if you didn't actually like him, because fuck your tongue felt so good against his mouth. He was opening for you, tasting you back, and he could've sworn—under the noise of the music blaring, of the pool water splashing and people talking over one another—he heard a small, little helpless moan from your throat when he finally kissed you back properly.

His hands tightened around you immediately, both arms circling your waist to drag you closer against him until there was hardly any room left between you—your shoulder pressed tightly into his chest, a little awkward with the way you sat sideways across his thigh, but he didn't give a shit.

It felt endless and too short all at once, your tongues sliding together smoothly while you held his face so tenderly it made his throat tighten, and then little by little that tenderness started disappearing into want and hunger. Your fingers pushed into his hair harder now, nails scratching lightly at his scalp, making his breath stutter against your mouth.

“Holy shit.”

The voice cut through the air beside you like a gunshot beside him. The party seemed to rush back in all around at once—the sounds of people shouting scores for dives off the pool house, music blasting, the sliding door opening and closing.

And then you were pulling back, lips unlatching from his. To Pope’s immediate disappointment it was Deran standing there frozen beside the cooler with a beer halfway out of the ice.

He licked his lips automatically even as he glared at his brother, catching the lingering taste of you on his mouth, and when he looked up at you again your lips were swollen and shiny.

You glanced toward the group of guys across the yard, then Deran with a quick, oh-- hi, Deran, before looking back at Pope. Your hands were still around his neck, and you were leaning in again. But this time, your lips went to his ear.

“The truth is, Andy...” you murmured softly.

Pope felt another shiver move through him at the feel of your breath against his neck, and his grip tightened on your little denim shorts as you said, “…I've wanted to do that for a long time.”

And then, as if you'd merely said thanks, pope, bye! you were pulling away from him, brushing your thumb across his top lip, wiping away whatever lipstick you'd left him with, and you were standing from his lap and walking off through the yard like you hadn’t just detonated his entire fucking nervous system in front of half the party.

Deran let out a low laugh beside him before grabbing a pool towel from the chair nearby and tossing it at Pope’s chest.

“You’re gonna wanna sit there for a minute,” he said. “Wait out that, uh… problem.”

Pope glared at his brother over the towel clutched in his lap.

why am I literally so nervous and would you like a part two yes or no

[imnolongerasullengirl]

18+ a little

being clingy with jack abbot, he isn’t used to it at first. a combination of not having a serious relationship since his wife passed and spending all his time at the hospital and at the SWAT unit made him skittish to your touch at first. he reassures you he wasn’t uncomfortable with your touches, so you persist. you couldn’t help it, always needing to feel him even if it’s some small way. a hand combing through his hair when you both were watching tv, always hugging his middle while he was cooking breakfast and yapping about your day, reaching out to find his hand while he was thrusting into you or pulling him into you as you wrap your legs around him wanting to be as close as possible. burrowing your head into his chest when you were upset. sometimes, when you were frustrated enough, you bit him. when you were upset or he wouldn’t pay attention to you, you’ll find whatever you could find his bicep, his thigh, his neck. always letting go with a surprised yelp when his heavy hand would come down to spank your bottom.

eventually he not only comes around to his clingy girl, but meets you at your level. always grabbing you into his lap when he was at home, in public he would always have a heavy hand on your thigh squeezing and pulling you into him throughout the night, never lets go of your hand especially when you are sitting on his face whining and grinding on him as you work for your release, in bed he was always massaging some part of your body with you favorite massage bar from lush, always patting your butt as he passed by, squishing your cheeks and cooing at your furrowed brows when you were frustrated always coming to the rescue to solve your problems.

[superhoeva]

jack abbot doing that thing where he’s shushing you even he’s the reason you’re making all that noise. like he’s got you pinned to the bed on your side, curling his body over you to keep reaching that spot. asking “what’s all the fuss about, hm?” and holding your face with fake concern while railing you to literal pleased tears.

you’re grabbing onto whatever part of him you can, tugging the freckled skin as the thick of him splits you open with rough strokes. unraveling you thrust by thrust.

“j…jack,” is all your voice can bunch out of your damp-with-sweat, bouncing figure. the rest of what you say just spills into loud, melty, fucked-out noises.

