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andrew cody who craves having a sweet, 20-something year old to keep barefoot and pregnant in a world faaaaar away from his family
andrew cody who bends you over the sink after you finish the dishes for dinner, and lifts your long floral sundress up your back so he can slide in
andrew cody who loooooves free use, but even more when you use him for free use. loves when he's sitting on the couch late at night, unable to sleep, and you pad out of your shared room (half-asleep) and pull your panties to the side to sink down on him. or, or, or, loves when he's sitting at the dinner table eating and you're so pent up and needy, you can't help yourself but to sit in his lap and shakingly pull his tip to your weepy lil hole as he finishes eating
andrew cody who loses it when you sob out "i love you andrew" and claw at his back as he makes love to you.
andrew cody who loves sweet, domestic, "taking care of my wife" sex. loves when you tear up and hold his hand and keep asking him to say he loves you. all of the sappy shit, he craves it. loves to walk out in the morning in nothing but his black boxers and the scratches down his neck
andrew cody who loves when you pout so he can grip your face and question "whatsa matter? what do you want, huh" with all the love and adoration he can muster in his eyes
craig's "friend" | craig cody x reader x andrew 'pope' cody
plot summary?: pope walks in on craig and craig's "friend" (you) going at it. what is supposed to be a one-off thing turns into a regular occurrence; and much to craig's chagrin, you couldn't be less bothered by it.
contains?: pope cody, craig cody, reader-insert, shameless smut, creeper pope, mentions of deran, smurf, j, baz, and lena.
warnings?: 18+/minors dni; accidental voyeurism turned not so accidental; healthy amount of cuss words; p in v sex; no protection mentioned; nudity; squirting.
notes?: takes place between s2-3. no beta we die like [airhorn]. no clue how long this is but i think it’s like 2k words
“friends” wasn’t the word that you and craig should use for what you are to each other. but if either of you had to describe it, both parties would concede to the term with no contest.
and it drives pope crazy.
because if pope even had half of what you had with him, if pope even had the chance to touch you the way craig did, you would be his. instantly and infinitely.
but, no, you were craig’s "friend." and he didn’t care, because you were too young for him anyway. and you were too bright. and too soft.
he decided this one night when he turned up at the house.
smurf was out, as were deran and j. but you were on the couch, watching craig play call of duty. for once there were no white lines cut on the coffee table's glass tray, no joint, half-lit, hanging haphazardly from one of smurf's decorative bowls.
no, it was just you and him.
craig, bigger than most, took up an entire cushion in the center of the sofa. he leant forward, both legs spread wide, elbows on the tops of his knees as he essentially button-mashed his way through a campaign. you were curled up next to him, taking up less than a quarter of the cushion beside his. you hugged your knees as you quietly watched him play.
pope, having let himself in through the garage door, walked over from the kitchen when he heard craig seemingly curse to himself.
“shit.” craig sank back into the couch just as captain reyes succumbed to his wounds. the screen doesn’t even have time to reset at his last checkpoint before he pauses the game and tosses his controller to the side.
the tall brunet turns to you in an instant, one of his big hands settled on your left thigh and the other toying with the strap of your bikini top.
“welp.” he says to you, popping the ‘p’. he wastes no time, closing the space between you both to press a chaste kiss to your chest and then another to your neck. when he begins to lightly suckle the skin there, you pull away. making a face, he chases after you until he’s able to lay claim to a patch of skin on your collarbone. this time, with a knowing sigh, you settle.
“i’m not having sex on your mother’s couch, craig. i told you that you need to find a new apartment.”
craig hummed, not paying you any mind. “c’mon, babe.” he sighs wistfully, smoothing his palm down your inner thigh as a means of forcing your knees apart.
“it’s gonna take me forever to find a new one. i can't wait that long.” he said.
you had no time to reply. by the time you turned your head, smart quip on your tongue, craig slipped his into your mouth.
your feigned disinterest is wicked away under his ministrations. secretly, you were waiting for him to touch you, to give you attention, and he knew it. a glutton for pleasure, you would never turn down craig - whatever he gave, you received happily.
craig’s hand crept lower and lower until his fingers hooked on a belt loop on your shorts. reaching down, your knuckles brushed his for a moment as you undid the button and zipper. you barely have time to shuck your bottoms down your thighs when you feel him force his hand past the waistband of your bikini thong.
“fuck. you’re so fucking wet.” he pants against your mouth, a thin trail of spit connecting his bottom lip to yours.
“i’ve been waiting for you to get off of that game for hours.” craig seals his mouth over yours again and any other complaints you have are inconsequential.
you feel two of his fingers nudging against you and you’re damn near vibrating with excitement. you begin to lean away from him once you feel that stretch, finally breaking the kiss once he gives up on being gentle and pushes in to the first knuckle. you reward him with a moan, once breathy, all but punched out of you as he begins to piston his middle and ring finger in and out of you.
and you don’t last long. it’s impossible with the way craig touches you and how ridiculously easy it is for him to get you worked up in the first place. somewhere in the way that he jostled you the thin strap of your bikini, once tied at the nape of your neck, comes loose. you don’t care even when you feel the dainty cups slipping down your chest until one of your breasts is exposed to the air completely.
craig, enraptured now by the way you look coming undone, doesn’t miss a beat. you whimper when you feel him latch on to your pebbled nipple.
“m'gonna come.” you ignore the feel of craig’s beard moving against your skin, no doubt in your mind that he’s smirking up at you from where his head is pressed against your chest. you feel hot all over, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. you push yourself up off of the cushion just slightly, leaning into him, opening your legs wider as he keeps his strokes at the same steady pace. and then it washes over you at once, body taut, knees wobbling, your hand wrapped around his wrist as he helps you through your high like an obedient soldier.
