#AND THEY MAKE YOUR SKIN LOOK SMOOTH AUTOMATICALLY!!!

[ohvolewheredidyougo]

i was watching youtube and came across a short of someone applying a lip tint on their lips. it was so obviously filtered, it looked like a cross between cgi animation and the nimona movie. and yet, there were some people in the comments that were still arguing “no! it’s not a filter! some people’s lips just look this way! some people’s skin just looks this way!” so…a real person’s skin is pale as snow and looks like a renaissance painting, complete with the nonexistent pores? yeah, no. and nobody has lips without small cracks, unless they’ve gotten lip filler. it also just looked uncanny and fake. i can understand how some people fall for the really good filters, but this one was such shit that it makes me think that some of those arguers have not looked at a person in real life since 2019.

[oreo-creampie]

“𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦”

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! caught fucking and neither of you stop, sugar baby!reader, ceo au, light exhibitionism, light voyeurism, degradation/praise, impact play with a belt, choking with a belt, handjob, face fucking, satoru stick his thumb in your ass, cream pie, pain kink, collar and leash (they make one with the belt)

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧! Ceo!satoru gets caught fucking his sugar baby at work but he doesn't stop

The heavy door of Satoru’s office automatically slides open with a small click. On the other side is a beautiful man in a black suit with angular dark brown eyes and long black hair.

His smooth, gentle voice contrasts his cocky smirk. “Thought I drop by for a surprise visit, didn't expect to be the one surprised.”Walking into Satoru’s office, loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt. “Suguru Geto.” Standing in front of you giving you an eyeful of the outline of his thick cock.

Your pussy sinfully clenches, you want them both. Looking up at Suguru pleading with Satoru, “Don’t stop! Don't stop! Nnn feels ‘s fuckin’ good.” Your messy cunt lewdly squelches, fluttering around Satoru. Getting off on Suguru watching you take Satoru’s cock.

Satoru’s long, veiny cock is making a mess out of your cunt. You’re dripping down your thighs as he wrecks your cunt with quick hard thrusts. Filling you with intense body-tingling pleasure making your knees weak.

It’s hot the way Satoru grunts, “Fuckin’ cumslut,” Clenching Satoru, biting your lip when he needy whines. “Her cunt got wetter, she’s a beautiful cock hungry whore.” Sharply smacking your ass, making your cheek jiggle. Crying as sweet hot pain spreads from your cheeks to your needy cunt.

Suguru unbuckles and tugs on his black leather belt. Biting your lip when he loops it, holding it out to Satoru. “Use my belt on her slutty ass. We can see how long it takes for her cheeks red.” Fondling Suguru’s hard cock through his pants. His cock is so heavy and thick, his balls are large.

Satoru slowly drags the leather belt along your cheek. Anticipation builds, “Best pussy sleeve I’ve paid for. Don’t fuck her mouth yet, I wanna hear her crying.” Gliding his cock out.

Smack! Smack! Smack! The desk keeps you from running away from the fourth.

Satoru groans, “It’s so hot when she tries to run away." Smacking your ass harder with the belt. "Where do ya think you're going? Stupid whores like you get their asses spanked for being dirty cock loving sluts.” Jerking forward with each sharp belt crack, clutching the desk.

Another click of the sliding doors. “Damn choke her out with it too while you at it.” A handsome man dressed less formally in white collar and black slacks. Short black hair hangs in his dark ocean blue eyes. His lips have a defining scar.

Satoru informs, “The meeting is delayed by an incoming flight.” Your cheek is warm with sweet white hot throbbing pain. The desk is the only thing keeping you up. “Beautiful,” Smack! “Here is helping me release a little stress.” Satoru massages your aching cheek, dragging the belt along your spine to your other cheek.

Looping the belt around your neck, lifting your head up, and choking you. “Her mouth is free to use.” Satoru lines himself up, swiping his head between your wet lips. Rutting his cock in with a harsh thrust of his hips and a loud smack of skin.

Suguru undoes and pushes down his pants with his underwear. His cock is beautiful, pale with a soft tan at his cockhead. There are two thick puffy veins close together. You want to choke, suck and gag on Suguru's fat dick.

Opening your mouth for Suguru, Satoru squeezes the belt around your neck. You hear the clank of a belt hitting the floor. A rough hand grabs your wrist, and he spits on your hand wrapping your fingers around his cock. Thicker than Suguru, swirling your hand stroking his cock, your fingertips don't touch.

Satoru spreads your cheek apart with one hand. Spitting on your other hole, swirling his thumb then sliding it in. "Since you got here late you can have the glory hole when after Suguru." It's all going to your messy cunt, getting off on being their slut. Hoping all three of them cum in your cunt leaving a mess to drip down your thighs when you head home.

Clenching Satoru's cock, gagging on Suguru's, stoking Toji. You're a mindless, cock hungry mess with spit dripping down your chin. Slick trickles down your thighs smearing onto Satoru's balls when they hit your clit.

Tears drip down your cheeks, Suguru buries his cock in your throat. Your cunt clenches Satotu with each gag.

Suguru croons "Awww she's crying!" Sliding his cock out, you gasp for air but nothing. Toji slides your hand off his cock when Suguru steps aside. Toji smacks his heavy cock against your cheek smearing your tears. Taking your mouth in slow deep thrusts.

Lying limp, trembling on Satoru's rocking desk. Your lungs are screaming for air. Toji's warm cock dragging along your wet tongue. Stuffing his head into your tight throat with a rough grunt.

Satoru holds your cheek with his thumb in your ass. “Fuck! Using her like this! She’s the perfect pussy sleeve.” Loosening the belt around your throat, Toji pulls his cock out giving you a moment to breathe.

Holding your hand out for Suguru’s cock, still slick with spit. Slowly sliding and swirling your hand along his cock. Staying close to his sensitive head, swiping your thumb every so often to smear his pre-cum.

Suguru asks “Do you think she will be ready for round two when we finish work?" Following it with a breathy moan when you pump your fist faster.

Cupping Toji’s balls take his cock in your mouth looking up at him. Your back is arched, cheeks jiggling. "Look at her, she a greedy cock hungry whore." Gagging you with his cock the spasming of your cunt has Satoru whining. As he tries to keep his pace steady, fucking you harder.

The soft twitching of his cock and the pulsing of his veins with his thumb inside your ass gets you closer. It's his hot thick cum spilling inside you that makes your squelching cunt cum.

Satoru tugs the belt wrapped around your neck like a collar with a short leash fucking his cum deep into you. Smearing some of it cum with sloppy slow thrusts.

Satoru's hips smack your ass one last time before he bottoms out. Stuffing in some of the cum that follows his cock back in with his fingers. "She'll be at the door kneeling in lingerie waiting to be fucked like the slut she gets off on being." Thick cum dripping from your cunt as Suguru takes his place.

Oreo’s m.list

[elikajinnie]

Steal Your Way To My Heart - N.R (Part 1)

P: Bankrobber! Ni-ki X Fem!Reader

Requested by: @badtzsan (hope you like it <3)

Warnings: Teasing, Pursuing, Murder, Kidnapping, Violence, Obsession, Stalking, Flirting, Ni-ki just wanna cover you in jewels tbh.

Synopsis: Your life was boring—until a visit to the bank changes everything. Now you find yourself under the attention of one of the criminals. Now what do you do when the criminal's attention isn't just on the job but on you?

a/n: inspired by false alarm mv by the weeknd pr request :)

See request here

--

Your days were always underwhelming.

You’d wake up to the sound of your alarm, drag yourself out of bed, and go through the same motions: school, then work, then home. Over and over, like clockwork. And somewhere along the line, it became suffocating.

Each morning felt heavier than the last, your feet dragging like you were wading through wet cement. You found yourself staring out windows more often than not, watching the world pass you by. Same streets, same faces, same everything.

You craved something more. Something to set your blood pumping, your heart racing. You didn’t just want change—you needed it. The kind of adrenaline that would make you feel alive again, remind you that there was more out there than just this monotonous cycle you’d been stuck in.

But nothing ever happened.

You’d given up on expecting it. Change, excitement, anything—it wasn’t in the cards for you. At least, that’s what you thought.

Until one morning.

You were running late for work, your bag slung haphazardly over your shoulder as you weaved through the crowded streets. The morning rush wasn’t anything new, but you were moving too fast, too distracted, and you didn’t even notice the figure walking toward you until it was too late.

You crashed into him with enough force to make you stumble back a step. Your bag slipped from your shoulder, scattering its contents onto the sidewalk.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” you gasped, immediately crouching to gather your things.

“No, it’s my fault,” came the response, a smooth, low voice that made you pause mid-grab.

You glanced up, an automatic, polite apology ready on your lips—but it never made it out.

Your breath caught.

He was tall, towering over you even as he crouched to help pick up your things. Dark hair framed a sharp jawline, his skin smooth and flawless in the morning light. But it was his eyes that held you captive—piercing, intense, like they could see right through you. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe.

“You okay?” he asked, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

You blinked, snapping out of your daze. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry again, I wasn’t paying attention.”

He handed you your phone, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment. “Don’t worry about it. Happens to the best of us.”

You stood together, and now that you were face-to-face, the sheer presence of him was almost overwhelming. There was something about him that felt… off. Not in a bad way, but in a way that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. Like he wasn’t supposed to be here, in this moment, colliding with you.

“Well, uh…” you began awkwardly, suddenly hyperaware of how plain your uniform looked compared to how effortlessly cool he was. “Thanks.”

Before he could respond, the distant chime of your phone’s clock reminded you that you were late—really late.

“I have to go,” you blurted, clutching your bag tightly.

He smiled again, softer this time, and nodded. “Of course. See you around…?”

You didn’t answer, too flustered as you turned and hurried off. But as you glanced back over your shoulder, he was still standing there, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place.

You didn’t know it then, but that moment would change everything.

You didn’t know it at first.

How could you? To you, it had just been a fleeting moment, an odd yet strangely thrilling encounter with a handsome stranger. Sure, his face had lingered in your mind longer than you’d like to admit, but life didn’t stop just because you ran into someone attractive.

Day after day, you returned to your routine: school, work, home. And yet… something felt different. Subtle, at first—like a faint whisper at the back of your mind. You’d catch yourself glancing over your shoulder as you walked down the street, or feeling your pulse quicken when a shadow flickered in your peripheral vision.

But you brushed it off. You were overthinking things, you told yourself. It was probably just your imagination playing tricks on you.

You didn’t know that it wasn’t.

Because he was watching you.

The same guy you’d crashed into that morning. Day after day, he followed you. He was careful, almost eerily so. He stayed just far enough away that you’d never notice. Blended into the crowd so seamlessly that you’d never think to look twice.

But he was there. Always.

He saw the way you rushed into work, cheeks flushed from the cold or the stress of running late. He saw the way you smiled politely at customers, even when they were rude to you. He saw the way your shoulders slumped when you thought no one was looking, the weariness of your routine weighing you down.

He saw you.

And every day, he learned more.

Your patterns, your habits. The exact time you’d leave your apartment in the morning. The small café you stopped by occasionally, ordering the same drink every time. The way you lingered outside the bookstore window after work, staring at the same display of novels you never seemed to have time to read.

You were fascinating to him.

But it wasn’t just fascination—it was something darker. Something possessive.

And it wasn’t long before the distance he kept began to shrink.

One night, as you left work later than usual, the streetlights barely illuminating the empty sidewalk ahead of you, you felt it again—that nagging feeling, like someone was watching you.

You glanced behind you, but there was nothing. Just the empty street stretching out behind you, silent except for the faint hum of distant traffic.

You shook your head, scolding yourself for being paranoid.

But as you turned back around, you didn’t see the figure slipping into the shadows, just a few steps behind where you’d been standing.

He was getting closer. And you still didn’t know.

He kept his distance, always careful, always calculated.

Day after day, he followed you, studying every detail of your life like it was a puzzle he needed to solve. But he never showed himself. Not yet.

He learned the way you brushed a strand of hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought, the way your lips pressed into a thin line when you were frustrated, and the soft laugh you let out when you read something funny on your phone. He memorized your patterns as if they were sacred—your favorite routes, the way you adjusted your pace when the streets were crowded, and the shortcuts you took when you were running late.

And still, you didn’t know.

But you began to feel it.

The unease settled in your chest like a stone, heavier each passing day. You couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was there—watching, waiting. When you walked home at night, the silence felt too loud, the shadows too alive. You found yourself glancing over your shoulder more often, your heart racing for reasons you couldn’t explain.

But no one was ever there.

You started locking your doors twice before bed, pulling the curtains closed even though you’d always liked the city lights spilling into your room. You told yourself you were just being paranoid. That nothing was wrong.

But he was getting bolder.

One night, as you walked home, your bag slung over your shoulder and your headphones in, you felt it again—that prickling sensation on the back of your neck. Your steps faltered, your hand tightening around the strap of your bag.

You paused and looked around, the dim streetlights casting long, eerie shadows on the empty road.

There was no one there.

You shook your head, muttering to yourself about how ridiculous you were being, and picked up your pace.

Behind you, in the shadows, he stood perfectly still, his head tilting ever so slightly as he watched you disappear down the street.

He could have reached out. Could have closed the distance between you. Could have made himself known.

But he didn’t. Not yet.

--

The bank was quiet, save for the faint hum of the air conditioning and the occasional shuffle of feet. You sat on a plastic chair near the wall, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, half-distracted by notifications you didn’t care enough to open.

It was late on a Friday, and the place was nearly empty—a few tellers behind the counter, a couple arguing softly over paperwork, a man in a suit sitting near the door, tapping his foot impatiently.

You weren’t expecting much. Just another mundane errand to tick off your never-ending list of obligations.

Then they walked in.

The doors burst open, slamming against the walls with a loud bang that echoed through the room. You looked up instinctively, your fingers freezing over your phone screen.

There were four of them, maybe five—it was hard to tell in the chaos that followed. They were dressed head to toe in black, their faces hidden behind masks: a snarling wolf, a grinning clown, a featureless white face, and a grotesque demon.

And they were armed.

“Everyone on the floor!” one of them barked, his voice distorted through the mask, the barrel of his gun sweeping across the room.

Your heart dropped, your body reacting before your brain could catch up. You slid off the chair and onto the floor, your phone slipping from your hands as you pressed yourself flat against the cold tiles. Around you, the other people in the bank were doing the same—some crying softly, others frozen in stunned silence.

“Hands where we can see them!” another one shouted, their voice sharper, more aggressive.

You obeyed, trembling as you stretched your arms out in front of you. Your breaths came in short, panicked gasps, the floor suddenly feeling too hard, too cold, too close.

One of the masked figures strode past you, their boots heavy against the floor. You flinched as they moved, your body instinctively shrinking in on itself.

You tried not to look up, to stay small and invisible, but your gaze flicked upward for just a second—and you saw the wolf-masked figure staring right at you.

The mask tilted slightly, as if they were studying you. You froze, your blood running cold as your eyes locked with the dark voids of the mask’s eye holes.

“Keep your head down,” the figure growled, their voice low and menacing.

You dropped your gaze immediately, your entire body trembling as you pressed your forehead against the floor.

Behind you, one of the robbers barked orders to the tellers, demanding cash. The sounds of drawers opening, paper rustling, and the muffled sobs of a teller filled the room.

“Move faster!” another one snapped, slamming their hand against the counter.

The tension in the air was suffocating, every second stretching into what felt like an eternity. Your mind raced, a whirlwind of panic and fear. What did they want? Would they hurt someone? Would they hurt you?

You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe too loudly.

But amidst the chaos, a thought nagged at the back of your mind—this wasn’t random. The timing, the masks, the precision. Something about it felt deliberate.

And then, you felt it again—that same sensation that had been haunting you for days.

The feeling of being watched.

Slowly, carefully, you shifted your eyes to the side, just enough to see the wolf-masked figure standing a few feet away. Their head was turned toward you again, their stance unnervingly still compared to the chaos around them.

It was like they weren’t even focused on the heist anymore.

They were focused on you.

The chaos continued to unfold around you, the masked figures shouting commands and waving their guns as the tellers scrambled to fill duffel bags with cash. The sound of drawers slamming and the occasional muffled sob of a hostage filled the air, but all you could focus on was the crushing weight of fear in your chest.

Then the clown came closer.

You didn’t see him at first, too focused on staying still and small, but you felt the shadow looming over you. A pair of scuffed boots came into your view, stopping just inches from your head.

"Well, well, look at this," the clown mask sneered, his voice dripping with malice.

You barely had time to flinch before he noticed your phone lying on the floor, just by your head. He chuckled darkly, lifting his boot and slamming it down onto the device with enough force to shatter it into pieces. The crack of the screen echoed through the room, making you jump.

“No phones!” he shouted, crouching down just enough to get in your face. His mask’s grinning expression felt mocking, his gun now pointed directly at your temple.

Your blood turned ice-cold as you froze, your breath catching in your throat.

“What do we have here?” he taunted, leaning in closer. “You trying to be a hero? Huh? Recording us, maybe?”

“No!” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t, I swear!”

The barrel of the gun pressed harder against your temple, and you clenched your eyes shut, shaking uncontrollably. “You better not be lying to me,” he hissed.

But before he could say anything else, a hand shoved him hard, knocking him off balance.

“Back off!” the wolf snapped, his voice sharp and commanding.

The clown stumbled but caught himself, turning to glare at the wolf. “What’s your problem?” he spat.

“The money’s the priority,” the wolf said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not wasting time threatening some random girl.”

For a moment, the clown hesitated, his finger twitching near the trigger as he glanced between you and the wolf. You held your breath, terrified of what he might do.

Finally, with a frustrated growl, he stepped back, lowering his gun. “Fine. Whatever.” He shot you one last glare before storming off toward the counters, muttering under his breath.

The wolf lingered for a moment, his masked face still angled toward you. Even though you couldn’t see his expression, you felt his eyes boring into you, assessing you, as if silently telling you to stay put and stay quiet.

Then he turned and walked away, joining the others as they stuffed more cash into their bags.

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure everyone in the room could hear it. You stayed frozen on the floor, trembling, as the chaos continued around you.

Before you could even begin to process what had just happened, a gloved hand yanked you up by your arm.

“Get up!” a rough voice barked behind the grotesque demon mask.

Your legs wobbled as you were hauled to your feet, your body stiff with terror. “Wait—what are you doing? Let me go!” you stammered, trying to pull away, but the grip on your arm was like iron.

The wolf approached swiftly, his movements precise and deliberate. He didn’t say a word as he reached into his bag, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. You froze, your breath hitching as he grabbed your wrists, forcing them together in front of you.

The cold steel bit into your skin as the cuffs clicked shut.

“W-Why are you doing this?” you pleaded, panic rising in your voice.

The wolf didn’t answer. He only exchanged a glance with the demon, and before you knew it, they were dragging you toward the counter, your shoes scuffing against the tiled floor as you struggled.

“Stop! Please!” you cried, thrashing against their hold, but it was no use. They were too strong.

They pulled you around the counter, past the terrified tellers huddled on the floor, and toward a back door you hadn’t even noticed before. The demon shoved the door open, and that’s when it happened.

Gunfire erupted, the sound splitting the air like thunder. You screamed, instinctively ducking as chaos exploded around you.

The cops were here.

Bullets tore through the doorframe, shards of wood and plaster flying everywhere as the robbers scrambled for cover. The wolf yanked you to the side, his grip on your arm unrelenting as he pulled you out of the line of fire. The demon cursed loudly, returning fire with his assault rifle as the clown and the others shouted orders.

You were caught in the middle of it all, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it would break through your ribs.

“Move! Move!” the wolf barked, dragging you further back into the bank as the others laid down suppressive fire.

You stumbled over your own feet, the cuffs cutting into your wrists as you were manhandled left and right. The gunfire was deafening, each shot sending a jolt of terror through your body.

“Let me go!” you screamed, tears streaming down your face as you tried to resist.

But they didn’t listen. The demon shoved you forward, almost knocking you over, while the wolf kept a firm hold on your arm, steering you toward what looked like a service entrance.

“Take her through the alley!” one of the robbers shouted—maybe the clown, you couldn’t tell anymore.

“No time!” the demon snapped. “They’ve got the back covered too!”

More gunfire erupted, and you ducked again, your ears ringing from the sheer volume of the shots. The smell of gunpowder and fear was thick in the air, suffocating you as you were dragged further into the chaos.

The fire exit door slammed open, and chaos followed you into the cold night air.

Gunshots cracked like thunder around you as the masked robbers fired wildly at the police closing in from all sides. You stumbled as they dragged you forward, your wrists aching against the cuffs, your legs barely able to keep up.

“Cover me!” the demon barked, his assault rifle spraying bullets toward the flashing red-and-blue lights in the distance.

The wolf, still gripping your arm, yanked you harder, pulling you toward a white van that screeched to a halt just ahead. Its tires skidded on the asphalt, smoke billowing around it. The sliding door flung open, and you barely had time to register the driver—a figure in a grotesque zombie mask—before the robbers began throwing the bags of money into the back.