“that’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he mumbles, lips against your ear. they peck a quick kiss along the shell before he grins at your loud pants—which is exactly how he wants them… wants you. loud and crying (good tears, of course) and stuffed full of him. you cry out his name again, and he just bucks into you harder. feeling a little light headed himself. “shh, baby, i know. we’ll getcha there.”

[superhoeva]

jack abbot doing that thing where he’s shushing you even he’s the reason you’re making all that noise. like he’s got you pinned to the bed on your side, curling his body over you to keep reaching that spot. asking “what’s all the fuss about, hm?” and holding your face with fake concern while railing you to literal pleased tears.

you’re grabbing onto whatever part of him you can, tugging the freckled skin as the thick of him splits you open with rough strokes. unraveling you thrust by thrust.

“j…jack,” is all your voice can bunch out of your damp-with-sweat, bouncing figure. the rest of what you say just spills into loud, melty, fucked-out noises.

“that’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he mumbles, lips against your ear. they peck a quick kiss along the shell before he grins at your loud pants—which is exactly how he wants them… wants you. loud and crying (good tears, of course) and stuffed full of him. you cry out his name again, and he just bucks into you harder. feeling a little light headed himself. “shh, baby, i know. we’ll getcha there.”

[scrmqwn]

cannot stop thinking about pope cody with his three teenage boys (who, yes, are just a variation of andrew, craig & deran) who back talk their mom (you) one time and if goes a little something like this:

"jesus fucking christ, the laundry isn't going to explode if i don't do it right now, god damn, mom." your middle chirps.

"she's on one, today." your oldest shakes his head.

"did that shit last week anyways, it's fine." your youngest flops on the couch and grabs the controller from his brother, before they start arguing amongst themselves.

you can barely blink before pope is storming in the house and upstairs to their rooms (yes those are bedrooms that pope, craig & deran used to sleep in when they lived with smurf), ripping every electronic device out of the wall, tossing them down the stairs.

stomping back down the stairs he stops in the living room and yanks that console from below the tv.

"let's get something crystal fuckin' clear, you three will not disrespect your mom—my wife—in my house. do you understand me? get your school shit and go to your rooms, now." pope is raising his voice as the boys stare at him stupidly.

those gaming consoles are being tossed in the pool and/or being smashed w his fucking sledge hammer btw, and pope is about to spend the rest of the evening catering to you as an apology because he cannot believe his boys believed for one second they could speak to their mom that way.

[cinnag1rl]

drabble heavily inspired by that one scene in Priscilla😩

His body laid back against the pillows, your legs trapping his torso as you sit atop of him, watching with half lidded eyes the vintage 70s instant camera you were pointing at him. Joel wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweats, and you, in the cutest bra and undergarment matching set. The white fabric on both, decorated with pink small bows forcing Joel to ogle at you, but for a moment back to the camera, for the photo.

Snap!

You let out a charming giggle, as the polaroid drops on to his body, the colour still not developed. He gently grabs the camera from you, looking at you through the camera lens, your naked body glowing, the warm light from the bedside table lamps reflecting on your body, pointing it at you and smiling,

“Look at the camera, baby..” he mumbles softly, your eyes instinctively looking at the camera and smiling.

Snap!

The polaroid falling once again. You grab the two photos and shake them, wanting the pictures to develop faster. Joel places the camera aside, still continuing to stare at you in pure adoration , his hand slithering to the waistband of your undergarment , toying with the fabric out of habit.

The polaroids slowly start to develop, you turn the pictures around and show Joel.

“It’s us,” you smile, Joel snickers and nods, ‘Yeah..That’s us,’ he says smiling like an idiot.

You look at the pictures in pure awe, until Joel pulls you flush against him, dropping the pictures ,as he pulled you in for a kiss which eventually lead to a night full of lovemaking and a bunch of inappropriate photos.

[lackadaisies]

𖧁୧ mean!simon x reader ⎯ cw: age gap (unspecified & legal)

𓋭 ๋      ׅ  simon needs you to stay quiet while your parents are down the hall. emphasis on age gap and all that jazz (reader is an adult).

likes & comments appreciated! let me know your thoughts please, reblogs are SO important ♥︎

18+ only. | my previous post.

