#Sly: The TF | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hausofmamadas · 2 years ago

Text

| Always short to the gate |

⁂

Pairing: David Barrón & Enedina Arellano Félix

For my df, dear friend, and fellow writer @purplesong1028 - Candyhearts Exchange 2023

Word count: ≈ 7.8K

TWs: Canon-typical violence, descriptions of violence

✷Disclaimer - This is an AU version of Barron, to the point that mans is essentially my OC. So, for purposes of morality/sanity/all that is holy, we disregard Nmx - S3, ep8, Last Dance. For more details, refer -> here. On a similar note: if I have to say “not condoning/glorifying the real people” aka “I don’t sanction the real-life actions of drug cartels,” I implore thee, look where you are. You’re in the wrong place. Best take that elsewhere porque no hay bronca, for civility's sake, we will not be going there✷

Still, these were all things to wish for, not to have. What was left now? What if some things were better dreamt than done? David Barron is in love. He's in love and he does care who knows it. Particularly, if the brutal, savage cartel-boss brothers of the woman he loves, Enedina Arellano Felix, know it. But what’s he to do when he's taken by another powerful cartel leader, in retaliation for Dina's secret side-project moving coke across the Tijuana/San Ysidro border with fellow drug baroness, Isabella Bautista? In the face of a potentially more imminent death para su rayo de luna, can Dina afford to keep both him, and the business she built from the ground up, a secret?

⁂

So, this is it. I finally made it. Staring at the crowd, all the bigwigs laughing and clinking their champagne flutes, and now that I’m here, I can’t figure what all the fuss was about. Because in my whole damn life, I’ve never been to a party like this. Frankly, I’d sooner hit up a barbecue at Chato’s grandma’s trailer or a tailgate in Chicano Park, than show up willingly to a place like this.

The guest list is a family tree of Sinaloan-born narcos and an obnoxious who’s-who of Mexico City elites. Men come down from the ivory tower to grace all the thieves and plebes. Fat cats in pressed gray suits. Although, the champagne-glass pyramid is pretty cool. And somehow, this isn’t even as lavish as last year? At least according to Ramón. When we arrive, he explains that there was still all of well ... everything. But last year kicked off harder because Güero and Co rolled through with a life-size train and a tiger in a gilded cage. A fucking tiger.

“Pendejos only did it to kiss Miguel’s ass, que sean tan mamónes,” he growls, shooting a dead-eyed stare at Chapo across the lawn.

I laugh into the highball glass I’m sipping from. I don’t normally drink at events like this, and on the off chance I do, always a Corona with a lime ‘cause it reminds me of home. But thank you, no. I would not like to keep my tab open.

Except this time, the over-interested hostess practically forces a drink on me when we get there. No clue who she is either, except she must’ve been a high-roller herself or at least married to one, based on the obscene dress she’s wearing. Fuck if I know a thing about designer shit, but I can spot the difference between black-tie and fuck-you money. And I’m not in the habit of saying “no” to fuck-you money. Even if she is smiling and touching my shoulder too much.

My eyes wander, looking for Dina, brooding an invisible SOS into the night air, hoping she might swoop in and save me, but she’s nowhere in sight. Neither is Mín. I smack Ramón in the chest with the back of my hand. “Oye, dónde está tu hermana?”

He shakes his head.

The fuck did she go? The only reason I’m even at this glorified peacock-fest, and— oh wow, yeah, there are actual peacocks wandering around on the lawn by the lake. No tigers, but of course the night isn’t complete without some form of exploited wildlife. No, the only reason I’m here is because she asked me. Or rather, because of what came out when she asked me.

✺

Dina sat on Mín’s desk, legs dangled over the side, smoking a cigarette like always, and eyeing me slyly from across the room as I buttoned my shirt back up.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you?” I asked, readjusting my collar.

“What?”

“That it’s rude to stare.”

She threw her head back, laughing.

“Yeah, they must’ve had some lesson at whatever charm school you probably went to.”

Her mouth dropped open in mock outrage, “Charm school? No me digas esas shingaderas, hombre. I wasn’t as poor as you but we didn’t have that kind of money.”

I clicked my tongue against the roof of my mouth, “Ah, tu lo sabes? Tienes razón. ‘Cause the working-class shit I’ve heard outta your mouth?” and shook my head. “They wouldn’t have let you in the building.”

She snapped her fingers. “Sí, David. Now he’s getting it.”

“Well, then that would explain it.”

“Explain what?”

“Why you don’t know it’s rude to stare at someone like that.”

Her voice shot up half an octave into the range of feigned innocence. “Like what?”

“Like they’re dessert.”

“Es solo porque eres tan dulce. Maybe I just can’t get enough. Maybe I have no choice.”

I looked up at her, smiling wide, all love-struck-stupid ‘cause I couldn’t help myself. “‘Can’t get enough,’ like you didn’t just get a three course meal.”

She kicked her heels against the desk, then hopped off and strolled over. I made a face when she flicked her cigarette on the ground and stamped it out. “Your brother’s gonna hate that.”

“Ya lo sé, y no me importa ni una mierda.”

“Oh, sí? Pues lo haría tampoco pero the second he sees it, he’ll think I did it.”

Voice dropping just above a whisper, she came closer, “If he does, he can take it up with me,” and slid her hands under my shirt. “It’s as much mine as it is his. More even.”

They felt cold through the thin, ribbed fabric of my undershirt, gliding around my waist, creeping around to brush my lower back with her fingertips. At first, I thought she was going for my pant pockets, until her thumb hooked around the handle of the gun in my waistband. It startled me in spite of myself.

She smirked, practically presenting it, barrel pointed up at the ceiling. “Sorry, were you gonna need this? Or can we remove the ‘fire’ hazard.”

Taking the gun and grumbling, “You know there’s a safety, right,” I leaned over and set it on the filing cabinet against the wall.

When I turned my attention back to her, she tightened her grip around my waist suddenly and backed me up against the door. She tried bracing with her other arm so I wouldn’t fall back too hard. It didn’t work. A second thud, my head smacking the door, followed the first of it slamming shut. Still, the though that counts, right? My pained smile complemented a look of amused pity on her face.

Laughing, she winced and mouthed, “Shit, sorry!”

“So, this is how you treat your employee—“ she cut me off with a few well-timed, remorseful kisses.

She pulled back breathlessly, grinning, almost electrified. “Yeah, why do you think I took your gun away?”

“Mmm, yeah, would’ve been a hazard.”

“That, yes. But mostly I didn’t want you to feel like you were on the clock,” she murmured against my mouth, “this isn’t meant to be company time,” then caught my lower lip gently with her teeth.

I sucked in a harsh breath, not a chance in hell of suppressing the feral rumble already escaping the back of my throat.

It might’ve been fine. I might’ve been able to tear myself away, because we’d already been there too long, nevermind it was never long enough.

Until her lashes brushed my cheek and I heard, “Ah, how I love to hear you, guapo.”

My heart bottomed out in my stomach. I got ahold of the collar of her jacket on both sides. Rocking her back, easy and gentle, I slid it slow off her shoulders. Goosebumps followed the path of my fingertips across her neck, collarbones, down the backs of her arms. The metal buttons clinked against the floor. A bell announcing another round.

And all of a sudden, I couldn’t get at her fast enough.

I swept my arm around her waist, hand sliding into the curve of the small of her back, the other palming the spot between her shoulder blades to flatten her against me. If I could just bring her close enough for us to melt together and into the wood grain of the door, the better to freebase the air she breathed, the smell of her hair, the blood rushing to her face.

How many nights had I spent awake, staring at the cracked plaster ceiling of my cell, dreaming of moments like this. I’d lost count a long time ago. And okay, maybe not exactly like this. The feeling. The wholeness to it. But not the details. Like I never could’ve predicted the boxy radio with the giant antenna that played from its sketchy spot on the window ledge, too close to the edge, day in and day out while we worked. Or the way the sun lit the dust in the air like the office was an attic in an old house that wasn’t ours. And Dina, all nimble fingers now, working my belt buckle. No way I could’ve dreamt her up. She was too complete for that.

Still, these were all things to wish for, not to have. What was left now? What if some things were better dreamt than done?

Suddenly self-aware, I wondered what it’d be like if just now, she could feel that inferno of memories at the tip of my tongue, burning through my lips to hers. If she could learn, inhaling every breath I took, things I’d share without saying a word. I wished she could. Maybe that’s why her kisses were so urgent now. Sharp, demanding, like she couldn’t get close enough. Like she’d occupy the exact same space if she could.

Let me in. Anything. Tell me anything.

She was funny like that. Didn’t even know how far she’d gotten. So much further than most.

Lips still locked to mine like cross examining a witness, her hands grazed my jaw, my neck, practically mauling the collar of my shirt to get the buttons undone. I should’ve known not to bother earlier. This was the way it went with us. Part of the ritual, pretending we were done. Getting ready to leave, all raw nerves in the afterglow. Anxious awareness, never far behind not-near-enough satisfied. Because no matter how careful we were, there was a chance we’d be caught all the same. But we were never ready. Not really. So, we’d stall enough to justify starting up again. Living in each other as much as we could. Wringing out every last drop to bottle it up, a fail-safe supply for later. Another bump, another hit to tide us over. ‘Til next time. If we got one.

She’d only made it two buttons down when we both froze. A crashing sound, loud echoes of metallic clanging. Fuck. Someone on the main floor. We repelled to opposite sides of the room before we could think long enough to be disappointed.

I fixed my shirt, then grabbed Dina’s jacket from the floor and tossed it to her. “You said no one was supposed to be here till tonight?”

She caught it, draping it over one arm so she could get her cigarette holder out of one of the pockets. Trying her level best to look composed, she took one out and lit up. But I could see the tells; beads of sweat on her forehead; that too-quick rise and fall of her chest.

Eyes wide, she shrugged, at a loss. “They’re not. Pancho’s with Món at the racetrack. Apparently betting against some new horse Güero and Chapo brought up from Mazatlán. Mín’s taking Ruth to one of her appointments.”

I walked to the window and looked out onto the main floor. It was easy to make out a head of black hair bobbing just beyond the giant, industrial-sized forklift, partially blocking my view. My eyes followed it along the top of the forklift’s arm until Nestor came out from behind it, puttering around and practically strangled by a few long chains from one of the trucks. He swore, dropping them again. Poor guy. The links jittering against the cement floor filled the warehouse with what sounded like twisted, metallic laughter. Mocking him. Us.

“Who is it?” She asked it like she wasn’t looking out the same window.

Without a word, I turned and walked back toward the door. She followed, “Pinshe Nestor, este wey,” waving her hand dismissively at the window.

I couldn’t resist. “Mmm right? Fuck that guy. Yea, go yell at him, chew him out, tell him why you’re annoyed.”

