#When she pulls back just to touch his lips with her thumb.......

[lassiie]

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON (Headcon for upcoming fic)

MDNI ! NSFW ! Dancer reader x Truly Obsessive, psychosexual, dark vibes step bro Sunghoon who's manipulative and have dacryphilia. “You needed someone. I became everything. You cried for me, now I crave every soft, broken sound you make. I'll make you cross the line...”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who first saw you crying for him—soft tears of pure compassion—and knew he’d never let you go.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who tells himself he’s protecting you by watching—making sure no one goes too far—but all he really wants is to go too far himself. To pull you off stage and ruin you.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who watches your spine curve in a bend like it’s the most erotic thing he’s ever seen—every rib counting down to where he wants to leave his mouth, his hands, and marks.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who touches you with feather-light fingers when no one’s looking, caresing your bare back and tightening your dress, getting off your every reaction.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who helps you dry off after practice, hand lingering a second too long, voice rough as he warns, “Don’t make me lose control, or I won’t be responsible for what happens next.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who lets you straddle his lap, watching you mindlesly start moving against him, whispering apologies between gasps. His fingers dig into your waist, voice low and rough: “Don’t stop. I’ll take care of everything you need.” And you both get lost in that secret, forbidden pleasure only you share.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who starts bickering with you in the bathroom but can’t hold back—his hands grab your hips, and you both grind hard against each other until you hear someone and yank from each other, soaked and desperate.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who says, “I’ll use anyone to remind you how badly you need me—because you belong to me, no matter what.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who won’t let anyone else hold you but him, making sure he's starving you of affection until you cross every line and come begging into his arms.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who watches the slow roll of your hips in contemporary choreography and thinks, “That’s how she’d ride me. That’s exactly how she’d move if I told her she could cum.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who doesn’t storm out or make a scene at the club he found you dance for side money. He just book the VIP booth, and pays off the manager under the table to make sure no one touches you

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who takes that pretty, flirty dancer to dinner the same night you go out on date. He makes sure you see them, laughing, her hand on his thigh, his thumb grazing her lip, kissing her while looking at you.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who fucks that same girl poolside at 2AM, right beneath your balcony, her moans echoing through the estate. And when he glances up mid-thrust, he sees your bedroom curtains flickers, a smile his lips.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who fucks her the day she's dressed at your stan-in. Hand choking her lightly, hips snapping rough, hair pulled—not because he wants her, but because he wants you wrecked.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who sucks bruises into your inner thighs in the backseat of his Benz, until you're shaking and leaking onto the leather, only to zip up his slacks, wipe his mouth before walking into his family’s matchmaking dinner like he isn’t still hard for you.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who slips his fingers into you under the table at his own matchmaking dinner, face blank but hand trembling in your soaked heat—breath hitching as he leans in and whispers, “They want me to pick a wife, but I already belong to you. You know that, right?”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who shuts the door to his secret apartment, strips you bare with fierce hands, and bites into your skin while his fingers pry you open. His voice is rough, desperate: “I don’t care about their rules. I only want you—body and soul.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who ghosts on a futur in-law meeting to press your thighs around his face in his appartment—eating you out and loving you so violently he misses the in-law brunch entirely.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who takes his soon to be fiancée to a gala but spends the whole night texting you under the table—until she notices his fingers twitching and jaw clenching right when you appear in a dress he told you not to wear.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who wraps your own satin ribbon around your throat during that night jealous fuck, pulling. His mind full of : “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who leaves your bite marks on his collarbone before a family dinner with soon to be fiancée—and when she reaches to fix his shirt, she sees it. She sees it.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who drives you home after representation one night, lets you fall asleep in his lap in the backseat—and misses his date completely. Doesn’t even answer her calls after.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who ends up fucking you right there in the private studio he booked for you, on the Marley floor, because the way your body moved tonight was too much, and just couldn’t resist it.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who fucks you hard against the mirror in your ballerina robe, hand over your mouth, breath in your ear: “Say you’ll leave again and I’ll make sure the only stage you dance on is my lap.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who grabs your packed suitcase with shaking hands and throws it across the room—then kneels in front of you, hair falling into his eyes, whispering, “Don’t go. I’ll give you anything. Just don’t go.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who leans into your skin, hands gripping your waist so tight your breath hitches, “You’re my only escape. Run all you want—but you’ll always come back to me.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who gets breathless and rough when you finally give yourself to him, voice cracking, “I’m gonna mark you... Fuck... Make sure everyone knows you’re mine." Then embrace you, "But I’m never gonna hurt you, babe.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who moves slow and careful, but every touch and sigh is charged with possessiveness, murmuring against your skin, “No one’s allowed to have you but me. Not like this.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who makes you beg for his touch after the other guy leaves, his fingers slipping between your thighs, rough and demanding, “You think you want him? I’m the only one who can make you scream like this.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who kisses you like he’s drowning, hands desperate and rough, but the way he whimpers into your mouth when you touch him back? That’s the sound of someone starved for love and losing control.

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who fucks into you slow and deep, voice trembling with rage and want, saying, “He wants to control me, but you’re the only thing I’ll ever obey. I’d give up everything just to stay inside you.”

CHAEBOL!STEPBRO SUNGHOON who lets you see him fall apart, lets you hold him while he’s still inside you, chest heaving, voice shaking, “I don’t care if it’s wrong. You’re home to me.”

Coming very soon...