“Christ, you can be such a kid sometimes; quit whining,” Simon sighs sharply with exasperation—bordering on urgency—hips slamming into yours as if to drive the point further home. He doesn't quite mean to be harsh, but he's on edge as is with your parents slumbering down the hall and keeping you quiet is proving to be a task.

He watches you blubber and twitch on his cock almost like it hurts, and maybe it does, but it only reminds him of your youth and inexperience; something about that makes him angry. At himself? At you and your naïvete? At the sands of time itself, perhaps.

“Well, go pick on someone your own age then,” you mumble defensively, your furrowed brows peeking over your shoulder at him. A dewy flush has spread across your torso and creeps up your ears, sweat glistening along the valley of your curved spine as you twist to glare at him petulantly. Simon finds you pretty just like this—with your bra strap sagging down your shoulder and your lower lip sticking out, and all.

You don't even know the weight of your words.

He scoffs derisively, a near-laugh, almost amused by your quip despite himself. Guilelessly, your heart flutters triumphantly at the idea of amusing him somehow, for the modicum of approval, before Simon leans in to sneer in your ear, lips set in a straight line, “Shut it.”

“Yer gonna wake your parents, y'want that?” His fingers braid through your hair, gathering the strands at the base of your skull in a tight fist and dictating where your head stays. (A piteous 'Ow!' is consequently muffled into the bedding.) He pulls out halfway before sawing back inside, watching your puffy cunt spread wide to swallow his thick shaft, a bead of drool pooling at the corner of your mouth. “Won't be able to fuck this sweet lil' cunt anymore if they take you away from me. We don't want that, do we, pet?”

“N-No—”

“Good.” He rewards your compliance by plunging into your heat with a thrust that makes the bedframe creak under his weight in protest, smushing your cheek in the mattress with the hand on your head. You scrunch your eyes shut to brace yourself for the onslaught Simon pours over you, jerking in time with his unforgiving ministrations. The frilly throw pillow wedged between the bedframe and the wall trembles with each pass, soaking up the noise while it takes the brunt of your activities.

The stickiness of your arousal streaks his shaft—glistening webs stretching out between you and his sack, drenching him anew as he withdraws then rams back in. His blunt fingers trace your mouth where choked moans emit from presently, inspecting the cushion of your lips in a sort of appreciation for your good, silent behavior. They slip past the rim of your warm mouth, forcing your lips to gape around the intrusion as they hook on; feeling your wet tongue under the pads of his fingers. Feeling you salivate as he grazes your tender g-spot. With all his years of experience and your lack of it, you're so easy to figure out.

He observes your voice inadvertently grow in volume as you struggle around the intrusion in your mouth, wringing out staccato whines from your throat as his cock pistons inside you. Your brows knit together helplessly, slurping, drooling, and whimpering around his digits all at once while you try to swallow your voice, and Simon aids you by relieving your jaw and letting you suckle on his fingers instead. Your soft lips seal around his middle and ring finger all too readily, puckered and suckling.

Simon can't help but coo at the sight in his low baritone, tutting quietly, “Just like that. Real quiet now, aintcha?” Your spit bubbles around his knuckles as he pushes deeper, enough to make you gag, but Simon makes it clear he doesn't mind the mess with the evidence of his desire throbbing inside your cunt meanly.

“Just need a firm hand to reel you in every now and again, hm? Is thaʼ what you need, luv?” The warmth of his breath brushes against the shell of your ear, his sweaty chest against your back, your eyelids blowing wide as you peek at his shadowy silhouette out of the corner of your eye. He can feel your tongue flounder against his fingers, a muffled noise behind his knuckles.

By way of the obstruction in your mouth, you don't bother with an answer—rather, your mind is someplace entirely—eyelids blissfully sliding shut as his girth, curved just right, plunges in and out of you, your walls squeezing around him welcomingly.

“Is it?”

Nodding your head in haste, your eyes water as his cockhead slams against what you're pretty sure is your cervix. You gasp for air as though trying to make room for him in your ribs, and Simon can feel every spasm of your aching pussy around him, painting your insides with pre.