“Get in!” the clown yelled, his voice sharp and frantic.

You resisted, digging your heels into the ground as they tried to force you forward. “No! Let me go!” you screamed, thrashing wildly.

The demon growled in frustration and shoved you forward. “Quit fighting, or I’ll give you a reason to stop!”

Your body collided with the hard interior of the van as the wolf hoisted you up and shoved you inside. The smell of leather and gasoline filled your nose as you landed on your side, your hands still bound in front of you.

“Move!” the zombie driver shouted, his voice muffled but commanding.

The demon and the clown scrambled into the van, slamming the door shut as the wolf climbed in last, still holding his weapon.

The van roared to life, its engine growling as it sped off, tires screeching against the pavement.

You were thrown to the side as the van lurched forward, and you struggled to push yourself upright, your heart racing as panic set in. Outside the windows, flashes of blue and red danced in the dark, and the distant wail of sirens grew louder.

“They’re right on us!” the clown shouted, peering out the back window.

“Then lose them!” the demon snapped, slamming a fresh magazine into his gun.

The zombie swerved the van violently, narrowly avoiding a blockade of police cars as bullets ricocheted off the metal exterior. The robbers fired back through the open windows, their weapons deafening in the cramped space.

You pressed yourself against the corner of the van, your knees tucked to your chest as the chaos unfolded around you. Your ears rang from the gunfire, your body shaking uncontrollably as you watched the masked figures shout and fire, their movements chaotic yet disturbingly practiced.

One of the cops’ vehicles pulled up alongside the van, its siren blaring as an officer leaned out the window, aiming a weapon.

“Take them out!” the demon ordered.

The clown let out a sharp laugh, rolling down the window and leaning out with his rifle. “With pleasure.”

The van swerved again as he fired, the sound of bullets tearing through the air making you scream. The police car veered off course, skidding to a halt as its tires blew out, sending sparks flying.

“Hell yeah!” the clown shouted, slapping the side of the van as he ducked back inside.

The wolf, sitting closest to you, glanced your way. His mask tilted slightly, as if he were studying you again, his body unnervingly calm compared to the others.

You pressed yourself further into the corner, your breath coming in shallow gasps. “Please,” you whimpered, your voice trembling. “Why are you doing this? Just let me go!”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, the zombie yelled from the driver’s seat, “We’re clear for now, but they’ll be on us again soon! Where’s the next checkpoint?”

The demon pulled out a map, spreading it across the floor of the van. “Couple miles out. We ditch the van there and split up.”

“And her?” the clown asked, jerking his head in your direction. “What do we do with her?”

The air in the van grew heavier, the question hanging like a loaded gun.

“She stays,” the wolf said firmly, his voice low.

The others exchanged glances, but no one argued.

You stared at him, your mind racing. Why? Why did he insist on keeping you?

You pressed your back harder against the cold metal wall of the van, your knees drawn up to your chest. Every fiber of your being screamed to fight, to yell, to do something—anything—but you didn’t. You stayed quiet, hoping that silence would keep you alive.

The robbers kept moving, the van swerving sharply as the zombie masked driver navigated the dark streets. Every turn jostled you, the cuffs on your wrists digging into your skin.

“Are we clear?” the clown asked, his voice tense as he peered out the back window.

“Not yet,” the demon growled, his rifle resting on his lap as he reloaded. “They’ll catch up. We need to move faster.”

“They can’t keep up,” the zombie argued from the front. “I know these streets. We’ll lose them soon.”

The van fell into a tense silence, the occasional crackle of the police radio chatter outside filtering through the open window. You kept your head down, your breaths shallow, trying to make yourself as small and invisible as possible.

But the weight of the wolf’s gaze was still on you.

You could feel it without even looking up, the way he sat so still compared to the others. It was like he was watching you, studying your every move, even though you weren’t making any.

Finally, the clown broke the silence with a loud sigh. “This is getting boring,” he muttered, leaning back against the van wall. “We should’ve left her behind. Dead weight.”

You flinched at his words, your hands trembling as you clenched them tightly together.

“She’s insurance,” the wolf said coldly, his tone cutting through the air like a blade. “In case things go south.”

“Insurance, huh?” the clown sneered, tilting his head toward you. “She doesn’t look like much. What are you gonna do? Use her as a human shield?”

The wolf didn’t respond.

“Enough,” the demon snapped, silencing the clown with a glare. “She’s here. That’s the end of it.”

The clown grumbled under his breath but said nothing more, turning his attention back to the window.

You glanced up briefly, your eyes darting to the wolf. He was sitting across from you, his posture relaxed yet somehow alert. His mask tilted slightly, as if he knew you were looking at him.

You quickly looked away, your pulse quickening.

The van suddenly jerked to the side, making everyone lurch forward.

“Checkpoint’s up ahead,” the zombie announced, his voice calm but firm. “Get ready to move.”

The tension in the van grew heavier as the others prepared themselves, checking their weapons and adjusting their masks.

You stayed frozen, your mind racing. What would happen at the checkpoint? Would they let you go? Or was this just the beginning of something worse?

The wolf shifted in his seat, leaning closer to you. You tensed as his gloved hand reached out, grabbing the chain of the cuffs around your wrists.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you nodded shakily, unable to muster the strength to speak.

The van slowed to a stop, the sound of gravel crunching beneath the tires.

The demon opened the sliding door, his rifle at the ready. “Move,” he ordered, gesturing for everyone to get out.

The clown and the wolf exited first, guns drawn as they scanned the area. The zombie stayed in the driver’s seat, his hands gripping the wheel tightly, ready to bolt if things went sideways.

Then the demon turned to you.

“Let’s go,” he growled, grabbing your arm and yanking you out of the van.

The night air hit you like a slap, cold and sharp, as you stumbled onto the gravel.

The wolf was by your side in an instant, his hand on your arm again, steadying you. It wasn’t comforting. It was a reminder that you weren’t going anywhere.You were then half-dragged, half-pushed toward a row of hidden vehicles parked in the shadows of the industrial area. Engines roared to life as the robbers split up, each group climbing into separate cars.

The wolf steered you toward a sleek black car, opening the passenger door and shoving you inside with startling precision. Before you could even think of resisting, he leaned over, pulling the seat belt across your body and fastening it with a decisive click.

The movement was quick but strangely careful, as if ensuring you wouldn’t get hurt. You stared at him, breathless and wide-eyed, as he settled into the driver’s seat without a word.

The clown slid into the back seat, slamming the door shut behind him. “Let’s move!” he barked, his tone impatient.

The wolf didn’t reply. He simply started the engine, his gloved hands gripping the wheel as the car roared to life. Without hesitation, he pressed the gas, the tires screeching against the pavement as the car sped off into the night.

Through the rearview mirror, you could see the other vehicles peeling off in different directions, each taking a separate route to evade the cops.

The silence in the car was deafening, broken only by the hum of the engine and the faint sound of sirens fading into the distance.

You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, your hands clenched in your lap as you tried to steady your breathing. The wolf’s presence beside you was overwhelming, his calm demeanor in stark contrast to the chaos you had just witnessed.

From the back seat, the clown let out a sharp laugh. “Man, did you see the look on those cops’ faces? Like they didn’t even know what hit ‘em!”

The wolf didn’t respond, his focus entirely on the road ahead.

The clown leaned forward, resting his elbows on the back of your seat. “So, what’s the plan with her, huh?” he asked, jerking his thumb toward you.

You flinched, your shoulders tensing as his attention shifted to you.

The wolf’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, but his voice remained steady. “She’s coming with us. That’s all you need to know.”

The clown scoffed, sitting back again. “You’re getting soft, Wolf. Letting her ride shotgun like she’s part of the team or something.”

The wolf glanced at you briefly, his mask hiding whatever expression might have crossed his face. Then he turned his attention back to the road.

“She’s leverage,” he said simply.

The clown muttered something under his breath, but he didn’t push the subject any further.

You turned your head toward the window, watching the dark streets blur past as the car sped through empty intersections and winding back roads. The reality of the situation was beginning to sink in, the adrenaline fading just enough to leave you with a sick, hollow feeling in your chest.

You were completely at their mercy, trapped with no way out.

And yet, there was something strange about the wolf.

He hadn’t hurt you—not like the others. He hadn’t yelled at you, threatened you, or treated you like a disposable hostage. His actions were calculated, almost protective, even if you didn’t understand why.

But that didn’t make him any less dangerous.

The clown’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. “So where are we headed, anyway? Safehouse number two?”

“No,” the wolf said. “Too obvious. We’re heading to the fallback location.”

The clown groaned. “Great. Another night in the middle of nowhere.”

You didn’t dare ask what the fallback location was.

Instead, you kept quiet, your heart pounding as the car sped further and further away from anything familiar.

The engine roared as the wolf pressed the pedal harder, the car speeding down the dark, desolate roads. You gripped the edge of the seat with your cuffed hands, your body stiff as you stared out the windshield, too terrified to look anywhere else.

Behind you, the clown rummaged through the two duffel bags, his gloved hands pulling out wads of cash. The bills rustled as he counted, his voice loud and obnoxious in the tense silence.

“Ten grand, twenty, thirty,” he muttered, stacking the money in neat piles on his lap. “Damn, this haul’s better than the last one. Maybe we should hit banks more often.”

The wolf didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his hands gripping the wheel with calm precision.

The clown snorted, shaking his head. “You’re no fun, you know that? All business, no celebration. You could at least crack a smile under that mask.”

“I’m driving,” the wolf said flatly. His voice was low, steady, and completely unbothered by the clown’s antics.

The clown scoffed, shoving another bundle of cash back into the bag. “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Professional. Always the same with you.”

You glanced at the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the clown’s mask—a twisted, grinning face that sent a chill down your spine. He noticed you looking and leaned forward, his head tilting as if he were smirking beneath the mask.

“What about you, huh?” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “You enjoying the ride, sweetheart? This must be the most excitement you’ve had in your boring little life.”

You stiffened, refusing to answer.

The clown laughed, a sharp, grating sound. “Aw, come on, don’t be shy. You’re practically part of the crew now. Maybe we’ll even cut you a share.”

“That’s enough,” the wolf said sharply, his voice cutting through the air like a knife.

The clown raised his hands in mock surrender, leaning back in his seat. “Fine, fine. I’m just trying to lighten the mood. You’re such a buzzkill, Wolf.”

The wolf didn’t reply, his focus returning to the road.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as your mind raced. The clown’s teasing was unnerving, but the wolf’s silence was worse. He was an enigma—calm, controlled, and impossible to read.

The car swerved slightly as the wolf took a sharp turn, the tires screeching against the pavement.

The car sped down the empty streets, the hum of the engine filling the tense silence. After a while, the clown’s fidgeting grew louder, and you could sense his boredom brewing. He leaned forward again, resting his arms on the back of your seat.

“So,” he drawled, his tone laced with mock curiosity. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You hesitated, glancing toward the wolf, who showed no sign of responding. His grip on the steering wheel remained steady, his eyes locked on the road ahead.

“I asked you a question,” the clown pressed, tilting his head. The subtle way his fingers drummed against the gun in his hand sent a shiver down your spine.

You swallowed hard, deciding that staying silent wasn’t worth the risk. You answered him, your voice barely above a whisper.

He repeated your name, as if testing the way it sounded. “Nice. Bet you never thought you’d end up on an adventure like this, huh?”

You didn’t answer, staring straight ahead as your fingers fidgeted with the edge of your seatbelt.

The clown chuckled, the sound low and unnerving. “Not much of a talker, are you? That’s alright. Quiet’s good.” His tone shifted, becoming smoother, almost flirtatious. “But you don’t have to be shy with me. I’m not as scary as I look.”

Your stomach turned, and you instinctively leaned slightly closer to the door, putting as much distance as you could between you and his presence looming behind you.

Still, you managed to force out a stiff response, if only to keep him from getting more agitated. “I don’t really… feel like talking.”

The clown’s laugh was sharper this time. “Come on, don’t be like that. You’ve got a pretty face. Might as well use that pretty voice to keep me entertained.”

Your body tensed, the flirty edge in his tone setting your nerves on fire. Before you could react—or even glance at the wolf for help—the car lurched to an abrupt stop, the tires screeching loudly against the pavement.

The sudden motion threw you forward in your seat, your seatbelt catching you just in time, but the clown wasn’t as lucky. He pitched forward, hitting his head hard with a muffled thud.

“Goddammit!” he cursed, rubbing his forehead through his mask as he sat back. “What the hell, Wolf?!”

“The light’s red,” he said coldly, nodding toward the traffic light ahead.

The clown let out a disbelieving laugh, waving his hand dismissively. “You’ve never stopped at a red light before. What’s the deal?”

The wolf’s grip on the wheel didn’t loosen, but his tone dropped lower, sharper. “I stopped.”

The clown muttered something under his breath, leaning back in his seat with a groan. “Fine, whatever. You’re the boss.”

You stole a glance at the wolf, your heart racing. His mask obscured his face, but his posture told you everything. His shoulders were rigid, his breathing controlled but heavy, and the way his hands clenched the steering wheel made it clear—he was furious.

But why? Was it because of the clown’s behavior toward you?

The light turned green, and the wolf started driving again, the car moving smoothly as if nothing had happened.

The clown stayed quiet for a moment before letting out a huff. “Man, you’re wound up tight tonight. Need to relax.”

The wolf didn’t reply, his focus entirely on the road.

You could feel the weight of exhaustion dragging at you, your body craving rest, but your mind refused to let go. The tension in the car was thick, and every muscle in your body screamed for a break. But you knew better than to trust sleep around these men. The fear of what might happen if you closed your eyes was far too strong.

The road beneath the tires seemed to stretch on forever, and you blinked hard, doing your best to keep your focus. Every time you thought you might drift off, a sharp turn or the sound of the clown laughing from behind you pulled you back into reality.

Finally, the car slowed to a stop, the engine purring to a halt in the quiet night. You blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze of exhaustion from your vision, but you were still too disoriented.

The clown’s voice broke through your foggy thoughts. “Alright, we’re here. Let’s go.”

The wolf opened his door without a word and stepped out, his heavy boots crunching against the pavement as the clown followed suit. Your door swung open, and before you could gather your bearings, the wolf’s cold hand gripped your arm, pulling you roughly out of the car.

You stumbled slightly, your legs unsteady from the long ride, but the wolf didn’t give you any room to regain your balance. “Move,” the wolf growled, and you had no choice but to follow, your body moving instinctively even as your mind screamed in protest.

The wolf continued leading you, his eyes sharp and watchful as he guided you toward a steel elevator.

You tried to keep your breathing steady, but the fear gnawed at you as the elevator doors closed with a dull thud, the sound of the mechanical gears grinding making you feel even more trapped.

The elevator descended with a slow, jarring motion, your stomach lurching as you were pulled deeper underground.

When the doors finally opened, you were greeted by a dimly lit basement. Concrete floors stretched out before you, and the air felt musty and stale, like it hadn’t been disturbed in ages.

The clown’s voice echoed in the silence as he dropped the bags of money on a long wooden table. “First group here, huh?” He grinned, turning toward the wolf. “We need a bigger place if we’re going to keep up with the haul.”

The wolf didn’t answer him. His gaze never left you, and he moved toward a small door at the far end of the room.

“You’re staying here,” he said, his voice firm and low.

You didn’t have time to protest before he unlocked the door and shoved you inside. The room was sparse—bare concrete walls, a single bed in the corner, and a small desk against the wall. There was a single light bulb hanging overhead, casting an eerie glow over the room.

Before you could fully register what was happening, the wolf had locked the door behind you, his footsteps echoing as he walked away.

You stood frozen for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest.

You were alone.

Alone in a cold, unfamiliar room, trapped with no clear way out.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly in that cold, empty room. Hours passed—or maybe it was just minutes, you couldn’t be sure. You paced the small space, trying to think of some way out, but all your thoughts kept circling back to the same grim reality.

But just as the weight of your fear felt unbearable, the door to your cell creaked open. You didn’t move at first, too exhausted and emotionally drained to react. But then you saw him—the wolf.

He stood in the doorway, his presence towering and suffocating, his eyes dark and unreadable beneath his mask.

“Come on,” he said, his voice low and commanding.

You didn’t hesitate, feeling an instinctive pull to move despite the part of you that screamed to resist. There was nothing to gain from defiance—not here, not with him.

His gloved hand grabbed your arm firmly, pulling you out of the room with a force that left you no room to protest. As you were led down the dimly lit hallway, you passed the other robbers. They didn’t speak, their gaze on you. The clown sat lazily at the table, fiddling with a lighter, his gaze flicking up for a brief moment, but he didn’t say anything.

The wolf didn’t stop, dragging you forward with an unyielding grip. He grabbed a bag from the table without a word, his focus fixed ahead.

You were taken back to the elevator, its cold metal doors sliding open with a hiss. The same grinding sound as before filled the air as the elevator took you upward, the quiet hum of its mechanics deafening in the otherwise still atmosphere.

When the doors opened again, you were faced with the world outside, the harsh light of the morning sun streaming in. The wolf shoved you toward a sleek red car waiting at the curb, its engine idling, ready to take you away.

The sun had begun to rise, casting long shadows on the pavement, signaling the end of the night. The city was waking up, but you felt like you were in another world entirely. The red car’s door swung open, and the wolf pushed you into the passenger seat with a firm hand. He climbed into the driver’s side without a word, his movements swift and deliberate.

The car roared to life, pulling away from the curb as the wheels crunched over the gravel.

The wolf’s gaze flickered briefly toward you, but he didn’t say anything. He just drove, his hands steady on the wheel as the car hummed down the road.

The tension in your shoulders, the constant dread you’d been carrying, began to ease—ever so slightly. Your eyelids fluttered, heavy from the exhaustion you’d been pushing through, the lack of sleep catching up to you. You tried to stay alert, but it was harder and harder to keep your eyes open.

And before you realized it, your head dipped forward, your body relaxing into the seat. Your breathing slowed, soft and steady, as you drifted into sleep.

The wolf’s eyes flickered over to you, his gaze briefly softening as he saw your head resting against the window. The corner of his lips twitched into something resembling a smile, though it was hidden behind his mask. There was a deep sense of satisfaction that washed over him.

--

You slowly opened your eyes, the soft light from the window spilling across the plush linens. The warmth of the bed made you feel disoriented, almost too comfortable, and the moment you became fully aware of your surroundings, a cold wave of shock hit you.

You were in a luxurious hotel suite, the kind you’d only seen in movies or heard about from those who had money to spend. The room was large, with expensive-looking furniture scattered about, dark wood and gold accents giving it a rich, elegant feel. The bed you had woken up in was massive, the sheets pristine white and slightly crumpled.

You sighed, the weight of the confusion and fear coming back. Your body was sore, and you could still feel the faint remnants of exhaustion in your limbs. But somehow, it felt wrong to stay here. You didn’t know where here was, but it certainly didn’t feel like a place you should be.

With a deep breath, you slowly sat up, your feet touching the cold floor. After a moment’s pause, you decided you couldn’t just sit here, unsure of what was going on.

The hallway outside the room was silent, save for the muffled sound of distant chatter. You stepped out and walked toward the elevator, your mind racing with questions. You reached the lobby, the plush carpet soft underfoot, and approached the receptionist desk, where a young woman sat typing on her computer.

“Excuse me,” you said quietly, your voice still raw from the sleep. The receptionist looked up, offering a warm smile. “Can I help you?”

You hesitated for a moment, still trying to gather your thoughts. “I… I woke up here, and I’m not sure how I got here. Can you tell me what happened?”

The receptionist took a moment to study you, her gaze flicking to the key card in your hand. “Oh, I see. You were brought in this morning. A man dropped you off though he didn’t stay long. Just… dropped you off and left.”

You frowned, the confusion deepening. "Did you see his face?"

She shook her head, her expression apologetic. "No, he was wearing a hood. I couldn’t see anything and he didn’t say much.”

You sighed out a breath, feeling a strange mix of relief and frustration. Relief, because at least you weren’t in immediate danger, and frustration because you still had no answers.

“Thank you,” you said, forcing a smile as you handed back the key card.

The receptionist nodded sympathetically as you turned and walked out.

--

The days that followed felt like a blur of events, each one blending into the next. The shock of the robbery and the kidnapping seemed to hang over you like a cloud, the adrenaline of the event never fully disappearing.

The police had been persistent, asking you question after question, trying to get every detail you could remember. You recounted everything—what you saw, what you heard, how the robbers acted, how you ended up in the hotel.

But what unsettled you the most was the fact that the place they had taken you to—the hidden basement, the garage, everything—was now completely empty. The police had searched the location, but there was nothing. No traces and no leftover evidence. It was as if the robbers had vanished into thin air.

And when they tried to trace the hotel, it was the same story. The receptionist’s memory was all they had, and that wasn’t much to go on. A hooded man had dropped you off. No name. No face. Nothing.

The police had no leads, and you were left with nothing but your own confusion and growing fear.