"fuck me."
would have been the next thing to come out of your mouth, naturally. but when you opened your eyes as best as you could past the haze threatening to put you under, you noticed something beyond craig staring at you, taking you in in your blissed-out state. standing between the couch and the far wall right at the entrance of the living room was none other than pope cody.
you've heard of him the same way you've heard of ghost stories. the boogeyman of oceanside. but to see him like this, staring at you with his brows set and his hands laying stiffly at his sides, does something to you.
because he isn't just handsome, he's cody handsome, definitely craig's brother in the sharp angle of his cheekbones and jaw. and you've never seen eyes so dark yet so clear. he's not missing anything that craig is doing to you and somewhere through the fog you wonder how long he's been standing there, anyway.
the thought excites you enough that when craig keeps going, you do little to deter him, deter either one of them in fact. grip still tight on his wrist, you hold craig there even though the stimulation is bordering on torture. his fingers keep the same pace that got you off the first time and that steadiness, mixed with the sound of your wetness as he fucks you a second time, is a feedback loop for your arousal.
pope didn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't this. most girls would have yelled. covered themselves up, maybe thrown something at him half-heartedly in their shock or terror. but there was something so intriguing in the way you watched him watch you. how you widen your legs, as if to present yourself to him. how you reach down to keep craig where he is. your pupils are nearly blown and your eyelids half-mast from the pleasure, your hair in disarray where it falls down your sides of your neck and down your back. the part of your chest that's exposed is flushed and it heaves with every breath you take.
pope is about as aware of how close you are as craig is. he watches as you lift yourself up off the couch just slightly, how craig sits up with you. your legs are shaking now and craig has the hand that isn't toying with your pussy trained at your waist, trying in vain to keep you from squirming under his stimulation. slowly, you begin to roll your hips against his fingers.
and andrew isn't sure for a moment if you're looking at him or through him the moment you come, heavy eyelids going wide for a second before closing to slits. "craig- ah! ah~!" is the only thing you can let out as craig begins to press kisses to your slack jaw.
and if you weren't looking at pope before, you sure were now. holding his gaze, you card your hands through craig's curls then grip him by the base of his neck and pull him in. you all but shove your tongue down his throat and he moans into your mouth, still blissfully unaware of your spectator.
then you pull away, yanking craig's hands out of your pants all the while. you shove your shorts back up your thighs, paying no mind to the way the fabric of your swimsuit bottoms bunch up underneath the denim. with the fly of your zipper still down and your shorts still unbuttoned, you work on fixing your bikini top, pulling the triangle over your exposed breast and securing the spaghetti straps around your neck.
"wait! where are you going?" craig asks.
"um. i forgot i have some errands i need to run." you offer lamely. your legs are still shaking when you stand.
craig sits back, still turned toward you, and watches as you gather your bag and hoist it over your shoulder. and it is only when he watches you walk toward the shelves leading to the hallway that he notices pope there.
"dude, what the hell?" he regards his brother with his hands thrown up in the air.
pope, however, pays him no mind, watching you as you approach. he's still standing stock-still in the same position though his head turns stiffly to watch as you squeeze past him.
"nice meeting you." you offer as your shoulder brushes his bicep. other than his intense gaze he offers no form of acknowledgement. though as you make your way down the hall, you feel his eyes burning holes into your back. it adds to your humiliation in a way; you can't help but wonder as you turn the key in your ignition and drive away what kind of pervert he must think you are.
"pope."
andrew turns to his brother, who is still staring at him with that stupid look of confusion, and maybe a little fear. "dude, that is not cool."
a beat of silence and then pope says,
"she's right. you do need your own place."
and walks away.
~~
craig gets his own place, eventually, and that place is baz's place. technically.
still sore from the loss of his best friend and subsequently his niece, pope despises the way his little brother quickly turned the homey two-bedroom into a total pigsty. clothes are everywhere. there are crumbs on the counter. someone has only just begun to make a dent in the dishes and there is a pot set on the stove with soap and water to soak.
so, that's the first clue he gets that craig isn't alone, because craig doesn't cook. doesn't know how and even in his mid-thirties that fact doesn't bother him one bit.
the shower is on. it's a good place to start. the only thing that draws him out is the sound of an unfamiliar voice; he can just barely make out a hum over the falling water.
the bathroom door is ajar and pope is never one to deny himself easy access. he had half an idea of who may be in there and he prays it isn't actually his brother, because he doesn't want to see craig's nads or find out that he likes to sing the little mermaid when he's alone.
but he is pleasantly rewarded when he sees you through the crack in the shower curtain. back towards him, you had your head buried under the stream, letting the soap run down your back.
he was obsessed with the way your skin looked. soft, from the stretch marks on your round butt to the large scar on your shoulder blade. his hindbrain took over for a moment and he felt overwhelmed with the urge to touch you, to feel the way the muscles of your thigh would ripple and give if he were to grab you there, pull you close to him.
it wasn't often that pope dwelled like this, let his depravity take over him. so he has the sense to at least look a little surprised, a little embarrassed when you turned around and reared back when you noticed you were no longer alone.
again, you were one of the strangest people pope had ever met. rather than admonish him for walking in on you like this, you simply continued your motions. both hands in your hair, you worked at the tangles you got from running on the beach and playing in the waves earlier.
the only indication that you were aware of pope's presence was the way you held his gaze. you took a step back until half of your body was underneath the water, closed your eyes and tilted your head back.
it was only when you broke eye contact that pope allowed his eyes to wander. from the strawberry skin on your arms to your tits. he took his time admiring most of all, however, how your soft tummy gave way to the tuft of hair covering your pussy.
fuck you were perfect.
this continued until you turned back towards the downpour, stood under it for a moment longer before turning the dial and shutting it off.
you turned back and pope was still standing there, hands hooked in either of his pants pockets, still taking in your frame. you lingered for a moment as you wrung your hair out.