The syllables of sorry and yes are mouthed around his thick digits, and a secret part of Simon relishes this, all of it: you, unadulterated and unfiltered. Still new, still unpolished. Simon, a grounding force. Someone to teach you to handle all that buzzing energy.

Simon's burly form is like a blanket on top of you, his angular nose nuzzling the nape of your sweat-damp neck. In the dark of your room, everything sounds awfully... wet—from the suckling sounds from your mouth, to the wet slide of his cock inside your dripping hole.

His eyes slide from the crown of your head to the strip of light under your bedroom door, which has remained undisturbed—until now. Simon’s heavy-lidded gaze lingers on the shadowy movement beyond it, the drone of his shallow pants filling your ears as you're immobilized under him, his broad frame blocking out the rest of the world.

It's only when his fingers pop past your lips and clamp tight over your mouth that you're alerted to the distinct noise of your father's yawning outside, floorboards creaking below his lumbering feet nearly lost under your own rapid heartbeat in your ears. “Quiet,” Simon mutters in your ear brusquely, straight teeth nipping at your earlobe.

“Honʼ? You awake?”

As your stomach drops fearfully, so too do your thighs clamp together when Simon bucks his hips against you.

“Hah, wait, Si—”

“Shut up nʼ take it.”

You're drowning in the sheets, really, getting fucked into the mattress by the man on top of you while your father's voice floats into the room. He never pulls out fully, just saws in like he's intent on making you feel every inch of his veiny girth and breaking you down here and now. Simon’s achingly close, and he's hardly eager to put this on hold for later—especially when your spasming cunt seems to be milking him for all he's worth. So he doesn't.

You don't respond to your father, hoping to feign sleep—and he tries again, God bless his soul. The bedding smothers your head, your stifled breaths echoed back to you making his voice almost inaudible.

“Could've sworn...”

The muttering trails off, and his footsteps lazily recede down the hall into a soft pitter-patter. You hold your breath, waiting to hear the click of his bedroom door, only it never comes. Is it anxiety or butterflies twisting in your belly? You can't tell.

Simon knows you're trapped like this, smothered and stuffed full with his cock, and he likes that. You have half the mind to keep your mouth shut as he unloads his spend in you with choked grunts, the only half-hearted sign of disapproval your kicking legs.

You finish in the same breath that the heavy footfalls close in on your door, leaving a creamy ring around the base of Simon's shaft as he fucks his cum into you with wet squelches.

“It's 3 AM, go to bed!”

🍨 ⎯ reminder that likes & reblogs are the best ways to support authors here ❤︎ thank you in advance !

๋      ׅ authorʼs note — idk about you, but my parents still get mad at me for staying up late at my grownass age. this one is rushed & full of bad run-on sentences. enjoy my word vomit its so bad lool.

© LACKADAISIES ‘25. | all rights reserved. copying, translation, or ai training not authorized; ask for direct permission before you take inspiration from my posts. iʼll cry if you copy my hard work, please be considerate.

[millersland]

need some fics with this vibe

[jedijesi]

Just For Tonight

Kinktober Day 21: Hate Sex

Javier Peña x f!reader

Masterlist | Kinktober Masterlist

Warnings: Enemies to lovers-ish, Alcohol, SMUT (hate sex, doggy & missionary, rough, spanking) Arguing During Sex, A River in Egypt.

Word Count: 2,600+

Summary: You got forced into going to the infamous Murphy Halloween Party and, of course, Javier is there making things worse. At least he’s hot.

A/N: It’s been almost 5 years since I’ve written for Javi. The man that started it all. It’s good it be back.

You hated Javier, and Javier hated you.

Unfortunately, you were co-workers, forced to share not just an office, but the same apartment building in Bogotá. One floor apart, thank god, but still too close.

After one too many drinks celebrating a mission gone right, it happened. You slept together. The next morning, you agreed it was a mistake. You promised each other it would never be discussed or happen again. Only one of those promises was kept.

Now, at least once a week, you “destress” together. That’s what you called it, anyway. Always claiming it was “Just for tonight.”

Liars.