She narrowed her eyes but in that way she did when she was stifling a smile. When she knew I was right.

“You know, it didn’t occur to me until this moment.” Sighing and cupping my chin gently, she turned my face from side-to-side to examine it. “But I think I just realized why you’re so quiet.”

My eyebrow shot up, not a clue where she was going with this.

“It’s this smart mouth of yours,” she mused, grazing my lip with her thumb, “gotten you into too much trouble.”

I brought her hand from my cheek to my lips and hummed into her palm, “Mm, mhmm,” before nibbling a few besitos across. “Funny coming from you, always trying to get me to talk. But only when you like what I have to say.”

“Ay chulito pues, I didn’t say I minded it,” she winked. “Just not when it’s used against me.”

“Mm yea, don’t play that way. I’m an equal opportunity offender.”

At that, she laughed, eyes closed, full-out, no doubt loud enough to be heard on the first floor. Remembering Nestor, I let her hand drop but held onto the tips of her fingers. I couldn’t be sure how long we stayed like that, twining and un-twining our fingers in silence; every once in a while pressing palms together; two kids in the sandbox, comparing to see whose were bigger. If we’d never stopped, I wouldn’t have cared a lick.

Something must’ve hit her though because her face fell. Serious. Troubled. Thoughts descended in real-time, only I couldn’t make out what they were.

Until she breathed out, “Oye.”

It wasn’t like her to retreat but when I looked up, she said nothing else. Just chewed ferociously on the inside of her cheek. I waited, eyes drifting back down to watch our fingers and knuckles, still rhythmically locking and unlocking.

Breaking the silence, she gave it another shot. “Miguel’s party is on Saturday.”

“Yeah.”

There it was again, another retreat. What the fuck was she gonna say that she was so nervous to say it?

“And?”

It came out soft like a secret. “Go with me?”

Huh. Whatever I thought she might say, it sure as shit wasn’t that. Not … asking me to the dance? Disbelief chipped away at my usual poker face and without thinking, I blurted, “What? Why?”

Zero-to-sixty in four seconds flat and now she was fuming.

“Why? What do you mean ‘why?’”

Senseless. I knew it then. Should’ve walked it back. Found a better way to ask. But still, it was the only thing that came out of my mouth and all too matter-of-fact.

“I mean like ... why.”

Her jaw cocked to one side. She looked like she wanted to slug me. Because despite the fact that I wasn’t family, had never even met Miguel, had no business being there, somehow it was the dumbest question in the world.

“There’s—” I fumbled for words, raking my hand up and down the back of my head. “I just— why would I be there? You don’t need security. He’s the main man. No doubt he’ll have his own.”

“Because.”

“Because,” I shot back flatly.

“Because.”

“Think your brother, my boss, is gonna need more than ‘because.’ Even from you.”

“You’d be surprised.” She cracked a smile.

That’s right. Stubborn. Impossible. And she knew it. Like a reflex or muscle memory, my face settled into that thousand yard stare, the one she and so many others felt the need to decode.

She conceded, “Because. Okay?” throwing her hands up and letting them fall. They smacked her hips on the way back down and the rest came out in practically one breath. “Because even though he’s a genius and he’s technically family, Miguel Ángel Félix Gallardo is the most insufferable man in all of Mexico. I can’t stand him and I can’t stand almost everyone else on that fucking guest list. Así qué quiero que estés allí porque ya todos los odio. Pero a ti te quiero.”

Wait, come again? She didn’t just— no, but she did.

Pero a ti te quiero.

“Oh.”

I turned around, fell against the door, pressing into it with my forehead, and didn’t say anything for a long time. Mind searching for an explanation: the timing, why now? What day was it? What date was it? What was different about now?

I’d woken up in the same bed in that cramped apartment just down the street from Parque Teniente, the first one I could find when I got to Tijuana months ago. Woken up the same damn person. As far as I knew, so had she. There was nothing especially extraordinary about today. If anything it was routine, sneaking into Mín’s office when we knew no one would be there, away from prying eyes: Alicia, Ruth, their mother, the gaggle of Arellano women who always seemed to be at the house. Away from Pancho, who’d made a habit of passing out, snoring until three in the afternoon, on the pull-out couch at my place.

In fact, the more I thought about it, the more it sank in how unremarkable the day was. Maybe something happened. Some earth-shattering event she hadn’t told me about yet, something that would explain the sentence that just left her lips and turned reality into something like the dimensions of a funhouse mirror.

Shit, how long had I been standing there with my head against the door? How long had she been waiting? No idea. Did it matter? Of course it did. This wasn’t something silence could solve. Or even put off. Not that there was anything to solve.

I turned back around to face her, half-wincing, anticipating her fury. A satisfied smirk had settled in the corners of her mouth. She wasn’t mad. Just leaned against the desk, puffing away, which was ... odd. I scanned her face for any indication, clenched jaw, flared nostrils, blazing brown eyes, some sign of impending apocalypse. But no, she looked serene. Smug even, tickled at how surprised I was. No, she wasn’t mad at all.

Oh.

And it hit me. I could see it so clearly now in the way she stood with her hip out and how she held her cigarette off to the side, wrist lax, nothing to worry about. Why she wasn’t mad. She knew there was nothing to worry about. This wasn’t a confession. No grade-school picking petals off flowers, ‘he loves me, he loves me not.’ She hadn’t said it in the hopes that in return, she’d hear the same. Because it was plain as day. Fucking obvious. Not a doubt in her mind.

It was funny too ‘cause that had been sealed away in a vault in some deep, dark corner of my mind, cordoned off by an electric fence, wrapped in several yards of barbed wire and caution tape. WARNING. POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS. I barely knew because I barely allowed myself to. That came easy as it always did. Or easier anyway than feeling and not knowing what to do, where to put it. So I barely knew. Maybe it was now that I only just realized it, in a fully-formed thought.

A ti te quiero también.

But it felt wrong, seemed to make the moment small somehow, if I were to say it out loud back to her. Forced for obligation, ceremony’s sake, and altogether pointless when she already knew.

So I just said, “Fine.”

Her eyes lit up, filled to the brim with, you really mean it?

“Yeah, fine, I’ll go.”

She beamed. My own personal sun.

“But you figure whatever fake reason to tell your brothers. I ain’t sayin’ shit.”

She squeezed my hand. Any tighter and it would’ve cut the circulation. Not quite the deliverance that launching at each other would’ve been, sweeping all the papers and supplies off of Mín’s desk, not giving a shit what broke as it hit the floor, buttons popping loose from my shirt and rolling on the ground as she tore it off, taking each other carnally hostage right there. But with Nestor still downstairs, it’d have to be enough.

✺

So here I am. And she’s missing in action.

A hand comes down on my shoulder. Ramón’s. “Mira nada más,” he chuckles pointing to Ms. Fuck-You-Money. “Esa chulita been eyeing you all night.”

I roll my eyes.

Món chokes out, laughing through a sip of champagne, “Ay qué duro, cabron. Good answer. Attention from a woman like that? That’ll get you killed, or worse.”

Lost, I shoot him a look of confusion. “What’re you talking about?”

“Wait d— you don’t know who that is?”

I stare at him through half-lidded eyes.

He can barely contain his amusement and I could bust that Cheshire-cat smile wide open for it, the chistoso. See, ‘cause it’s something I’ll never understand but Ramón lives for shit like this. How many times I wished I felt the same or could at least access some similar well of couldn’t-give-a-fuck charisma that allowed the kid to cut loose, no matter where he went. Unless he was in one of his moods. Still, his glee is infectious if not foreign. So despite being miffed, I’m grateful he’s here.

“That’s— okay, that’s Miguel’s wife, Daniela.”

“Thought her name was like Marta? María? Something else?”

“Oh nooo, no, no, no.” Ramón jiggles his head back and forth. “That’s his first wife. This is his second.”

My eyebrows shoot up.

“Yeah, right?” Món shrugs. “Tío moves fast apparently. Upgraded to a new model already. Personally, I don’t get it. Should’ve stuck with the classic. And María,” he looks at me and whistles, “qué clásico.”

We both watch Miguel work a group of sleazy-looking politicians. I don’t need to be up close to imagine how badly they reek of too-expensive, tacky cologne, or how clammy their hands are, sweating because they’ve been mainlining too much sauce and blow. My eyes drift to Daniela who’s pointing around theatrically to the outdoor decor. Like her husband, she’s smooth-talking another group of guests.

That’s when it clicks. As she dances from a group of Senators, to a group of financial hacks, to a group of mid-level distributors, I can’t help but think how busy bees flit. Flower to flower, pollinating each one. Stroking the right egos, smiling, leaving a hand on a shoulder just long enough to make them think they might have a shot with the big man’s wife. From everything I’ve heard about Miguel, he might let them, for the right price. That fact fills me with equal measures of sadness and relief. Sad for her. Relief to know it’s a hustle, an award-winning performance. Though why she’s been wasting time on me, a friend of the Arellano family at best, low-level Arellano goon at worst, is anyone’s guess.

“Seems she’s like that with everyone.”

“Oh no, carnal. With you? That shit’s real. She knows you’re with us.” Ramón reaches for my face like he’s about to pinch my cheek. “Not some rich politician’s secret love child.”

“Ey, no mames, cabrón.” I swat it away with a smirk, so he knows we’re simpatico. “You and Pancho always fixin’ to get me in more trouble than I’m ever looking for.”

I think of Dina just then and how it’s possible for lies to lag like that sometimes. Feeling like truth ‘til the words are well outta your mouth.

As if anxiety’s summoned her to me, out of the corner of my eye, I catch Dina walking toward us. On her way over, she grabs a drink from a guy standing by the bar holding two champagne glasses, someone she mistakes for a waiter. Based on the beet red look on his face, he turns to be a guest. He flips out and at first, Dina looks ready to apologize and move on. No big deal.

It’s not until he starts pointing his finger in her face, “Qué verga, vieja? No soy un pinshe mesero,” that I glance at the ground to hide a smile. I know what’s coming but this poor bastard doesn’t. It’s always satisfying to watch Dina work, handling men who make mistakes like that. No doubt it’d be a scathing indictment but never done in the same way. Refreshing, that kind of variety. I always respected it.

She leans back, eyeing the guy up and down, then walks over, purposely slow, all the time in the world, to a real waiter holding a tray. Grabbing a new glass, she walks back and shoves it into the guy’s hand, taking extra care to make sure it spills on his jacket. Beads of sweat and outrage pour from him, as he looks down at his damp lapel in disgust.

She waves her index finger back and forth between them, “Listo, pues. Ya estamos?” and points at Ramón next to me. “Or shall I have my brother, Ramón—“ she waves, “Hi Món! Yeah, that one. The tall one over there. Shall I ask him to step in, help mediate the matter?”