"knock much?" is all you said to him once you were done.
he blinked at that.
funny. craig didn't mention that you were funny.
there was no reply, and you honestly weren't expecting one. craig told you that pope doesn't talk much to people he doesn't know. and it's a funny thought - he saw you cum, twice, but, no, he didn't know you. not one bit.
but if you didn't know it before, you definitely knew now that he wanted to know you.
reaching up, you pulled your towel down from where it hung haphazardly over the shower rod. pulling it over your body, you stepped out of the shower and down onto the bath mat you purchased for craig not too long ago.
"if you're looking for craig, he's at deran's bar. he said he'd be back soon, so. i'm sure he wouldn't mind if you waited."
wordlessly, he turned away from you and went to lena's old room.
~
pope hated it. hated the way he could see craig's shit strewn about what was once lena's room. he hated that baz was gone, hated that nobody else showed interest in lena but him and smurf. between the both of them, the kid was a lost cause.
he wondered absently if you liked kids.
speak of the devil, you walked past the open bedroom door in pursuit of the kitchen. when he heard you approach, he turned to watch you pass by and ambled after you.
you moved quickly, flitting about the main space in little other than one of craig's t-shirts and a pair of boyshorts. if the curve of your ass wasn't enough of a sight, he could make out the outline of your pussy lips through the thin material.
he felt like a teenage boy again, praying that you couldn't see that he was half-hard in his own pants.
you turned around and it was like god had no mercy on him, the way your nipples were hard through the loose-fitting shirt.
"i made pasta if you're hungry." you said.
though he didn't verbalize his assent, you took pope taking up one of the barstools by the counter as acceptance enough. with one of the clean plates you loaded into the dishwasher last night, you got him a healthy serving, heated it up, and then served it to him. you then turned to finish the dishes you began washing before your trip to the beach.
"thanks." says pope, almost as an afterthought, as he begins to eat. it was delicious. he was in distress.
"he does talk!" you say aloud in feigned awe, though your back remained turn to him. a single corner of his lips curled upward for a moment as he scowled at your back.
smart-ass.
silence lulled between you both; you cleaned, he ate. but soon enough the front door unlocked and in came the bumbling oaf he came to see.
neither of you noticed but he quickly deflated at the thought of no longer being alone with you.
"hey, man." though he's talking to pope craig is shameless in the way he checks you out on his approach. you're oblivious to both men, drying each dish one by one and reaching up on your tippy toes to put them in the cabinet.
"you looking for me?"
craig knows that his question is a dud, because who else would he be looking for?
though seeing how easily you and pope exist around each other, he sure has his suspicions. pope doesn't take easily to being around strangers, and, to pope, you were a stranger. or at the very least, in craig's mind, you'd better be.
jealousy is a new emotion for craig and he hates it. not even renn has had such an effect on him but fuck if you weren't like his own personal form of catnip.
"we need to talk." is all pope says once craig closes in on the space between them. as both men wander out to the patio, pope turns around long enough to see you lean over the counter, grab his empty plate, and wash it at the sink.
~~
he has to stop seeing you like this.
no, seriously, for his own health, he has to stop.
the next time pope saw you was at a party thrown at smurf's house in her absence. every other cody attended but the matriarch was nowhere to be found, not that pope could find it in him to mind.
there were people everywhere. j sat poolside with his feet in the water, watching deran and adrian play chicken with some of their other surf buddies in the deep end of the water.
the only one missing from their brood was craig. and it was important that the party ended relatively soon and the four found a way to meet; after casing the joint all afternoon their newest prospective job may not be as easy as they once thought.
pope made his way inside, pushing past drunk partygoers as he did so.
aside from alcohol, the kitchen and living room looked surprisingly kosher. no white powder, no glass pipes. no rolled up dollar-bills or straws, which was great, because craig turned into a whiney bitch when he got high.
between deran and craig's old rooms was a jack-and-jill bathroom. entering from deran's side was easy enough after he kicked out two drunk losers petting each other down on the bed.
he locked the bathroom door from deran's side and made his way over to the toilet bowl to relieve himself. but before he could so much as let down the fly to his zipper, he heard it. he heard you.
slowly, he made his way across the narrow path, past the double-sink embedded in the counter, and to the door on the other side of the room.
same as last time, the door is ajar. slowly, he steps up and peers into the crack. sees you sitting on the edge of the bed with your legs open, wide, and a brown head of hair occupying the space between your thighs.
craig is virtually always in some stage of undress so pope pays no mind to his butt cheeks but the sight you is enough to almost make him pop off in his pants. you're naked, your face flushed. your nipples are hard. craig slaps your bare clit once, twice, and you flinch at the sensation both times, breasts bouncing as you jerk your hips.
then his mouth is over the tender flesh, as if to soothe the sting of his harsh actions, and you throw your head back at the contact. as quickly as he's over you, he's inside of you, two fingers deep down to the knuckle.