For Javier, it was convenient. No need for small talk at the bar, no wasted nights chasing strangers, and it saved him a few bucks. You were irritating, sure, but you were also hot, and for him, that made it easy to forget the rest.

For you, dating was a headache, work was chaos, and Javier… well, he was infuriatingly good with his dick.

Which brought you here: Steve and Connie’s annual Halloween party. The music was loud and everything was decorated with corny spooky decor. Their friends, agents and their partners crowded the living room and kitchen. You didn’t care for most of them, so you kept to the sidelines with a glass of the good wine Connie had set aside just for you.

Originally, you planned on a night in to use the holiday as an excuse to eat candy and drink. But after relentless pestering from Steve at work and Connie ambushing you in the lobby of the apartment building, you caved.

You kept it simple. A long black dress, dark eyeshadow, red lipstick, and your hair done just enough to look like you tried.

The Murphys had gone all out—Marty McFly and Doc Brown. Connie, of course, was Doc, her lab coat already streaked with “vampire punch” as she belted out lyrics from the coffee table, cup in hand, unknown how many refills she’s had.

You snorted into your drink, amused by the sight, until movement caught your attention from the corner of your eye. A few other wallflowers move to join in on the dancing, and that’s when you saw him.

Javier Peña.

Your smile immediately fell into, mirroring his look of horror. “Oh, you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me!”

“No! Why are you Morticia!”

“Why are you Gomez! You never dress up!”

“I know,“ He grumbled, stepping beside you. “The Murphys forced me to. Steve promised he’d do my paperwork if I showed up in a costume.”

“But Gomez?”

“It’s a black suit and mustache. I have both of those. What’s your excuse?”

Before you could bite back, Connie’s voice cut through the noise. “Hey, you two- oh my god! Did you plan this-”

“No!” You and Javier protested in unison.

They both froze, startled by your synchronized shout. “Oh. Uh… Well,” Steve said with a grin, “you guys look good.”

You rolled your eyes and took another sip, shifting so your back faced Javier, closing him off, or at least pretending to. Your cheeks burned, but you told yourself it was the alcohol and stuffiness of the party.

The Murphys exchanged a quick look before awkwardly retreating toward the makeshift dance floor.

You took the opportunity to drain what was left in your glass and make your way to the punch bowl. The one responsible for Connie’s current carefree state.

Javier had the same idea. A few minutes later, he was standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall, nursing his drink like it would make him invisible.

This wasn’t the first time someone had grouped the two of you. Random agents, even Steve and Connie, had joked about how alike you were, how you’d make a cute couple. Two sides of the same coin.

You never saw it. You didn’t want to.

But as you caught the reflection of you two in the window. Both of you had your arms crossed, holding a half empty glass, watching the party, in complimenting costumes. Maybe for once, they weren’t completely wrong.

A good pair, though? You’d never go that far.

“So… you doing anything after this?” His voice cut through the music and chatter, low and rough enough to pull your attention away from the crowd.

The question shouldn’t have surprised you. He asked it often enough.

“No,” you replied simply, glancing over your shoulder. “You?”

“No.”

Silence settled between you as you both watched Connie and Steve making out drunkenly in the crowd.

It was always like this. Every year.

In twenty minutes, something would break, or someone would start a fight—both if you’re lucky. Give it another thirtyfive, and people would be passed out on couches or throwing up in the bathroom. Twenty after that, Connie goes to bed and everyone helps Steve clean up before they stumble back to their apartment, ready for tomorrow's inevitable hangover.

And still, they kept throwing these parties, and people kept attending. What a nightmare.

“You wanna-” you started, at the same time he did.

Your eyes met, both knowing exactly where this was headed.

“Just for tonight.”

A statement that had to be said every time. Insurance that it wasn’t anything more but an itch being scratched.

The moment your apartment door shut, ensuring no other agents who lived in the building could see, Javier was all over you, kissing and groping shamelessly.

Your heels clicked against the floor, his shoes scuffed against it, the two of you stumbling your way down the short hall until arriving at your bedroom. One of his arms was snaked around your waist, keeping you against him. The other reached out, slamming the door shut to help muffle the noise and keep any of their co-worker-neighbors from catching on to your arrangement.