Here’s a peek at the next stepbro AU—this one’s all about Hoon, and I have a feeling it’s going to sneak into your thoughts and stay there a while.

It’s a little dark, a lot twisted, and full of that possessiveness that makes your heart race just a bit too fast.

Feel free to reblog, gush, or whisper your thoughts my way.

And if there’s something you’re dying to see, don’t be shy!!!

I’d love to hear what you’re craving. 🖤

xoxo

Lassiie

[onlypinkslut]

warning 18+ wlw mean aunt f!toji x bratty niece f!reader🎀 ─────────────────────────── cw age gap, toxic familial dynamic, incest (aunt/niece), manipulation, pussy slapping, tribbing, cunnilingus, finger sucking, hair pulling, spanking, slapping, spit, orgasm control, phone humiliation, squirting, food play

she always smelled like something expensive. sweet, warm, powdery, a perfume that clung to her skin and hair no matter how long she stayed. the scent filled the whole hallway when she walked in. high heels clicking against the tile, hips swaying like she knew every pair of eyes was going to follow her. they always did. your uncles would stand up straighter. your brother would roll his eyes and pretend not to stare. your father would lower his voice when he spoke to her. and your mother would force a smile so tight her lips looked like they were drawn on with a pencil. but you never said anything. you just watched. waited. because no matter how much everyone acted like she was too much, she always came for you first.

you hated that you liked it.

she called you lazy. selfish. dramatic. told your mother you were never going to be worth anything if you kept eating like that, sleeping like that, walking around like some wide-eyed little brat with nothing to offer. she’d say it while tapping your cheek with two long fingers, nails painted wine red, the rings on her hand cold against your skin. she said it like she hated girls like you. like you embarrassed her. but every time she said it, her eyes would drop to your mouth. her lips would twitch like she was holding back a smirk.

you knew she liked you soft. knew she wanted you to be useless.

auntie toji always brought something. lip gloss, gold-capped. mini compacts that smelled like candy. chocolate imported from somewhere you couldn’t pronounce. a tiny bralette you never asked for in a size smaller than what fit. she’d sit on the couch with one leg crossed high over the other, her heel bouncing in the air, and call you over without even looking at you. then she’d pull you into her lap, right in front of everyone, hand sliding under your thigh to squeeze it like it was nothing. her tits would be right there. always. always in something tight and silky, low cut and soft, pressed up against your back or brushing against your cheek when she turned her head. they bounced every time she laughed. every time she adjusted herself. every time she pulled her shirt off in the hallway like no one else was home.

and you looked.

you always looked.

she fed you during dinner like you were some doll she brought with her. fingers dipped into your plate, thumb brushing sauce across your lower lip, other hand still resting on your thigh. once, when you tried to pull away, she whispered something too soft to hear and tugged you back down, nails dragging against the inside of your leg. and she smiled through the whole meal like she wasn’t touching you. like nobody saw. but you saw. you felt it. every time. and after dinner, she kissed you goodbye the same way she always did two fingers on your chin, lips pressing slow and wet against yours, just long enough to make your stomach twist.

she never kissed anyone else like that.

and when she traveled, she sent pictures. nothing full nude. just enough. thighs crossed in sheer stockings, tits pushed together in a hotel mirror, red lipstick smeared just a little at the corner of her mouth. sometimes she’d caption it with something stupid. wish you were here. or bought this for you. but it was always her in it. always her posing like she wanted to be watched.

you hated how it made you feel. hated how you stared. how you saved them. how you touched yourself to the one where her bra strap was slipping down and her expression looked just a little too bored.

because she wasn’t just any aunt. she was auntie toji.

tall. dangerous. soft-bodied and curvy like every part of her could swallow you whole and still want seconds. she wasn’t like your mom. she wasn’t like anyone. and she treated you like something sweet she kept hidden in her purse. something sticky and secret and breakable.

and one day, she was going to ask you to prove it.

it started like any other evening. background noise, air thick with something too warm for the living room fan to fix. you were curled up in the corner of the couch with your legs bent and spread open without thinking, one foot resting on the cushion, skirt bunched up too high. the cotton between your thighs was soaked from sweat and softness, maybe more, maybe not, but the damp patch was there, pale pink turning darker with every subtle shift. your phone buzzed on your chest. some stupid tiktok edit. a scene from the new squid game season with sad music and overly saturated colors. your eyes barely blinked, lips parted in a soft pout while you scrolled through comments like your brain wasn’t even fully on. you didn’t hear the click of her heels until she was already standing in front of you.

auntie toji wore that dress. the one you hated. the one that hugged her hips and chest like a second skin and left nothing to the imagination except maybe how her ass moved when she walked. her tits were high, full, pushed together beneath the sheer mesh, and her legs looked longer than your future in those sky-high platform heels. everything about her was designed to remind everyone of what they weren’t. she didn’t even ask before sitting next to you, just smoothed her dress beneath her and crossed one leg over the other with a soft sigh like she was the one relaxing.

then her eyes dropped.

you didn’t move.

she reached between your legs with two fingers, red nails sharp and curved and slow. she didn’t push. not at first. just pressed the pad of one fingertip against the center of your damp cotton and smiled when it gave way beneath her. your thighs twitched. her hand didn’t stop. she rubbed in a small circle, not enough to get you off, just enough to stain her nail with heat and wetness, enough to feel the shape of you pressing back against the fabric. she clicked her tongue and said it like she was disappointed, like it wasn’t something she was enjoying.