You tried to keep going. You tried to move on, to get back to some semblance of normalcy, but the feeling that had surged through you—danger, uncertainty, that rush of adrenaline—was a hard thing to shake.

You’d always thought you wanted something more, something thrilling. But now that you had experienced it, now that you had tasted that kind of danger, it felt like an itch you couldn’t scratch. It wasn’t something you could walk away from. It was always there.

You went back to your work, your life, doing your best to keep your routine in place. But nothing felt quite the same. It was like you were constantly looking over your shoulder, waiting for something to happen, waiting for those men to reappear.

Some nights, the fear crept back in, and you’d find yourself unable to sleep, lying awake in bed, the images of the action flashing through your mind. And then there were those moments, when the rush, the thrill, would start to creep in too. You’d catch yourself staring out a window, lost in thought, wondering what it would be like to see one of them again.

It was dangerous, you knew. But it felt impossible to escape that feeling. Something about it was… addictive.

--

The morning sunlight filtered through your window, casting a warm glow over your apartment, but as you opened the door, the peaceful atmosphere quickly shifted. There, lying on the floor just outside your door, was a bag—an expensive-looking, high-end designer bag, its sleek material catching the light.

You tilted your head in confusion, wondering who could have left it there. Your heart skipped a beat as you crouched down and zipped it open. Your breath caught in your throat when you saw what was inside.

A piece of paper was folded neatly, the words scrawled in neat, precise handwriting: "Wear it for me."

The signature beneath the words read: Wolf.

A chill ran through you, but the bag was filled with more than just a note. Inside, you found an assortment of beautifully crafted jewelry—shiny necklaces, delicate bracelets, and a pair of earrings that sparkled like diamonds. There were also clothes—luxurious fabric, intricate stitching, and garments that screamed wealth.

You felt your stomach tighten, torn between the unease that bubbled up within you and the undeniable curiosity that had you looking over your shoulder. But there was no one in sight. No one watching.

You picked up the bag, feeling the weight of it in your hands. You glanced around the hallway, half-expecting someone to jump out at you. But nothing. No movement, nothing.

Stepping back into your apartment, you closed the door behind you, your mind racing. The room felt stuffy all of a sudden, and your hands trembled slightly as you quickly checked the news, hoping to find something—anything—that could explain this. But there was nothing. No new robberies. No incidents. The police reports hadn’t changed.

You looked at the open bag sitting on the floor in front of you. The glint of the jewelry, sparkling almost like it was teasing you. Each piece seemed to tempt you, daring you to pick it up, to try it on.

Your fingers hovered over the contents of the bag before you quickly pulled them back, shaking your head. This is ridiculous, you told yourself. It wasn’t safe, wasn’t normal. You didn’t know the Wolf’s intentions—what this gesture even meant.

You clenched your fists, forcing yourself to pull back. "No," you muttered under your breath. Whatever game the Wolf was playing, you weren’t going to be part of it.

Leaving the bag on the floor where it was, you grabbed your coat, slipped on your shoes, and headed for the door. You needed to get out, clear your head, put some distance between you and whatever this was.

--

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, as you decided to take a stroll, hoping the fresh air would clear your mind.

Walking, your steps slowed in front of a jewelry store. The display window sparkled under the bright lights, showcasing an array of necklaces, rings, and bracelets. The pieces were beautiful, elegant, and impossibly expensive.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the faint sound of footsteps behind you until a low, familiar voice broke through the quiet.

“Do you like what you’re seeing?”

You froze for a moment before turning your head slightly, glancing over your shoulder. Your breath caught when you saw him—the handsome man you had crashed into days ago.

For a moment, your mind raced, trying to make sense of his sudden appearance. He was dressed casually, hands tucked into his pockets, an air of confidence around him.

“Yeah,” you said softly, turning back to the window. “They’re beautiful.”

“They’d suit you,” he replied, his tone smooth, yet sincere.

You felt heat rush to your cheeks at his words, your heart giving a traitorous flutter. “Thanks,” you mumbled, looking away from the display and at the ground, trying to compose yourself.

There was a pause before he spoke again, his voice calm but laced with something deeper, something unreadable. “Jewelry like that... it’s meant to make a statement. To say something about the person wearing it.”

You glanced up at him, his gaze fixed on the display for a moment before shifting to meet yours. His eyes held yours, and for a second, you could feel the intensity behind them.

“Maybe,” you said cautiously, your voice barely above a whisper.

A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, as though he understood something you didn’t. “You don’t think it’s for you?”

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. “I’m not sure it fits my life right now,” you admitted, thinking about the bag sitting untouched back in your apartment.

His smile grew, but it wasn’t mocking—it was... intrigued. “Maybe you just haven’t stepped into the right life yet.”

Before you could respond, he straightened, taking a step back.

“Think about it,” he said simply, giving you a slight nod before turning and disappearing into the flow of pedestrians on the sidewalk.

You stood there, rooted in place, staring after him as your heart thudded in your chest.

Who was he?

After returning home, you let out a heavy sigh as your eyes landed on the bag still sitting where you’d left it. You crouched down and peeked inside once again, taking in the glimmering jewelry and the luxurious clothes.

Scrunching your nose, you muttered to yourself, What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

You closed the bag with a resigned huff and headed to the bathroom, stripping off your clothes and stepping into the hot shower. You let your mind wander for a moment, trying to make sense of everything.

After drying off and wrapping yourself in a towel, you walked back into your room. Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, drawing your attention. Frowning, you picked it up and unlocked the screen to see a text from an unknown number.

The message made your stomach flip:

"You didn’t like the gift I left this morning?"

Your breath caught. For a moment, you just stared at the screen, your heart racing. You typed a quick reply:

"What do you mean?"

It didn’t take long for the reply to come.

"I didn’t see you wearing the jewels."

You froze, gripping the phone tighter in your hand. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who it was. Your suspicion solidified in your mind as you began typing furiously:

"Wolf?"

There was no denial.

"Out of all the names you could’ve chosen, that’s the one you stick with? I’m flattered."

You huffed in frustration, pacing your room as you typed back.

"Why are you watching me? And why would you even give me this stuff?"

A moment passed before his next reply.

"I bought it out of the goodness of my heart, just for you. Thought you’d appreciate the gesture."

You rolled your eyes, fingers flying over the keyboard.

"With stolen money."

This time, his response took a little longer, but when it came, it sent a chill down your spine.

"You didn’t seem to complain when I kept you safe, sweetheart. Or when I made sure you slept comfortably that night."

You swallowed hard, glaring at the screen as your mind flashed back to that night in the hotel. Despite your frustration, you couldn’t deny the truth in his words. You were alive, and he had been the one to ensure it.

Still, you typed back stubbornly:

"That doesn’t mean I owe you anything."

His reply came quickly, as if he had been waiting for you to say it.

"Oh, sweetheart, this isn’t about owing me. I just wanna spoil you."

You stared at the message, torn between anger, confusion, and an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Your hands trembled slightly as you locked your phone and tossed it onto the bed.

And before you could stop yourself, you grabbed the bag, placing it on the bed. Slowly, you unzipped it and pulled out the clothes first—a sleek designer outfit that felt as expensive as it looked. Next, you took out the jewelry, laying it out piece by piece. Rings, bracelets, earrings, and necklaces all glittered under the dim light of your room.

You swallowed hard as you picked up the outfit and the jewelry, staring at them for a moment. What harm could it do to just try them on?

The thought tugged at your resolve, and before long, you found yourself slipping into the outfit and clasping the jewelry around your neck and wrists. You turned toward the mirror, almost not recognizing yourself.

The person staring back at you looked expensive, untouchable, like someone who had walked out of a magazine.

You tilted your head, running your fingers through your hair. Without thinking, you grabbed your phone, adjusted your pose, and snapped a picture.

Your thumb hovered over the photo for a moment. Should I? The thought sent a thrill of uncertainty through you, but before you could overanalyze, you sent it.

The instant you hit send, regret settled in your stomach like a rock. You thought about deleting it or throwing your phone across the room, but the damage was done.

Not even a minute passed before he replied.

"Knew you’d look good in it."

Your cheeks burned as you stared at the screen. Before you could respond, another message came through.

"You wear it better than I imagined. Stunning."

The compliment sent your heart racing. You quickly typed a response:

"You’re a psycho, you know that?"

This time, the reply was almost instant.

"Maybe. But I know a good investment when I see one."

You frowned, typing quickly.

"I’m not an investment."

His response came slower this time, but it hit harder than you expected.

"You are to me. Whether you see it or not."

Your stomach churned, and before you could come up with a reply, another message came through.

"Enjoy the gifts, sweetheart. There’s more to come."

You tossed your phone onto the bed, staring at yourself in the mirror again. You felt beautiful, sure, but at what cost?

The days that followed after felt surreal, like stepping into a life that wasn’t your own. Every morning, you would find another bag or box outside your door. Each time, the gifts inside grew more extravagant—more jewelry, designer clothes, expensive shoes, even a high-end purse that you’d only ever dreamed of owning.

The Wolf never let you ignore his generosity. His messages always followed soon after, asking if you liked what he’d left and reminding you to send proof that you were wearing them.

At first, you resisted, replying with excuses about being too busy or not wanting to wear such obvious luxury items. But he was persistent, and there was always an underlying threat hidden behind his charming words. Not explicit, but enough to remind you that he was watching.

"Don’t keep me waiting, sweetheart." "I just want to see you shine." "Humor me, or should I drop by and see for myself?"

So, reluctantly, you complied. You’d slip into the outfits, put on the jewelry, and snap a picture. At first, you tried to make it obvious that you weren’t enjoying it—standing stiffly, giving half-hearted smiles. But over time, as you caught glimpses of yourself in the mirror, you couldn’t deny that the attention made you feel… special.

And when you were out, you started wearing some of the items—not all at once, but enough to feel their weight on you. The Wolf noticed immediately, always commenting when he saw you through his texts.

"Everyone’s staring at you, aren’t they? They should. You’re breathtaking." "You belong in things like this, not the life you’re trying to hold onto."

But the feeling didn’t come without guilt. Each time you put on something he sent, you couldn’t shake the thought of how he got the money to pay for it. You knew it was stolen, yet here you were, parading around in the spoils of his crimes.

As you sat on a bench in the park that evening, sipping a coffee and scrolling through your phone, a message from him lit up your screen:

"You’re starting to enjoy it, aren’t you?"

Your fingers flew across the screen as you typed out a response.

"Enjoy it? What, being spoiled by stolen money and manipulated into wearing it? No thanks."

The reply came almost instantly, like he’d been waiting for you to bite.

"Sweetheart, if you really hated it, you wouldn’t be wearing my gifts right now. Don’t lie to me."

You clenched your jaw, glaring at the screen. You could practically hear the smug tone in his voice.

"I wear them because you keep pushing, not because I like them."

It was a weak excuse, and you knew it. So did he.

"Sure you don’t," he replied, adding a winking emoji. "That’s why you’ve been strutting around town looking like you own the place. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the extra confidence."

You rolled your eyes, fingers moving quickly.

"Confidence? More like stress from worrying you’re watching me all the time. Maybe I should toss this stuff out and be done with it."

There was a pause this time, long enough that you thought you might’ve finally gotten under his skin. Then your phone buzzed again.

"You wouldn’t dare. And even if you tried, I’d just buy you more. You deserve to look like the Queen you are."

Your cheeks burned, and you hated the way your heart skipped at his words. "Stop calling me things like that."

"Why? You don’t like being called my Queen? Or would you prefer ‘baby’? ‘sweetheart? ‘angel’?"

You huffed aloud, typing furiously.

"I’d prefer if you left me alone, actually."

"Hmm, yeah, that’s not happening."

You groaned in frustration, leaning back against the bench as his next message appeared.

"C’mon, don’t be mad, sweetheart. You’re cute when you’re flustered."

"You’re insufferable."

"And yet, you keep replying. Admit it—you like our little chats."

You hesitated, glaring at the screen. Part of you wanted to ignore him, to block his number and try to move on with your life. But another part—the one that felt a flicker of excitement each time his name popped up—kept you typing.

"I reply because you won’t leave me alone," you shot back.

"Mmhmm, keep telling yourself that. You’ve got my number saved by now, don’t you?"

Your stomach flipped, and your face burned. You hadn’t saved his number, but the thought that he’d guessed something so ridiculous still made you squirm.

"In your dreams," you typed.

"Oh, sweetheart, you don’t want to know what I dream about."

Your jaw dropped, heat rushing to your cheeks as you stared at the text before locking your phone, you shoved it into your bag with an annoyed groan. He was impossible, and he knew exactly how to get under your skin.

--

The bell above the jewelry store door jingled softly as you stepped inside, greeted by the glimmer of diamonds and gold under bright display lights. The store wasn’t too crowded—just a few customers browsing quietly, the sound of soft music humming in the background.

You wandered toward the ring section, humming to yourself as you peered through the glass. Your fingers brushed over the edge of the counter as you admired the delicate pieces—sleek bands, intricate designs, and stones that sparkled.

One caught your eye: a simple silver ring with a small diamond. The kind of thing you’d never buy for yourself, but it didn’t stop you from slipping it onto your finger to admire it.

The moment felt normal.

But that didn`t seem to last.

The sound of a door slamming open behind you shattered the calm. A sharp, angry voice boomed through the store, cutting through the soft music.

"Everyone on the ground! Now!"

Your stomach twisted as you froze in place, the ring still halfway on your finger. Panic set in as the store erupted into chaos—gasps, screams, and the clatter of someone dropping their bag as people scrambled to the floor.

Your head turned slowly, heart hammering in your chest.

And there they were.

The same robbers from the bank. The masks. The guns. It was like a nightmare replaying itself, except this time you weren’t just a bystander.

Your gaze locked onto him.

The Wolf.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

Behind the mask, his head tilted slightly, as if he were sizing you up, and even without seeing his face, you knew he recognized you.

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling as you raised them slowly, your mind screaming at you to do something, anything. But he wasn’t moving, and the longer he stared, the more you began to feel like his prey.

Then, finally, he spoke. His voice was low, distorted slightly by the mask but unmistakably calm.

"You really do have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, don’t you?"

The familiarity in his tone sent a shiver down your spine. You took a shaky step back, but his gun followed the movement.

“Stay right there,” he ordered, and his voice wasn’t as calm this time. It was sharp and commanding.

You dropped back to the floor, your knees hitting the cold tiles as the others watched silently.

"Good girl," he muttered, almost to himself, and though the words weren’t loud, they hit you like a brick.

This wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be.

The Clown let out a loud, exaggerated laugh as his gaze landed on you, his gun resting on his shoulder. "Well, well, look who it is! Isn’t this just too good to be true?" he teased, gesturing wildly toward you with his free hand.

You stiffened, keeping your eyes down as the other robbers turned their attention to you, their movements briefly faltering.

"Seriously?" the Clown continued, leaning against one of the display cases. "Out of all the jewelry stores in the city, you walk into this one? What are the odds?"

"Focus," the Wolf snapped, his voice sharp as he shoved a handful of necklaces into a bag. But his tone wasn’t as steady as it usually was—there was something strained about it.

A skeleton, standing by the door, glanced between you and the Clown. "What, you two know her?"

The Clown chuckled, his laughter high-pitched and mocking. "Oh, we know her, all right. She’s like our little good-luck charm. Wherever she goes, we hit the jackpot!"

You felt your stomach twist, the heat of their stares making your skin crawl. You tried to stay still, tried not to draw any more attention to yourself, but the Clown’s taunting made that impossible.

"You’ve got to admit," the Clown continued, his tone dripping with amusement as he gestured to the Wolf, "this is kind of funny."

The Wolf didn’t answer, his focus locked on the bags of jewelry as if ignoring the conversation altogether.

Then, before anyone could say another word, a loud pop shattered the air.

The glass window near the front of the store exploded inward, and a thick cloud of gas began pouring in. The cops had arrived.

Chaos erupted instantly.

"Gas!" the Demon shouted, covering his face with one arm.

The Clown cursed, dropping the rings he was counting and grabbing his gun. "We’ve got company!"

The gas spread quickly, making your eyes water and your throat burn. You coughed, trying to crawl toward the counter for some kind of cover, but you didn’t make it far.

Rough hands grabbed you by the arm, yanking you upright. You barely had time to scream before the Demon’s arm was around your neck, dragging you backward toward the exit.

"Shield!" he barked, his voice muffled.

"No!" you gasped, struggling against his grip, but he only tightened his hold, keeping your body in front of his as the store filled with smoke.

The Wolf turned sharply, his eyes—or rather, his mask—locking onto you. "Demon, leave her!"

"No time for this!" the Demon snapped back, holding you tighter as you kicked against him. "You want us to get out or not?"

The Clown was already firing shots through the gas, laughing like a maniac as the police closed in.

Your heart raced as you were dragged toward the back, your screams barely audible over the chaos. The Wolf hesitated for a moment, his gun raised, before letting out a growl of frustration and motioning for the others to move.

"Go! Go!" he barked, his voice laced with anger.

You were shoved through the back door and into an alley, the cold air hitting your face as the sounds of gunfire echoed behind you. The Demon didn’t loosen his grip, dragging you toward a waiting van parked at the end of the alley.

"Let me go!" you screamed, your voice hoarse, but your words fell on deaf ears.

The Clown opened the back doors of the van, waving the others inside. "C’mon, c’mon! Time to disappear again!"

The Demon shoved you forward, and you stumbled into the van, your wrists hitting the cold metal floor. The Clown climbed in behind you, pulling the doors shut as the Wolf took the driver’s seat.

The van roared to life, screeching away from the alley as the cops’ shouts faded into the distance.

You curled yourself further into the corner, trying to make yourself small, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. And then, out of the corner of your eye, you noticed something—or rather, someone.

Another woman.

She was sitting on the opposite side of the van, her face pale, her hair disheveled, and her body trembling. You recognized her from the store. She’d been near the necklace displays, standing by herself. You’d barely noticed her in the chaos, but now it was clear—she’d been taken, too.

Her eyes met yours, wide and terrified, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

The Clown, seated on one of the metal benches along the wall, noticed the direction of your gaze and snickered. "Ah, don’t worry," he said, waving his hand lazily. "She’s just along for the ride, like you."

"Why?" you croaked, your voice barely above a whisper.

The Clown tilted his head as if you’d just asked the stupidest question in the world. "Because she was there, obviously."

The woman flinched at his casual tone, her hands clutching the fabric of her skirt as she looked between you and the Clown.

"Let us go," you said, the words stumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them. Your voice shook, but you forced yourself to continue. "You don’t need us. We—we’re just witnesses. You got what you wanted—"

"Shut it," the Demon snapped, cutting you off. He was leaning against the side of the van, his arms crossed, the mask over his face making him look even more menacing. "We’re not letting anyone go until we’re in the clear."

You clenched your fists, anger flickering beneath the fear. "This is insane—"

"Insane?" The Clown laughed, leaning forward slightly. "Sweetheart, you don’t even know the half of it."

The Wolf’s voice cut through the tension from the driver’s seat, calm but firm. "Enough."

The Clown rolled his eyes but leaned back, stretching his arms out like he didn’t have a care in the world.

The van hit a bump, and you winced, grabbing the wall to steady yourself. The woman across from you whimpered softly, her eyes darting toward the doors as if she were contemplating throwing herself out.

"Don’t even think about it," the Demon muttered, noticing her gaze.

The van fell into an uneasy silence, the only sounds the hum of the engine and the occasional squeal of the tires as the Wolf took another sharp turn.

You looked at the woman again, and this time you spoke softly, trying to keep your voice steady. "Are you okay?"

She blinked at you, her lips trembling. "I—I don’t know," she whispered.

You nodded, your throat tightening. You didn’t know what to say. What could you say? Both of you were trapped, at the mercy of masked criminals who seemed to thrive on chaos.

The Clown glanced between you and the woman, a grin audible in his voice even if you couldn’t see his face. "Don’t worry, ladies. We’re taking real good care of you."

You glared at him, your fear momentarily eclipsed by anger. "Care? You call this care?"

The Clown laughed again, but the Wolf interrupted sharply.

"Clown, I said enough."

The Clown huffed, leaning back in his seat. "Fine, fine. Killjoy."

As the van turned into what felt like another narrow alley, you clenched your fists tighter, your nails digging into your palms. The woman across from you mirrored your fear, her wide eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Shouts and sirens blared behind you, the chaos reaching a deafening crescendo.

“They’re right on us!” the Clown shouted, gripping the edge of his seat as he leaned toward the back doors, peering through the small window. “There’s three cars chasing—no, four!”

The Demon growled, raising his gun to return fire out the back. Bullets shattered the van’s rear window, glass flying everywhere. You ducked instinctively, covering your head, your ears ringing from the deafening blasts.

The woman next to you screamed, clutching the bench for dear life, her face pale as a ghost.

"Keep them off us!" the Wolf barked from the driver’s seat, his voice sharp and unyielding as he yanked the van into a hard drift around a corner. The tires screeched again, the force slamming you into the wall of the van.