Everyone’s eyes shoot straight to Món who, on cue, flashes a smile so diabolical, the devil himself would’ve tipped his hat in appreciation. Still fuming, the guy brushes the front of his jacket and straightens his collar but says nothing.

“Aye,” Dina punctuates with a dip of her head. “Es lo que pensaba."

And that seems like the end of it until she a twenty out of her wallet in that impossibly tiny purse. “Ey, next party you go to, if you want to avoid being confused with the catering staff, maybe don’t wear a dinner jacket. It’s a nice house, sure. Not the fucking Met.”

The guy is mute, shocked as she slips the bill in his breast pocket and glides away. Even a few feet away, I can already see her rolling her eyes and giggling as she makes her way to us.

Ramón says, cackling, “I thought maybe you were going to ask for a bottle there, crack him over the head with it,” as she gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“No, no. We couldn’t embarrass our tío querido could we. Besides,” she gives a cavalier wave toward the guy, “Drastic measures like those are reserved for Chapo. Or Cochi.”

I look at the two of them standing with Güero on the other side of the DJ platform. They look like they’re enjoying themselves about as much as I am.

I make eye contact with Güero briefly before I feel another hand on my shoulder. Dina’s?

“What no hug for me?”

I catch her awkwardly with one arm, stiffening as she pulls me in too close and for too long.

“Woo,” Món hoots. ”Creo que Enedina ha tomado un poquito demasiado."

She bats him in the arm. “Ay que no, if you’d had the conversation I just had with Mín, you’d be chugging this,” she knocks back the last few sips of champagne, then holds up the glass, “like water too.”

“Why? What happened?”

”Oh nothing, he just–“ she lets out a hefty sigh. “Just rolled over for Miguel like he always does.”

Before Món can ask anything else, Dina’s face lights up at someone behind him.

All drunk swagger, Pancho waltzes over, a drink in each hand, yelling, “Estos cabrooooones. I been looking all over for you.”

He sidles next to Ramón, who reaches for the other drink in his hand. He pulls back. “Qué shingadas? I didn’t bring this for you.”

Món pulls a face like Pancho just kicked over a sandcastle he spent hours building.

I hold my hands up in defeat, chuckling, “Ey I didn’t ask him to bring me anything. Knowing this pruno-king, I bet they’re both his.”

“Y esto? Esto es porque es mi compa. Él me conoce,” Pancho slurs, with a tipsy smile, eyes half shut.

“Qué pedo, is everyone drunk here besides me?” Món catches me smiling and rolls his eyes. “Tú no, rarito. You don’t count.”

Glancing at the crowd around us, Pancho asks “Where’s Mín?” and stumbles back, nearly planting his ass on the lawn.

He grabs Món for support, who already looks startled as Dina shoves her empty glass at him. “Who cares? Yo quiero bailar,” she declares, grabbing my hand.

She yanks me with such force, I wonder if I look like one of those Loony Toons characters, a regular Beaky Buzzard swept offscreen by Bugs Bunny with a giant cane.

Behind us Pancho and Ramón are busting up laughing. “Panchito, I think she might be drunker than you are.”

Pancho holds up one of his drinks in salute. “Aaaaaayyy órale, mi brujita!”

My hand firmly in hers, Dina shimmies around the other couples on the dancefloor. When she finds a spot she deems satisfactory, she turns and snaps me towards her, gliding her hand up my right arm to my shoulder, and moving my left around her waist. I’m lost in static. My heart’s beating fast. Too fast, like a hummingbird caught all up in my chest and each beat of its wings jolts my rib cage, while it tries to jailbreak outta there.

And it’s not the proximity that’s got my blood up, really. It’s her. It’s rare to see Dina overflowing with this kind of reckless joy. So rare in fact, there’s a gravity to it, a pull magnified by irregularity, that makes it harder to resist. In tandem with the music, I’m goner, already falling into it. But what does any of it matter, when I know how she feels now. Just the same as me.

✺

We finish with a dip, and the blurry wall of lights and onlookers, among them the suspicious face of Mín, the curious face of Ramón, and the drunk glassy eyes of Pancho, become crystal clear again, as I bring Dina back up. The song changes and I let go, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. Making my way off the dancefloor, she follows close, reassuring in a low voice, “It’ll be fine, amor. They know I’m tipsy.”

“Yeah. And they know I’m not.”

Although— I look over at the bar. Fuck it, I could fix that now. Before we can reach Mín, Món, and Pancho, standing by the DJ booth, I tear through the crowd, right to the bar. Fuck any rules. This is Def Con One and that lapse in judgment could only be reasonably explained to the Arellano boys by both of us being shitfaced. I flag down a bartender.

“Shot of tequila.”

“What kind?”

I eye him coolly. “Whatever. Dealer’s choice.”

Willing myself not to be too twitchy, conspicuous, I glance around to make sure Benjamín hasn’t sicced Món on me. That look of disapproval on his face is going to be seared to the backs of my eyelids for days. Maybe weeks. Not a chance in hell that he’d overlook that display. As far as Ramón, who looked more intrigued than anything, jury’s still out. Might be he’d follow Mín’s lead. That is, unless Dina were to intervene, which– that’d be something she’d have to do. I’d never ask her. Not an option. That leaves Pancho who’s unlikely to give a shit. Or if he did, he’s too drunk now to make a show of it. But no, even sober, we’ve been homies through and through. He’d have my back. Maybe the only one.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Christ, all of it, already a fucking mess. It hasn’t spilled out entirely from my head onto the world, but only a matter of time.

A whistle from someone a barstool away interrupts the game of 3D chess I’m playing with myself, trying to compute then varying combinations of factors and events that could end me. I’m so in it, it takes me a beat to even realize they’re whistling at me.

“Ey, dónde aprendiste a bailar como eso?” someone asks quietly, in familiar but strangely-accented Spanish.

I turn to shoot a fuck-off stare to whoever, but when I’m met with the sight of an odd-looking, half-bald, ginger dude in jeans, a denim jacket, and a pair of Jordans that probably cost more than my first car, I’m taken aback by the expression on his face. Strange-like, fondly admiring, but more like he’s observing a zoo animal, exotic as those peacocks waddling across the lawn, than a person.

“Viene de familia.”

All the odd guy says is, “Ah,” and then proceeds to fiddle with the toothpick in his mouth and survey the crowd.

Based on how he’s dressed, it’s clear this dude isn’t a regular guest. If I had to put my money on anything? Sicario. No question. Because even though he doesn’t have the trademark hyper-vigilance, coiled up tight, a piston ready to pop, the strange little homie does have a cracked look I recognize. Like he doesn’t need to be on-guard because he’s past the point of feeling much beyond general amusement.

I’d come up with a couple guys like this back home. Met even more of them in prison. You could tell who they were because they didn’t pretend to be concrete copies of themselves. Already born steel people, they never needed to bother with the mandatory, self-imposed identity mutilation necessary to survive in the Petri dish of the California Department of Corrections. But the most interesting thing about them? Scary as they could be, they’re also some of the more honest criminals I’ve dealt with. At least, those who’re murder-for-hire, not murder-for-fun.

Spotting the shiny, engraved handle of a pistol in his waistband, I whistle, “Nice, .357?”

He doesn’t take it out to show it off, just flashes a slinky, joker smile. “You got a good eye.”

“Likewise. Dope piece.”

Yeah, definitely more than your average muscle. The real pros don’t tend much to show and tell. But who the guy works for, I can’t figure exactly. Given that I had to give up my own weapon before we came through, I’m guessing he’s Miguel’s muscle. Looking over at a doorway filled with the broad shoulders and Fabio-like hair of Miguel’s top security guy, Tony, I try picturing these two working together and have to stifle a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Eh, it’s too hard— it’s nothin’.”

The strange homie responds with an amused snort but doesn’t press further. We go back to our mutual but silent surveillance. I can’t see the Arellanos anywhere, but I do spot the Sinaloa crew making their way to the exit by the bar. The weird little guy waves at them like they’re the oldest of friends. I nearly give myself whiplash, looking back and forth from Strange Homie to Güero and Cochi’s pained smiles and an outright look of disgust from Chapo.

“Those are the guys who brought the tiger last year,” Strange Homie helpfully explains, still waving.

“Man, everyone keeps telling me about that tiger. Guess I missed out.”

“You weren’t here last year?”

Still looking around for Ramón, I shake my head, stating absentmindedly, “Haven’t been to any kinda shit like this in my life.”

If Benjamín hadn’t already put him up to cutting me into little pieces, I would’ve at least expected Món to be hot on the heels of the Sinaloa crew, if only to berate, and harass, and swear at them as they’re leaving. And yet, he’s nowhere. Shoot, maybe Mín decided not to even bother chasing me down, and they just bounced. Left me there. Dina would be pissed but all things considered, I’d be getting off lightly. Compared to other possibilities. Could I be so lucky?

I turn my attention back to Strange Homie.

A jackal-like grin brightens his whole face. “Yeah, you did miss out. I got to feed it.”

“Big animal fan, huh?”

Strange Homie considers the question seriously as though it requires an answer, deep or existential in some way. But what he comes back with is relatively simple. “I guess, apex predators, yeah.”

“Easiest to relate to?” I joke.

The jackal smile back again as he exclaims, “Exacto!” Only this time, it bears sincerity that makes it more endearing than unsettling.

I raise my shot glass, saluting, “Makes sense to me.” An implied given what I know about you, unsaid in the air as I knock the shot back. Strange Homie likely knows, has probably been profiling my own profiling this whole time.

“So, you are not from around here?” Strange Homie ventures, as I catch the bartender’s attention to order another shot.

“From Guadalajara?”

Strange Homie shrugs and nods.

“Nah. You?”

He says with a knowing smirk, “Do I sound like I’m from Guadalajara?”

I shake my head, chuckling to myself. The bartender brings another shot and I put it away, perfunctory, then bite into the lime. It’s so sour, I feel shooting pangs in the sides of my mouth and tongue. The sensation of pain, concrete and tangible enough to focus on, brings me back to me.

I wipe my mouth and clear my throat. “You don’t sound like you’re from Guadalajara, but I got a few camaradas back home who sound kinda like you. Colombianos.”

“Good eye. Good ear,” Strange Homie notes, a hint of approval in his voice.

“The melting pot of America.”

“Ah, entonces eres un gringo?”

“Te has visto, hombre? De donde vengo, eres más gringo que yo.”

I half-expect Strange Homie to be offended but he just snickers and nods in agreement. “Pues, tal vez tengas razón. Supongo que quiero decir que eres un gabacho.”

“Close enough.”

“Well gabacho, un placer. Yo soy Navegante.” He reaches out to shake hands.

I extend mine tentatively, “David Barrón.”

As we stand there, forearms bobbing up and down slowly, a look of calculation and sorrow fills Strange Homie’s eyes. Something about it, and the way he says, “You seem like a cool guy. I wish we hadn’t talked so much.” I can’t quite put my finger on why it makes my stomach drop.