legs open again. what’s this, baby?

you didn’t look up. just chewed your lip and flicked to the next video.

yeah. and?

her fingers were on you before the screen even lit up again. two of them, long and slow, dragging up the crotch of your panties until the fabric pulled tight across your folds. her nails pressed just enough to make the heat flood up your spine. you tensed. she giggled.

damn. you’re soaked.

she laughed like it was funny, like she was teasing, but her eyes dropped lower, staring at how the fabric stuck to you when she lifted it. your cunt twitched. her fingers slid back down and slapped it not hard, just enough to make you gasp and drop your phone to your stomach. her nails tapped against your clit through the fabric. your thighs jumped.

that how you sit in front of your cousins? you want someone to put their cock on this pretty pussy or what?

you rolled your eyes and spread your legs wider, slow and bratty, tongue pressed against the back of your teeth as you looked up at her like you were daring her to go further.

what if i do?

she froze for half a second. you saw it the way her throat moved when she swallowed, the way her fingers twitched. then she slapped your cunt again, harder this time, open palm right over your puffy lips, and you moaned low in your throat.

you filthy little thing. your pussy’s begging for it.

nah, you’re the only one who touches it. maybe you’re the one who wants cocks in your pussy.

you dragged your fingers up your own thigh, lazy, glossy-eyed, hips tilting up as she watched you with her tongue wetting her bottom lip. she didn’t laugh that time. she didn’t deny it either. just reached for your panties, slipped her fingers under the edge, and dragged them to the side with a hum.

you want to get waxed, baby? maybe we go to the spa. just me and you. i’ll tell them to leave it bare. smooth and tight and shiny. like a brand-new little cunt for me to play with.

her fingers brushed your bare lips. you twitched, whining softly. she patted it. slapped it once more. watched the way it bounced back open.

you scoffed and rolled your eyes again, grinning against her shoulder.

you just want to see it up close. you’re the one in heat.

her hand came down again. harder. a sharp slap right against your clit. your thighs flinched but you didn’t close them. she looked proud of that.

mm, maybe. maybe i do wanna see it red and wet and spread out for me.

she shifted closer on the couch, slipped one arm behind your back, tugged you toward her until your head dropped onto her chest, cheek pressed against the swell of her tits. you could feel the skin warm through the dress. her other hand was still between your legs. rubbing now. circling slow.

you’re getting worse every time i visit. mouthy. messy.

you breathed in her perfume. sweet. thick. like sugar melting in heat.

then stop visiting.

her fingers slipped lower. you moaned.

no chance.

she always acted like she wasn’t doing anything wrong. even now, sitting next to you on the couch with her tits spilling out of that tight dress, her heels kicked off but her perfume still strong in the air, sugary and humid like it had melted into her skin. her legs were crossed, her hair pinned back, her voice soft. like she was just catching up. like this was normal.

so i met this guy, she says, dragging her wet fingers out of your pussy like she’s tasting wine, the movement slow, dragging slick between your thighs until your whole cunt twitches open from how swollen it is. her other hand toys with your panties, pinching the damp fabric between her red nails and flicking it lightly against your clit like she’s bored.

you’re laid back against the couch, head tilted toward her shoulder, skirt bunched up around your hips, and your thighs spread wide like you’ve already given up the idea of modesty. her fingers are glistening, warm, soaked in you. she lifts them and presses them to your mouth with that same voice she uses when she’s telling you what shampoo to buy.

open, baby. come on.

you rolled your eyes. you take them between your lips, suck them slow, tongue dragging against her rings, teeth grazing her knuckles. you make eye contact as you moan around her fingers, and she smiles like you’re doing her a favor.

good girl.

fuck off with that.

her eyes light up like you gave her a gift. she laughs, all pretty and smug, and lets her tits fall forward as she leans down over you, the weight of them pressing to your chest, soft and warm and heavy under the mesh of her dress. you frown, push your palm against one.

can you fucking cover those cow tits?

she gasps fake, high, dramatic and slaps your inner thigh hard enough to sting but not enough to hurt. your cunt clenches when she does it.

rude. and here i was, letting you taste yourself like a spoiled little niece.

you roll your eyes and open your legs wider, cunt glistening now, panties pulled to the side, your slick smeared across your thighs.

don’t act like you’re not loving it.

her mouth twitches. her fingers return two this time, sliding back in without warning, curling deep, pressing up inside you until you shiver. she pulls your panties tighter against your pussy with the other hand, rubbing them slow across your clit as her fingers work deep, steady, practiced.

he’s older, she says, like she’s telling you about a nail appointment. has money. car’s ugly, though. red and loud and obnoxious. like his dick probably is.

you groan into her chest, eyes rolling.

jesus. you’d talk about his dick while your fingers are inside me.

she giggles. kisses the top of your head. doesn’t stop moving her hand.

multitasking. you should try it sometime, instead of lying around leaking through your panties every time someone gives you attention.

you bite her breast. she gasps again, laughing louder now, voice breathy as she presses her palm hard against your mound and rubs in circles.

he said he liked my energy.

what, fake and horny?

slap. this time right to your pussy. loud, wet, and sharp. your hips buck. she does it again, then slips her fingers back in and starts fucking you for real. her voice stays light.

you’re such a mouthy little brat. can’t even shut up when i’m feeding you your own pussy.