"fuck, baby." your voice is husky and pope isn't sure if it's from the liquor that’s undoubtedly in your system or your arousal. he can see how wet you are even from where he's standing; you're glistening from your inner thighs, to your lips, and all the way around craig's fingers.
squelching and the occasional whimper is the only noise that fills the room. craig is precise as always, already nudging against that spot inside of you that makes your jaw go slack. he notices immediately and keeps the same pace, watching through his long eyelashes as he plucks you apart.
simultaneously, his mouth can't stop moving against you, devouring you much like a man starved. you taste so fucking good, you remember him moaning against your pussy one night, all but rubbing his erection against the bed as he licked you from your hole to your clit.
"i'm so close." you whine. and he believed it, because not long after craig set his steady, bruising pace, you were there. legs shaking from where they sought purchase on craig's shoulders, you let out a cry that sounded almost pained. pope watched as your spend trickled out of you and down craig’s beard in short, quick spurts. your hips shook with the effort it took to grind down on craig’s fingers, one of your hands coming down on his wrist to hold him in place as you work yourself through your orgasm.
“you’re so fucking pretty.” craig all but coos up at you when you finally stop. he kisses your clit once and you jump away before settling down on the mattress again.
chest heaving, you card your hand through his hair, stopping when you reach the base of his neck and grab at the tendrils caught between your fingers. when you tug at them he rises to his feet, licks into your open mouth so that you can taste your arousal on him.
“a-ah!”
your voice rises another octave when craig’s hand is replaced by his dick, the swap so quick you barely have time to register what’s happening until his hips press against yours.
“so. fucking. tight.” he accentuates every word with a thrust, relishing in the way your head falls back. when you’re upright again, head midline, he presses a hot kiss to your mouth.
somewhere in between you squirting and craig breaching you, pope found himself undoing his belt buckle, shoving his hand down the waistband of his boxers.
and, no, pope can’t find it in him to be ashamed, to read into the deeper meaning of him only coveting things that belong to his brothers. craig is the last thing on his mind, far from it, when he grabs his dick and smears the pre-cum pebbling from the head all over his tip. it’s easy to forget that craig is there when he’s so busy imagining himself between your legs, imagining himself tasting you, imagining himself fucking you until you soak his boxers.
no, craig is inconsequential.
dry masturbation is always shitty but it isn’t about that. it’s about thinking about how you’d feel squeezing him like that, how you’d open your legs wider to accommodate him when he’s moving inside of you.
his hand passes over his dick in time with the way your body jumps with every thrust, his chest heaving to the same tempo as your shallow breaths. and when your moans morph into short gasps, he’s there with you too.
pope has to reach out and grip the edge of the counter next to him, knuckles white, when he finally cums. breathing heavy through his nose, he’s thankful that you aren’t shy about using your voice, your cries easily drowning out the sound of his pants.
“f-u-uck.” craig pulls out of you as he cums, watching as your orgasm leaks out of you and dribbles to the floor in a weak spurt. you’re too busy sitting there, hands gripping the sheets, mouth agape and eyes clouded with the haze of your afterglow.
pope is zipping his pants now, watching in disgust as he notices craig’s spend painting the patch of hair dusted over your pussy lips. his button is done, belt nearly secured around his hips when he catches sight of your face and does a double-take.
somehow, through the fog, you managed to catch his eye in the crack of the doorway.
and like the little minx you were, you waited a beat so that he knew that you knew that he was there.
then your tongue darted out to lave over your swollen bottom lip.
and you smiled at him, a full-on, shit-eating grin.
you recover by the time craig finishes admiring his work (he once told you that you looked hottest with his cum on you), drawing him closer to you by hooking one leg around his hip. he closes the space between you both, pressing his forehead to yours. your noses rub against each other for a moment as he brings you in for a kiss; short, sweet. it’s almost too intimate for a delicate situation such as this but then again you’re also washing his dishes and buying bath mats for his place, so. maybe that boundary has long been diminished.
craig opens his eyes to look at you mid-way into the kiss and notices that your eyes have wandered towards the door. pulling back, he turns to follow your gaze. he notices a gap in the doorway and immediately pulls away from your grabbing hands, more than a little pissed.
“yo, who’s there?” he asks. the usual neutrality in his tone is long gone now, replaced by something sharper. something aggressive.
“did you see someone there?” he asks when he turns back to you. the remaining post-coital bliss is washed away as if someone snatched a wool blanket from over your head.
you blink owlishly at him once, twice. shake your head hesitantly at first and then firmly after. but craig won’t be deterred. he feels the heat on his neck now.
his mind immediately goes to pope; how you told him that night that pope came visiting you both that the older man had caught you in the shower. how his confusion and then annoyance had been kissed away when you straddled him, assuring him that it was only for a moment before pope went to the living room to wait for him to arrive.
“who the fuck,” craig backs away from you and turns. his fist comes down on the dresser pushed up against the wall in the room, hard. you jump, your hands flying up to cover your mouth. “is in here, huh?”
craig is in front of the door in two long, quick strides, grabbing it by the edge of the wood and yanking it open. “pope, i swear to god—”
but he opens the door to find the bathroom empty despite the light being on.
he is thorough when he checks the room; even opens the shower door and peers into it twice. he takes a spare rag from the linen closet, runs it under the faucet, and returns to you. you’re still at the end of the bed, stock-still after watching his little rampage.
yeah, somewhere along the way the carefully-laid bricks of your “friendship” began to crumble. this is a simple fix, you thought to yourself half-heartedly, jumping as he runs the cool cloth over your sore clit.
~
pope made it all the way back to his car without stopping that night. then he proceeded to drive himself home in funeral silence, gripping the steering wheel like a vice the entire way home.
when he got to his house, he immediately locked the door, walked to the bed.
shoved his pants halfway down his thigh and let the image of you play behind his closed eyelids again and again. came twice, one after the other, at the thought of you beneath him, on top of him, on your knees in front of him.