Fuck. Dina. Where are they. The Arellanos. Makes no sense. Been nowhere this whole time. Fuck. The empty spot where my gun usually sat in my waistband screams at me like a phantom limb. I try freeing my hand from Navegante’s, who holds on like a vice and laments, “I am glad you got those shots of tequila in though. Since we both know how bad this will hurt.”

My teeth grind into my lower lip so hard, I taste blood. And yet, it still does fucking nothing to ease the sting of surprise as the knife sinks into my stomach.

✺

Everything after that happens in slow motion. He must’ve carried me out at some point and anyone who saw me doing shots at the bar just assumed I was wasted. I don’t know how much blood I’ve lost. Enough that it feels like I’m moving through molasses when they chuck me in the backseat of that town car. Or is it a limo? The seats are facing each other like in a limo. Or maybe I’m molasses because of the booze. If not the booze exclusively, it definitely isn’t helping, blood thinning as it is. Fucking stupid. So stupid. In my life, had I ever been so stupid?

Although, I have to give it to Strange Homie— what was his name again? Navegante? — it’s been ages since someone got the jump on me like that. Since I was a kid probably. He’d been decent enough about it too, although I could’ve done without the stick in the gut. A few inches higher, he might’ve fractured a rib, but I might have more my full faculties. But no, this guy knew what he was doing. It’d landed exactly where he’d wanted it to.

Fingers wrestle with the tie at my neck, ripping it off, and it’s not until I bring it down to put pressure on the wound in my stomach that I realize those fingers are mine. The other courtesy Navegante had done? Strange Homie left the knife in. Although, whether that’s so I wouldn’t bleed out as fast or if it’s so he could further torture me by twisting it, is unclear. So much of it is unclear. I try going back, retracing every step leading up to the point I’d been stabbed but my brain’s stuck in quicksand. If I live to see tomorrow, I’ll have to take some kind of blood oath to never touch another drop of alcohol again. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Dina. Where is she. The Arellanos. They’d disappeared. Where the fuck was Dina. The panic, the cortisol, like a defibrillator at my chest, shocking me more awake, as I pack the fabric of my tie around the knife to soak up the blood. Forgetting myself, I reach behind for my gun and grumble at the empty spot where it normally is. Should be. Stupid. So. fucking. stupid.

I hear voices outside the car. No gun, no way out, no idea where anyone else is, where I am now, no choice but to accept it. So I just lean back against the seat, keeping pressure on my stomach and wait patiently for what’s to come.

When the door finally opens, I expect to be met with Strange Homie, Navegante’s jackal grin but instead it’s a taller man, a lot more normal looking, with dark eyes and a full head of hair. No one I recognize though and he’s someone I’d remember, considering he’s one of the most sharply dressed motherfuckers I’ve seen outside a movie. He slides in to sit across from me and grabs a file that had been laying on the seat next to him.

He reads from it calmly, soothingly business-as-usual. “I do apologize for the harsh introduction, Señor Barrón Corona. Navegante said you were nothing but gentlemanly prior to his stabbing you.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat and on reflex, the muscles in my stomach clench around the blade. Like I’ve stepped onto the worst elevator ride, my throat feels like it’s in my head. Just blistering, white-hot agony. A jagged inhale drags down the back of my throat and I try not to pass out. “S’funny,” I cough out, “was just thinking the same thing.”

“Please know, this isn’t personal. Or rather, not for me. I suspect it’s very personal for your employer.” He looked up from the file, smirking. “Or I suppose, that’s the idea.”

My employer? The fuck was Benjamín going to be upset about? Me with a knife in my gut in the backseat of whatever big-shot, cartel guy’s car?

“Banking on the wrong strategy there,” I hiss through gritted teeth.

The man looks up from the file again, waiting for me to explain further.

“No love lost between my employer and me.”

“Hmm. Is that so?”

He says this with such assurance, it becomes apparent that this whole scheme, whatever it is, whatever game this guy’s playing, this shit is well above my pay grade. No point trying to outmaneuver when my head’s still in quicksand and I don’t even have the fucking rulebook.

“But you answer to the whole family, no?”

I roll my eyes and slump my shoulders, too tired to summon a real response.

“David Barrón Corona. From Logan Heights, San Diego, California. Says here you were born in Tijuana, but your parents are naturalized citizens. Which would give you—” he licks his forefinger and flips a page. “Ah yes, dual Mexican-American citizenship. Oh, your father was in the navy? Why does it seem the best sicarios come from military families. Someone should do a study.”

“Eh, eres un soldado either way.”

The man smirks and continues reading. “Two brothers, one older Matteo Barrón Corona, deceased. And one younger, Julian Barrón Corona, incarcerated, life no parole. And your mother— hmm, we don’t have much on her.”

I clench my teeth so hard, it feels like I have a charlie horse in my jaw. Willing my stomach muscles to relax, I ease off the middle console with my elbow to lean against the window and breathe out a, “Wow.”

The man takes out a cigarette and pops it between his lips, mumbling, “Qué?” as he lights up.

“Just— I dunno. Seems a lotta paperwork for somebody who’s nobody. Whose asset are you, DoD, CIA?”

The man shakes out his match and cracks a window on his side to toss it out. “Ah, see, but that’s the thing, David— may I call you David?”

I nod listlessly.

“David, do I seem to you like someone who’d waste so much time, go to all this trouble if you were a complete nobody?”

“Can’t say. We just met.” We’re well past politeness. I’m already bleeding all over this guy’s Oxford leather seats.

But instead of insulting him, he cuts up, laughing deep and full. “Funny, discerning—tonight’s little encounter notwithstanding. And from what I hear, an excellent shot, a competent sicario.”

I snort loud enough that he pauses to say, “What is that? False modesty? Don’t bore me before we’ve gotten started.”

“No. I am as good as you’ve heard probably. But that’s not the point.”

Dragging slowly from his cigarette, he brushes a bit of ash that’s fallen on his pant leg, then looks up, fixes his eyes on me, and says, “Enlighten me, then.” He’s the cat. I’m the ball of yarn. It doesn’t even matter.

“Any sicario worth a shit knows it doesn’t matter how good you get.“

“Why’s that?”

A gotcha-type smile spreads across my face for the first time in what feels like ages. “’Cause however good I may be, I’ll always be expendable. Guys like me are always short to the gate.”

And just when I think I’ve got him, for some reason, that warms up those cold brown eyes of his, as though I’ve proven his point more than my own. He bobs his head toward the window where Navegante stood guarding the car. “Well, that may be true of most in your line of work. But I asked my man out there, and he seems to think you’re good people. I’m putting together the picture of you, beginning to understand the appeal, what she sees in you.”

“Why. You hiring?”

“Oh no, no,” he chuckles lightly, “you’re of no use to me that way. No, the fact of the matter is,” then clicks his tongue against the inside of his cheek, “you’re right. Some are more expendable than others. But at the finish line, when death comes to collect, really, we’re all expendable.”

If this guy doesn’t reach some point, some punchline soon, I swear I’m gonna yank this knife out myself, happily bleed out all over the place just to reach some definitive conclusion.

”But here and now? To one with a little power and something I need? You David, are much less expendable than you think.”

The hell is he even talki— oh, fuck.

What she sees in you.

It echoes in my ears until it detonates, like pulling the pin on a grenade in my head, shrapnel ricocheting on the inner walls of my skull, just as I’m trying to piece it together.

My boss. Personal. Dina. You answer to the whole family, no? The guy’s practically been explaining it from the beginning. I’ve just been too dead in the head to make sense of it.

“Ah yes, there it is. And now that you’re caught up with the rest of the class, allow me to formally introduce myself.” The man places his hand on his chest, bowing his head. “I’m Pacho Herrera.”

Yup. This is way the fuck above my pay grade.

#narcos mexico #narcos mexico fanfic #enedina arellano felix x david barron #dinarron #enedina arellano felix #david barron #timeline divergence #also this is separate from my dinarron russian novel #but this place has everything #angst so mild a white man could handle it #smooching #stabbing #with KNIVES #forbidden love/secret relationship #seeeeeeeeeecrets #Dina - a woman who will actually pay to step on you #Barron - a man being accidentally hot at every turn for no good reason #Pacho - a sly and suave and snappily dressed mf with a plan #the most bizarre buddy-cop duo we didn't know we needed #like shit you not it makes no actual sense but somehow works??#there's also dancing #during which you should bust out Spotify or Youtube or wherever tf #and put on a little ditty called 'Guajira del Mar'#to set the mood #to get the feel #to establish the Vibe #also to that one anon who likes dinarron stuff - here's a new thingy to feast on #until i get my shit together with the asslong novel i've been working on for them sksksjflkdajlsdkj

25 notes · View notes

annadeef · 10 months ago

Text

entire village of goliaths learns hair braiding for little adopted tiefling child

#sly #dnd #my art #Sly #tiefling #the party got to learn a bit about Sly's origins and it made me so habby #imagine being the only kid with hair in an entire tribe of stone like people lmao #they give you a haircut and go “why tf is it still growing???”

727 notes · View notes

bihanspookies · 11 months ago

Text

Truly…. Actually…. I have been thinking about making a small compilation of my misc ocs and just posting it

Like i have ocs that I would just love to have out there for fun and maybe talk about since I don’t really have anyone to do it with

Like the ones I would wanna talk about are my ocs for:

Resident Evil

Legend of Zelda (BOTW/TOTK)

Blood of Zeus

Marvel

Also my knb but KNB IS DEAD I GUESS BUT I HAVE A WHOLE ASS STORY FOR HER AND EVERYTHING.

#thanks for coming to my nat talk #I think I will make a little list of these ocs #truly the only one that has a full story is my Zelda one #my others have minor story details kinda #I also have a sly cooper but again SLY COOPER IS DEAD LMFAO #and a tmnt one #yes I’m asking the same question as y’all rn #‘is this bitch a furry?’#bitch who tf knows #I just have fun makin my little ocs okay #younger me made ocs for literally everything and only some have truly stayed with me till today

5 notes · View notes

killyourrdarlingss · 2 years ago

Text

YELLING AND KICKING MY FEET 😍😍😍😍

#gothie reads tf #RODDY YOU SLY DOGGG #hes not that bad huhhh #thats adorable....