you moan, loud, sloppy. she leans down and kisses you hard, tongue slipping in like it belongs there, and you let her. because it does. because you’re soaked. because you’re clenching. because her fingers feel like the only thing real in the room.

she’ll talk the whole time she ruins you. and you’ll keep mouthing off. because that’s the game. and you’re her favorite.

the dress slipped off. maybe it was when she leaned forward and the straps fell down her shoulders, maybe when she shifted to straddle your lap and dragged it down like she was tired of pretending. either way, her tits were out now, full and heavy and flushed pink, nipples hard and sticky with sweat, swaying slightly as she moved above you. she reached behind your head and pulled you forward by the roots of your hair, pressing your face into them like it was a reward.

see what you’re missing when you chase boys? they don’t have these.

you mumbled something against her skin, mouth open, tongue flicking under the curve of her breast just to make her twitch. she laughed and arched her back, grinding against your lap, her cunt bare now, soft curls brushing your thigh, slick already smearing on your skin. your panties were off. somewhere on the floor. your shirt was pushed up around your neck and your nipples were pressed flat against hers as she rocked her hips down harder, cunt dragging over your stomach, the heat of her body spreading everywhere.

this is better than any man i’ve ever had. better than their fingers, better than their lies, better than some half-hard dick humping me like a fucking dog.

you scoffed and grabbed her tits with both hands, shaking them, biting one hard enough to make her gasp and slap your thigh.

bitch, you talk too much.

she moaned when you said it. loud and shameless, her voice breaking as she rolled her hips again and again, grinding her pussy over yours now, slick lips meeting slick lips, the soft press of her bush against yours making you both groan. it was hot. humid. the air thick with the smell of sweat and cunt and perfume. your clits slid past each other with every shift of your hips, and her nails dug into your thighs as she fucked down against you, hair sticking to her neck, lips parted.

your pussy’s so soft, baby. i love it like this. hot and sticky. i could rub on it all day.

she leaned down and kissed you, tongue licking into your mouth like she was drunk on it, breath catching every time her clit slid just right against yours. you grabbed her ass and pulled her harder, your pussy throbbing, lips flushed and raw from how wet you were, how swollen everything felt. she pushed one hand between you and reached back, pulling a cucumber from the edge of the couch where she’d tucked it earlier, like she fucking planned it.

her smile was wicked.

wanna share?

she pressed it to her cunt first, the cool skin slicking up immediately from how soaked she was, rubbing it against her folds, then pushed the tip in shallow, moaning as her lips spread open. she rode it slow, just the head, then pulled it out and slapped it against your pussy, hard and wet, laughing when you gasped.

don’t act shy now. you’ve been leaking since i kissed your mouth.

you spread your legs wider, your bush sticky with her slick and yours, everything swollen and twitching, and she slid it into you slow, pushing the same cucumber she just fucked into your cunt until you arched your back and cursed. her fingers rubbed your clit while she did it. her other hand pinched your nipple. you felt everything.

then she pulled it out and put it back inside herself.

back and forth. again. slow. dragging it through both of you until it was soaked, the base slippery with cream, her thighs shaking as she started grinding on you again.

fuck i could cum just from the smell of us. we’re disgusting.

your fingers gripped her hips, helping her move, dragging her pussy back over yours, her curls matted now, your lips kissing, sticking, catching on each other. she moaned louder, higher, her whole body shaking as her thighs tensed.

fuck. fuck baby. i’m gonna—

her words cut off with a full-body jolt. she squirted against you hard, slick spraying against your cunt, her voice wrecked, breath hitching as her clit pulsed over yours. your own orgasm hit seconds after, pussy clenching, everything dripping and wet and hot between you. you were both soaked. couch ruined. thighs slippery. the cucumber slid from her hand and thudded to the floor. neither of you moved.

her tits lay heavy on your chest again. her breath tickled your ear.

see? better than men.

you smirked, spit still on your lips, pussy twitching under hers.

fuck men.

she giggled.

i already did. now i’m done.

her legs were already spread when she pulled you back in. thighs flushed, cunt sticky and glossy from the mess you’d both made earlier. she sat back against the couch like she owned it, like she always had, her hair pinned up now, chest rising slow, that lazy look in her eyes like she was about to be pampered. you were on your knees again, no panties, skirt gone, your mouth hovering just over her cunt as she picked up her phone. you watched her unlock it. slow. casual. she hit call, speaker off, lips curling as she looked down at you.

you knew the name on the screen. dealership man. her little sugar project. the one she bitched about two orgasms ago.

as the line rang, she reached down with two fingers and pulled your face closer, pressing your nose right against the crease of her thigh, your mouth flush with her folds. you could feel how wet she still was warm and sticky, her bush soft against your chin, the smell of her so thick it coated your tongue before you even licked. she didn’t give you time to hesitate.

go ahead, baby. be quiet though.

then he picked up. her voice changed instantly, soft and warm and sweet like syrup.

hi, mm. yeah, i got your text, i was just relaxing at home.

you licked her. slow, deliberate, dragging your tongue from the base to her clit. she didn’t flinch. didn’t miss a beat. her thighs shifted only slightly, pressing in on your ears like earmuffs.

you started again, tongue working in slow circles around her clit, lips sucking just enough to make her hips twitch, and she breathed out like she was reacting to the man, not you.

mmhmm. oh, no, i’m just laying on the couch. it’s been a long day.