Summary: The reader has to put an overzealous lady in her place.
Warnings: Physical altercation (slapping), typical intense/possessive Cody themes, and high-end club environment.
Word Count: ~2,540 words
#Youngho Masterlist
The line outside the venue stretched a full block down the sunset-stripped avenue, a crowded sea of people desperate to catch the eye of the selective door hosts. The club was a new, ultra-exclusive spot that hadn't even opened to the general public yet, running a private, invite-only preview night for high-profile clients, influencers, and local players.
You hadn’t spent a single minute waiting in that line.
Your promoter friend, Marcus, had texted you the VIP entry codes and table confirmation numbers three days prior, completely bypassing the security chaos at the front ropes. When you arrived, you pulled up with a literal entourage, joking to the boys on the ride over that they were finally going to be useful as your personal bodyguards. Baz had laughed it off with a smirk, Craig was entirely energized by the prospect of free high-end liquor, and Deran was just trying to see how an upscale club ran their floor layout.
Andrew, however, hadn't laughed. He had taken the "bodyguard" title entirely too literally.
As Marcus ushered your group past the velvet ropes and into the sprawling, dimly lit lounge, Andrew stayed exactly half a step behind you. He was wearing a dark, crisp button-down shirt that stretched tightly across his massive shoulders, his sharp blue eyes scanning the flashing strobe lights, the hidden exits, and every single face that lingered too close to you. His large, calloused hand was resting heavily against the small of your back, his touch a constant, grounding heat through the fabric of your dress.
You looked completely in your element, styled to perfection in a sleek, jaw-dropping outfit that turned heads the second you stepped into the VIP tier. Your silver jewelry caught the shifting neon purple lights of the club, and your hair bounced flawlessly with every step of your high heels.
Marcus led the group to a prime booth situated in the elevated mezzanine, overlooking the main dance floor. The table was already stocked with premium bottles of champagne and vodka chilling in heavy silver ice buckets.
"Anything you need, just text me, girl," Marcus shouted over the pulsing bass, giving you a quick hug before disappearing back into the crowd to manage the door.
"Damn, Y/N," Craig yelled, immediately dropping onto the plush leather curved sofa and reaching for a bottle of vodka. "Your boy Marcus doesn't play around. This place is insane."
"It's alright," Deran muttered, though his eyes were wide as he took in the massive LED ceiling displays.
Baz slid into the opposite side of the booth, a slow, deeply impressed smile playing on his lips as he poured himself a drink. "Yeah, I gotta admit. You came through tonight. Nice to know your standards actually pay off sometimes."
You let out a soft, amused chuckle, sliding into the center of the booth. Andrew immediately dropped down right beside you, his massive frame effectively blocking you off from the rest of the club. He didn't touch his glass. Instead, he rested his arm along the back of the leather sofa right behind your head, his fingers mindlessly playing with a strand of your hair, his intense gaze fixed entirely on your profile while the music thudded below.
For the first hour, the vibe was perfect. You leaned back against Andrew's chest, sipping your champagne and laughing as Craig tried to convince a bottle waitress to give him her phone number, while Baz and Deran quietly pointed out the local Oceanside trust-fund kids hanging out in the lower tiers. Every time a guy at a neighboring table tried to look your way, Andrew’s unblinking, lethal glare would snap toward them, instantly causing them to look at the floor. You loved it. It was the perfect balance of high-end luxury and raw, protective energy.
Then, across the VIP tier, you spotted a well-known local designer you’d been trying to network with for weeks. He was standing by the glass railing, talking to a small group of people.
"I'll be right back," you murmured to Andrew, setting your champagne flute down on the table. "I see someone I need to speak to about a collaboration I want to do."
Andrew’s hand instantly tightened in your hair before he let go, his face darkening with a sudden flare of restlessness. "I'll go with you."
"No, stay here, relax," you smiled, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his tense jawline, feeling the hard muscle twitch under your lips. "It's a professional conversation. I'll be five minutes. Watch my seat."
Andrew swallowed hard, his blue eyes tracking you with an intense, suffocating focus as you slid out of the booth. He didn't sit back; he shifted to the very edge of the cushion, his entire body coiling like a predator watching its mate walk through a field of wolves. Baz watched him with a faint, amused smirk, while Craig was too busy pouring another shot to notice.
The conversation with the designer went flawlessly. You used your natural charm, your sharp wit, and your effortless confidence to secure a private meeting at his studio the following Monday. You were practically glowing with satisfaction as you excused yourself, smoothing down your dress as you turned back toward the VIP mezzanine.
But as you approached your booth, your eyes narrowed, and the pleasant smile vanished from your face.
A random, heavily made-up girl in a tight bandage dress had slid right into your section. Not only had she invaded your table, but she had sat directly in your seat pressed entirely flush against Andrew’s side. She had one manicured hand resting on the leather right next to his thigh, leaning in so close her perfume was practically suffocating him, her lips moving rapidly as she tried to flirt with him.
Andrew looked like he was about to murder her.
He was sitting completely rigid, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists on his knees, his jaw set so hard it looked like granite. He wasn't looking at her; his eyes were locked onto you as you walked back, his chest heaving with a dark, violent irritation. He hadn't said a word to the girl, completely ignoring her existence, but she was too drunk or too desperate to notice the lethal aura radiating off him.
Baz was watching the scene unfold with a thoroughly entertained expression, taking a slow sip of his drink, while Deran looked slightly uncomfortable.