7 notes · View notes

screampied · 3 months ago

Text

‘ DICKMATIZED !? ★

☆ sum. dick • matized. [dehk-mah-tized] verb. when he’s rearranging your guts oh-so good that you’re just left utterly dumb ‘n stupid! toji, sukuna, gojo, geto, nanami, choso, ino.

wc. 5.8k

warnings. fem! reader, dick-drunk reader, balls… cum … balls, pwp, unprotected, dumbification, tf! sukuna, feral pússydrunk men, implied multiple rounds, backshots, mating press, cowgirl, nerd! nanami - college au, pússy talk, size kink, first time squīrt, mirror sēx, cervix mentions, spīt, tummy bulges, ‘till the bed breaks, breedīng kink, spanks, petnames.

an. elaborating more from this ask :p

✩ ˛˚ . SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

his dick? literally life-altering. life changing.

not only was sukuna ryomen the king of curses, but he was also the king of dumbing you down with just a few deep vulgar strokes. “attaaaa girl,” he’d grumble—one hand gripping your hip, another clawing near the top crown of your head. but as he’s raising your head, all you see is your dumb, drooling reflection through his stained century-old mirror.

through murky hazed peripherals, you spotted sukuna’s sly grin, with fangs poking through each lip… sinister red eyes zeroing down your body. he was mean but his hips were even meaner. as his hips relentlessly bucked into you, you let out a shrilling shriek once you feel his bulging tip swab its away around the insides of your slobbering cunt. he reached each ‘n every spot, pinpointing every slick dribbling orifice and you could barely even formulate words let alone proper sentences.

“that’s it, look at y’rself,” and a puddle of drool waters past the corners of your lips once sukuna grabs your chin. “hah- look at how dumb you get,” and you let off a moan once sukuna starts to thoroughly punctuate each individual thrust against your aching core. “allll. because. of. me.”

you glance at yourself in the mirror once more, peeking at the notoriously cursed silhouette that’s stood directly behind you. sukuna’s unapologetically ruthless, driving such sharp hips into you with little to no mercy and you only wanted more.

“suh- ooooh! sukuna,” you moan, getting whiplash from the vicious sharp pounds of slamming-ridden flesh. each pap stung against your skin and you’re just trying to keep up with his crazed pace. once his angered cockhead bullies its way near the fluttering opening of your cervix though, your eyes prettily roll. “o- oh my god, r- right th-”

“yeaaah, i know,” he replies gruffly, cutting off your tone by placing an enlarged palm over your wet-glossed lips. followed by a cute muffled, ‘mmmpf’ he scoffs in disgust once he feels you damping the center of his hand with treacly saliva. “keh. how repulsive,” and you whine once sukuna makes your back arch even more against his velveteen-made sheets. trailing a whetted claw gently down the slope of your back, he grunts. “wonder who’s nastier. you—” and he pauses, surprising your cunt with a brutal ricocheting thrust. “—or this sloppy worthless pussy. hnnnm.”

you’re tremoring underneath him, heedlessly trying to count each loud slap of clashing bodies in your head but you end up losing count anyway. his cock’s just as mean as he was, but his girth was far more rude. sukuna ploddingly runs his nails down your spine as he’s just impaling his weighty dick inside of your clamping, sopping walls. “mng- ‘s fuckin’ good. ‘kuna fuck me, fuck m—mmph,” and you moan against a palm that now smacks over your mouth again.

you could hear sukuna scoff behind you, feeling the wetness of your tongue slither its way around his bare hand. “y’er a nasty one,” he groans, glancing at your stupid reflection in the mirror. it was almost cute—how your eyes were all hooded, barely even open but visibly crossed. you’re seeing galaxies of stars as he pounds into your pussy, invading his way past the tight tight ring of your entrance. you’re so wet that your cunt sobs on his length, creating sticky globs of slick that glue against both fleshy mounds. “mhm. keep that pretty mouth shut. all i wanna hear is how fuckin’ messy you get under here,” and you let off another muffled whine once sukuna spreads your knobbly thighs further apart.

he’s so fast, his speed’s as quick as lightening—

and your hand cups over the one that’s currently placed over your mouth. sukuna feels your saliva starting to spill between your lips, wetting down his wrist and he titters. “spit’s supposed to stay in your mouth, dumb girl,” and you could feel yourself reaching closer and closer toward your blissful orgasmic edge. fuck- it was right there, literally arms-reach away and you were already starting to short-circuit. your thighs struggled to stay open and you were sure—just one more single hard thrust and you’d probably break. “aw, your legs are gettin’ weak. tappin’ out, princess?”

“ ‘kuna, ‘m cummin’,” you’d blurt once he removed his hand from your slick mouth. strings of glowy drool depart from your lips, sticking against his fingers before he thrashes the swollen pink head of his cock against your pussy.

repeatedly, it’s not just once or twice—hell, not even thrice!

it’s dozens of times. you let off a plethora of sweetened whines as his reddened tip scrapes its way through your gummy walls before you abruptly squall. “f- fuuuuck!”

a pretty, shiny geyser sprays out between your thighs, and your expression is priceless.

sukuna remained inside as he watched you whine out those needy raw sobs with his shaft still stuffed inside. you couldn’t think straight—you could only taste the treacly sweet tang of your release on your buds as your head flops onto the bed. “o- oh my god,” you’d puff, feeling your wobbly thighs soak with slimy molasses of your sweet. “again,” you moan out, looking up at the mirror to see sukuna staring straight at you.

he’s amused - and your eyes widen once he brings a hand underneath his heavy cock that was stacked with not only one but two..

he was only fucking you with one of his shafts—but now that you see his barred hand wrapping around both, you gulp once he nips his sharp fangs near his teeth. “fine,” he grumbles, and sukuna starts to align each between your sappy opening. sooo wet- it’s a pearly coat that runs down your cunt and he growls under his breath, bedaubing both creamy tips against your tender folds.

“but while we’re at it, little one. let’s see if you can squirt with two of me in you.”

✩ ˛˚ . INO TAKUMA.

first time inside and not only does he make you dumb but he ends up making himself dumb too.

“holy . . shit angel,” ino would lowly moan, reclining fully back against the couch. you’re gradually hovering over his lap while he’s got a clammy hand sneakily creeping at the left side of your waist. “g- god,” and darkened eyes lazer near your cunt. you were so slick. your entrance prettily sobbed with such dewdrops of sap that it had him whipped. ino wanted more, and the more he witnessed your pussy swallow his cock, the more his mouth grew drier than the sahara.

“relaaax, baby,” you invade the corner of his mouth with wet kisses. with how soft your voice was, the sound of your voice alone was enough to make ino’s dick throb — and it did.

his abs tense through his white tank as he feels one of your palms leisurely slide up his sculptured v-line. your touch - it was one of his many, many weaknesses. his first weakness being you . . second, your pretty dripping pussy. “ah, look at me. eyes up here, ino.”

“mhm-” ino grunts, nearly melting at the sickly sweet pounds of flesh clashing amongst each other. once your body started to move, it was game over. slosh after slosh and it only gets louder. ino’s nose cutely wrinkles the second he hears that squelching ‘pop!’

now, he’s bottomed out and it was just a few lengthy seconds after he’d eased himself all the way in. ino was snug - nicely snug and timid heart-filled irises meets yours right away. “you’re s…so gorgeous,” he’d slur, watching his chest deflate at each sloppy thrust of your unsteady hips. “m- might just cum from lookin’ at your face, angel.”

fuck- you rolled your hips in such a way that it had gears turning in his empty, hollow brain.

ino’s flushed, and eventually, two hands grip your waist tightly. he’s trying to reel you into him but you playfully give him a shove, staring as his back collapses back into the pillow. “ngh- ino, there baby. there,” you’d weep out in a sweet whimper. his dick greedily explored through your insides like a maze. almost like it was lost - desperately trying to find its way around before eventually smooching near your cervix. “a- ah!” you’d moan, feeling a vein that ran down his cock throb inside you merely milliseconds later.

the movements of your rutting hips hypnotize ino.

you’re tossing them around in a circle as your arms throw over his broad shoulders. the entire time, he’s getting lost in your eyes. his tip’s an angry red, blushing inside of your tight gripping walls as you sloppily bounce on his lap. perspiring hands squeeze against your waist before you watch as his dark mousy brows crease into a furrow. “baby-” he grunts hoarsely, tilting his head fully back.

it’s cute—and a bit attractive. you spot his neck muscles tense before you suddenly feel ino’s impatient fingers crawl at the pretty curvature of your ass. with a firm grip, he grabs a nice handful of your jerking flesh before hissing under his breath. “o- oh fuck, ‘m gonna cum. keep ridin’ me, ride me good—use me, fuh- fuck me,” and ino’s voice pitched whinier the more your wet cunt sucks him in - vacuuming each ‘n every inch.

the noises were just sloppy. each ‘plop!’ and ‘pap!’ that echo from both bodies sends a wave of chills down ino’s spine. it was a feeling he’s never experienced—and you might have just made him fall in love with not only you but your slickly, wet cunt.

“ ‘s okay, ino. you can c- cum inside,” you whisper breathlessly against the crook of his neck. ino wraps his arms around you, holding you close as your hips rut into him quicker. both bodies moved against each other rhythmically, dexterously twirling your ass back and forth against his lap. ino’s just as dumb as you were—and if you squinted, you could see heart eyes forming in his dilated pupils.

“god- ‘m cummin’ . . fuck- ‘m cumming,” he hiccups, and his entire body erupts.

ino grows limp the minute he feels his leaking tip spurting out rope after rope. it’s hot - you slow down as he’s finally pumping you full, spurting out such thin, miry amounts.

ribbons drizzle inside of you and ino gets quiet, burying his face into your shoulder. babbles of whine fall into the crack of your neck and you smile, skimming a finger down his undercut.

tender, fawn eyes lock onto yours before ino grabs your chin softly. with a pout, he bedaubs a thumb across your wetly parted lips before sighing. he’s in love. “s-soooo . . what are we?”

✩ ˛˚ . TOJI FUSHIGURO.

“awwwh, is the pretty girl gettin’ shy on me?” toji would gruffly croon, feeling your dripping cunt clench tightly around him.

you’re bent over and chewing on the bottom of your lip like candy whilst he’s going in and out of you. masses ‘n wads of milky knots ooze out of your pussy and he takes a moment to gawk at the mess he gifted you. “fuuuck- look at ‘er, ‘m floodin’ her up so good,” and toji grunts, his flushed tip smearing shapes around your runny entrance. “ya take it well every time too, baby.”

“hnng- toji,” you’d whimper, cutely trying to shimmy your hips against him. you always loathed how right after he’s dumping you with the nth load of the night, toji just has to tease you.

with a wide hand, he slaps his fat cockhead against your slobbering slit three times. in a dirty, carnal way though—it’s pretty.

with wrinkles creasing underneath his leafy eyes as he squints, toji drags a thumb down your swollen puffy folds. it’s a loud wet splat! that resounds through his perked ears and you could hear that smug snicker as clear as day. your tummy was already heaving - you wanted more, and toji hummed at the sight of you arching further for him. “don’t stop- f…finish fuckin’ me.”