you pulled her labia apart with your thumbs, mouth sloppy now, spit soaking into the trimmed curls around her cunt. she kept talking. every time she let her voice drip through the line, you licked harder, angrier, her taste salty and warm, her pussy so slick it started coating your chin.

when you nibbled teeth just grazing her swollen clit her hand snapped down immediately. slap. not hard. not even mean. just sharp. a quick hit to your cheek that made you flinch and grind your knees into the floor.

be nice.

you pulled back, spit pooling in your mouth, and let it fall. thick. hot. right onto her cunt. it slid down between her folds, sticky and warm, mixing with her slick. she gasped softly and cleared her throat mid-call, lifting her heel to press it between your shoulder blades, forcing your face back down.

mm, no, sorry, i thought i heard something outside. yeah.

she grabbed your hair and started moving your head for you, fucking your face onto her cunt, dragging your lips across her clit in steady strokes like she was using you to unwind. you couldn’t breathe. didn’t care. your mouth was open, tongue flicking, chin rubbing up against her entrance while your hands gripped the tops of her thighs. her legs trembled once. twice.

she didn’t stop talking.

no, i’d love to. lunch sounds good. mm, thursday? i might have a spa thing but i’ll see.

you started moaning against her. soft at first, then louder. your hips swayed, ass high in the air, legs spread shameless, your own cunt dripping down your thighs from the heat and rhythm of it. you looked pathetic. grinding the air while your aunt used your mouth like a toy, voice sweet and airy as she scheduled a date with another man.

her hand yanked your hair again, tighter this time, keeping your face pinned as her thighs squeezed around your ears.

slow down. don’t act desperate.

you mumbled something back against her folds and she smirked.

you’re lucky he can’t hear how wet your mouth sounds right now.

your tongue licked deeper, sharper now, your lips sucking on her clit while she gasped and let it melt into the call.

mm. thursday’s perfect.

she came on your mouth like it was your job. legs shaking, cunt pulsing, fingers in your hair pulling hard while your tongue stayed flat and greedy. her slick coated your nose and your chin and you didn’t care, didn’t even try to move when she gasped and grinded harder, hips rolling with short desperate stutters. you tasted everything. her sweat. her spit. her cum. she shivered through it and kept her phone pinned to her ear, her voice barely trembling as she muttered yeah, just stretching while her thighs clenched around your face and her clit throbbed against your tongue. she came, and you felt it. the whole mess of it. and then she wasn’t done.

her body was still warm and twitching when she pulled you up by the back of your neck, licking her own cum off your lips like it was a casual kiss, then pushed you forward onto your stomach with one smooth shove. you barely caught yourself on the cushions before she was behind you again, pulling your ass up high like she was arranging a pillow. your legs spread instinctively, and your pussy was so wet the air made you flinch. the slick clung everywhere your thighs, your inner lips, your puffy clit, already flushed from grinding against the couch earlier.

and then she started slapping. not playfully. not lightly. her hand came down open and firm, straight onto your cunt, knuckles dragging against your folds on the way up. the sound was obscene. a fat wet smack that echoed off the walls and made your hips jerk up even higher. again. again. her palm slapped the swollen curve of your pussy, flat against the center where it was hottest, her fingers catching on your sticky lips and spreading your slick across your mound. the noise was sharp and fast, every impact louder than the last. your pussy was so soaked that each hit sounded like it was landing in water. she didn’t stop to ask if it was too much. she didn’t ask anything.

you moaned hard into the cushion, your ass swaying without you meaning to, hips tilting back into her hand, desperate for more. every slap made your clit twitch. your whole pussy felt swollen, glossy, abused. she rubbed it slow between the strikes, two fingers circling just enough to pull a whine out of you before she slapped it again, this time right over the top, her palm dragging down your lips as your legs trembled.

slutty little body just can’t help itself, huh? look at how you’re fucking dripping. you think a man could do this to you? he’d be scared of how loud this pussy sounds. scared of how messy it is.

she was still on the call. her voice turned polite again, talking about schedules, about thursday evening, while her hand smacked the heat between your thighs, slow and steady. wet and filthy. you swayed your hips like a bitch in heat, back arched, pussy clenching every time she rubbed it. her nails grazed the curve of your lips and her palm dragged back up and slapped again, making the slick spray across your thighs.

you were panting now, your voice shaking with each moan, your legs spread so wide you thought your hips would cramp. her hand never stopped. rub, slap, rub, slap. each sound louder, sharper, messier. your pussy started leaking hard, everything soaking, the couch beneath you growing darker from where your slick was dripping, pooling under your body.

then her fingers found your clit and she didn’t tease. she pressed. circled. rubbed you with the heel of her palm while two fingers slapped upward from below, hitting your clit from underneath until your whole body seized.

say my fucking name.

you choked on it. moaned it into the cushion. your ass twitched. her name slipped from your throat and her fingers didn’t slow.

again.

you screamed it this time. desperate. loud. your thighs started shaking violently. your whole body locked up.

you squirted like it was being forced out of you.

it hit her palm. splashed across your thighs. soaked the couch. your body convulsed, cunt pulsing so hard it felt like it was crying, and she held your hips still with both hands now, grinding your pussy down against the wet cushion like she was trying to milk the last of it out of you.

you were gasping. twitching. your slick was everywhere. and she leaned forward with the phone still in her hand and said

sorry, that was just the blender.

and smiled like nothing had happened.

to everyone who read this mess: thank you. sincerely. i write these stories half as a joke and half because i know some of you are just as depraved as me and it feels good to be seen.

to my regulars: you know i love you. to the new girlies shaking and crying in the corner, welcome home. and to the moral police… again? babes, take a break. the block button is right there. go write your own guilt-free fluff if that’s your lane. i’m not changing mine.

thank you again for all the love, the chaos, the unhinged reactions. keep being disgusting. i’ll keep feeding you.

xoxo, your problem ����

onlypinkslut

[smutmind]

The Wife pt. 2

----

FULL CHAPTERS HERE

The door opened with a rustle of bags and the crisp scent of scallions and damp wool.