The Skeleton, who’d been silent the entire ride, crouched near the back doors with a rifle in hand. "I’ve got it!" he shouted, leaning out of the broken window to aim at the pursuing cop cars. He fired several rounds, the recoil kicking against his shoulder.

A loud bang followed as one of the police cars spun out, crashing into a parked vehicle.

“That’s one down!” the Skeleton yelled, a hint of triumph in his voice.

But his victory was short-lived.

Another pop of gunfire came from behind, and before you could process what had happened, the Skeleton froze, his body jerking forward violently. Blood sprayed against the inside of the van as he dropped his rifle, clutching his chest.

“No!” the Clown shouted, scrambling toward him.

The Skeleton gasped for air, his body trembling as he collapsed onto the floor of the van.

"Dammit!" the Demon hissed, grabbing the fallen rifle and firing blindly out the back. "They got him!"

You couldn’t take your eyes off the Skeleton’s body. This wasn’t just some action movie or heist drama. Someone had just died right in front of you.

The Clown muttered a string of curses, shaking Skeleton’s shoulder as if trying to wake him up. "Come on, man. Not now. Not like this."

But it was no use. He was gone.

The woman beside you sobbed quietly, her face buried in her hands. You wanted to comfort her, to say something, but no words came.

The Wolf’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "Demon, take the rifle and keep them back. Clown, sit down. He’s gone. We can’t stop now."

The Clown hesitated, his body trembling with barely contained anger, but he finally obeyed, slamming his fist against the metal wall before sitting back.

The Demon took Skeleton’s place at the broken window, firing round after round at the remaining cop cars.

The van swerved again, throwing you against the side. Your head slammed into the metal with a dull thud, and your vision blurred for a moment.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the gunfire stopped altogether. The van jolted to a halt in what seemed like another underground garage, and for a moment, everything was silent except for the sound of your own ragged breathing.

The Wolf killed the engine, his hands still gripping the wheel tightly.

The Clown was the first to speak, his voice hollow. “We lost him.”

No one responded.

What the hell had you gotten yourself into?

The Demon barked orders as they moved quickly, unloading bags of cash and weapons from the van and transferring them to a sleek black SUV parked nearby. Every move they made was quick and calculated, their boots echoing loudly in the underground garage.

You and the woman stood there, side by side, both of you trembling for different reasons. Her fear was evident in the way she kept shaking, her eyes darting everywhere like she was looking for a way out. You, on the other hand, were frozen in silent fury, your body stiff as you glared daggers at the Clown, who stood a few feet away, his gun trained lazily in your direction.

“Man, this was a mess,” the Clown said casually, his tone far too relaxed given the situation. He tilted his head toward you, his painted mask cocked like he was grinning beneath it. "But hey, look on the bright side—at least you got to hang out with us again. Bet you missed us, huh?"

You didn’t respond, your glare sharp enough to cut glass.

He laughed, as if your silence only amused him. "Still giving me the silent treatment? You know, you’re gonna hurt my feelings if you keep this up."

Beside you, the woman whimpered softly, clearly unable to handle the Clown’s twisted sense of humor. He turned his attention to her next, his voice mockingly sweet.

“Aw, don’t cry, lady. We’re not all bad. Well...” He chuckled. “Most of us aren’t great, but at least I’m entertaining, right?”

The woman shook her head, her lips quivering as tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Leave her alone,” you snapped, unable to stay quiet any longer.

The Clown turned back to you, tilting his head again. “There she is! Knew you couldn’t keep quiet forever.”

“Shut up,” you bit out, your voice low and venomous.

He let out a mock gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. "So cold! You really do know how to break a guy’s heart."

The Demon’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Clown, enough.”

The Clown shrugged, stepping back slightly but still keeping the gun pointed at you and the woman. "Fine, fine. No fun allowed."

After a few more tense minutes, the Demon slammed the trunk of the SUV shut, signaling that they were done loading.

The Wolf glanced over at you as he walked toward the driver’s side door. His gaze lingered for a moment, and though his mask obscured his expression, there was something unreadable in his posture.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

The Clown smirked, giving you a two-fingered salute before backing toward the SUV. “Well, ladies, it’s been real. Don’t miss us too much, okay?”

The woman let out a quiet sob, and you clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms as you fought the urge to say something—anything—that might provoke them further.

The Clown climbed into the backseat, leaning out the window one last time as the SUV started up.

“Oh, and one more thing...” He leaned out of the window dramatically, throwing a mocking kiss in your direction. "Mwah!"

You glared at him, your jaw tightening, but you didn’t respond.

For a few moments, everything was silent except for the distant hum of the SUV’s engine fading into the distance.

The woman collapsed to her knees beside you, her body wracked with sobs. You stood there, your fists still clenched, your chest heaving as you tried to process what had just happened.

--

The flashing red and blue lights of the police cars reflected off the damp pavement as the cops swarmed the abandoned van where you and the woman had been left. You watched in silence as the officers questioned her, her voice trembling as she spilled everything she could recall about the robbery.

After hours of questioning and paperwork, they finally let you go. Exhausted, you dragged yourself home. The weight of the day pressed heavily on your shoulders, but even as you sank into your couch, staring blankly at the TV screen, the adrenaline from the encounter still buzzed faintly beneath your skin.

You tried distracting yourself with a movie, flipping through channels until you landed on something familiar.

Then, your phone buzzed.

The sound made you jump, when you reached for your phone and saw the notification, your breath caught in your throat.

It was him.

"Miss me yet?"

Your heart skipped a beat. You stared at the message, unsure how to respond—or if you even should. Your fingers hovered over the screen, torn between ignoring him and diving into a conversation you knew you shouldn’t be having.

Before you could think too hard, another message came through.

"You didn’t tell them about me, did you? Good."

You sat up straighter, your pulse quickening.

"How do you know I didn’t?"

The three little dots indicating he was typing appeared immediately.

"Let’s just say I have my ways."

You frowned, your fingers tightening around your phone.

"Why are you messaging me? What do you want?"

There was a pause before his next message.

"Thought I’d check in."

Your lips parted in disbelief. Was he serious?

"You can’t just ‘check in’ like this. You’re a criminal."

He answered right after.

"And yet, here you are, replying to me."

Curiosity finally got the better of you.

"I have a question."

The reply came faster than you expected.

"Ask away, doll."

"All the stuff you’ve given me… the jewelry, the clothes, everything. Did you really buy it? Or was it all stolen?"

You waited, biting your lip, half-expecting him to dodge the question. But then your phone buzzed again.

"Bought. Every single piece. You deserve the best, not leftovers from a heist."

His words made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t want to admit. But still, you weren’t convinced.

"I don’t trust you."

"I know. That’s fair. What would it take for you to trust me?"

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Part of you didn’t even want to respond, but the absurdity of it all made you type before you could think twice.

"A mirror picture."

You sent it jokingly.

"Like the ones I’ve been sending to you."

There was a long pause, and you were about to type again when your phone buzzed. A photo popped up in your chat, and you froze.

Wow...

He was sitting on the edge of a bed, facing a mirror. Black pants hugged his legs, and a simple white shirt clung to his broad shoulders. Silver jewelry adorned his wrists and fingers, glinting under the soft light of the room. A chunky chain rested around his neck.

But his face was hidden—his phone held up in front of it, the sleek black screen obscuring his features.

Your breath hitched as you stared at the image. It was strangely intimate, like you were seeing a side of him he didn’t show anyone else.

"Satisfied?"

You blinked, trying to collect yourself.

"That doesn’t prove anything. Your face is still hidden."

"I didn’t think you’d want to see me yet. You might get hooked."

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks burned as you typed back.

"You’re so full of yourself."

"And yet, you’re still talking to me."

He had a point, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

"Don’t you have something better to do than bother me?"

"Not really. You’re the most interesting thing in my life right now."

Your chest tightened at his words, and you quickly changed the subject.

"You didn’t answer my question, though. How do I know the jewels wasn’t stolen?"

"You don’t."

You frowned, unsure if that was meant to be reassuring or not.

"This doesn’t make me trust you."

"That’s fine. I have time to change your mind."

You sighed, leaning back against the couch as you stared at his picture again. There was something about him.. something.

The days after that conversation felt… different. You didn’t know why you kept responding, but something about his persistence kept pulling you in.

His messages started coming more frequently, each one bolder than the last.

"What are you wearing today?"

You rolled your eyes at that one but still replied.

"I’m wearing jeans and a hoodie."

"Disappointing. I was imagining something more exciting."

"Get your imagination in check."

And then there were the voice memos. The first one caught you completely off guard.

His voice was deep, smooth, with an almost teasing edge to it.

"You’re always so defensive, doll. Relax a little. I’m not trying to hurt you."

The moment you heard it, your cheeks burned. You told yourself it was just the surprise of hearing him—not because his voice sent a shiver down your spine. Absolutely not.

You didn’t reply to that one immediately, hoping he’d leave it at that. But then another one came the next day.

"You didn’t respond to me yesterday. Are you mad, or did I just leave you speechless? Either way, I don’t mind."

Your fingers hovered over your phone, debating whether to reply. You told yourself to ignore it. But curiosity got the better of you again.

"Speechless? Not likely. I just have better things to do."

His reply came quickly, this time another voice memo.

"Better things? Like what? Sitting at home in the hoodie and jeans you wouldn’t let me imagine?"

You groaned but couldn’t stop yourself from laughing under your breath. He was relentless.

And it only got worse—or better, depending on how you looked at it.

One night, as you were scrolling on your phone, a longer voice memo came through. You hesitated before pressing play.

"You know," he began, his tone softer but still carrying that teasing lilt, "you don’t have to keep playing hard to get. I like this game, sure, but I’m patient. I’ve got all the time in the world to win you over."

Your stomach flipped, and you hated how much his words affected you.

"Win me over? You’re delusional."

He sent a message almost immediately.

"Maybe. But I think you’re starting to like it. Admit it, doll."

You didn’t admit anything, of course. But the truth was, you hadn’t stopped thinking about him—not his words, not his voice, not the way he made you feel.

And that terrified you. Because even though you tried to ignore it, you were starting to enjoy the attention. Starting to crave it, even.

But how could you let yourself fall for someone like him? Someone dangerous, mysterious, and so clearly off-limits?

You didn’t know. But what scared you most was that part of you didn’t care anymore.

--

You were crouched in the back of the store, stocking shelves. It had been a quiet day, and you were lost in your routine, mindlessly organizing items when you heard it—a voice that froze you in place.

"You’re really good at this, you know. Stocking shelves. Very meticulous."

Your breath caught in your throat. That voice. That smooth, teasing voice you’d come to recognize through late-night messages and voice memos.

You turned slowly, heart hammering, and there he was. The guy you had crashed into on the street. The same guy who had flustered you outside the jewelry store. But now, seeing him up close, hearing his voice—his voice—everything came crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

It was the Wolf.

Your lips parted, your instinct to scream taking over, but before you could make a sound, his hand clamped over your mouth. His other arm snaked around your waist, pulling you in close.

"Shh, doll," he whispered, his voice low and calm, but there was a hint of steel beneath it. "Let’s not make a scene."

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could feel it against his chest. You struggled against his hold, your mind racing with panic, anger, and disbelief.

"I knew I’d run into you eventually," he continued, his voice soft but dripping with that familiar smugness. "Though I didn’t expect it to be while you were busy stacking shelves."

You glared at him, your muffled protests pushing against his palm.

"If I let go, are you going to scream?" he asked, tilting his head as if he were genuinely curious.

You nodded furiously, and he chuckled.

"Honest. I like that about you."

You squirmed harder, and finally, he sighed, leaning in closer. His lips were almost brushing your ear now, and his voice dropped to a whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

"Scream if you want, doll. But just know, if you do, I’ll have to leave. And we wouldn’t want that, would we?"

The way he said it wasn’t a threat—it was a promise, one that left you frozen in place. Slowly, he removed his hand from your mouth, watching you intently as if daring you to make a move.

You didn’t scream. You couldn’t.

"That’s my girl," he said with a smirk, his arm still loosely wrapped around your waist.

"What the hell are you doing here?" you hissed, your voice low but trembling.

"Shopping," he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "And maybe visiting you. Call it multitasking."

You pushed against his chest, breaking free of his hold, and he let you go, though his smirk didn’t falter.

"You’re insane," you spat, taking a step back, your voice rising slightly.

"And yet, here we are," he said, leaning casually against the shelf as if this was all perfectly normal.

You wanted to yell, to shove him out of the store, but all you could do was stare, your mind still reeling. The man who had been sending you messages, giving you gifts, teasing you relentlessly—he wasn’t some untouchable figure. He was here. Right in front of you.

And he was everything you feared he would be. Charming. Dangerous. And completely unapologetic.

You turned away from him, your hands trembling as you grabbed the next item to stock. You focused on the task, willing your racing heart to calm down. Maybe if you ignored him, he’d get bored and leave.

"You’re just going to pretend I’m not here?" His voice was laced with amusement. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was still watching you, his gaze burning into the back of your head. "I didn’t take you for the silent treatment type, doll."

You clenched your jaw, refusing to rise to his bait.

He chuckled softly. "Come on. I get points for effort, don’t I? I’ve been nothing but generous. All those gifts, all those messages... and this is how you treat me?"

You slammed a box of items onto the shelf a little too hard, the sound echoing through the aisle.

"Careful," he said, his tone mocking concern. "You’re going to break something. And then what? Do I have to buy the whole shelf to make it up to you?"

You finally spun around, glaring at him. "What do you want?"

He grinned, clearly enjoying how easily you snapped. "What do I want? That’s a loaded question." He stepped closer, his movements unhurried and deliberate. "But right now? I just want you."

You stared at him, trying to figure out if he was serious—or just messing with you. The way he leaned casually against the shelf, arms crossed, he looked completely at ease, like this was just another day for him.

"You’re insane," you muttered, turning back to your work.

"You’ve said that already," he teased. "It’s starting to sound like a compliment."

You didn’t respond, focusing on stacking the last of the items in the box. He stayed quiet for a moment, and you thought—hoped—he might finally leave.

But of course, he didn’t.

"You know," he started again, "I’ve been picturing this for a while. You, working. Me watching you." His voice dropped slightly, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. "Roles reversed for once."

You threw him a sharp glare over your shoulder. "Do you ever stop talking?"

He smirked. "Only when there’s a good reason to."

You rolled your eyes and turned back to the shelf, but you could feel the heat of his gaze following your every movement.

"You’re cute when you’re mad, by the way," he added. "But you probably already knew that."

You ignored him, determined not to let him get under your skin any more than he already had.

But as much as you hated to admit it, you couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat every time he spoke.

You froze as his arm suddenly came up, caging you between the shelf and his body. His other hand rested casually on the edge of the shelf near your head, but there was nothing casual about the way he leaned in, his eyes locked onto yours.

"I’m talking to you, doll," he said, his voice low and teasing. "I don’t like being ignored."

You swallowed hard, glancing around the store, your mind racing. There was no one else in this section—just the two of you.

"What are you doing?" you hissed, trying to keep your voice steady, but your nerves betrayed you.

"Getting your attention," he said simply, tilting his head as his eyes roamed over your face. "Because you’re clearly trying to avoid me, and that’s no fun."

You tried to step back, but the shelf pressed against your spine. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, and the faint scent of his cologne invaded your senses, disorienting you.

"You can’t just—just do this," you stammered, your hands hovering awkwardly at your sides, unsure whether to push him away or keep them where they were.

"Why not?" he asked, his tone infuriatingly calm. His eyes flicked down to your lips for the briefest moment before meeting your gaze again. "It’s not like you’ve told me to stop."

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. He smiled, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

"So, here’s the deal," he said, leaning in just a little closer. His voice dropped to a near whisper, sending a shiver down your spine. "I’m asking you out. Right here, right now."

Your eyes widened. "You’re what?"

"You heard me," he said, his smile widening. "Let me take you out. Dinner, drinks, whatever you want."

You blinked at him, your mind scrambling to process his words. Of all the things he could have said, this was the last thing you expected.

"You’re insane," you finally muttered, trying to look anywhere but at him.

"You’ve mentioned that," he replied with a chuckle. "But you didn’t say no."

"No," you said quickly, finally finding your voice.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. "Is that your final answer?"

"Yes," you snapped, though it came out weaker than you’d intended.

His smirk didn’t falter. If anything, it grew. "We’ll see about that," he murmured, leaning back slightly, though he didn’t move away entirely. "I’ve got time."

You glared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. "I don’t."

"Then I’ll just have to be quick, won’t I?" he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Before stepping back entirely, his hand darted out, catching yours in his grip. You tensed, your instinct telling you to pull away, but his hold was firm yet strangely gentle. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, lingering on the ring you’d forgotten you were wearing—the one he had sent in a gift bag just a few days ago.

"Ah," he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he admired it. "You kept it. You do like my gifts, after all."

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could say anything, he bent down, his lips brushing the back of your hand in a kiss that sent a jolt through your body.

"Perfect fit," he murmured as he straightened, his smirk firmly in place. "Looks even better on you than I imagined."

Your face flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger. "What is wrong with you?" you hissed, yanking your hand away and cradling it to your chest like it had been burned.

He just chuckled, his gaze never leaving yours as he took a slow step back. "You’ll come around, doll," he said, his confidence maddening.

"Not in a million years," you snapped.

"We’ll see," he said, winking before turning and walking away, his casual stride making it seem like he didn’t have a care in the world.

You stood there for a moment, staring after him, your hand still pressed against your chest.

After that it was relentless. Every time your phone buzzed, you knew it was him. The texts came like clockwork: teasing remarks, flirtatious comments, and, without fail, him asking you out. You rejected him every time, telling him no, reminding him this was never going to happen, but he never seemed fazed.

He started showing up. At first, it was just at your job. He’d stroll in like he owned the place, leaning casually against the counter, that smirk of his permanently etched on his face. He’d make small talk, tease you, and then, inevitably, ask, "Dinner tonight?"

"No," you’d reply sharply, barely sparing him a glance as you went about your work.

"One day, you’ll say yes," he’d say confidently before leaving, and it drove you insane.

Then he escalated.

The first time he showed up outside your school, you almost screamed. You had just stepped out of the building when you saw him leaning against a sleek black car, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on his nose.

"What are you doing here!?" you asked, narrowing your eyes as you stopped a few feet away from him.

"Figured I’d give you a ride home," he said nonchalantly, tilting his head toward the car.

"I don’t need a ride," you said, crossing your arms.

"Didn’t ask if you needed one," he replied smoothly, opening the passenger door with a casual flourish. "Get in."

"No."

He sighed dramatically, removing his sunglasses and looking at you with those piercing eyes of his. "Look, we can stand here all day, or you can get in the car. Your choice, doll."

You glared at him, your stubbornness clashing with his. But as the minutes ticked by and other students started to glance your way, you finally relented with a huff. "Fine."

"Knew you’d see reason," he said with a grin as you climbed into the car.

The bickering didn’t stop there. You told him repeatedly to leave you alone, to stop showing up, but he never listened.

"You’re persistent," you muttered one day as he drove, your arms crossed as you stared out the window.

"I prefer ‘determined,’" he replied with a smirk, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t deny the small, traitorous part of you that almost looked forward to his appearances. It was maddening, frustrating, and yet… you didn’t hate it.

--

The late evening air was crisp as you got ready, the faint sound of distant cars humming in the background. You glanced down at yourself, smoothing out the fabric of your outfit—a dress that hugged you just right.

You slipped on your heels, the soft click of them on the ground echoing as you locked the door behind you. Your purse hung over your shoulder, packed with just the essentials.

Your friends’ car was parked at the curb, the music already blaring as the passenger window rolled down. Yuna was in the front seat, leaning out slightly to wave at you with a grin. "Finally! We thought you’d take forever!"

"I’m here, aren’t I?" you teased, walking toward the car and opening the door.

Wonyoung and Chaewon were in the backseat, laughing over something on Wonyoung’s phone. Yuna turned down the music slightly as you climbed in and buckled your seatbelt.

"You look amazing," Chaewon said, eyeing your outfit with approval.

"Agreed!" Wonyoung added, nudging you playfully. "Who’s the lucky guy tonight?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. "It’s not like that. Let’s just have fun, okay?"

The car roared to life as Yuna stepped on the gas, the upbeat music filling the small space once again. The club was about twenty minutes away, and as you looked out the window, the city lights blurred past.

When the car pulled into the parking lot of the club, you stepped out, adjusting your dress and looking up at the bright neon sign that lit up the entrance.

What you didn’t notice was the black car that parked a few rows away. Inside, a familiar figure sat, watching you intently as you laughed with your friends and disappeared into the crowd at the entrance.

The dance floor was crowded, bodies moving to the beat, lights flashing in bursts of color that left you feeling free, untethered.

You swayed to the music, letting yourself get lost in it, your arms lifting as you spun slightly. Everything felt good—better than it had in a long time. Your friends were nearby, dancing and laughing, but at that moment, you were in your own little world.