The last thing either of you wanted was for your names to be tied together for anything beyond work.

Your hands wove into his hair, undoing the cheap gel that slicked it back. You tugged until the curls fell loose, softer now. Back to those same curls you tugged on just a few nights ago while he buried his face into your sopping cunt and didn’t come out until you came at least twice.

Everything was fast and desperate—hands tugging at clothes until they hit the floor, one piece after another.

Your back met the bed, and his mouth found your neck as he climbed over you, breath hot and uneven. He began to suck and nip at your skin, and you pressed a hand to his chest, pushing him back just enough to meet his dark eyes with your unamused ones.

“No marks. Remember?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He exhaled sharply and rolled his eyes before flipping you onto all your hands and knees.

“I don’t need anyone asking about hickies. Nor do I want to remember it.”

“Ya know, you got a lot of attitude for someone so wet for me right now.” You gasp as his cock slides between your folds, collecting your arousal.

“Don’t pick now to be an asshole.”

His hands slide down the curve of your ass, squeezing the flesh. You feel the tip of his hard cock press against your opening.“I thought I was always an asshole in your eyes.” Without warning, he slams into you, burying himself in your pussy.

Your jaw drops as the air is knocked out of you. “What the fuck was that!” Your chest heaves, regaining your breath.

He smirks behind you, giving you a moment to adjust. “What? You took it just fine.” He coos, mockingly, giving you a few shallow thrusts. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“Dramatic?” You scoff and look over your shoulder at him. “Don’t act like you- MPHF! Ahh!”

The sudden speed of his cock positioning in and out of you, made you forget whatever you were going to say. Your body clenches around him with every thrust. His rough hands on your soft hips help him drive into you harder and faster.

“Finally you shut the fuck up.” He groans, letting his head tilt back and enjoy the warm and wet squeeze of your pussy. “Does that mean I need to start fucking you at work? Bend you over the desk anytime you start complaining about paper work.” He lets out a breathy chuckle. “Or maybe- ngh I’ll just fuck you in the evidence locker. It’s too bad you get too loud for me, huh?” He knew exactly how to get under your skin.

“G-go to h-h-hell.” Your voice trembled as the tip of his aching cock kissed that spot deep inside you that made you lose your mind.

He was ruthless like always. It’s what made the sex so good. You two always cut to the chase. No flirting, no dates, just raw needy sex.

Your arms give out, causing you to fall into the pillows, moaning and drooling. The bed creaked with each one of his powerful thrusts. The room quickly filled with the sounds of skin slapping over and over. Your moans mingling, only turning each other on even more.

“How are you always so fucking tight?” He presses a hand to the middle of your back making you arch even more, getting deeper. “You must really like me.” A smirk curls back onto his face, knowing anger was bubbling inside you.

“Ah- Ah! Y-you have the biggest fucking ego.” You groaned into the pillow. “You can run back to your brothels for all I care.”

Javier looks down between you. His cock drowning in your cunt while your walls pull him deeper in, never letting him get too far. “It’s okay. This little pussy is telling me everything I need to know.” He reaches around, finding your clit and rubbing it fast to match his pace.

The added sensation made you all the more desperate to cum. “Can’t you just shut the fuck up and fuck me!” Your hands fist the sheets and pillow.

He moves his hands back to your hips and then his leg, planting his foot on the bed beside your torso. It gave him just enough leverage to go faster and deeper. Immediately, he’s rewarded with your screams of ecstasy. His balls started slapping against your clit sending jolts of electricity through your veins.

His fingers were gripping your hips so tight, you were bound to have small bruises in the morning. Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.

“Complain all you- ugh- want, but mphf you’re the one obsessed with me.”

“Obsessed with you?!” If he wasn’t hammering into you so perfectly, you’d smack him.

“You heard me.” He growled, adding a slap to your ass to punctuate his argument.

Your yelp was muffled in the pillow. “Y-you’re the one who chose to be Gomez Addams for Halloween when I was Mortica Addams!” You lifted your head back up to argue.

He scoffed and smacked your ass again. This one stinging a little more. “If I knew you were dressing up as her I would have picked someone else.”