Chaeyoung stepped inside, cheeks pink from the chill. Her coat hung off one shoulder, hair damp from the evening mist, clingy against her collarbone. She nudged the door closed with her hip and kicked off her shoes with a practiced twist of her toes. Groceries cradled in her arms, she looked domestic, delicate—like the picture of normal.

“I got the mushrooms you like,” she called brightly. “And extra tofu. You’re gonna be spoiled tonight.”

Jihun sat at the dining table, hands resting still on either side of his laptop. The screen had dimmed, but he hadn’t moved in minutes. The blue cast from the monitor clung to his face like frost. He didn’t turn.

She peeked at him from the kitchen, brow lifting. “Babe?”

He nodded once. Barely.

No kiss. No smile. No warmth.

Her lips parted like she might say something—then she didn’t. She unpacked the groceries quietly instead, stacking vegetables, peeling open plastic bags, humming something soft and wordless under her breath. Like nothing had changed.

Later, she plated two warm bowls of doenjang-jjigae and set the table just the way he liked it. Napkin folded left, glass of water to the right. From the drawer, she palmed a tiny white pill, slipped it beside his chopsticks.

“Here,” she said gently, pressing it into his palm.

He looked down at it, then her.

“Just like always,” she added, coaxing. “You never forget.”

He swallowed it without a word.

They ate in silence, the stew steaming between them.

She watched him closely over her bowl. Eyes flicked up each time his jaw tensed. Her foot grazed his under the table, lingering. No response.

His mouth opened once, lips parting like they might form a thought. But nothing came out.

She stood. Her voice softened. “Shower with me?”

He blinked, looking up at her like she’d just spoken a foreign word.

She smiled gently, reaching for his hand. “You’ve been so quiet. Let me take care of you. Just for a while.”

. . .

The bathroom fogged fast, warm and close. She undressed him slowly, with reverence, folding each garment instead of dropping them. Her touch lingered on his chest, her lips brushing his shoulder as she peeled away his last layer.

She stepped out of her own clothes, letting the shirt drop to the tile. Her body gleamed under the lights—soft breasts, delicate lines, skin flushed and dewy. She kissed his sternum before pulling him under the spray.

Water ran down their bodies. She lathered soap between her palms and ran it over his chest, down his arms, across his belly. Her fingers slid between his thighs, slow and slick.

She soaped his cock with lazy, confident strokes. He twitched. Then stiffened.

“There he is,” she whispered with a grin. “Missed you.”

She leaned up and kissed his neck, then lower, licking at the hollow of his collarbone. Her hands moved in sync—one stroking his cock, the other cupping his balls, tugging gently.

“You’ve been carrying too much again,” she murmured. “Let me ease it off.”

His hips bucked slightly. His breath came heavier.

Her mouth found his nipples, sucking softly, tongue flicking. Her thumbs circled the head of his cock.

“I know this body,” she whispered. “Even when your mind forgets me.”

He groaned, one hand bracing the tile.

The pleasure built quick—clean, clinical. Her rhythm never faltered.

Then—

The pen.

Sharp. Real. Silver glint. That night.

He jerked back. “Wait—”

She paused. “What?”

He stepped out of the water, grabbing the sink. His breath fogged the mirror. “You were going to kill me.”

Her face didn’t change. “Jihun...”

“No,” he said, voice breaking. “That night. I wasn’t dreaming. You stood over me. You had a pen. You were going to—to stab me.”

She didn’t deny it. Didn’t move.

“Tell me the truth,” he said, turning. “Please. I need to know what this is. Who you are.”

She turned off the water. Silence bloomed in the room.

Then she grabbed a towel, wrapped it tight around her frame, and walked out without a word.

. . .

The bed was cold that night. She didn’t face him. Didn’t speak.

But her hand reached once toward his chest before pulling back.

By morning, she was gone.

The house smelled like scallions and warm soap.

And in the drawer beside his bed—tucked under a receipt and a loose coin—was the pen.

The same one.

His breath caught.

He never told her he saw it.

The sun had barely climbed when Chaeyoung stepped into the lion’s den wearing blood-colored heels.

Her coat was long, tailored, deep charcoal with silver stitching up the lapels like veins. Beneath it, she wore a high-slit black dress, sleeveless, her left thigh bare save for a single garter holster carrying a pearl-handled blade. Her hair was swept into a high, sharp ponytail. No earrings. No warmth.

Mina’s compound was quiet outside—just a steel gate and camera eyes. Inside, it pulsed low with jazz and shadow. Guard dogs roamed. Bodyguards nodded once and opened the doors.