Until you weren’t.

A hand brushed your waist, and a figure stepped up behind you. At first, you thought nothing of it—people were constantly bumping into each other on the crowded floor. But then you caught it: the sour, musky scent of sweat and stale cologne. It wasn’t pleasant, and it made your nose wrinkle instinctively.

The guy leaned in closer, his presence too heavy, his breath hot against your neck as he tried to match your movements. You froze for a second, then subtly shifted away, putting some distance between you and him without making a scene.

But he followed.

He pressed in again, his hand grazing your arm this time, and you turned to glance at him over your shoulder. He was taller, with an unsettling grin and eyes that were too confident. His intentions were clear, and the sight of him only made your unease grow.

You moved again, this time more deliberately, angling yourself toward your friends. But before you could take another step, the guy grabbed your wrist lightly, leaning down so you could hear him over the music. "Where you going, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice slurred, his grip tightening just enough to make your stomach churn.

Your heart sped up, and you tugged your wrist away, your voice firm but not loud. "I’m not interested."

He didn’t seem to care. "Don’t be like that. I just wanna talk."

You scanned the dance floor, hoping to spot one of your friends, but the crowd felt suffocating now, the lights too bright. Panic bubbled just beneath the surface as the guy moved closer again.

But then, out of nowhere, another presence loomed behind you—larger, steadier. A hand reached out and clasped the guy’s shoulder, pulling him back sharply.

"She said she’s not interested," a familiar voice said.

Your head whipped around, and your stomach dropped. It was him. Standing there in the middle of the club, his jaw tight, his eyes dark and burning with intensity.

The guy holding your wrist scowled, trying to shake his grip off. "What’s it to you, man?"

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. "Everything."

The guy hesitated, clearly weighing his options, but after a tense moment, the guy muttered something under his breath and released your wrist, disappearing into the crowd.

He turned to you, his hand brushing yours as if checking to make sure you were okay. "You alright?" he asked, his voice softer now.

You nodded, though your heart was still racing. "What are you doing here?"

His lips curved into a faint smirk. "What can I say? I like keeping an eye on what’s mine."

Your eyes narrowed, a mix of annoyance and confusion. "I’m not yours."

But he just chuckled, his hand falling away as he took a step back. "Not yet."

He turned to walk into the crowd, leaving you to stand there.

For a split second, everything felt like it was moving too fast, and then, without thinking, you grabbed his arm. The wolf—no, he—stopped in his tracks, his body going stiff for a moment, surprised.

You didn’t care. You were done letting things happen around you without doing something.

You tugged on his sleeve, pulling him back toward you, and he let you. His dark eyes flickered with surprise as he leaned down, close enough for you to feel his breath against your skin. His presence was intense, like a fire you couldn’t step away from, his hands instinctively falling to your waist, holding you steady as if you might fall.

"Where do you think you're going?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, though it was more demanding than you expected.

His grip on you tightened, his body language shifting from the casuality he’d always shown to something a bit more... intimate. "I could ask you the same thing," he replied, his voice low.

You swallowed, your pulse quickening. Something about this, about him being so close, felt like it was pulling you in deeper. You’d been fighting the connection for so long, but now, with his arms around you, the fight felt distant.

“I’m not some... object to control,” you said, but even you could hear the uncertainty in your voice.

His lips curled into a faint, teasing smile, and he leaned even closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating off him. "No, you're not," he murmured, his voice a gentle hum against your ear. "But you like when I take control, don’t you?"

Your breath hitched. It was a question, but he was already certain of the answer. Your hands instinctively moved to his chest, your fingers grazing the fabric of his shirt.

He looked at you for a long beat, his gaze softer now, as if he was studying you. "You really don`t want me to leave?"

You didn't answer right away, but when you did, your words were quiet, raw. "I don't know what I want anymore."

He didn’t let you go, his fingers brushing your hair back gently, his lips ghosting over your temple as he leaned down. "Maybe I can help you figure it out."

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden tenderness. His touch was so gentle...

“I don’t even know your name,” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He pulled back slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours with a gaze that made everything in the room seem a little less important. There was a flicker of amusement in his expression, “It’s Ni-ki,” he said simply, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to give you that piece of him.

Ni-ki.

You repeated it silently in your mind, the name feeling foreign but familiar, a puzzle piece that somehow fit.

Before you could even process it fully, his hand brushed against your cheek, his thumb gently tracing your skin. "Have fun," he added, his voice softer now.

Then, without another word, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Before Ni-ki turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

You touched your forehead where his lips had been, feeling the trace of his kiss burn even though he was already gone.

What had just happened?

Part 2 here

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[chevroletdean]

slowly kissing down the body [49 + dean] ── ✮⋆˙

Pairing: Dean x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff, smut (MDNI) To note/warnings: Established relationship, spooning, body worship, oral (m receiving), cussing, not proofread Word count: 1.4k A/N: @xpurdyglambertx requested this one in our Discord server and I hope I did it justice 👁️👁️ Thank you, Liz! Sorry it took me so long.

kisses askgame here 💋

It’s a rare occassion — or maybe it’s been happening more frequently lately. Either way, it feels special and you’re pretty sure it always will.

His back molds perfectly against your chest, both your bodies forming a seamless curve together. Your limbs are wrapped around him like some koala’s, as Dean likes to phrase it.

“Shut up,” you smile softly, your voice half-muffled by the way your face nuzzles the nape of his neck. “You enjoy being the little spoon, admit it.”

A gentle chuckle escapes his lungs, the deep vibrations of which buzz lightly against your palm, which he holds close over his heart.

“Guilty as charged,” he hums sleepily, before bringing your fingers up briefly to press a small kiss to your knuckles.

You know you’re lucky to be able to unwind with Dean like this.

Such a long day, so much work to do, a long drive after a complicated hunt — it’s all worth it once you can cuddle up with your boyfriend in clean sheets, comfy pillows and each other’s body warmth.

After coming back to the bunker, you had shared a warm shower. He threw on his sweatpants, you stole his shirt and thus you turned into two puzzle pieces that connected into one on the bed.

You sigh happily, all but melting into him. If you could crawl into his skin, you would. Your lips automatically find home at his bare shoulder, pecking a freckle there.

“I’m startin’ to think you just enjoy being the big spoon way more,” Dean teases.

Your smile widens into a smirk and you hum, practically feeling the shudder that runs down his spine.

“Mhh, maybe,” you mumble back and brush your lips at the spot between his shoulder blades. His skin is warm, the perfect balance between smooth and roughened. “Wanna know my favorite part of it?”

Dean’s breath hitches before he can answer. All thanks to your teeth grazing down his naked back.

“Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he utters through gritted teeth and ragged breath, voice all husky and heavy.

You could get high on the effect you have on him.

Your mouth latches onto an old scar of his, your tongue hot and wet as it trails down lower and lower. Another kiss follows, that one carefully exploring a faint bruise on his ribs, before you continue your exploration further south and add a purple mark of your own.

Dean’s hand squeezes yours tightly, pressing it impossibly closer to his chest and you swear you can feel his heart drumming against your palm.

Then, you sit up slightly, using that exact palm to push his back against the mattress. Shifting, you position yourself on top of him, straddling his lap. The plush of your thighs drapes on each side of his hips perfectly, pulling his hands to them like magnets

“This is my favorite part,” you mumble sweetly, wide eyes feigning innocence as you bat your eyelashes down at him and trail both your hands over his torso. Over his stomach, to his hips, where you toy with the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Right here,” you add with a not so innocent smirk and roll your hips against his slowly.

You feel his cock hardening beneath you right through the thin lace of your panties and you feel yourself clench around nothing at the broken grunt you’re able to pull from Dean. The way his fingers sink into your supple flesh has your mind reeling.

It’s about him though.

Your plan is to make him feel good and from the looks of it, you’re doing a fine job at it.

Dean’s body, lax and compliant from a stressful hunt, tenses and squirms just enough to signal you which spots are the most sensitive.

You lean down, claiming his lips in a chaste kiss, to which he eagerly lifts himself, only to be nudged down by you again.

“Sit back and relax for me, babe,” you smile, before repeating your previous steps. Your pecks and kisses and nibbles wander down his jaw and throat, over his chest, his tattoo, lower and lower.

You map out every freckle and scar, each dip and curve.

You know his hands are itching to touch you all over, fingers itching to paw at every inch of you, but for now it’s his turn to be pampered.

Your tongue leaves behind a trail of slick, warm saliva cooling against his flushed skin. By the time your teasing kisses reach his navel, he’s impatiently bucking his hips.

He’s getting desperate, so you throw him a bone by ghosting your fingers over his clothed cock.

“Quit— shit, babe, fucking *shit*,” he interrupts his own whimpering briefly to swallow thickly, “quit teasin’ me already.”

“I just wanna take my time with you,” you breathe sweetly, while tugging the fabric down. “It’s supposed to be relaxing, remember?”

“You just wanna drive me crazy.”

A grin tugs at the corners of your lips and you look up at him theough heavy lidded eyes and a glimmer in your widened pupils.

“Is it working?” You ask teasingly.

“Obviously,” he quips back, unable to contain a grin of his own. Christ, he’s so smitten with you, it should be illegal. You have him wrapped around your little finger. Though your fingers are wrapped around him, pulling his twitching dick from its confines at last.

Dean’s head falls back against the pillows, eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy as you begin to pump him slowly.

Your other hand gives his thigh a firm pat.

“My eyes are down here,” you joke while you lower yourself into a more comfortable position, your knees tucked neatly beneath you, head resting between his thighs.

“’S very funny,” he huffs back and his chest is heaving as he pants heavily.

Still, his green eyes lock with yours and you reward him by placing your lips right at his base.

Dean’s brow twitches and it’s obviously taking all his self-control to stay still.

He’s already ruined, but God, what are you doing to him? You’re taking him apart at the seams, making him crumble. Whatever did he do to deserve you?

“Just a little reward for such a hardworking hunter,” you giggle coyly.

Had he said his thoughts out loud or are you just able to read his mind so well?

You kiss up his shaft and he thinks his soul is about to leave his body and ascend to heaven. He’s been to about every plane of existence fathomable, but this is like a spiritual calling. The sight of your tongue swirling around his red tip, your lips stretching around his head as you begin to slowly take him into your warm mouth.

You let him place his hand on top of your head and hum in approval as his fingers run across your scalp. His actions are tender as he lovingly wipes some of your hair out of the way. He can’t help but grasp at it, especially when you hollow your cheeks and suck.

Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, putting angel’s choirs to shame

After a second, you force your jaw to relax further and waitingly look up at him. While Dean would never want to hurt you, he takes the cue and pushes your head down more — gently, but definitely to the point of your eyes getting glassy with tears.

You nearly sputter around him and his grip loosens.

“Shit, sorry,” he hisses through his teeth. “Did I hurt you?”

You hum a negational “mhh-mm”, that pretty little mouth of yours still stuffed with his thick cock. You take him even deeper, until he almost slips down your throat and your nose bumps against him.

You know exactly how to snuff out any doubts of his. Whether or not he thought about pulling you back, now he can’t help meeting your head halfway with shallow thrusts of his own as it bobs up and down.

“So good f’me, sweet girl,” Dean praises and strokes his fingers through your hair. “Takin’ such good care of me, hm? ‘S like your pretty mouth was made for me. Taking me. So. Damn. Well.”

Each word is punctuated with another thrust, making you — and him, consequently — see stars.

Because as much as this is to help Dean unwind, you know you could end every day like this, worshipping every inch of him.

Dean Winchester Taglist (Put a green heart 💚 in the comments to be added to the Dean x Reader taglist):

@ladysparkles78 @winchester-whiskey @whormotional @spacecowgirl126 @zepskies @calibootsgirl @hot-and-confused @spookyfunhottub @berryblues46 @midnight--raine @emmy21842 @whichwitchwanda @foxyjwls007 @lyarr24

[falling-endlessly]

Try Me

Vox x Female!Reader

Summary: You still have a few lessons to learn when it comes to teasing your boss.

Warnings: NSFW (18+), dub-con (kind of) INSPIRED BY THIS POST

Vox deserved a pat on the back for his patience. Truly.

You were relentless, hovering in his periphery, making him tense in anticipation for the next bullshit you were about to pull. First it was lingering touches on his hand when you brought him his coffee. Then it was bending over right in front of him in the conference room, enough for him to glimpse the pretty red and blue thong you were wearing underneath. But really, the cherry on top was the way you "accidentally" tripped on your heels, conveniently falling into him. One manicured hand dragged down his chest, the other down his thigh, right beside his straining cock as profuse, insincere apologies spilled from your lips.

Suffice to say, he was at his fucking limit. His self restraint was impressive, but not infinite.

"Mister Vox, where are we going?" You frowned questioningly as you scurried to keep up with his fast paces.

"A new office just opened up on the next floor," he hummed. "I figured you'd like to take a look at it before deciding if you want it."

"Oh, really? That's great!" You grinned, before it faded into a puzzled look. "But, why didn't you just tell me the room number? Not to pry, but you seem busy today, and I'd hate to distract you from your work."

Vox's smile strained, a low electric buzz emanating from his speakers. "Not to worry, my dear. I'd really rather show you myself."

You blinked innocently. "Well, if you insist."

He sent you a promising grin, but otherwise remained silent.

The walk to the "empty office" dragged on excruciatingly. Even if the whole floor was actually empty, he wanted to keep up with the facade you both were playing at, and not shove you into the first room with a door that he saw (even if he really, really wanted to) .

"Here we are," he announced cheerfully. The room was actually the most expansive one on the floor, completely furnished with a modern work station, a built in gas fireplace, and plush velvet couches. You barely took a step inside, eyes wide with awe, before he grabbed your neck, slamming you against the wall as he kicked the door closed with his foot. It locked automatically.

"Tell me, did you have fun?" He sneered, tightening his grip when you didn't respond immediately.

"I-I'm sorry, I don't—" you winced when he pressed closer, before choking out. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh really?" He smirked dangerously, eyes wide and unhinged, before a clawed hand travelled down your waist. The tearing sound of your clothes made you gasp, your torn skirt falling uselessly to the ground as he greedily inspected your underwear. A slender finger hooked under the waistband, before letting it snap back against your skin.

"Red and blue stripes," he snorted. "A coincidence?"

"Fuck you," you spat, but there was an excited glint in your eyes.

"Oh, you will," he chuckled darkly, before grabbing you and roughly forcing you to kneel beside the desk. He took a seat on the office chair, grinning wickedly as he spread his legs leisurely. "But you're going to have to earn it first, doll."

Your mouth watered, hands grasping greedily at his knees, before sliding up to his crotch. Vox groaned when you slid your fingers over the edges of his cock, just barely missing where he really wanted them. You repeated this action a few more times, watching with satisfaction as his brow twitched in mounting frustration, before he finally snapped, grabbing your chin harshly and forcing you to look up at him.

"Fuckin' tease," he growled, baring his teeth. "You're going to regret that." His voice took on a deeper, more electronic tone at the end of his sentence.

"Will I?" You smiled coyly, making his grin widen. Challenge accepted.

In one smooth motion, he unzipped his pants and dragged down his underwear, making his pulsing cock spring up from its confines. Vox grit his teeth when the open air hit it, overly sensitive from your constant teasing.

You stared at it with wide eyes, mouth open as you took in the electric blue lines running up his shaft in a technological design, all leading to the weeping blue tip. Your warm breath puffed on the feverish skin, making him close his eyes in concentration, regulating his breathing.

"Something wrong, sir?" You asked innocently, and he almost busted on the spot from just that title alone. Here you were on your knees for him, and yet he was the one under your control. Oh, the irony.

"Not at all," he growled, fisting a handful of your hair at the back of your head, before shoving you forward onto his cock.

And holy fuck, the way you opened your mouth so obligingly, like you were waiting for this moment—like you'd practiced for it. He had to stab his own leg with his claws to control himself. Coppery blood ran down his skin in small rivulets.

You moaned deeply around his cock, the vibrations making him throw his head back with a gasp. "F-Fuck."

You glanced up at him knowingly, your pretty eyes batting at him as your lips slid up and down his dick. Then you swirled your tongue under his shaft, and wasn't that something. Vox let out a guttural sound that he didn't even know he was capable of, barely able to keep eye contact with you as he guided your head on his cock.

"Fuck, you're so hot," he panted, legs trembling with the effort not to cum. He needed to teach you a lesson, after all, and he couldn't do that with a limp dick.

Then, you did something that made his vision fucking white out. You started to swallow—and good god, he couldn't keep this up anymore.

He shoved you harshly off of his dick, your mouth leaving with a loud pop.

"Brat," he bared his teeth, before clawing violently at your shirt. The thin material didn't stand a chance, fluttering off in shredded ribbons. Then he ripped apart your bra, making your round tits bounce out. His jaw dropped a little as he stared at them, his cock twitching in longing. Fuck, was any part of you not perfect?

"Hey," you protested, glaring at him indignantly. "Those were expensive."

"I'll buy you ten more," he said distractedly, before pulling you up to stand. Your hands gripped the edges of his backrest, tits hovering inches from his face.

"I think it's time we give these," his hands came up to grip them, squeezing them playfully. "A little love, hm?"

To your amazement, a glowing blue tongue poked out of his mouth, curling around a pebbled bud. Your jaw dropped in ecstasy, unable to take your eyes off of the surreal view of Vox licking at your tits, red eyes flickering up to meet your half-lidded ones. You pushed closer in a silent plea for more.

"Ah, ah," Vox retracted his tongue, making you whimper from the loss. "Behave, or this stops now."

You nodded quickly, staring down at him pleadingly.

He let go of your tits, unsatisfied. "What was that? I couldn't hear you."

"Yes, I'll behave," you whispered desperately.

"Yes, what?" He sneered.

"Yes sir," you cried, moaning loudly when he grabbed a hold of your tits again, tugging you closer.

"Good girl," he grinned wickedly, before his tongue was generously laving over your tits, swirling attentively over your nipples.

"A-Ahhh," you sobbed, struggling to stay still as his hand squeezed and massaged your mounds.

"Thought you could tease me and get away with it? You fucking slut," he growled, harshly sucking a nipple into his mouth. He released it after a few moments, digging his claws into your flesh. "Or maybe, you wanted this to happen," he grinned knowingly, making you shiver. "Oh you did, didn't you?"

He grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you down so he could whisper in your ear, "Sweetheart, if you wanted me to split you open on my cock, all you had to do was ask."

Your breath hitched as he grabbed your hips, turning you around and shoving you onto the desk. "Hands above your head." He ordered firmly.

You obediently laid your palms flat on the surface, above your head. Your breath quickened in excitement as you felt his hands grab your ass, squeezing tightly and spreading your cheeks.

"Fuck," you heard him curse, before slender fingers crept between your thighs, rubbing gently. Your legs trembled as he easily slipped in a finger, pumping it a few times before slipping it out again.

Unable to hold back your curiosity, you turned back to look at him, only for your breath to stutter at the sight.

Vox had his eyes closed, long tongue swirling around his middle and index fingers like a lollipop. Your unmistakable slick dripped onto his tongue, and he greedily swallowed it with a contented sigh.

"Fucking delicious," he grinned, leering at your trembling form. "What, too much for you to handle?"

"Try me," you gasped, making his eye widen, electricity sparking from it.

"I'll make you beg for my cock," he laughed dangerously, before disappearing between your legs.

You barely had the chance to process what just happened, before a strangled scream left your lips, your hips shoving further into his mouth.

"Shhh babygirl," he pulled back, squeezing your ass gently. "Wouldn't want someone to hear, now would you?"

"No sir," you bit your lip, tears prickling the corners of your eyes.

"See? This is why you're my favorite," he chuckled, giving your pussy a rough pat. Then he replaced it with his warm tongue, and your eyes rolled back in your head.

He flicked it gently over your clit, pulling back to lather over your dripping hole, before circling back teasingly. You shuddered, tears freely streaming down your face as you moaned softly. A tight pressure was building in your stomach, growing closer and closer to snapping the more attention he showered you in.

"V-Vox," you gasped out. "I—I'm gonna—"

He pulled away abruptly, making you whimper pitifully. Your hips canted towards him desperately, trying to chase your high, but he only moved back.

"What, did you think I was going to let you cum on my face?" He laughed mockingly, digging his claws into your ass. "After what you did today? Not a chance."

He pressed you further into the desk, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "Nah, a bitch like you needs to be taught a lesson."

Your mouth fell open as he pushed into you in one smooth motion, the ridges of his cock stretching you out painfully as he settled in deep.

"You're going to learn what happens when you misbehave," he punctuated his sentence with a hard thrust, making you choke. "You should be happy I have so much patience, or I would have fucked you right there on the conference table in front of everyone."

The mental image of him fucking you shamelessly in public made you moan, your hips wiggling further onto his cock. He growled, hands sliding up to hold your wrists down.

And then he started pounding into you. And you screamed.

"What's wrong? That pretty little mouth got nothing to say now?" He panted, gritting his teeth as he closed his eyes. "Where did all of that fight go, hm?"