You walked straight up to the booth, your high heels clicking sharply against the floorboards, the sound cutting through the ambient noise of the lounge. You stopped right at the edge of the table, towering over the girl as you crossed your arms, your dark eyes turning incredibly cold.
"Excuse me," you said, your voice calm, polite, and completely even, though the underlying sharpness was unmistakable.
The girl paused her giggling, slowly tilting her head up to look at you. She swept her eyes over your outfit, letting out a dismissive, passive-aggressive sniff as she adjusted her hair. "What?"
"You're sitting in my seat," you informed her, keeping your composure effortlessly, giving her one chance to fix her mistake. "And you're crowding my boyfriend. If you could get up."
The girl let out a sharp, breathless laugh, rolling her eyes as she turned back to Andrew, entirely ignoring you. She reached out her hand, her long fake nails actually brushing against the fabric of Andrew's sleeve. "Ugh, whatever. He wasn't talking to anyone anyway. Why don't you go find another table, sweetie? We're busy."
Andrew’s blue eyes flared with a sudden, unhinged violence the moment her fingers touched his shirt. He started to launch himself forward, his massive frame shifting to physically throw the girl out of the booth—
But you were faster.
The utter disrespect, the casual dismissiveness, and the fact that she had actually laid a hand on your man snapped something inside you. The high-end, polite princess vanished, replaced entirely by a fierce, ruthless energy that didn't tolerate games.
*Crack.*
Before anyone in the booth could even register the movement of your arm, your right hand whipped forward, delivering a devastating, resounding slap directly across the left side of the girl’s face. The force of the impact was so loud it echoed over the bass of the music, instantly snapping the girl’s head to the side.
"Oh, shit!" Craig yelled, dropping his glass onto the table.
The girl let out a shocked, strangled gasp, her hand flying up to cup her stinging, rapidly reddening cheek. Her eyes were wide with pure, unadulterated terror as she looked up at you, her mouth hanging open.
But you weren't done.
*Crack.*
Before she could even form a syllable to protest, your right hand swung back in a flawless, lightning-fast backhand, delivering a second, equally violent slap across her other cheek. The double-strike was so precise, so clean, and so completely aggressive that the girl’s designer purse slipped right off her lap, clattering loudly against the floor.
"I told you to get out of my seat," you whispered, your voice dropping into a dark, terrifyingly quiet register that cut through the club air like glass. You stepped closer, crowding her space, your eyes blazing with an absolute authority that left no room for debate. "Get your trashy ass away from my table, and if you ever look in his direction again, I will drag you down those stairs by your hair. Move."
The girl completely disintegrated. The smug, flirting confidence she had two seconds ago vanished, replaced by a frantic, sobbing panic. Tears immediately spilled over her heavy mascara, smudging her makeup as she scrambled out of the booth so fast she nearly tripped over her own platform heels. She didn't say a word, she didn't grab her bag she just turned and ran away from the VIP tier, sobbing hysterically into her hands as she fled toward the restrooms.
The neighboring tables went completely quiet, a few onlookers staring at your booth in absolute shock.
You didn't even look at them. You calmly reached down, picked up your champagne flute from the table, and smoothed the front of your dress with a single, elegant sweep of your hand. You slid right back into your vacant seat, crossing your legs with a thoroughly smug, completely unbothered grace.
"Now," you said smoothly, taking a slow sip of your drink as if nothing had happened. "What were we talking about?"
Craig was staring at you with his jaw practically resting on the table, a wild, ecstatic grin spreading across his face. "Holy shit, Y/N! Two slaps?! Clean across the face! Man, you didn't even give her a chance to breathe! That was awesome!"
Deran let out a low, breathy chuckle, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. "Remind me never to get on your bad side. Damn."
Baz was looking at you with a newfound, deeply respectful intensity, a slow nod passing over his features as he raised his glass to you. He had always known you were high-maintenance, but seeing that raw, unbothered execution the absolute lack of hesitation when someone crossed your boundary made him realize exactly why Andrew was so far gone over you. You belonged in this world.
But nobody in the room was reacting more violently than the man sitting right next to you.
Andrew was staring down at you, his chest rising and falling with heavy, ragged breaths. The moment your hand had connected with that girl’s face, a chaotic, blinding rush of pure heat had hit him straight in the veins. Seeing you claim him like that watching your fierce, protective, and entirely lethal possessiveness trigger a physical execution in front of his family had completely unhinged him. His blue eyes were dark, dilated, and absolutely burning with a heavy, suffocating obsession.
He didn't care about the club. He didn't care about his brothers.
Andrew reached out, his massive, scarred hand wrapping firmly around your waist, his fingers digging into your hip through the fabric of your dress as he violently pulled your body flush against his side. He leaned down, his face burying right into the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your bare dark skin.
"You're mine," he growled low, his voice a rough, gravelly rumble that vibrated straight through your collarbone. His grip on your hip was near bruising, his large body trembling slightly from the sheer intensity of his desire to consume you right there in the booth. "You're mine. Say it."
"I'm yours, Andrew," you whispered smoothly, a beautiful, devastatingly smug smile playing on your lips as your hand came up to rest against his jaw, your fingers tracing the hard line of his cheek. You looked over at Baz and Craig, completely running the table while your boyfriend practically worshipped the skin of your throat. "I told you boys you were just my bodyguards tonight. However it seems, I can handle the heavy lifting myself."