“how cuuute,” he’d gruff, and you moan once he re-aligns his sweltering hot tip. it’s freshly coated with splotches of cum that was still gradually seeping from the center. messily, it leaks out, and you gasp once he starts to insert his way back in. it’s a sloppy pop! that sends you carnal chills and even a bit of throb. doing so makes you nip a few teeth near the inside of your cheek.

and oh- toji’s so thick.

he’s fat from the inside, along with his girth that delves deep inside of you - disappearing between your folds like an unrevealed magic trick.

every bulky inch that enters inside of your cunt makes your toes shrivel up into a cute, aching curl. every time, you’re left utterly speechless as you hear his husky rasps from behind you. toji runs a hand through his oily scalp before brusquely grunting. “hah- take it then, open nice ‘n wide for me, pretty. let’s see that biiiig stretch one more fuckin’ time,” and a cold sweat races down your back. one thrust! just one cruel, mouth-watering thrust, and you’re left stupid.

dewy remnants of cum streamed out the corners of your thighs and he was practically fucking his cum back into you. loads of it, creamy milky loads that pumped you full, keepin’ you warm—always.

the slanted hooking curve that his dick had swerved its way through your pussy, bruising your g-spot lovingly. but oh- toji doesn’t just fuck nasty, he fucks you stupid with a capital ‘S’.

“fuuuuck, right there, r- right hng- thereeee,” and the way you’d drag your words were so cute. toji’s hips were oh-so mean though, harshly snapping into you and each time the friction whams into you—you’re dumbfounded.

toji spots you trying to crawl away and he raises a brow, hooking a hand near your hip. “goin’ somewhere, girl?” and you moaned, feeling him drag you right back toward his cock. with your mouth idly hung open—you start to feel the slick muck of syrupy juices that globs down the flaps of your cunt. you’re soaked, and toji grunts the second you end up squeezing around his dick. measly thick fingers roam through his scalp as he watches your ass weakly buck back into him. “mhm- that’s it, park that pussy allll on me,” and he leans up close against your back.

you could feel his faded bushy happy trail tickle against your ass as he’s drilling into you deep, splaying your legs further apart with a single hand. toji wraps a hand around your throat, feeling every whiny syllable die out of your throat before he lifts your hips.

“such pretty hips. look at ‘em go,” and you moan, feeling his palm hit against your left ass cheek. it’s sharp, and the brief sting makes you get dumber whilst his mushroomy tip’s just tapping its way against your tender clit.

you’re at a loss for words—the lazy downward curve of toji’s cock runs all through you, and he feels your body underneath him cutely growing weak. he’s got the type of dick that makes you get a bit woozy, drooling for more and more inches until you’re stuffed to capacity. you were through, and toji’s just sternly slamming his hips into you so good that you don’t even hear the poor splitting wood of the headboard.

with a husky crack! it ends up splitting into two, falling right before your eyes and the boxspring ends up collapsing. toji doesn’t even flinch though, and his callused fingertips remain deep into the prints of your back. “heh. shit,” he mumbles, still buried inside of your puffed cunt.

you were still panting - heavily, but you crane your head around to a certain degree and glare at him.

“what? oh, don’t look at me like that, doll,” and you moan, facing back in front of you once he pulls out, smacking his cream-coated tip over your weeping sleek-covered cunt. “ ‘s her fault. isn’t that right, messy baby?” as you’re whimpering, toji grows mute at the sounds of your sloppy squelches.

his round tip smears itself in and out between your slobbering hole before he nods as if he actually understands what your pussy’s saying. “see. she even said sorry,” and toji leans down, spitting right on your cunt before giving it a praising pat.

“good giiiirl. seems like ya got more manners than y’r messy owner.”

✩ ˛˚ . SATORU GOJO.

“ahhh- don’t hide that gorgeous face, i wanna see ya,” satoru pouts, grabbing your hands.

you were utterly stupid, whimpering as you continued to mindlessly bounce on his lap. his shaft’s ridiculously thick, expanding throughout your walls like a domain whilst attacking your cervix with individual kisses.

it scratched an itch in your brain that makes you gasp—feeling his bare washboard abs rub against your back. satoru’s hot, but the sweltering pounds of flesh that smack and crash into his meaty thighs from your unpredictable movements were even hotter.

he leans right up against the left side of your cheek, pressing a wet chaste kiss near the corner of your twitching lip. “i wanna see my wifey get all dumb ‘n stupid while she’s ridin’ me, heh.”

“ngh- satoru,” you’d moan, feeling one of his hands sneak up your blouse. lanky fingers roam up your body as he’s mercilessly slamming you back down on his cock. satoru’s flushing capped tip swirls its way through your cunt, churning effortlessly rearranging your guts and your jaw dramatically drops.

it’s cute the way your mouth freely dangles, pink tongue lolling fully out as satoru presses a hand near your bare tummy. there, he could feel the ongoing stretch and so could you.

it’s a tiny bulge that wholly prints its way through you, and you could hear his breathy snicker air against your earlobe. “well look at that. such a pretty good girl takin’ allllll of me. look at that cute ‘lil tummy bulge,” and satoru runs a free hand through his hair. with tight clenched abs, his entire core was squeezing up—your moving hips had him gnawing the inside of his cheek.

but it’s a long deadly silence between the two of you that suddenly occurs. satoru’s icy bright eyes shine into yours as you cup his face, weakly trying to keep up your grinding.

timidly, satoru strokes your bottom lip gingerly. “keep starin’ at me like that ‘n i might get’cha pregnant, sweetheart.”

“do it.” you whine. “make me p… pregnant, ‘toru.”

famous last words,

because not only does he fuck you stupid until you’re chewing on your own sweet, pathetic whimpers—satoru ends up dumping load after load into you. buttery wads of cum tear their way out of your folds as he’s now got you folded in a nasty mating press.

satoru overflowed your cunt, panting heavily as he watches the hefty, velvety masses of cum ooze down between your stuffed entrance.

with a single hand, he spreads your legs wide to get a better view and he kisses his teeth. “fuck- what a mess,” he’d groan, and he’s still deeply inside of you. your brain was empty — and all you could even register let alone think about, was the ropes of hot cum that flooded deep into your womb.

you’re still moaning, feeling satoru’s hungry gaze peer into your soul before he snickers. “would be a shame if this all hah- went to waste.”

and as he’s still trying to catch shallow breaths, satoru leisurely wipes a thumb down your leaking pussy. immediately, his digit gets coated with milky remnants of cum. “s- satoru,” you’d whimper, watching as he pressed a soft kiss to your ankle. you remained in the same position—

he had your legs spread wide into an eagle ‘v’ shape before bringing his finger up to his naturally glossed lips. satoru laps up his own mess right off his thumb whilst his cock’s plugging you utmost full. “you’re s- so nasty.”

“not nastier than this sweet girl,” satoru whispers in a raspy tone, taking out his dick before watching as his cum freely pours between your folds. velvety loads and loads sob between your folds and he hums, leaning in for a quick kiss.

satoru rocks his toned body against you, pinning both arms above your head before a hand placed on your tummy. you moan into his lips—wrapping a feeble leg around his slim waist before his free hand grabs at your neglected tits.

“mmp-” he muffled between kisses, feeling your hand trail a path down his sculptured abs. satoru presses his forehead against yours—devastatingly pulling away before whispering against your lips.

“got a feelin’ it’s gonna . . be a girl.”

✩ ˛˚ . NANAMI KENTO.

“fun fact sweets,” nanami grunts as a bare palm wraps around your throat. his grip was soft - the mere opposite of his accurately shaped thrusts.

your moans harmonically sing and bounce through the thin walls of his office as labored breaths continue to snatch out from the pits of your lungs. he’s big, easily allowing the bulbous head of his cock to run through every part of your gummy walls. he nudges through every corner, pounding into your core so good that it makes you choke on inaudible sentences. “we’re burnin’ about probably hundreds of calories right now. hah- all from me bending you over my desk like . . . this.”

you let off a sweet whine, gasping as he’s just leisurely reaming your insides. nanami’s dick dragged its way through each slickly wet nook perfectly, studying every orifice like an equation before solving it with a single thrust. “f- fuck, ‘ken,” you’d mewl out a sweetened sob, the scent of freshly printed review papers filling up your nostrils. never in a million years would you have expected the campus nerd to fuck so nasty.

he’s rigorous - just drilling his honed hips into you until you’re entirely stupid with that pretty pink tongue of yours fully lolled out of your mouth.

his dick was insanely long too, and he grunts at the feeling of his plump tip rudely thwacking against the opening of your cervix. “such a pretty thing. even prettier inside, ‘s like she’s trying to answer for you,” and the wooden worn-down desk continued to rumble from the rickety pounds of weight. the stability of your hips was far too weak.. and nanami brings a hand toward your waist. his touch was soft, and you moaned at the feeling of his stubby fingers dancing up and down your skin before a single strenuous thrust reels you back into reality. “hah- tell me, pretty,” he moans between thrusts, the slickness of your cunt glossing down near the lower base of his full shaft. “why is a woman orgasm important, hm?”

“u- um,” you moan, your brain completely fried. his hits were so good - too good, and you’re just dumbly wordless.

nanami’s hips went askew as he made you arch further into his desk, deepening his angle. your face is lightly planted against the papers and you could hear him sneer from behind you.

one second turned into two . . then three . . then seven . .

a weeping whine rips out of your throat once he pivots even deeper, guiding a big hand between your legs. a thumb swirls around your sopping stuffed cunt and he leans in to kiss near your shoulder. “ ‘um’ isn’t a valid answer, dummy,” and your eyes were already mindlessly rolling to the backs of your empty skull.

but oh- the stretch.

he’s jabbing his hips quicker ‘n quicker as greedy hands grab at your bare skin. “c’mooon, use that pretty brain. my smart girl’s gotta be in there somewhere,” and nanami playfully knocks at the top of your head. “at least i hope she is.”

“t- the woman orgasm’s important because it helps out with the uh- pelvic floor muscles and activity.”

“and.”

“and . . it helps boosts fertility.”

“aaand?”

“a- and ‘m cumming!”

“wha- oh,” nanami lowly chuckles, feeling your cunt tighten around him. the clingy wet claps of skin grew louder - violently ricocheting against both pounds of flesh as he scoots your ass up further.

he’s deep, jackhammering his thick cock into you while occasionally fixing his glasses. every few seconds, they’d slide down the bridge of his nose. it irritates him, and you’d hear him scoff under his breath while he’s still ramming into you senseless. “c’mooon then, show me how orgasms help strengthen pelvic floor muscles, sweetheart.”

as you’re just being fucked stupid into the countless marked sheets of your papers, you gasp. stuffed at the very hilt - at least. a single tap of his cockhead against your cervix and that’s a wrap for you. within a blink of an eye—you’re shamelessly creaming down his cock with a wide shaped mouth.

he’s still thickly stretching through your walls, kneading at every compressing wet corner as you’re releasing and you start to whine. “fuck- fuuuck,” you’d whimper, feeling his jagged hips abruptly halt against you. the cold metal buckle of nanami’s belt rubs against your skin as you moan, seeing nothing but mere stars. competing to catch your breath, you huff out a sweet genuine, “did . . did i pass?”