"F-Fu—ahn—you!"

"Sweetheart, I'm balls deep inside of you right now," he rolled his hips to prove his statement.  "Try again."

"V-Vox, please!" You sobbed, cheek pressing into the surface of the desk.

"Tell me what you need, babygirl," he grinned.

"I-I want to cum," you hiccuped, vision blurring from pleasure.

"Aw, do you? I don't know about that," his grin widened, claws tightening on your wrists. "Do you really deserve it?"

"Please sir," you begged, turning around to look at him tearfully. "Please let me cum on your cock."

His grin faltered at the pleading look in your eyes, his screen tinting red as his teeth clenched. "Fucking brat," he gritted out, before his pace sped up, a clawed hand reaching down to rub tight circles over your clit.

Your mouth fell open in a silent moan as your eyes crossed, his dick splitting you open just like he promised. The coil in your stomach built up once more, stretching tighter and tighter until it finally snapped, your vision going white as you shook uncontrollably.

"Vox!" You cried, waves of pleasure cresting in your stomach, intensified by the fact that he was still harshly pounding into you.

Vox's breath hitched at the feeling of your walls tightening around him, screen glitching in euphoria. His thrusts lost their steady rhythm, instead hammering into you erratically as he chased his own orgasm.

Vox's claws dug gouges into the desk as he groaned your name, hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside of you. You shivered weakly at the feeling of his thick, warm cum filling you up.

When he'd finally spent everything he had, Vox pulled out of you gently, making you both gasp at the feeling. You heard the sound of a nearby drawer opening, before a wad of Kleenex gently wiped you dry. When both of you were adequately cleaned, warm arms wrapped around you, pulling you against a comforting chest. He sat you both down in the office chair, pressing a loving kiss to the top of your head.

"So? Mister Vox," you glanced up at him teasingly. "How was that?"

"Pretty fucking hot, babe," he laughed, squeezing you tightly. "Seriously, great idea. But I'm picking the next one."

"Yeah, yeah," you snuggled deeper into his chest, yawning tiredly. "Do you want to watch a movie when we get back home? I saw this really cool thriller trailer yesterday and I think you'll like it."

Vox smiled gently at you, closing his eyes as he pulled you closer. "Sure doll, anything you want."

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

my love if i may request a whiskey with dbf!joel or dbf!bucky with the prompt “i’ve wanted this for so long” and mayhaps if it’s not too much to ask for but some breeding kink👀👉🏻👈🏻

Promises, Promises.

warnings - smut. cursing.

I figured I'd make this dbf!bucky, because i've done a dbf!joel fic for this celebration already. y'all, I read the words dad's best friend and go fucking feral. this one got away from me.

3k celebration post here. 3k masterlist here.

You're the last person Bucky expected to be at his front door at 3am.

"What's wrong, honey?"

"Locked myself out of my goddamn house, and my parents are still on vacation. Can I crash here tonight? Please?"

Who is he to turn down an offer that tempting?

"Course. Come on, it's too cold for you to be stood out here."

The two of you sit down on his couch, settling in to watch some TV.

"Bucky Barnes. Are you watching a romcom?"

He blushes, a slight flush creeping up his cheeks.

"If you tell anyone, I'll kill you. They're my guilty pleasure."

"It makes me like you more, if anything," you grin. He can't help but smile back at you, less embarrassed now.

"Look, my love life is fuckin' terrible. I live vicariously through these cheesy films right now."

"You? Terrible love life? Those two phrases don't usually go in the same sentence."

You're teasing him. Seeing if you can get a rise, hit the right button.

"Oh, shut it. Just because you're on a new date every week."

"I'm... what?"

"Your Dad seems to think you're dating a lot."

You quirk a brow at him, amusement curling at the corners of your lips.

"Is that so?"

"I'm only telling you what I've heard, honey."

He crosses his arms across his chest, biceps threatening to break free from the confines of his t shirt.

"He's wrong."

"Is that so?"

You roll your eyes.

"I have a friend, he's a guy. My Dad automatically assumes we're dating because we hang out. But we're not."

"And why not?"

"I don't know, I guess he's just..." you debate your answer, realising it's now or never. "He's not old enough for me. Not mature enough."

Bucky bites his lip, eyes scanning your face.

"He's your age."

"Exactly. Boys my age don't know shit."

He laughs, but it's dark and low, something brewing beneath the surface.

"You always were too smart for your own good, huh?"

Bucky's thigh is pressing into yours, the warmth from his skin seeping through. His rough fingertips glide across your arm, slow and soft. He's testing the waters.

"I shouldn't want this," he murmurs, barely audible. "Neither should you."

"But I do," you whisper. "So fucking bad."

"Me too."

Bucky grabs the back of your neck, smashing his lips to yours. You grip at his hair, his biceps, his shirt - anything you can get a hold of. You feel like you're dreaming, your filthiest thoughts coming into fruition.

He pulls you into his lap so you're straddling his hips, grinding down and panting into his mouth. You're both breathless, but neither of you want to be the first to pull away.

Bucky rips your shirt over your head, instantly attacking your chest with kisses. He's marking you up, claiming you as his. You should be worried about the repercussions, but you're not.

You pull his shirt off and rake your nails down his front, grinning when he shivers. Suddenly, Bucky stands up, setting you on your feet.

"Strip."

You blink at him, processing.

"Strip, baby. I won't tell you again."

You shimmy your pants down your legs, your underwear going too. Your mouth waters as you watch him undress, admiring the angles and smooth ridges of him. A Greek God.

Bucky stalks over to you and hooks a foot behind your ankle, sending you both flying onto the rug on the floor. He cushions your fall, not letting go of you once. Running two fingers through your wet heat, he groans.

"All for me, pretty girl? What did I do to deserve somethin' this sweet, huh?"

"Need you," you whine. "Please, Buck."

"I've wanted this for so long," he murmurs, lining himself up. "Fuck, you're a dream."

You both gasp as he slides home, your back arching and his jaw falling slack. Bucky rests a hand against the base of your throat, the weight grounding you back down to Earth.

"Need you to move," you choke out. "Fuck, I need it, Buck. Please."

"Oh you need it, do you?" he smirks. "My needy girl."

He snaps his hips into yours in long, careful glides, very aware of the effect he has on you. Before long, his restraint snaps, and his thrusts get harder, quicker, more frantic.

"Gonna fill you up, baby," he's muttering under his breath. "Make you mine. You want that? To have everyone know who you belong to?"

You're nodding rapidly, tears gathering in your eyes, bottom lip caught between your teeth.

"How are we gonna keep this a secret if you're pregnant, huh?"

The thought makes you moan, a breathy, gutteral sound.

"You like that? Want me to make you a mommy? Fuck, I'll give you everything you ask for. I'll buy you a house and knock you up, you'll never want for anything."

His low, honeyed words throw you over the edge, squeezing and clenching around him. Bucky groans, deep and rumbled, the sound vibrating through the both of you. You find your releases together, panting and out of breath.

"House first."

"Huh?" he breathes, raising his head from your chest.

"Buy me a house first. Kids second. Maybe marriage in between."

He laughs, floating and content. You both know he meant what he said, not just a heat of the moment confession.

You stay wrapped up in each other for hours, on the rug in front of the fire.

You'll deal with the repercussions later.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Injured (Jenni's Version): Christmas

Jenni Hermoso x Child!Reader

Summary: Christmas with Bambi and Jenni

"Mama?" You ask as Jenni checks her reflection in the car mirror.

It's dark outside and it looks like it's cold outside of the nice, warm car. It's not snowing or anything but it'll still be cold, you can tell.

"Yeah, bambi?" Jenni fluffs her hair briefly before smoothing it down again when it doesn't have the desired effect, folding back the sleeves of her shirt.

"What if they don't like me?"

You can't look at her in the rear view mirror, choosing to look down at your feet.

Jenni bought you a pair of shoes that look exactly like your favourite ballet flats but could be worn outside so you're wearing them now. They're a nice, pretty pink colour and shiny too.

You flex your feet inside the shoes just to see them move.

"What if who doesn't like you?"

Jenni tries to catch your eyes but you refuse to look at her.

"Your Mami and Papa. What if they don't like me?"

Jenni twists around in the driving seat to look at you properly.

You're wearing your new shoes and a very cute reindeer pyjama set and an even cuter train conductor hat that Jenni had bought on a whim after seeing it in the window of a charity shop as she passed by.

Andy sits in the seat next to you, little tail wagging as he stands next to you in a matching outfit to protect him from the cold.

"Why wouldn't they like you?"

You shrug, still looking down at your feet. "'Cause I don't look like you. The kids at school say I can't be your daughter if I don't look like you."

Jenni undoes her seatbelt and climbs over the centre console into the back with you.

Andy seems overjoyed, trying to escape his own seatbelt to lather her in kisses but Jenni's only focus is on you.

"Those kids at school are stupid."

"Mama, you say to never call people stupid."

"Huh...I guess I do but I can't help it if people are stupid and kids like that are. Alright? It doesn't matter if we don't look like each other. Do you know why, bambi?"

"Why?"

"Because we chose each other." Jenni gently unclips you from your car seat and pulls you into her lap. "And I think that means more than anyone will understand."

You rest your head on her shoulder, reaching out to gently play with her fingers as you think through her words. "Really?"

"Really. The kids at school are silly for thinking that just because we don't look alike means we're not family."

"Like how Andy's family too? Even though he's a dog and we're not?"

"Exactly like Andy. He's still part of the family and we still love him the same."

You nod. It's only a little nod, barely a movement of the head but Jenni feels it against her shoulder. "And your Mami and Papa will understand that I'm like Andy? And I'm still yours even though I wasn't always?"

"My Mami and Papa have been looking forward to meeting you for so long," Jenni replies. Her fingers gently stroke up and down your back, touches featherlight as she draws you close to her body like she wants to enshrine you under her skin - kept close and safe forever next to her.

"Are you sure?"

"It's all they've been talking about for weeks," Jenni assures you," They're so excited for you to open the presents they got you."

"They...They got me presents?"

That shouldn't have really been surprising for you. It's Christmas. People get other people presents for Christmas. But, still, you find yourself a bit confused.

Jenni was Mama, that was certain. That was definite. She did all the things that Mamas were meant to do like feed you and give you cuddles and kisses and take you to ballet and even let you sleep in bed with her when you woke up from a nightmare.

Jenni was Mama but that didn't make her parents automatically your Abuela and Abuelo. Jenni chose you. Jenni looked at you and decided that she would be your Mama. You chose her too.

But her parents haven't chosen you. Not yet anyway.

You've met them before, a long while ago when you were still Alexia's. It had only been in passing though and you don't really remember them now.

You wonder if they're actually excited to see you or if that's what they told Jenni.

You wonder if the presents they got you are actually something you'll like or something they think you should like.

The little knot in your stomach returns, like a tiger pacing its cage and you lean more heavily into Jenni.

"Tell you what," She says softly," We'll go inside, we'll open our presents and if you're still filling a little icky, we'll grab some dessert for the trip home and get out of there."

"Really, Mama?"

"Of course." Jenni presses a kiss to your crown. "It doesn't matter where we are so long as we celebrate Christmas together."

[nanamiscocksleeve]

I'm very excited to see another event. I loved the last one I got to request. If possible, could I request Zayne for prompt number ten?

Thank you, and please take care of yourself.

Hello there! Glad to see you back on my page. Yeah, I usually try to do Thirsty Weekends twice a month, it's just been a little hard with the holiday season and whatnot.

"It’s a Christmas sale! All clothes in my house are 100% off."

--------

Zayne holds the door open so that you can quickly get into his apartment. The snow was falling heavily outside and you shake your head to dislodge the flakes that have fallen on your cute woolen hat. Zayne stomps his boots on the welcome mat, leaving powder everywhere as he does so. All the Christmas shopping you'd managed to complete was tucked away inside the various bags both of you were holding.

"Thank god we decided to go by car. Can you imagine walking around in all this snow?" You ask ask you remove your coat and mittens. Zayne nods as he undoes his scarf, hanging it on the coatrack by the door.

"The weather app has done it's due diligence. I'll be sure to give it a 5 star rating." You tip toe to brush some snow off his hair.

"I'll get the tea started. Let's leave all the bags on the table." you wander into the kitchen to get the kettle boiling before coming back to the living room to find Zayne seated comfortably on the couch. With the snow outside and the merry holiday decorations inside, it was the the epitome of holiday joy. You settle down next to him, your head nestling on his shoulder as you enjoy the quiet warmth emanating between you two.

"Can you believe all these crazy holiday sales? Most of it was practically a steal!" You open one of the bags and ruffle through it, admiring your spoils.

"Sure, if by 'steal' you mean slightly less overpriced," Zayne says wryly with a hint of a smile on his face. You playfully punch his arm.

"Don't be that way. It's Christmas! It's the spirit of giving that counts." You get off the sofa to check on the kettle and Zayne follows you into the kitchen. As you start adding in the tea leaves, his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, his warm breath tickling your ear.

"There's one last sale we are yet to check out," he murmurs and you feel goosebumps form on your skin.

"Oh? What sale is that?" You try to busy your hands with the kettle but his presence was proving to be too much of a distraction. His hands wander along your body sending a rush of excitement down your spine.

"It’s a Christmas sale. All clothes in my house are 100% off." Zayne softly palms your breasts through your sweater as he says this and your breath hitches at the movement. Your hands fumble for the burner and turn it off as Zayne softly sucks the skin on the back of your neck, making you squirm in his embrace.

Turning in his arms, you allow him to trap you between the stove and his body. "When did this sale start?" You ask, daring to look up at him even though you're sure your face is flushed.

"Just now. Is that a problem?" He pushes against you so that his hips lay flush against yours and your hands come up onto his chest. You shake your head no and he grip the backs of your thighs to hoist you up, and your legs wrap around his waist automatically as he carries you to his bedroom.

He lays you down on the bed, undressing you with care, pulling off your sweater followed by your leggings and socks. Meanwhile, you mirror the actions, tugging off his cardigan, smoothing his hair while you unzipped his slacks, palming the bulge that awaited you.

A low groan emanates from his throat as he leans down for a kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours as he grinds his erection against your thigh. Your hands cup his face as you kiss, letting them creep down to the ridge between his shoulder blades as he snaps open the catch of your bra, freeing your aching nipples which instantly perk up under his gaze. His tongue swirls delicately around one of them while he gently tugs on the other one, earning an soft whine of approval from you.

"Looks like this a sale you agree with hmm?" He coos softly at you as he removes your panties and dips his fingers inside your moistening folds. "There we are...perfect..." he slides up until his fingertips find your clit, giving a soft pet that has your hips arching towards him in need. You gaze up at him with hazy eyes that brings a deep sense of satisfaction within him.

"Let it out." He patiently strokes the little bud while his mouth busies itself with your nipples again, suckling in time with his movements on your clit. The combined sensations push you towards the edge and you're dangerously close to faling off it. You strain against him, panting as your core leaks on his sheets then let out a loud mewl as two of his fingers softly push inside you, finding the spongy patch of nerves deep within.

Overwhelmed by the pleasure, your body finally gives in and lets go, your breath tearing from your throat as you orgasm, the sensation rippling through your sensitized body. After ensuring you're thouroughly finished, Zayne licks his fingers clean before aligning himself with your entrance. You whimper in delight as he fills you, then gathers you close as he starts to thrust.

"Now this is what I call a holiday steal."

[holybibly]

𝔎𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔦𝔫𝔤 | 𝔖𝔞𝔫𝔥𝔴𝔞 𝔵 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 (𝔗𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔢𝔯)

♡ 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤: Boxer San x ring girl reader x Sugar daddy Seonghwa ♡ 𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You know that being alone with San is like willingly entering a tiger's cage, but maybe that's exactly what you want - to be torn to pieces by him. Or you might help San treat his wounds after a tough fight, even though you know Seonghwa won't approve. ♡ 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 / 𝔄𝔲 / 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢: Shameless Smut, boxing club!au, sugar daddy!au, ♡ ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: 18+ / 21+ / MDNI ♡ 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: ? ♡ 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Hard dom! San, hrad/soft daddy Seonghwa, sub!reader, unprotected sex, threesome, daddy kink, lots of sperm, fingering, degrading, pet names, size kink, spanking, hair pulling, squirting, creampie, humiliation, breeding kink, boobs spanking, pussy slapping, dirty talk, face fucking, pussy drunk, overstimulation, oral, double penetration, manhandling, multiple orgasms, сreampie, rough sex, rough oral, power play, praise kink, anal play, wet and dirty, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and more.

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖉 𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖞 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖎𝖘 𝖔𝖋𝖋𝖎𝖈𝖎𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖓. 𝕬𝖓𝖞𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖊𝖉, 𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖆 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖔𝖘𝖙

"San!" You call out the dark-haired, handsome man's name, noting his slim figure in the hustle and bustle of the backstage area. He turns his head slightly in your direction as he interrupts his conversation with Mingi, another smoking hot and unacceptably handsome boxer. Mingi has only recently joined the club but has already made a name for himself both in the ring and between the sheets. If the rumours are true, he fucks as well as smears his opponents on the floor. Like San, he has never been defeated, if that means anything. San gives you a licentiously grin and gazes at your figure with a dark, hungry stare before he gives Mingi a friendly pat on the shoulder and begins to walk in your direction. 

He reminds you of a great big cat of prey—elegant and graceful, but also so deadly. San is literally smouldering with sexuality, with all those seductive muscles and all that overbearing aura that literally draws the eyes of others to his person. His gym shorts hang so dangerously low that you can see a subtle, exquisite tattoo on his pronounced V-line. San is still shirtless—sweaty and dirty, the inky purple bruises already beginning to spread beneath the smooth golden skin of his pumped-up chest, and you swear you're looking precisely at them and not at the way the silver piercings in his nipples glisten. 

As soon as he is next to you, your hands automatically go up to his wounded face and gently wrap the palms of your hands around it, turning his head from side to side so that you can see the extent of his injuries. San just grins, lets you do whatever you want to him, and looks at you with heavy bedroom eyes. You look beautiful, fuckable, and fucking attractive. It's even funny the way his body immediately reacts to your presence next to him, his cock starting to tighten under the fabric of his gym shorts. 

Or is it all the residual adrenaline that is still circulating in his bloodstream after tonight's fight? Who knows? 

As the pad of your thumb presses against the deep cut on his lower lip, San hisses like a cat. 

"You should get those wounds attended to. They don't look well.' Your voice is full of concern as you continue to run your fingers carefully over the abrasions and scratches on his face. The smooth, golden skin of his sharp, high cheekbones was irritated, and purple bruises were beginning to form underneath. You could even see tiny drops of clotted blood where it had been torn. But even with all that, San still looked pretty damn attractive, which was almost a crime in your opinion. 

"You're so worried about me, baby doll, huh? How about you give me a kiss to make it all better?' San cheekily wraps his strong arms around your waist and pulls you close to his hot body, so unacceptably close that your breasts are pressed tightly against his naked muscular chest, and you have to stand up on your tiptoes so that you can face him. "I want my victory kiss, baby." San whispers in a sultry, hoarse voice into your skin, his hot, moist breath flowing over your cheeks, and from this a shameful, excited blush spreads across them. His hands slipping from your waist to wrap them around your buttocks instead, gripping them tightly with the palms of his hands and causing your already short satin shorts to rise even higher. 

You swallow unconsciously as the image of him fucking that girl in the changing room comes back to you, just like that, squeezing her buttocks in his hands as she rode on his cock. 

'Get a room.' One of the staff members shouts, and you're jolted out of your mental stupor in an instant, resting your hands on San's strong shoulders and moving slightly away from him to create some semblance of space between your bodies. 

"I'm being serious, San. If you don't, there'll be infection in your wounds.' You insist, wriggling slightly in his strong grip. He's still so damned close to you, you can feel his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes. 

You can smell the faint scent of sandalwood and vanilla on his skin, still hot from the fight, damp and glistening with sweat and oil. San squeezes your buttocks once hard with his hands before he begins to knead the plump, soft flesh in the palms of his hands, and you practically moan at it, barely managing to sink your teeth into your lower lip in time to keep the shameful, lingering sound from escaping your throat. 

"I've seen this before and it was disgusting, you don't want scars on your pretty face, do you? I can get Wooyoung or Yeosang to help, or one of the girls..." You babble on as his hands continue to massage your bottom. San has the good conscience to look completely disinterested in what you're saying - his head is tilted sideways, his feline eyes dark and smouldering with desire, and you notice the tip of his tongue tracing his swollen lower lip. His nose wrinkles slightly as he touches the fresh wound. 

"Pretty face, huh?" San gave you a cheeky grin and deep, sweet dimples appeared on his cheeks, which, to be honest, you hated because it made you feel completely weak and soft in the face of his charms. The contrast between how vulgar and coarse he was when he talked and how soft and gentle his dimples were when he smiled just made you go crazy. Damned you, Choi San, you and your stupid, attractive dimples. "You could just kiss that pretty face; I'm sure your slutty, sweet lips could do it better, couldn't you, baby doll?' He tilted his head to the side as if pondering something before a devilish spark flashed in his cat-like, slanted eyes, which, as you know, doesn't bode well for you. "But if you're so worried about me, dollface, why don't you do it yourself? I'm sure you'll give me professional service." 