Craig roared with laughter, slamming his fist on the table, while Andrew’s mouth crashed against the edge of your jaw, completely shutting out the rest of the club in his dark, possessive hunger.
me when i begin to uncover the abysmal depths of imperialism & settler colonisalism with focus on the native american genocides and massacres by the so called enlightened and free west (as mirrored word for word in palestine by israel) as well as inciting and funding proxy wars and jsut the concept of 'preemptive' war crimes as a means to peace, additionally the long and violent history of western specifically american interference in foreign elections and the facilitating of fascist regimes that maintain the imperial cores stronghold on the world and its resources all under the guise of pure unadulterated democracy and desire for freedom. to name a few:
how in the goddamn fuck. how much longer. how much more.
Black!raquelle!reader is an over-the-top, dramatic, self-absorbed girl. She doesn't put up with anyone's bullshit, especially when she's being nice to them in the first place. She's quick to catch an attitude as soon as somebody does something she doesn't like. She works as a hair and nail stylists while working towards getting her bachelor's degree. She loves kids, especially her sister's, and she hopes to have kids someday. She doesn't act like her usual self with the people she loves, instead, she's more calm, kind, considerate of other people, and unbelievably shy. She smokes and get's all itchy when she's anxious. You will usually see her paired with Onyankopon or Connie, but mostly Onyankopon.
am i a naive fool for imagining that big hideous brute simon might go soft for his bride eventually … .. im a sucker for the gentle beast trope
the thing about big hideous brute simon is that he is already "soft" for his bride in that he doesn't beat her, threaten to kill her, or allow anyone else to. everyone- price included- assumed he'd rip her to shreds and leave her broken, bruised corpse in a heap outside the door to his chambers. the fact that he hasn't, that she not only survives the bedding but also walks away with a minor limp has the maesters uttering things about miracles.
this man is violence and cruelty made manifest, and the fact that he merely fucks and terrorizes her psychologically is as sweet as he's ever going to get
Life when your thick fat black girl who's not religious but respects everyone and their beliefs, a bisexual freak, reading and writing fanfics because fuck it we ball, knows her worth, amazing at shit-talking, doing what she wants, and doesn't have some dusty nigga holding you back from life:
would loveeeeee to hear more of ur thoughts on fauxcest with ony milkipie !! :00
i see ony bein likeeeeee . . a 32 yr old kingpin known all ovr da country . fbi && dea’z alwyz on his ass but he’z so slippery — dey nvr have enough concrete evidence 2 throw him in the pin .
i don’t even hv a lot of thoughts . . jus a lot of Dialogue i can hear him sayin .
like , say reader keeps arguing w him after he’z already shut the convo down . him askin her , “yo, you still talkin’?”
“i jus—“
“nah. go sit down.”
“but—“
“what the fuck did i jus say?”
reader poutin about somethin she rllie wants, he’d mumble “cut it out.”
“what?”
“you know what you doin’ . . . dada ain’t fallin’ for it.”
I've said it before and I will say it again the 141 are not immune to the joy of doing USAmerican redneck shit. ghost would take one look at a marines booth pull up bar and take it as a personal mission to be asked to stop. the marines are sweating. get off the bar dude. there's a crowd. he will not stop until he is bodily removed and he very much doubts anyone of these pretty recruiters wants to be the one to try and fight the boogeyman
_summary: ur bf gojo, one of the most popular camboys rn, brings you on his stream to show his viewers different ways to make a girl cum.
_warnings: teacher!jo?, fingering, a bit of nipple play
soleil is now playing: doctor [doja cat] | part 1 | part 2 | part 3
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LESSON 1: HOW TO FINGER UR GIRL! ft my gf :) @gojosatoru
you still don’t know how he talked you into this.
one minute you were saying absolutely not, and the next you were watching him set up his ring light with that stupidly pretty face and that look smug ass look.
he’s shirtless. slutty low slung black sweats, white hair falling soft over his forehead, two cameras pointing towards his gaming chair.
“alright chat, y’all have been in my comments for weeks! so yeah… my girlfriend’s here. try not to be too jealous.” you try not to laugh at how crazy this is.
he kinda gestures to you like you’re a prize on a game show and you wave shyly, hearing pings go off like crazy.
he pulls you close from behind, chin hooking over your shoulder, mouth near your ear. “just relax, okay?” he murmurs, just for you.
one second you’re still half dressed, the next you’re completely naked, skin prickling under the lights as he guides you into his big gaming chair. he stands behind it, already looking in the camera.
“first way to make a girl cum,” Gojo says to the camera, voice smooth and instructional even as his fingers find your nipples, pinching them hard enough to make you gasp, “is by fingering her right. and obviously, everything should be consensual and respectful.” he gives your tits a firm, appreciative squeeze, rolling the sensitive peaks between his fingers. “but once you’ve got permission? you can be as nasty as you want.”
he pinches again, just to make you whine. “nipple play is criminally underrated. write that down, chat.”
the comments are moving too fast for you to even read. you can see the numbers climbing in your peripheral vision, but you also want to die of embarrassment.
his breath is hot against your ear as he leans down, still talking to the stream like you’re just a prop for his little lesson. two long fingers drag slowly down your stomach, and you can already feel how wet you are, thighs instinctively parting for him.
Gojo’s hands slide down, fingers curling under your thighs and hooking them back, opening you up to the camera. the light catches the slick shine between your legs, your panties tugged to the side, exposing everything.
“look at that,” he murmurs, almost to himself, but the mic picks it up crystal clear.
he spreads your folds slowly with two fingers, watching the way they part, the way your arousal strings between them. then he drags his middle finger up, from your entrance to your clit, pressing flat against the sensitive nub before sliding back down.