“hmm,” he kisses near your shoulder blade, readjusting his glasses. glancing down, nanami looks at your panties that were lazily pulled to the side and he makes you arch further.

as you’re still panting, nanami clicks his tongue. “ ‘m afraid not. i think we need to learn more about the clitoris,” and nanami takes off his glasses, bringing them towards your slick opening, witnessing it fog from your dripping mess.

with a low titter, he brings them back up to his curved lips before licking the wet lenses, giving your pretty pussy a ‘lecturing’ spank. “specifically yours.”

✩ ˛˚ . SUGURU GETO.

if it’s anything nastier than suguru geto’s tongue, it’s his thick fat cock.

it’s the epitome of sloppy, especially with how it rummages through your insides, roughly circling his tip around the opening of your slick cunt. prone bone would almost always be his favorite too. it was just the way his crushing body weight would hover over yours—nearly suffocating your backside with just a bit of pressure. “sugu- ngh. suguruuu,” you’d croak out, each stinging slap of skin sending swarms of butterflies inside the inner pits of your tummy.

“quiet, doll,” he’d groan, curling a few fingers around your neck. geto’s thumb traces down your exposed nape before he licks at your ear. “fuck- what did i tell you about speakin’ out of turn?” and as your eyes start to wander to the dark abyss depths of your cranium, you whine. he’s in so deep, massaging every sloppy orifice as his fat tip drags its way through your spongey insides. “you speak after she gets a word in,” and you let off a needy sob once geto gently lift your leg. he’s still pressed into you as you’re being rammed into from behind, and that’s when he slides a hand between your legs. gurgling sloshes leave your pussy once he starts to maneuver circles around your entrance and you whine. “uh huuuh. listen to that pretty back talk with me. i know- i know.”

geto’s palm instantly got moist from your dewy juices spurting on his hand—not that he even minded anyway. you were just perfect like this, and each snap of his hips made you lose your mind ten times quicker. you’re already drooling from the mouth too, lazily sticking out your tongue as your arms start to grow feeble. “f- fuck, suguru. spank it. hng- spank it.”

“myyy, isn’t my girl bein’ extra dirty today, hm?” geto huskily purrs against the lobe of your ear. his rhythm was purely ruthless. your eyes were bulging, akin to the size of pinballs once your mouth started to pry open wider once the stretch continued..

his dick’s so fat - from all curving angles, stuffing you entirely with all nth inches of cock. geto could hear your airy pants grow more breathy and he gutturally sighs, smearing faster shapes against your dripping cunt. “ohhh- don’t shy away now,” he snickers, making you raise your head from the pillow you rested on. “not when you’re so fuckin’ wet. repeat what you want me to do, sweetheart.”

he’s a mere tease. you weren’t even facing him directly, but you could tell from just his smug tone alone that he was cockily grinning ear to ear. with a belting whine departing from your lips, you moan out a needy, “s- spank it suguru.”

“pretty please.”

“p… pretty please.”

geto brashly hums, running his free hand down your spine that glosses with sleek sheets of glistening sweet. his cock’s got you arching perfectly, and every inch pumps its way inside of you with occasional wet ‘pops!’ squelching from both sloppy mounds.

“good girl,” he gruffly whispers against your neck, feeling your hectic hips sensually rock back into him. “yeah- like that, princess. throw that cute ass against m . . me, fuck-” and seconds later, you feel the sharp brief sting of a slap against your teary folds. you’re so wet, wetting up his palm as your moans fill the entire room.

one slap turns into two, then three, then four.

you lost count—it was probably around that number, but you were far too dumb from his dick that’s currently got you in such a trance.

“ ‘m gonna..” you gasp out, the bucking of his hips getting more and more nasty. geto’s body rubs off against you and you then feel his palm swat against your ass. smack! and you hear him groan from behind. your cunt’s sucking him in and spitting him out — and the view was godly. all he saw was a pretty, slick mess as you start to dribble clear syrupy sap between your thighs. “cum- gonna cum suguru.”

“you remember how?” geto teases and your chest heaves once he gives your wet pussy a squeeze. not a single thought was in your mind, just how he was destroying your insides inch after fuckin’ inch. .

the flat of your tongue starts to salivate and you whine, nodding cutely before feeling geto’s thrusts deepen. “silly girl. bet you forgot how- should see your face right now,” he huffs, covering your spit-glossed mouth with his wide palm. you end up drooling on his hand and he tchs, smudging your saliva all over your mouth with his palm.

“c’mon then, gimme a show,” he grouses, slowing his hips down for you. geto does this purposely so you could physically feel how much of a stretch he’s barreling inside of your cunt. it’s huge - and you don’t even realize that after you finally came, you were even stupider.

cottony fuzz coils at both of your ears from the inside as your mouth remains open. you’re just whining, babbling out sweet ‘thank you's’ — even though you don’t even know exactly why you’re thanking him.

“hah- you’re welcome.” geto cunningly coos against your neck, planting a thumb on your throbbing clit. you’re so tender, shaking underneath him as you’re still seeing splotches of utter white. his dick had you unable to create coherent words, and geto brings his thumb up to your mouth before dragging it across your lips. “mmh. messy girl. still gotta work on that mouth.”

✩ ˛˚ . CHOSO KAMO.

“o- oh fuuuck,” he’d swallow, peering his eyes down toward your wet cunt.

it’s pretty - drippin’ with masses of slippery slick that soaks the entirety of his cock.

sucking in a sharp gasping breath, choso grabs onto your hips before flashing a sheepish grin. he wasn’t in fully in and choso’s already a mess. lazily leaning back against the futon—warm, drowsy eyes meet yours with darkened bags hanging underneath his pretty eyelids. choso can’t keep his eyes off you. his eyes flicker from up to your face, then back between your thighs. “mngh- you’re squeezin’ down on me, baby. don’t think ‘m gonna last.”

“you can last, ‘cho,” you whisper, letting off a sweet moan yourself once his cock smugly barrels itself between your puffed folds. you leave a lustrous shine that glimmers over his aching shaft. with achingly slow hips, you start to jerk forward and you can already see choso’s adam’s apple bobbing. “mmh- that’s it, hold me. touch me choso, ‘s okay.”

with choso though—he didn’t realize just how big he was. his dick stood tall, and its height expanded throughout your gummy walls entirely.

piercing the honed edges of your nails into his shoulders, you whine out a breathy gasp. his cock’s rude, sloppily towering inside of your pussy before starting to puncture a few delicious hits into your slick-flooded core. you’re rocking back ‘n forth, staring into his half-open eyes before burying your face into his neck. “nono-don’t do thaaat. wanna see you,” he’d pout, lifting your face.

choso’s already sweating — dewy droplets face down each side of his forehead before he feels the elastic stretch. he could almost taste it, the sugary sweet stretch. the way choso’s mushroomy tip drags its way up down and round your cunt leaves a tender feeling arising in your tummy. precisely, he marks an ‘x’ through your goopy insides with the crown of his dick like it was some kind of sacred treasure. a far more lewd kind though.

and not only did your hips make him stupid, but your pussy did too. “c- chosoooo,” you’d belt out a three-second whimper, sliding a few fingers down his bare chest. he’s hot, and the more your touch ghosts down his skin, the higher his body temperature rises. “right there- ooh! k- keep fuckin’ me there, baby.”

“god- when you whine my name, ‘s so hot,” he’d sheepishly admit, clawing a hand through his black loose strands. choso’s entire abdomen tightens at the sudden quickening speed of your hips. you’re frantic, slamming your ass up and down on his veiny cock while swerving your hips in a plethora of addicting swerving circles.

a beefy arm of his reaches for the headboard and he grabs onto it tight. you moan, staring as the veins and muscles flex through choso’s bicep. you’re riding him so good that he’s literally got to hold onto the bed for support. “ ‘m gonna fuckin’ cum. s- shit, your pussy’s gonna…..fuck.”

the loud paps of jerking skin only increase, and once you lean in to kiss choso—he submissively leans into your touch.

right away, teeth violently clash together as tongues hungrily delve into each mouth, competitively fighting for their fair shares of dominance. choso moans, sliding a palm toward the edge of your jolting ass. you’re riding him to straight oblivion, and he’s already rolling his eyes back. “mmpf-” he’d let off a gargled moan, bringing a swatting smack towards your rear. “fuckmefuckfuckmeee,” he’d whine into your ear, and now he’s got both hands clinging onto your ass. choso’s dragging you firmly back against his pelvis, making sure you feel him deep inside of your compressing walls.

oh- he was entirely pussy drunk, with you being dick drunk.

choso could see the sleazy smile forming against your lips as your back started to arch. he’s damn big, and you moan the second his fat tip keenly thrashes its way against your pulsating g-spot. that was all it took for you to squeal out a needy ‘ah!’ before your legs ended up locking around his waist.

languidly, he’s digging his fingers into your hips before you end up nibbling on his bottom lip. “ ‘m cummin’ baby. hah- cum with me, be my messy girl. c’mon,” and as he’s rambling, choso wraps his strong arms around you. he’s giving you a gentle bear hug, cutely whining into your chest as his head buries itself in between your soft tits. “mmmph.”

as your hips continued to roll, you eventually ended up finishing - hard. your orgasm had you sobbing out wantons of whimpers as his dick’s plugged you very, very full. glittery ribbons spray into you at the same time, and it’s fiery hot.

choso’s shivering underneath you, still having his arms wrapped around you—never wanting to let go. “f- fuck, choso,” you’d breathe out, hearing his tremoring sighs aerate between your tits. choso rolls out his tongue, licking a stripe down the valley of his chest as he’s still pumping you with miles ‘n miles of sultry hot seed. you hum, coddling his head with one arm as your ass slowly comes to a stop.

a clammy hand of yours grabs at your ass as you turn around, glancing at the ivory oozing clods of cum that dribbles down your pudgy opening. “not . . done,” choso heavily huffs, and you moan once he pushes you to lie on your back. with a soft thud! you land against the cushioned furniture before looking up at him.

choso looks hungrier than ever, and before you knew it — he’s slowly sliding your knees up toward your chest. “f- fuck,” he whines, taking a peak at the strings of cum that continue to race down your lustrous-coated slick.

so pretty,

but in choso’s mind, it could be even prettier.

choso leans in, pressing a kiss between your breasts before sliding a thumb down your cunt. a wet psh! shrieks out of your pussy and he lets off a quivering breath. “you can be a little messier, baby,” he’d whisper, and his tone’s a bit more hoarse now. choso hears you gulp, and once he starts to shove your knees up to your chest, he re-aligns his leaky cream-glossed tip. “ ‘m gonna stuff you fuller,” he pressed his final wet kiss against your lips.