There is some context to his words, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what San is alluding to. The time how efficiently you sucked Yunho's huge thick dick, after his fight, but it happened to be randomised, and you weren't in the habit of screwing every boxer in the club, especially after you started dating Seonghwa, or rather after he made you his sugar baby. 

"You jerk..." You nudge him lightly in the shoulder and purse your glossy pink lips in a resentful pout. 'You don't have to be so rude to me." You practically squeal as San suddenly picks you up under your arse and lifts you up in such a way that you have no choice but to wrap your legs around his slender, slutty waist. Your arms are automatically wrapped around his neck, and your faces are in an unacceptably close proximity to each other. Someone whistles loudly, but you don't pay attention. You're too mesmerised by the deep chocolate colour of San's eyes and the way his long, fluffy eyelashes flutter. 

"You don't know how rougher I can get with you, Dollface, but I can assure you that you're going to love every second of it. In fact, I'm pretty sure you'll be coming back to me for more of it." His lips touch the hot, flushed skin on the side of your cheek, and you give a soft moan as his fingers dig into your buttocks. 

"You are too cocky for your own good, and I already have someone else to fuck.' You argue weakly, unconsciously tangling your fingers in his soft dark hair, causing San to blissfully cover his eyes as if he were a cat that had been petted by his owner.

"Oh, believe me, I know who's fucking you, angel." He emphasises the nickname, knowing full well that's what Seonghwa likes to call you. "And I don't mind sharing you if it means I can finally get my dick in that pussy of yours." San is practically purring; the sound of his deep, seductive voice is vibrating in his chest, and you can feel it in your body. "I know you want it as much as me. Do you remember when you caught me in the changing room with that girl? I had you on my mind, baby doll, and while I was fucking her, I was thinking about your sweet pussy squeezing around my cock. All I could think of was how you were squirting on my face as I fucked your tiny hole with my tongue.' 

'San! How much longer are we going to wait for you?" A loud scream from Wooyoung brings you back to reality, and your eyes widen as you finally realise where you and San are at the moment and how his filthy words plunged you into a state of trance. Shit, you should use your head and start thinking with your brain instead of your cunt. 

But it's so hard to do that when San is a walking threat to your restraint and decency. It was easy for you to imagine all the things he'd just been talking about, and that slutty, dirty, yet seductive image made the delicate folds of your pussy wet.

"I'll be there in a minute!" San calls back, lowering you gently to your feet and eventually removing his hands from your body. You immediately take a few steps back, still a little stunned by your interaction with him. But San doesn't seem to want to let you out of his arms, so he wraps his palms around your face and forces you to look at him. "Listen to me, babydoll; be a good girl and wait for me in my room. Got it? I'll try and get back to you as soon as I can." For a moment you feel the soft, warm touch of his lips on your forehead, almost making you melt, but it disappears as quickly as it came.

'But...' You begin, wondering what you should do, knowing that if you're alone with San, nothing good will come of it, and besides, you already had plans for tonight. 'I don't know if I should...' 

"Baby, I didn't ask you." He turns and starts walking towards Wooyoung and the other boys waiting for him. As if he remembered something, San stops abruptly, looks back at you over his shoulder, and grins mischievously. 

"You still have to treat my wounds, doll face, remember? You don't want any scars on my pretty face, do you?" San casts a last dark, hungry glance over your body before bossy ordering you. "Now go, doll. Daddy will be back soon."

And he walks away, leaving you staring in his wake, your head a complete mess and your pussy absolutely wet and trembling with anticipation. 

Shit, you seem to have a problem, and its name is Choi San. 

[ohimsummer]

I’LL WORSHIP LIKE A DOG .ᐟ

♯ minors dni, oral [ m. receiving ], idolization, cult leader! suguru x reader, manipulation?

⭑ ࣪ ˖ sum’z notes.ᐟ hi mickey thank u for helping proofread i love you :3 @teddybeartoji

the cult leader has set his sights on you.

on the surface, there is nothing really notable about you. having tagged alongside a big group recruited by some of his current worshippers, you were at first regarded with suspicion—as all the newcomers were—but, eventually, you blended well with the rest of geto suguru's devout followers.

...you thought so, anyway. apparently, you were mistaken. apparently, something about you has caught his eye.

this is the handsome cult leader's den. a temple where he so graciously allows all of his humble and obedient followers to reside. with this in mind, you try not to think too highly of yourself, but you can't help but wonder if there is something about you that intrigues him. there must be.

there's a quiet call of your name on occasion, where master geto leads you to his private room. not every night, but often enough for it to feel routine. you always kneel before him quickly, wordlessly, head bowed. geto doesn't even have to open his mouth. though, if he does, it's to send you away, and the realization that you've both disappointed and disrespected the cult's leader almost makes your heart shatter. it makes you worry if this will be your last time in his room, and that anxiety builds and builds with each passing second until a week later, when he once against whispers the command for you to follow him.

once you've lowered yourself at his feet, geto takes in the sight of you. the seconds feel like minutes, hours, an eternity, but you don't dare move nor even look up at him, instead keeping your eyes closed and head lowered. only when you feel his warm caress, thumb glazing over the fat of your cheek, do you gamble a glance. whether or not he sends you away afterwards or accepts your appreciative gaze is entirely up to master geto's mood.

he thumbs over the smoothness of your skin: cheeks, chin, and then mouth, sticking the finger between your lips. pressing down on your tongue until there's a pool of drool, he soaks the digit to his satisfaction, and then makes you suck it dry. and, of course, you do so without question.

then, he's pulling off his robes, and wow, do you want to really worship the body he hides underneath. but, that is an act of adoration that you will only ever dream of. you're not nearly of enough importance for master geto to allow you such a luxury. not even a glance to the godlike features on his body, which will remain blurry visions in your peripherals, but you're satisfied with that, after all. as far as you know, the rest of his followers don't even get that. and this assumption makes you giddy. master geto must think you're special, gracing you with such a view.

you never break eye contact with him, ignoring the hands that trail to the last trace of his undergarments. even now, with his length literally inches from your face, you hold his steady stare, but your mouth waters and heart races when he pumps himself in front of you.

he begins pushing the fat, leaking tip of his cock up to your lips, glossing them up in a heavy sheen of precum. you sit still, obediently, perfectly like his little pet, as he continues to make a mess of you. geto presses his length forward until it just slips through your lips, before pulling back to smear his sticky substance over your cheeks and chin.

“open.”, he commands, and the corners of his mouth twitch up into a contemptuous smirk at the speed in which your jaw falls slack for him.

suguru pumps himself once, twice, then rubs the head again over your soft, glistening lips before tapping it on your tongue and granting you your first taste.

his hips thrust forward to enter the warm embrace of your mouth. your lips close around suguru's length automatically, and he gives a pleased hum as he uses you like a toy.

your eager eyes continue to meet his own, a lively shade of purple with a silent warning written in the hues—they dare you to disobey, to make even the slightest error and risk the fullest extent of geto suguru’s wrath. but he doesn't need to worry. he never does. you only ever act when your dearest leader instructs you, and that's just the way master geto likes it. he tells his little plaything to sit and open their mouth wide, and he knows that not a single thought will grace your head, not a word will leave your lips besides “yes, sir”.

the deeper he sinks into your throat, the harder it is to hold back a gag. regardless, you will force your body to comply and be good a worshipper. constantly under the heavy gaze of the beloved cult leader, you are instilled with a fear that showing him any amount of incompetence will disappoint geto enough to clear himself of your presence, perhaps even get rid of you entirely if he feels even a second of displeasure. but, you do your best to make sure that never happens. your life depends on it.

it doesn't take long before the cult leader pulls from the depths of your throat. you try not to show disappointment that he's chosen again not to cum inside, but it is quickly overrun by a determination to do better. surely if you were exceeding his expectations, he'd feel the need to reward you with a steady stream of his cum down your throat.

he graces you with a low grunt before shooting ropes of seed all over your face. it's warm and sticky. you wonder about the flavor, but don't risk a taste in front of him.

master geto disappears into what you know is his bathroom, before returning with a damp rag. he holds it out in his hand for you to take, and then sits on the bed and watches as you wipe down every inch of your face. when you're done, he extends the same hand, one which you place the used cloth in, and then dismisses you from his private quarters. geto never keeps you long, usually less than an hour, but it's time you deeply treasure, regardless.

you give him one last bow, and then make your quiet exit. your heart thuds in your chest in excitement for the next time. maybe it will be in a day. maybe a week. maybe a month. whatever he thinks you are worthy of. either way, you will wait faithfully in anticipation for master geto's call.

🪽: @anthoosies @teddybeartoji @blkkizzat @deepenthevoid @bubblez-blop @luvvmae @risuola @bunnymacaron @soraya-daydreams @starlightanyaaa @domainexpansionmypants @sobbangchan @apatauaia @b-b-b-my-b-f-f @getouolgy @sataraxia @leialilox @babytoshiii @sugu-love @akumicchi @sugojosgf @k-cris @triviahct @reiluvr @venzlenes @lovesickliyue @kisstoru @blindbabycadder @roronoaism @itztamar

[idontcare4urmom]

“matt likes a sweet book girl” • 691 words

: ̗̀➛ explicit content,oral sex (f!receiving),dirty talk,etc.

masterlist!🎀

"lift your hips up for me baby" matt coos quietly,his gruff voice laced with impatience while his warm breath is fanning over your delicate bare flesh on the column of your throat,fingerprints greedily attempting to distract the light waistband of your pants down and off from your body.

you immediately obey ruthelessly,your pelvis rolling upwards leisurely above the smooth silky sheets so he can take advantage from it,your calloused hands clutching tightly on the cardboard covered in cloth that belongs to a book you recently purchased.

your blissed brain recalls his earlier commanding of you to voice a chapter out loud at the same time he will pleasure you,but it's incredibly hard for your senses since his plump lips slowly travel down your skin,landing dangerously close to your inviting heat,

"come on sweetheart..i wanna hear you—-but you have to be a bit quiet if you mind chris hearing on the other room,hm?"

your head automatically jerked in a shaking motion,your last desire being chris' possible taunting if he was familiar to the fact that his brother's dimpled nose is currently buried in between the v-shape of your wide spread thighs.

the resistance of your suggestive compulsions was non existing a few momemts ago,when the engaging giggles echoed from your screen device,observing silently one of the live streams of your boyfriend gaming with his twin on twitch,a specific topic perking your interest instantaneously.

the conversation was odd in opposition to their habitual subjects,it was about each other's personal type in searching of a relationship,and the stable grin twisted on chris' bottom lip was visible when he stated confidently a one single phrase, "matt likes a sweet book girl"

despite the other blue-eyed man claiming the opposite in the back and forth bickering with his sibling,it wasn't in the slightest a surprise to you that your partner with private status had a rather preference to women who would just spend amount of their free time reading all those instructional pages,

and at that moment,a tempting text from you notificated his phone that vibrated inside his pocket was the last drop before his lukewarm compulsions to take over when he observed it,escalating somehow to the current position,

your tight shorts were pooled into the hardwood floor,your legs unabashedly semi bucked against his fully plump mouth while you pathetically whined,eager for any pleasure besides his pecking on your inner thighs,his intensively pierced glance never separating from your own pupils.

“look at you baby——fuck..so perfect,gonna treat you so well,just how you enjoy it”

his thumb lazily tousled away your underwear that had an obvious numb stain drenched against the material,his tongue forthwith attaching the sensitive bud of nerves with a delicious swirling motion,his index rubbing and massaging your swollen clit non stop,

his quick actions caught you completely off guard but you weren’t complaining at all,a suffocated gasp escaping deep from your throat that boiled down straight to his already painfully aroused dick.

your grip on the book flattered,almost nearly drowning off from your hands while you shakily struggled to manage reading and wording phrases on the paper in front of you,barely making out his praises since his croaking utter was muffled against your sweet cunt,

“doing so good for me sweetheart..come on—you can continue for a little longer”

you miserably sobbed when his needle sharp teeth sucked on your most sensitive place,his tongue slowly entering to encircle your insides,coaxing every dribble of your juices and hugging your walls perfectly,

“matt! close..please,please—need to cum”

the disappointment escalated when there was an empty lack in your guts when he popped his mouth off from you,but the discovering view of his flushed rosy cheekbones in combination with his words were more than enough to finally crash you to your orgasm of pure ecstacy,

"mph..alright angel,finish all over my face..let me see your pretty self cumming"

and you did,your entire figure quivering while you spurt into white jets of gooey liquid,only mumbling a dumbfound "shit" before submitting into a still position,breaths uneven and smoggy as you battled to come down from your high

"baby can you pass me that? i am kinda curious to find out what happens next"

Ⓡ idontcare4urmom

[charliemwrites]

Woof woof grrrrrr

Content: Dub-Con, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex (reader giving)

The bar is exactly as busy as you’re hoping for when you get there. Quiet and intimate, low lights, a hum of conversation but not overwhelmingly loud. The bar is mostly full but not crowded. As luck would have it, you instantly spot a couple empty stools towards the back.

You glide across the establishment, head held high and shoulders back. Pick a seat and smooth your skirt under you to perch. The bartender comes to you instantly; you pick something sweet and fruity (delighted that it’ll match your outfit.)

It takes up until they slide it across to you — a tab opened with your card — that the insecurity starts to set in. What if no one is interested? What if Soap doesn’t show up?

You sip at your drink and pull out your phone, reading your latest book. If nothing else… at least you’re getting out? God.

“This isn’t your usual scene.”

Oh. Oh this is worse than being ignored all night and going home alone. So much worse. Just barely manage not to curse aloud as you turn to your ex.

“Justin���” you start, realize you don’t know where to go from there. “Hi.”

“It’s been a minute, huh?”

You look him up and down. Designer everything, of course, brands printed all over him. No taste, though, none of it is cohesive. You wouldn’t be caught dead at his side ever again.

“How’s your arm?”

His expression flickers, hand unconsciously going to the spot where Johnny tried to tear it off.

“Fine. Thanks.” He gives you a long look. Unfriendly. “You know people have had dogs put down for less.”

You run your tongue over your teeth, fear and anger twisting up in your stomach like hot lava. How dare he threaten your boy like that?! Wish Johnny was here now to take another chunk out of him.

“Not when people trespass on private property,” you reply coldly, eyes narrowing.

He puts his hands up, laughing awkwardly. “Well, now. I wouldn’t call it — let’s just say we’re even, yeah?”

“For that at least.”

You take another big sip of your drink. Find it empty. Make hopeful eye contact with the bartender and nod for another when they gesture questioningly. There’s a reason you love this bar.

“Right… listen, about that, luv…”

“There you are, bonnie!”

You perk up despite yourself. Says something that the creep who sexually harasses you in public is better company than your ex-fiancé. Something zings through you when you realize Soap is bigger than your Justin (hopefully in every aspect). Taller, wider, more muscular. Better jawline and prettier eyes, too.

“Tucked up back here like this,” Soap mock scolds, shouldering past Justin. You let out a little squeak as he scoops you off your barstool, hand just under your ass for a hold. “Almost didn’t see you, hen.”

“H-Hi,” you say, arms going around his neck automatically. He presses his nose to your collarbone and audibly inhales. You shiver.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he continues, voice dropping lower.

He sets you down on your stool again with a wink, then takes the stool next to yours.

“Oi, do you mind?” Justin snaps, bumped out of the way by Soap’s bulk.

“I do, actually.” The look Soap levels him is sharp, cold. Bloody killer. Instantly reminds you of all the alarm bells that normally play in your head when he’s around. “Don’t like puffed up knobs like you around my girl.”

You bite your tongue on a protest that you’re not his girl. Wouldn’t be particularly helpful right about now. You’ll correct him later.

“Your girl,” Justin scoffs. “She was mine before she was ever — hey!”

Soap’s got his fist in the front of Justin’s shirt, jerking him nearly off his feet. A few heads turn. You feel hot with embarrassment, skin prickling at so many eyes on your little trio of stupidity.

“Woah!” You yelp. “Soap!”

You grab his forearm (remind yourself not to get distracted by the muscles cording it) and lean into his line of sight. The near-murderous glint in his blue eyes softens, though there’s still an unnatural sheen to them. Something that makes the hair on the back of your head stand on end.

“Soap, let him go,” you say, quiet. “I like this bar, don’t get us kicked out… please?”

He hums, instantly drops Justin to cup his hand around the back of your neck, fingers edging into your hair. His palm feels so big and harm, a little rough with callouses. You try not to think about how easy it would be for him to manipulate your head however he wants…

“Like when you say ‘please,’ hen,” Soap purrs.

You swallow, feel your cheeks flushing as you say, “Then… you should sit down and have a drink with me. Please?”

He grins, crooked and a little mean. “Anythin’ fer you.”

He drops into his stool again like a king on his throne. You perch gingerly on your own, waving Justin away like an annoying fly. Don’t even look as he slinks off, too busy staring at Soap. Who’s… busy staring at you. As always.

“You never called,” he drawls after ordering. Whiskey, neat. The bartender sets your new drink in front of you; you start sipping to gather your thoughts and nerve. “Lucky I happened to stop in here, eh? Imagine if I’d walked past…”

You grimace a bit. A fantastic bit of luck, that. Thought you’re still not sure what type of luck.

Definitely not going to admit to him that you didn’t call on purpose, wanting plausible deniability if you did see him. As if trying to get him under your skirt by happenstance is better than calling him to do it.

“Why did you stop in here?” You ask, looking to change the subject.

“Could smell you,” he answers, eyes twinkling.

You wrinkle your nose, kick at his shin. Want to blame it on the alcohol, but you drink red wine most nights of the week. This is just… placebo and desperation.

“You’re so nasty, you know that?” You huff.

He arches his eyebrows, grins wolfishly. “Could show you how nasty I can be,” he offers.

You wrinkle your nose even as your cheeks burn. That’s exactly what you’re hoping for.

“You can’t keep talking to me like that,” you complain.

He snorts in amusement, hooking his fingers beneath your stool and tugging you closer. Until your knees are between both of his, jeans brushing against your thighs.

“Here’s the thing, darlin’,” he murmurs, low and private. “I think you like when I talk to you like that.”

You swallow audibly, hands dropping down to twist nervously in your lap.

“I think it makes your pretty pussy all wet and swollen when I get all mean like this,” he continues. You shake your head; his palm clamps down on your thigh beneath your skirt, thumb sweeping back and forth over the sensitive skin. “Think she’s fuckin’ aching fer me to make good on all my promises. And you can get all shy and sweet here, but I bet all your cunt wants is to be mounted and bred like a bitch in heat.”

And he’s right. Of course he’s fucking right. That goddamn bad guy fantasy and your shallow, needy pussy, and Soap’s stupid fucking everything.

You feel like you’re about to explode when the bartender sets his whiskey down, snapping the tension like a rubber band. Feel dizzy as you lean away, sipping desperately at your own drink in an attempt to cool off. He gives you all over maybe fifteen second before opening that sinful mouth again.

“So how about it, bonnie? Did I hit the mark?”

You feel frustrated tears pricking at your eyes. Blink and look away at your nervous hands.

“I-I don’t even know you,” you mutter. “You could be dangerous.”

“I am dangerous, baby,” he replies, “just not to you.”

You shake your head. “You’re awful.”

“Mm and you want me to do awful things to you.”

You sigh through your nose, that little logical voice blaring again. He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to use you.

(Would that be so bad, if you go in knowing it?)

A tug at your necklace startles you out of your thoughts, his finger hooked beneath the pendant. You lean in with a noise of protest, afraid he’s going to break it. Gasp as your lips brush his.

“Whatever’s goin’ on in that pretty head, let me fuck it out of you.”

You shudder, hand balanced on his thick, muscular thigh. Can feel a twitch near your thumb. Holy shit.

“I’ll be so good to you, princess,” he promises. “Let me be good to you.”

You suck in a breath. Now or never.

Well, if nothing else, maybe you’ll let Johnny eat him if he’s turns out to be a bastard.

“Prove it,” you breathe.

He guides your chin up, eyes blazing with hunger.

“Yeah?” He asks.

You blink, muster up your courage. “You heard me. Or are you back out?”

His expression goes deliciously dark. “Oh, I’ll prove it, lass. You just sit right here and I’ll get us sorted.”

His fingers slip just that last little bit up and start teasing at the lace of your panties. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to sip at your cocktail while he flags down the bartender. His nails scrape lightly across the fabric over your clit as gets your card and throws down enough cash to cover all three drinks.

When he pulls his hand away, you have to bite back a whimper.

“If you don’t get up right now, I’m haulin’ you out of here over my shoulder,” he growls in your ear.