Mina waited in the center room—legs crossed, cigarette burning red. She wore a dark maroon trench coat, nothing underneath except leather garters and glossy heels that caught the dim light. Her cleavage was sharp as her grin. Her nails were painted obsidian.

“You look like hell,” Mina said, exhaling smoke.

“Didn’t sleep,” Chaeyoung murmured, sinking onto the velvet sofa.

“Still playing house with the boy?”

“I think he’s starting to remember. Bits of it. The pen. That night.”

Mina tapped ash into a bone-colored dish. “Then he’s almost ready.”

“For what?” Chaeyoung asked.

“To stop being prey.”

Chaeyoung stared at her.

Mina leaned forward. “What if we don’t kill him? What if we make him one of us?”

Chaeyoung frowned. “That’s not the plan.”

“I know. But this new version—the soft one—he could be shaped. Reforged. Put in a gang jacket. Make the police chief’s son crawl through blood, ours, and then watch Daddy’s heart collapse.”

Chaeyoung sat back. Laughed once, dry. “You’re crueler than me.”

“You’re just tired.” Mina stood. Clapped her hands.

Two masked men emerged from the hallway—bare-chested, leather masks covering their heads, muscular, carved. Their cocks were already hard—dark, heavy, swaying with each step. One wore combat boots and a belt lined with black rope. The other had only gloves and a tattoo of a bleeding sword along his ribs.

Mina walked to the nearest one. Wrapped her hand around his shaft, stroking slow, casual. “He’s here for you. If you want to blow off some of that grief.”

Chaeyoung smiled faintly. “Not today.”

Mina tilted her head. “More for me, then.”

Chaeyoung rose, heels clicking.

“I’ll give you three weeks,” Mina said, still stroking the masked cock idly. “If he’s not one of us by then… I’ll kill him myself.”

Chaeyoung didn’t look back.

The front door clicked open with no urgency, as if she belonged to the silence she stepped into.

Chaeyoung entered like a breeze that knew the layout of the room. She moved without hesitation, without tension. Soft clothes swayed with her steps—a pale, oversized sweatshirt that hung off one shoulder, no bra beneath, navy leggings clinging to her thighs, her hips. Her hair was loose, damp from the morning air, curling softly at the ends like she'd come from a quiet walk by the river, not from a meeting with the city’s deadliest.

Jihun sat at the kitchen table, slouched slightly, hands wrapped around a half-empty glass like it anchored him. His gaze tracked her from under his brow, sharp but weary. He didn’t speak.

She didn’t either. Not at first.

She set her bag down carefully, unpacked the groceries with steady hands. The rustle of plastic and clink of vegetables against the counter filled the silence. Then she reached for a clean glass, filled it, uncapped the pill bottle, and dropped the tiny white capsule inside his reach.

She placed it in front of him. “Take it. Please.”

He stared at the pill, then at her.

“I know you don’t want to,” she said gently. “But I need you clear-headed. Just for a little while longer.”

He held her gaze a second longer, then picked up the glass and swallowed the pill.

A slow breath escaped her. She sat down across from him, legs folded under her, hands resting in her lap.

“I’m sorry, Jihun,” she said. “For the other night. For what you saw.”

He said nothing.

“They weren’t strangers,” she continued, voice quiet but steady. “Just ghosts from a different life. From before you.”

He blinked slowly.

“They called me boss,” she said with a soft smile. “But it’s not what it sounds like. I managed things. Quiet things. Logistics, strategy. No blood on my hands. Not directly.”

She reached up and rolled back her sleeve.

A bruise bloomed on her inner forearm—faint now, but unmistakable. Another mark peeked out above the waist of her leggings.

“Someone recognized you,” she whispered. “Thought you were a risk. I stopped it before it got worse.”

His eyes fell to the bruise.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, then softer: “I didn’t want you to see this side of me.”

He didn’t respond, but his fingers tightened slightly around the rim of his glass.

She rose, walked around the table, and knelt beside him. Her hand slid over his knee, up to his thigh. “Let me make it right.”

She leaned in and kissed his jaw—slow, reverent. Not rushed. Not apologetic. Just hers.

“I miss you,” she whispered against his skin.

She trailed kisses down his throat, over his collarbone. Her lips lingered like she was memorizing his shape. Her hand found his, guided it to her chest.

“Do you still want me?”

His gaze dipped to her sweatshirt, loose and warm, revealing the edge of her bare breast where the fabric fell. The bruise near her hip. The longing in her eyes.

“Yes,” he breathed.

She pulled him to his feet, walked him to the bedroom without speaking.

. . .

She undressed him piece by piece, as if each layer meant something. Her fingers traced every inch of skin she revealed. No rush. No hunger. Just care. She kissed his chest, his shoulders, the hollow of his hips. She kissed the places he didn’t know held tension.

“You’re my peace,” she murmured.

Then she peeled off her sweatshirt and leggings, baring her body to him completely. She took his hand and placed it over her heart.

“Feel that? It’s yours. Always.”

She climbed onto the bed and pulled him with her. She straddled him slowly, lowering herself onto him with a breathless moan. Her eyes never left his.

“You’re home inside me,” she whispered.

He groaned as she sank down fully, her warmth wrapping around him. Her movements were slow, deep. She rocked her hips in slow circles, keeping him buried, grinding to the rhythm of her words.

“You make me clean.”

“You make me whole.”

He cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples. She arched into him, fingers tangled in his hair.

“I love your body,” she whispered, voice breaking with feeling. “I love every part of you.”