“maybe even give you a baby . . or two . . six, h- heh.”

19K notes · View notes

revelboo · 4 months ago

Text

Assorted headcanons- scenarios 🌶️ 18+

Starscream x Reader, Megatron x Reader, Jazz x Reader, Wheeljack x Reader, Bluestreak x Reader, Prowl x Reader, Thundercracker x Reader, others. G1/IDW, TFP, TF One. Mass-displaced Cybertronians x reader scene pack- no plot here

Sorry, not sorry at all.

IDW/G1 Starscream

• Kneeling, body bowed over yours, he chuckles and runs his servos over your rib cage. “Something wrong?” He almost purrs the words, lips twisting knowingly. With your hips up, thighs spread over his you can’t get any leverage. Can’t move and you desperately need to, feeling the thick length of his spike pulsing where it’s buried inside you. You tuck your chin to glare up at him, but his optics are focused on where you’re joined, almost seeming fascinated with watching himself slowly rock against you, his spike slick as it disappears inside you before he glances at you, sly expression growing wicked. “Say it.”

• “Please. Please move,” you growl at him voice straining, trying to wiggle and he leans back, servos tightening on your soft hips to pin you still with him buried deep right where he belongs. Teasing his own control and yours. Wings flicking, he studies your flushed face as your thighs clench around him, struggling in frustration. Needing him. Only him, because you’re his. “Star.” Your voice hitches, begging for him and his restraint shatters. Shifting to stretch out over you, he begins to move. You cling to him as he drives into your wet heat, adoring those softy needy sounds you make and the way you feel like you’re made just to take his spike.

TFP Megatron

• Coiling the length of your leash around his fist, he buries his face against the softness of your throat as he covers your much smaller frame. He lets his claws play over your core, testing how wet you are for him. Feeling you squirm as he runs his chain wrapped servos along your belly and up to caress the delicate line of your jaw with a claw tip. Those sharp denta tease the skin of your shoulder, biting just hard enough to send little sparks of pain through you to mix with the need coiling you tight. Leaving marks so there’s no doubt who you belong to.

• Trembling in need as he palms your throat with a hand, draping himself against your back on his knees and a fist planted against the berth. You can feel his spike against your inner thigh branding you with his body heat, leaving a wet trail as his lips brush the shell of your ear. “Such a good little pet,” he growls, before his mouth slides down along your throat to your shoulder. You don’t even have time to form a retort or get offended about the pet comment, before he’s spearing you on his spike and you brace as that first thrust almost sends your sprawling face down. Then he’s firmly pressing against your nape until you surrender with a whimper, chest down, hips up as he ruts against you with a possessive snarl, pace relentless.

TFP Soundwave

• That soundless hum crackles over you, through you in an electric rush that lifts the fine hair at your nape as he settles against you and that tingling awareness washes over you. Arching against his grip as he uses those tendrils like built in shibari to restrain you. Pin you immobile where he wants you. Positioned how he wants.

• Everywhere his flesh meets yours, more of you sinks into him, giving everything you are to him as he presses his forehead to yours, servos sliding down your sides. There’ll be no keeping your thoughts out, no mental walls between you as he spreads you to him, holding you immobile and gripping himself, slides the head of his spike against your slick heat. Your need lashes at him, demanding wordlessly and he can’t deny you. Uses his tendrils to pull you down onto his spike and shuddering as your heat, your thoughts, all of you, envelopes him. Those little noises you make as he claims you almost musical.

G1/IDW Prowl

• “Screw you,” you curl your lip at him. “You can’t just crook a finger and I’ll come running.” The first time had been an accident. How were you supposed to know that if you kept pushing his buttons he’d react that way. Your back thumps against the wall, his fist smacking against the wall as he glares down at you, all frustration and heat and hunger. It’s a feeling you understand all too well as his mouth crashes against yours with bruising force. It’s not a kiss, so much as a domination. And then he’s gripping you, lifting you to pin against the wall with casual strength, settling himself between your thighs so you can’t shut him out. You don’t like him, you’re pretty sure he hates you, but the both of you are equally screwed by how much you enjoy angry sex.

• You bite his lip hard, hands shoving at him like you can actually force him to budge and he nips back, hearing your sharp intake of breath, those angry eyes flashing that he drew blood. He’s almost certain you’d do the same if you could, can feel your fingernails digging into the seams in his armor, biting into the mesh there. Trying to hurt him, mark him as yours. You can hate him all you like, glare and snap at him, but you want him. Want this. A fact that winds him tight as he pulls back enough that he can line your bodies up, find that wet heat and thrust into you. You cling to him, legs hooking around him as he bucks into you and your lips and mouth press whimpering kisses against his throat. Needing him. Hating him. Begging and cursing.

G1/IDW Bluestreak

• His servos tunnel into the softness of your hair, lips running over your jaw up to the corner of your mouth. Internal systems hitching as you shift on top of him where he’s sprawled and the servos of his other hand tighten and almost immediately relax against your hip. Fighting himself and the urge to just move you where he needs you so he can drive up into that tight, wet heat. Your blunt little teeth nip at his lip, soft fingers playing with the mesh of his protoarmor under his jaw. And you shift against him, sitting up on his chassis, eyes dark with need, hair messy from his servos.

• Bluestreak’s head is thrown back, denta bared like he’s in pain as he curls his warm hands around your waist. Every rough vent blowing across your sweat slicked skin as you brace your palms on his chassis and rock back. Sliding yourself against his spike until he shudders under you, servos tightening on you so much you know there’ll be bruises later. “Please,” he growls, optics gorgeous as he looks up at you, that hungry stare almost worshipful. Making you feel powerful as you reach back to find him, grip his pulsing spike and lower yourself on him. His venting hitches under you, hips lifting as he groans in Cybertronian, seeming to forget you can’t understand him now as his hands slide down your waist to your hips and he pulls you the rest of the way down to take all of him. Now you’re throwing your head back as he uses his grip to grind himself against you, still murmuring softly in his language. As soon as his grip eases, you brace your palms and ride him, hips rolling.

G1/IDW Thundercracker

• “Please,” that soft, almost whining whimper strokes over him as he lazily rolls his hips. “Thundercracker, I can’t.” Pinning you on your belly, legs spread so you can’t try and shut him out, his arm hooked under you just enough to keep your hips tilted where he needs them as he keeps rocking himself into you, he smiles indulgently. Feeling your slick heat quivering around his spike as he nudges you toward that peak again just so he can fill you again, because you definitely can for him. His wings shiver in lazy little tremors as he feels you clench around his spike.

• “I’ve got you,” he murmurs, lips tenderly brushing the back of your shoulder as he thrusts a bit harder, his servos flexing under you, brushing where you’re joined so you gasp and moan. He’s trying to kill you with pleasure, coaxing and demanding until your tired body is coiling again. Until you need it again as he adjusts his angle, spike stroking inside you and you’re crying out again, shattering. And he groans as you fist his spike, taking him along with you.

G1/IDW Jazz

• “Frag, doll,” he groans, the ragged sound of his voice winding you up as your arch under him. Servos span your sides and glide up, pulling your arms up and pinning your wrists as he rolls his hips, that big spike driving deep inside you. He’s not letting your hands loose since the feel of your hands on his spike had nearly done him in if his ragged venting is any indication. Makes you wonder what he’d do if it was your mouth on him and what kind of noises he’d make. You hook a leg over his hip, bucking your hips to chase after your own pleasure, because it’s so close. As he snarls at you in Cybertronian, you’re almost certain he’s swearing at you.

• Primus, how can you be so tight? Your heel digs into him as you grind yourself against him and he almost bites his glossa. You apparently have no patience, don’t want gentle or slow. And honestly? That’s fine by him. Growling soft, little nothings in your ear, he stops holding back. There it is, your head thrown back as he pounds into you, tenuous control fraying. Crying out his name as he takes you.

TF One Megatron

• He likes this view of you, your body spread open under him, as he props himself up on an arm. The ragged sounds of pleasure you make just for him and the wet heat of you around his spike. Fingers of his other hand sliding over the fragile line of your throat, he bucks into you, chasing down his release. You writhe under him, little pleas falling from your lips. Begging him so sweetly as he thrusts harder.

• He shifts over you, hips pinning yours to the berth as his thrusts grow more urgent and you can only hook your legs around him as he ruts into you, losing all control and it’s a powerful feeling to know you do this to him. He’s always reminding you that you’re his, but that just means he belongs to you, too. Especially as his rhythm quickens and he slides a hand under the back of your head and presses his face against your throat as you cry out, warm tremors crashing through you as his denta grip your shoulder with a snarl. Hard enough to leave a mark on that soft skin.

G1/IDW Ratchet

• Those little teeth try to bite the palm he has covering your mouth as he ruts into you from behind. The container he’s pinned you on your belly on with your hips and legs hanging is just tall enough you can’t reach the ground. Can’t do anything but squirm as he claims what’s his. Taking you like this in the medbay where anyone might walk in hadn’t been the plan, but you’d started it.

• Feeling every, deep drive of his hips, you cling to his forearm. All because you’d felt bad for Fowler getting hell from his supervisor. All you’d done was touch the guy’s arm in platonic sympathy. Next thing you know, Ratchet is picking you up in his servos, locking you both in the medbay. And taking out some pent up frustration on you, not that your complaining as you writhe under him. He stops trying to muffle your cries, gripping your hips in both hands so he can drag you back to meet his urgent thrusts and the wet sound of your bodies meeting, the feel of him inside you mixes with his rough, growling venting to send you over that edge.

G1/IDW Wheeljack

• Little hands on his vocal indicators. A soft mouth against his throat and the feel of you wrapped around his spike, so tight and wet. His hands tremble as they ghost over your ribs, scared if he holds you, his grip might bruise that soft flesh. Scared he might do something that makes you stop. So he just sits still, growling softly, systems revving as you roll your hips against his. Perched in his lap as you torment him with that slick heat and your slow, cautious rhythm. The feel of you anchoring him.

• He’s trembling under you as you ride his spike. His head falling back, vocal indicators flickering mauve. Over and over you feel his servos barely there against your cheek, your side, or your hip. Needing more contact and being denied because he seems to think he’ll break you. Pressing soft kisses against his throat, you roll your hips almost dancing in his lap. Moaning against his jaw and tracing the mesh of his neck with the tip of your tongue. And then finally whatever was holding him back snaps. Those big hands find your hips and he’s in control, thrusting up inside you as he pulls you down to meet him.

#transformers #starscream x reader #megatron x reader #soundwave x reader #wheeljack x reader #ratchet x reader #jazz x reader #prowl x reader #transformers x reader #thundercracker x reader

1K notes · View notes