You’re up in an instant, smoothing down your skirt. His hand stays glued to your lower back as he ushers you out to the lot. Sits you down in the passenger seat of a black pickup, barely waits for you to buckle yourself in before peeling out of the lot.

You’re about to tell him your address when you hear the clink of a belt, a zipper. Eyes wide as they drop to his pants, to him fishing a huge, hard cock out of jeans.

“C’mere,” he near snarls.

“Soap, that’s not— mph!”

The head of his cock catches on your teeth, but that only seems to spur him on, hips twitching.

“Gonna ruin that pretty makeup, your pretty hair. Gettin’ all dolled up like that for any fucking wanker to see.”

He twists his fingers in your hair and presses you down, your cheek rubbing against the shaft. He feels huge and unnaturally hot. You press your thighs together as you imagine how it’s going to feel inside of you.

“This isn’t safe,” you complain, mouth open as you gasp against the flushed skin.

He curses, tugs you up so that your lips press against the head, already dripping. Your eyes widen in the darkness, shocked and flattered that you’ve already worked him up this much.

“Not gonnae let anything happen,” he promises, “but you need to convince me not to spank this pretty ass black and blue.”

You squeal as he releases you hair just to deliver a harsh smack to one ass cheek, the sting making you clench up.

“H-hey!”

“You want me to slap that pretty pussy too? Bet I could make you cum just tapping that little clit over and over again. That what you want, slag?”

“N-no!”

“Then show me.”

You seal your mouth around the head, sucking and licking at the precum beading at the tip. Try to brace yourself, nearly gag as he hits a pothole and shoves into your throat. It’s noisy and messy, eyes watering from how thick and deep he is already, not letting you up for more than brief gasps of air.

“Fuck, that’s it baby. Work your tongue just like that…” he groans.

You lose track of everything but trying not to gag, his threat lingering with each obscene slurp and twist of your tongue. He tastes better than you expected, and the scent of him surrounds you. Musk and pine, something familiar that niggles at your cock-drunk brain. Can’t be bothered to work it out though, not when he’s tugging your hair. Not when he comes to an abrupt stop and you deepthroat him.

He yanks you off with a near-animal growl. You whine, scrambling to brace yourself and panting. Your head feels foggy. Know your panties are soaked through; shocked you’re not dripping down your leg. If you were sitting properly, you’d probably leave a wet mark on the seat.

You moan as his mouth crashes into yours, tongue sweeping inside like he owns it. He licks the taste of himself off your tongue, hands fumbling your seatbelt off, dragging you over the center console to straddle his lap.

You gasp at the sight of his rock hard, angry cock next to your pretty dress, pressed up against your stomach. Show just how deep he’ll be inside your guts.

“Fuck, look’it that,” he groans rutting against your stomach. “Oh you were made to be mine.”

You scream as he scoops you up, stepping out of the truck with you over his shoulder.

“Soap!” You shout. “Soap, put me down, my dog—”

“I’m your fuckin’ dog,” he replies.

“No, seriously, he’s protective—”

He grabs the spare out of its hiding place and shoves the door open. You brace for angry barking and growls, but hear nothing. Soap doesn’t even pause. He just kicks the door shut and storms down the hall to your room, like he knows exactly where he’s going.

He drops you onto the bed, watches your breasts bounce as you settle on the mattress. He strips off int he blink of any eyes while you’re still catching your breath.

“W-wait, wait, my—”

He flips you onto your stomach, hikes your ass up high in the air. You squirm, try to crawl away, but he slaps your ass so hard you see stars. He places his palm flat between your shoulder blades to bin you still.

“S-Soap,” you whine as he shoves your skirt up over your ass, palms a cheek. Spreads you open just to let the flesh jiggle back into place.

“Fuck,” he growls. It sounds off. Sounds deeper, rougher now.

“Just-just slow down…!”

He yanks your panties aside, plunges two thick fingers into you. You squeal, legs kicking uselessly against the mattress.

“Oh, you’re plenty ready,” he says, dark, almost to himself. “All ready to be mated and bred. All mine.”

That finally starts to break the lust-drunk haze. Open your mouth to tell him absolutely not, it’s been way to long and your need to be stretched—

He forces his entire cock into you with one brutal thrust. You scream, cry, try to flatten yourself against the bed but he won’t even let you do that, muttering about “presenting” properly. It hurts but it feels good, know that’s it’s just too much.

“Soap,” you sob, “y-you can’t— you have to… I’m-I’m gonna break.”

“Shhhh, no you’re not,” he soothes, grinding a bit deeper. Your eyes roll back, keening through your teeth. “You were made for me. You’re all for me.”

You shake your head, but he just chuckles.

“Yes, baby, yes. You let me in, you kept me. Now we belong to each other.”

“Soap, w-what are you talking about…?” you manage, fists tight in the sheets. He draws back once and slams into you, hard, mean.

Leans down so he’s rumbling directly in your ear.“‘S Johnny, hen.”

You blink, confused and overwhelmed. “W-what… n-no. No, Johnny is my….”

“Woof.”

First | Previous | Next

Masterlist

[snowluvvie]

₊˚⊹ ♡ . JUST SHOW UP AND BE PRETTY.

“Mr. and Mrs. Robertson are the ones whose daughter just went off to college… she’s a hospitality major, I think… or maybe it was nursing—argh!” You drop your head into your hands, your notecards crinkling at the edges before you toss them down onto the dresser, giving up on your studying. “I’m never gonna be able to remember all this.”

Bruce rounds the corner, shrugging on his shirt casually. He isn’t even dressed, and the gala starts in twenty minutes.

“No one expects you to.” He hums placidly.

“You’re the CEO, it’s gonna look bad if I’m with you and I don’t know anyone’s names.” A frown starts to tug your mouth downwards, your teeth digging into your bottom lip anxiously.

As he finishes buttoning his shirt, looking entirely too handsome in plain, crisp white, Bruce crosses the room and joins you in front of his dresser. He brings a hand up to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing against your lips in an attempt to smooth your growing frown. You lean into his touch automatically, his hand warm against your skin.

“Sweetheart, this isn’t work. Tonight’s supposed to be fun—at least a little, I’d hoped.” The baritone of his voice is so soothing, your concerns practically melt at the first comforting word that leaves his mouth. Bruce has always had a way of doing that, of saying things with such resolute calmness that they had to be true.

“Just don’t wanna embarrass you.” You mumble, though you knew he had already suspected as much.

Bruce lets out a slow, quiet sigh, his hand drifting down to rest on the crook of your neck. He tugs you gently forward, and you let him, as he makes you turn to face the mirror. You’re in the cobalt blue gown he picked out, throat and ears studded with matching sapphires. As you look in the mirror, your eyes don’t stay trained on your own reflection for long—rather, they flick to Bruce, who’s looming over you like some overly handsome and comforting phantom. He squeezes your neck reassuringly.

“Look at yourself. How could you embarrass me when you look like this?”

Despite yourself, you feel the corner of your mouth start to tip up into a small smile. Bruce catches it and grins, flashing his teeth in a way that’s equally as intoxicating every time he does it. Secretly, you spend most of your time together trying to coax those from him.

He dips his head to brush his lips against the shell of your ear, and you shudder lightly at his breath against your skin. “Just be there, and be next to me, and be gorgeous. Everyone will love you.”

Your eyelashes flutter as your eyes start to drift shut, lulled by his voice in your ear, like he’s hypnotizing you. You nod numbly, suddenly very agreeable with whatever he had to say. He lets out a small, deep laugh into your ear, hands smoothing over your shoulders as he pulls back from you.

“We’re gonna be late.” You point out, a whine at the edge of your voice from the sudden absence of him against you.

“Yes, definitely.” He replies.

[missuswalker]

𝐧𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 || 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✮ summary: after peter finishes… well, you know, he can’t stop himself from coming to see you. as if he’s not clingy enough, he can’t help but be all over you. at least he’s (trying) to sit still for once

✮ warnings: brief nsfw content, masturbation (not proofread)

✮ notes: man idk i just feel like peter is all clingy and touchy after he nuts

peter’s mind had been on you all day, trapped on the image of your hand wrapped around his cock. of course, that wasn’t exactly the case at the moment, considering it was his own hand. as he pumped himself, he tried his best to remember that little face you make when you cum. he’d been working on this problem of his for way longer than he should have, and he was searching for anything to push him over the edge.

the more he thought about you, your pretty tits, and that hella tight skirt, the closer he could feel his release building. picking up his pace, he bites back a whimper. more thoughts of you didn’t help his attempt at silence, a grunt or two escaping his lips. he pushes his head further back into his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut. free hand balled into a fist, he lets out a low moan, cumming all over his stomach and fingers.

after cleaning himself up, he stares at the photo of you two on his bedside table. he wanted to see you so bad. maybe it was just the post-nut fog, but he just needed you wrapped up in his arms. throwing on some jeans and a tshirt, he lets his mom know he’s heading out with a quick shout. he’s at you window in less than a second, sliding it open. he always told you to lock your window in case a creep decides to crawl in, but, in reality, the only creep that ever used it was him.

“hey, peter,” you greet, not even bothering to turn around. whenever your window was suddenly opened, you automatically knew it was your idiot boyfriend who could never just use the front door. “it’s not peter, it’s a scary murderer and i’m here to kill you,” he says, making a stabbing motion behind your head. “oh no,” you say, your tone bored and plain as you continue to study for your exams.

peter rolls his eyes, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. “not happy to see me?” he teases, his lips connecting with the smooth skin of your neck. you push his face away, writing something down in a tiny notebook, papers scattered across your desk. “i’m studying,” you respond, eyes locked on your notes. his mouth is back on your neck immediately, despite you having just pushed him away.

“come on, babe, let’s hang out, you can study later, yeah?” he hums, nibbling right below your jaw. he absolutely would not be giving up, and you knew it. turning around in your chair, you look up at the silver-haired boy, giving an agitated look. he only gives back an innocent smile, pulling you up by your hand. “why are you so adamant on hanging out specifically right now,” you groan, allowing him to lead you to your bed. “no reason.”

pushing you down onto your unmade bed, he jumps, landing beside you. “hey, hot stuff,” he grins, posing with his face resting in the palm of his hand. “hey, dipshit,” you say in an overly-lovey tone, sarcasm evident in your dramatic smile. “you love me,” he laughs, pulling you into his arms, ruffling your hair. “sometimes,” you joke back, feeling less aggravated at your distraction of a boyfriend. he smiles, his face finding a place in the crook of your neck.

“mm, missed you,” he hums, taking a deep breath. you grin, playing with his hair. “i missed you, too.” he kisses your shoulder multiple times, moving up your neck and jaw. “i love you,” he continues, his lips lingering on your cheek. “i love you, too,” you snort, furrowing your eyebrows at his overly-affectionate behavior. eventually he settles, his leg bouncing a bit as he lays next to you, arms loose around your waist. “don’t fall asleep,” you tell him, trying to get a look at his face. “i’m not asleep,” he grunts, though it was clear he was about to be.

“yeah, okay.”

“i’m not.”

“shut up.”

short and sweet, i love him sm

(send in requests, i beg)

[augustinewrites]

repost of an old drabble bcs shibuya arc is starting and i am thinking of nanami (head in hands sobbing)

“that was reckless of you. dangerous, even.”

nanami’s tone is firm yet gentle, but you recognize a reprimand when you hear one.

“i’m fine,” you insist, even as you lift the hem of your shirt to press the cloth to the edges of the cut on your side. it’s shallow, thankfully, but everytime you turn you know it’s going to sting. “isn’t that all that matters at the end of the day?”

“you very well could not have been.” there’s a vein of irritation lacing his voice, you aren’t sure if it’s directed at you or the situation, but it puts you on edge.

shifting a little on the countertop, you twist the tap on to run your cloth under cool water again. “yeah, well, the chances of me dying were low, anyway.”

“low, but not zero,” he says shortly, placing the first aid kit beside you. “if you’d just let me—”

“let you what, kento?” you snap, wringing the pink-tinged cloth over the sink. you can’t exactly blame him for being worried. shallow as the wound may be, the amount of blood that’s soaked through your shirt made it look a lot worse than it actually felt. “let you die?”

the straight line his mouth is pressed in twitches into a grimace. “that’s not the point.”

“you would have done the same for me, right?”

he doesn’t hesitate when he says, “of course.”

“then that’s the point,” you counter. “you look out for me, i look out for you. i don’t regret what i did.”

a frustrated sigh slips past his lips, and you hiss slightly as you press the cloth to the cut once more, trying to clean up the last of the blood. you’ll have to patch it up as best you can before going to see shoko, lest you bleed out on the way there.

you’re reaching for the first aid kit when nanami catches your wrist. his expression is hard to read as ever, but he’s watching you carefully, meeting your gaze with a hesitance that’s unlike him.

“it would be easier if i did it.”

wordlessly, you nod and let him take the cloth from you. nanami quietly moves to your side, letting you hold onto his shoulder while he lightly dabs at the edges of the cut. he does it so carefully, hands moving deftly and efficiently as he cleans up the mess on your skin, apologizing softly whenever you so much as wince.

you wonder, briefly, if this is the same man you know as the 7:3 sorcerer. as a fighter, he’s cold, ruthless. you’ve seen him slice through curses with the ease of a hot knife going through butter. you’ve seen him put his fist through the thickest of concrete, perform a black flash four consecutive times.

but this man, this torrential force of jujutsu sorcery, handles you so tenderly. delicately. as if he’s afraid you’ll shatter in his grasp.

“you shouldn’t do that again,” he murmurs as he cuts a strip of gauze and a few pieces of medical tape.

“almost get my side split open by a curse?” you chuckle. “i don’t plan to, no.”

his lips turn down into a frown as he carefully smooths the gauze onto your cut. “don’t sacrifice yourself like that for me. please.”

the playful smile on your face is quick to fade. “sacrifice? i took a blow i knew would be non-lethal.”

he shakes his head, pulling back to let your hand fall from his shoulder. “non-lethal this time, but what if there’s a next time? you shouldn’t risk your life to make up for my own shortcomings as a sorcerer. if i lost you–”

your brows raise when he cuts himself off, clearing his throat and trying again. “if the school lost you, it’d be rather unfortunate.”

“for the school?” you repeat.

he shrugs as he begins packing away the supplies. “they’d be stuck with gojo as their sole teacher.” there’s a blush bleeding past the collar of your his as he averts his gaze, and for some reason, it makes you smile.

“well, we don’t want that, do we?” you ask softly, slipping off the counter and patting his bicep. “come on, i’m going to need a ride to the school to see shoko.”

nanami just nods, his hand automatically moving to your lower back, gently guiding you out the door.

“gojo isn’t that bad of a teacher,” you say off-handedly.

his gaze briefly flicks to yours, as if to check if you’re serious.

you can’t hold back the laughter fighting its way up your throat, and nanami cracks an amused grin, chuckling, “i didn’t believe you for a second. handling him without you is…taxing.”

you nudge him slightly. “so you admit you need me, huh?”

the hand on your back circles around your waist, carefully pulling you closer. “more than you know.”

[capquinn]

Hey I love your Dad!Quinn writings so much! They’re so cute and fluffy! Maybe you can do one about mom’s bump popping up one morning and Quinn is like mesmerized, realizes that a baby is coming and his life is going to change. But he’s so happy. Only if you want to write this. Have fun in NYC!

The hoodie slipped from his hands, forgotten, as Quinn froze in the doorway, caught in the quiet spell of the moment. His breath stilled, his gaze fixed on you — on the reflection of you in the mirror, framed by the soft morning light that filtered through the curtains. You were standing there, one hand resting on the curve of your belly, your fingers brushing over it in a way that was both casual and deliberate.

But it wasn’t the same curve he’d kissed goodnight the evening before. This was new, different.

His eyes traced the line of your profile, lingering on the now unmistakable swell of your stomach. It wasn’t just a gentle hint anymore, not the subtle softness he’d grown accustomed to seeing. It was undeniable, defined. A bump.

His bump. His baby.

Quinn’s arms hung at his sides, his hoodie now pooled in the chair behind him as his brain worked to catch up with his eyes. For a long beat, he just stared, unmoving, as the weight of it hit him all at once. His chest tightened, his heart thrumming in a rhythm he couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t panic, not fear, but bigger — something that was overwhelming in its tenderness. Awe, maybe. Or reverence. A sense of this is real that felt too massive for his chest to hold.

He tilted his head slightly, as if looking from a different angle might somehow soften the impact, but it didn’t. If anything, it deepened it.

His gaze dropped to your hand, the way your palm smoothed over the firm swell like it was second nature now. He hadn’t realised how much he’d been holding his breath until he let it out, slow and shaky, his hands flexing at his sides. There was no mistaking it anymore — this was real. Tangible. The tiny life that had been nothing but whispers and plans and grainy black-and-white ultrasound images was suddenly here, making its presence known.

You glanced up in the mirror, your eyes catching his reflection, and Quinn’s heart twisted. You looked at him like you always did — a soft affection that grounded him — but now there was something else. Something unspoken, something shared. Something that said, can you believe this?

He stepped closer without even realising, the movement automatic, like gravity was pulling him to you. His hand reached out instinctively, tentative at first, brushing against the curve of your belly before settling there fully. His palm was warm, steady, fingers spreading slightly as if to take it all in. The bump was firm, more defined than he’d expected, and the simple touch made everything feel sharper, clearer.

“This is new,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with emotion, almost as if speaking louder might shatter the fragile intimacy of the moment.

“It wasn’t like this yesterday,” you replied softly, your voice carrying the same quiet awe that was written all over your face.

“No,” he agreed, his thumb sweeping in a slow arc along the edge of your belly. “It wasn’t.”

For the first time, it wasn’t just an abstract thought in the back of his mind. It wasn’t just appointments or plans or future names whispered in the dark. It was right here, under his hand. The tiny, growing life you’d made together, tucked safely between the two of you.

His gaze flicked back up to yours, his eyes soft and bright with something unspoken. Pride, maybe, and then his lips curved into a faint, almost shy smile.

“That’s… really our baby,” he said, the words tumbling out like a confession, as though saying them aloud might help him fully believe it.

“Really our baby,” you echoed, and the way you said it, so soft but so certain, nearly unraveled him.

Quinn’s thumb brushed over your skin again, slower this time, more deliberate, as if tethering himself in the moment. He didn’t let go, didn’t even think about moving. His fingers flexed gently against you, holding on as though the world might tip if he didn’t anchor himself to this — to you.

He exhaled quietly, his voice dropping even lower as his gaze flicked back to your bump.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to it,” he murmurs. “To you. To seeing you like this.” His voice caught slightly, and his eyes softened even further as they roamed the swell of your stomach, his hands cradling it like it was the most precious thing in the world.

He couldn’t take his eyes off you — off the way your body had changed, the way it was carrying something that was a part of both of you. It hit him all at once, an overwhelming wave of awe that nearly stole his breath. The guys had joked about this, their faces lighting up in a way that always seemed a little exaggerated when they said there was nothing more attractive than seeing your partner pregnant with your child. He’d brushed it off at the time, but standing here now, he finally understood. You were stunning, and it wasn’t just how you looked — it was what it meant. What you were doing.

He kept those thoughts to himself, too raw and vulnerable to say aloud, but they lingered, stirring in the quiet space between you.

“You’re just so beautiful,” he said instead, the words escaping before he could stop them. He didn’t need to elaborate — everything he felt was in the way he looked at you, his eyes soft, his expression completely open.

The sincerity in his words made your throat tighten, a warmth rising in your chest that had nothing to do with hormones. He saw it immediately — the way your eyes glossed just slightly, your lips pressing together as if to hold back an overflow of emotion. You stared down at the curve of your belly, your hand resting over his, grounding yourself in the moment.

Quinn’s heart clenched at the sight. He hadn’t meant to make you cry, but the way your reaction softened your entire expression made his chest ache in the best way. His fingers flexed gently against your stomach again, his thumb brushing over your skin in a slow, steady rhythm, his way of silently telling you that he was right here.

Your lips parted slightly, like you wanted to say something but weren’t quite ready, and he stayed quiet, giving you the space to find the words.

“It doesn’t feel real, does it?” you whispered finally, your voice carrying a quiet awe that made his breath catch.

He paused for just a moment, watching the way your gaze lingered on your belly, before answering.

“It’s real,” he said, almost to himself, as if to convince the last part of him that still couldn’t quite believe it. His fingers pressed a little more firmly, cradling the swell of your stomach with the same care he might handle something sacred. “It’s us. Right here.”

He could see the ripple of emotion in your expression, the way your chest rose in a deep, steadying breath. The way your hand tightened over his for just a second, like you needed him to hold you in the moment.

When your eyes finally met his, the look you gave him stopped him in his tracks. It was full of wonder, gratitude, and a love so profound it stole the breath from his lungs. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words, couldn’t do anything but hope that you saw everything reflected back in his gaze: the wonder, the love, the quiet, unshakable resolve that whatever came next, he’d be there — every step, every breath. For you. For the tiny life between you. For all of it.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

requests are open - let’s daydream!