“this is the basics,” he says, voice a low rumble against your ear as his hand works between your legs. “you start slow, listen to her, tease her. let her get used to the sensation before you really go in.”
he switches to his thumb, rubbing tight, wet circles over your clit while his other fingers dip lower, teasing your entrance without pushing in. your breath hitches, a shaky exhale escaping as you press yourself deeper into the chair.
"alright, watch," he says, voice dropping into a calm, instructional tone. his eyes flick to the camera, then back down to where his fingers work. "right now I'm applying steady pressure. see how she's shivering?"
you pout up at Gojo, slightly embarrassed that your pussy is on display for thousands to see. but oh well.
a donation pops up on the screen, flashing.
$2,000- @monstrousdcktoji: FINGER HER ALREADY U BLUE EYED FUCKER
"second rule," he chuckles, "once she's wet and sensitive? you can switch to direct stimulation, but slow. like this."
he slides his middle finger down, gathering slickness from your entrance, then brings it back up to circle your clit with deliberate precision. the pad of his finger glides through wet folds, tracing the hood.
your hips buck involuntarily, trying to chase more pressure. “toruu!” you mumble impatiently, closing your mouth as soon as his finger presses down a bit harder.
"yeah, there she is," he chuckles. "her body knows what it wants. but i'm in charge of giving it to her." you wanna roll your eyes so bad.
"now, imitation of what a tongue would do. use your fingers to trace the shape of her clit. circle. don't jab too much."
he demonstrates, two lazy, wet circles around your clit, then a soft downward stroke. the tip of his middle finger dips into your entrance just barely, teasing, then slides back up. over and over. a rhythm that makes your stomach tighten and your cunt leak all over his chair.
"you prep ‘em with lube or natural wetness… then you go slow."
he watches your face the whole time, furrowed brows, the tiny whine slipping past your lips like a sigh.
"see?" he explains calmly into the mic, "you don’t just jam your fingers in there. that’d hurt." a second finger joins and he presses them both in together carefully. not forcefully, just gradually stretching as you adjust around him.
you inhale sharply through clenched teeth thighs tensing against his palms where they're still spread open. and another quiet whimper escapes when his two fingers curl upward slightly inside.
"you hear that?" he says to no one and everyone,"that little whimpering? she likes it rough but not too fast… you gotta find your partner's rhythm."
$1,500- @purpleclu123: GO FASTER
Gojo smirks at the screen but obeys, the tips of his ring and middle finger curl slightly against that sweet spot deep inside. he watches your reaction like a scientist studying an experiment, how you arch subtly forward, how one hand flies from the chair down toward where he's touching… only for him to catch it mid air.
"nuh uh, no touching." he tsks like the big meanie he is, showing how nasty and creamy you’ve made his fingers.
“mm sorryy- fuck.” you whine, eyes focused on his hand’s movements.
“now you have to remember, not all girls like the same thing. some are realllyy sensitive and others aren’t as sensitive. some like it rough and some don’t. my girl likes it both ways, but if you’re rougher you gotta make sure not to hurt them.”
at this point your eyes are rolling back, bottom lip wedged between your teeth. “ffhuuck- toru.” you whimper, making Satoru coo in your ear.
Gojo’s breath hitches at the sound of his name whispered, all soft and desperate. the way you say it, half sobbing with your lip trapped between teeth? it hits him right in the chest. and in the dick.
he loves the sounds you make, your voice turning into high, needy whimpers because of him.
Satoru leans down instantly, pressing a hot kiss to your ear before murmuring,"yes baby?" his voice suddenly tender beneath that usually cocky tone.
“faster please?” you mewl, stomach in knots. he hums and you forget there’s actually people watching your boyfriend finger you.
"chat, she likes it fast when she's already wet... but if i were too rough right off? might scare 'er." he says into the mic again for content sake, though his eyes never leave your dazed expression.
you’re too fucked out to roll your eyes at his antics, hip movements growing more desperate. you try tiny lifts toward him whenever he removes his fingers completely, only for him to sink back in, and each time your front wall gets stroked by curled fingertips.
$300- @blueballs: kiss her already!!!
Gojo grins at screen but finally gives in without hesitation.
without missing a beat [because of course Gojo would prioritize this], he leans down and crashes your lips together.
warm tongues sliding against one another gently despite everything else being intense. it’s affectionate, loving even, amidst all this lewd content he’s broadcasting live to thousands of fans.
you whimper into the kiss as Gojo finger fucks you harder, making the mess between your thighs even worse.
“don’t you wanna thank all the viewers for donating? they’re watching for you baby.” Gojo says mischievously, watching your eyes struggle to stay open.
“ngh, aahh-thank you sooo muchhh.” you whimper out enough before he uses the pressure of his hand to grind his palm against your clit.
"i love when her clit gets all puffy… and her pussy starts leaking… and she can’t even do anything but take it." Gojo damn near cums in his pants talking about you.
“pleaspleaseessatoru im gon- fuck!”you cry out, squirting from the constant jabbing of his fingers against that spot.
$200- @blrbunny: omg make her squirt again
Satoru moans with you, mocking your mewls and cries. “fuckkk, unghh my pretty girl and this leaky fucking cunt. you’re so fucking adorable. ” he says, slapping your pussy hard enough to make you jump.
he keeps going, ready to rip a bigger orgasm out of you just for fun.
$1,000- @naoyawthebigcock: fuck her properly!! now
“you greedy fuckers are so impatient! that’s for the next lesson.”
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note: chat i’m back… i think😹 i lowk did not proof read so if u see errors? that’s not there ur hallucinating!!!! and i might start on the taglist soon but i hope u guys enjoy. xoxo soleil 🙊