“Or maybe- ngh ngh ngh- m-maybe you w-wanted to Gomez. Maybe you were stalking me just to fuck with me since you’re so obsessed.”

He pulled out, making you whimper. “Javi!” You shout in protest but find yourself being tossed onto your back instead. You looked down between you. His cock was red and eager to cum. It glistened with your arousal with streaks of cream from how incredible he fucks you.

“If you’re gonna accuse me of bullshit, you’re gonna look at me.” He slammed back into you, easy and fast due to your drenched cunt. Your back immediately arches off the bed and a moan rips through you. “You- Agh- seriously think, I’d stalk you to find out who you’re dressing as for Halloween? Are you insane?”

“Ngh! I- ah! I mean, out of e-everything, y-you decided to be him.” Your nails dig into his back, making him hiss. “That’s a p-pretty big fucking coincidence- ohhh fuck!”

Javier's head falls and he groans against your neck. He could feel himself getting close. His hands grip the sheets next to your head, making his knuckles turn white. His pace was relentless now as he thrusted hard and fast into you.

“I can a-assure you, I want nothing to do with you.” He bites your shoulder. “The last thing- mphf I’d want to be is your Gomez.”

“Thank fuck, c-cause I don’t w-want anyone to look at us like that. Ohhhh! Yes! Right there!”

The sound of wet plapping filled the room and the headboard beat against the wall. Javier grit his teeth against another guttural groan. He was getting close.

He slid one hand down to grip your thighs and bring your legs up onto his shoulders.

“Javi!” You scream.

You swore you were being split in half. The world blurred into stars, barely able to see the way your legs shake in the air. All you could hear are the sounds of your bodies moving desperately and his beautiful moans and labored breaths in your ear.

“You better fucking cum.” He grunts into your ear with every brutal thrust, sounding animalistic, possessed by the need for you.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum!” You squeal.

The thread snaps and your orgasm hits you, surging pleasure through every nerve.

Javier came almost immediately after you. Your moans and cries of his name were too much to bare. If you asked, though, he’d tell you it’s because of how your cunt throbbed around him, milking him for everything he’s got. But that wasn’t completely true.

He rode out your highs, moving until every last drop of pleasure was spent. When he pulled back, you noticed your lipstick smeared a bit on his lips. Your lips quirk up at the sight and with your thumb, you wipe it away. He does the same for you, cleaning up the edges.

After, he slowly pulled out, making you both hiss. He knew your thighs were probably aching so he carefully lowered the back to the bed before snatching the fresh towel you kept under the bed for these occasions. Without a word he cleaned up his cum that leaked from you and then his own glistening cock.

Afterward, he dropped back onto the bed, leaning against the headboard while you got comfortable against the pillows. He reached into your nightstand for his cigarette box and his lighter. The soft clink and flick of the flame broke the silence.

He held the cigarette for you. You leaned forward, lips brushing the filter as you inhaled. He watched from the corner of his eye, then brought it to his mouth when you were done.

The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the party down the hall and celebrating outside. Smoke curled toward the ceiling, catching the headlights that rolled through the blinds.

“God, fuck,” he groaned, forcing himself upright. His muscles protested as he rolled his neck, trying to mentally prepare to get dressed again.

You exhaled and turned on your side, your back toward him. “If you’re tired, just stay,” you muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

He didn’t answer. It was silent for a good minute. You started to think he somehow silently snuck off. Until the mattress dipped beside you and the sheets rustled.

“Just for tonight,” he said, voice rough from the night’s wear.

“Just for tonight,” you confirmed.

You both turned away from each other, a stretch of cool space between you. It meant nothing. It was convenient to stay the night—all of it was. It wasn’t common but it can happen. It’s just a bed. It’s not even like you cuddled.

At least… not on purpose.

Series Starting! Ch. 1 Coming soon!

A/N: Ngl this has mini series potential…

UPDATE: By popular demand, It’s getting a series. Ch. 1 comes out soon

Kinktober Tag List: @plu0725 @iristheplanet16

Permanent Tag List: @what-iwish-you-knew @infuriatinglyoptimistic @harriedandharassed

[luckieangel]

if you get horny out of the blue it’s because you and that fictional man are fucking in his universe btw