He thrust up into her, hands gripping her waist.

“Say it again,” he murmured.

She leaned close, lips at his ear. “You’re my only. My everything. I’ll burn this whole city down before I let them take you.”

He groaned. His orgasm built fast.

“Come inside me,” she whispered, rolling her hips faster now. “I want to feel you deep. I want to keep you inside all day.”

He surged upward, moaning her name, filling her. She cried out softly, clenching around him as she came with him.

She collapsed against him, chest heaving, sweat beading between them.

They lay tangled, her hand stroking his hair, his fingers tracing the bruise on her hip.

Then she spoke, quiet but clear.

“Jihun... would you follow me?”

He blinked. “Follow you where?”

She smiled, brushing a kiss against his lips.

“Down this path. Wherever it leads.”

[v6quewrlds]

imagine making commitments with joe.

author's note⠀⁎⠀someone asked me to expand on wifey surprising joe in nyc, but i lost the ask, so here you go, my love <3

read more⠀⁎⠀joe burrow masterlist / series masterlist.

“You smell good,” she murmured into his neck, kissing the tanned skin just over the small brownish mole that had become so familiar to her. Her right hand held the back of his head as he tucked his face into the crook of her shoulder. His weight pressed her into the perfectly made bed, the softness of the hotel linen cushioning her body. It was a familiar, comforting weight; her weighted blanket of sorts. Her left hand was splayed across his broad back, feeling the heat and the pull of the muscles beneath her fingertips. Even through the navy blue Marni shirt, she could feel the tightness in his shoulder blades melt under her touch.

“It’s the cologne you got me for my birthday,” Joe mumbled sleepily, his breath warm against her neck. She hummed and kissed his forehead. “Wear it whenever I’m away from you. Makes me all warm and fuzzy ‘cause it reminds me of you.”

“That’s so slutty,” She snorted quietly, her laughter growing when Joe grumbled on top of her before rolling off to his side, his eyes still closed. She took the opportunity to run her fingers through his hair, watching the way the strands fell back into place once she pulled her hand away.

“I’m extremely slutty for you, no shame here,” Joe quipped with a smile, his eyes still closed but amusement playing on his lips. She couldn’t help the affectionate pinch she gave his cheek, the sound of his surprised laughter making her heart flutter. She propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at him as he shifted onto his back.

Joe’s face was relaxed, his cheeks flushed from when he buried his face against her torso. His previously perfectly tamed hair was now a mess, sticking up in various directions. The stubble on his jaw was prickly against her fingertips as she traced the sharp line of his jaw, feeling the roughness and the warmth of his skin. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the contours of his muscles and veins defined even in the dim light of the hotel room.

“I was thinking about something on the flight,” she began, her voice soft but filled with purpose. Joe’s eyes fluttered open, the brightness of the room causing him to squint slightly. He turned his head to look at her, a question in his gaze.

“Good something or bad something?” he asked quietly, his hand reaching up to take hers, lifting it from where it rested on her cheek to brush his thumb over her knuckles.

“It’s a good something, I promise,” she said, her voice filled with a gentle confidence. “So you know how Medina has been floating the idea of making me a partner at the practice?” Her eyes searched Joe’s face, looking for any sign of recognition.

Joe nodded, his thumb continuing to trace lazy patterns on the back of her hand. “Yeah, you mentioned it a couple of times. Last time we talked about it, you were hesitant about the long-term commitment.” He studied her, his expression thoughtful.

“I think it feels like the right next step. It’s a big deal for me, which means it’s a big deal for us. But it also means security and a clear focus, more time together during the off-seasons,” she spoke earnestly, her eyes locked onto his. She watched the play of emotions cross his face—surprise, followed by a flicker of concern, and finally, a soft smile.

“That’s amazing, babe,” Joe said, his voice genuine. He sat up, pulling her onto his chest, and kissed her forehead. “What’s the track timeline like?”

She shrugged, her head fitting perfectly into the space between his chin and collarbone. “It’s still just an idea. They want to start the talks in a few months. I’d have to put in the work, prove myself even more than I already have. There’s a buy-in, too. So, maybe two, two and a half years in total? But I think it’s worth it for the future we could build together in Cincinnati.”

Joe’s arms tightened around her, his grip firm and reassuring. He knew how much this meant to her, how much she considered every step and every commitment. He kissed the top of her head, his breath ruffling her hair. “I support you in whatever you choose to do. Obviously, I’m biased; I’d prefer it if we could both stay in Cincinnati for as long as possible to build that future together. But I’m here for you, every step of the way.”

She leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his chest against her side and the rock steadiness of his mere presence. “Thank you. That means a lot to me. I just want to make sure we’re on the same page. I love the culture of the practice, and if I’m going to be stuck in Cincinnati for the foreseeable future, I’d love to be stuck with you.”

Joe chuckled, his chest vibrating slightly beneath her cheek. “You say it like it’s a bad thing. I’d love to be stuck with you, too.” He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling beneath her. “Two years is a long time in football—you know that better than anyone.” That admission drew a sigh from her. “But I do best when I’m home. And if you’re there, that’s home for me.”

She turned her head, her nose brushing against the side of his neck. “I’m so annoyingly in love with you, Joseph Burrow,” she whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, her face hidden from his view.

Joe’s chest expanded with his inhale, his eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment before opening again to gaze into hers. “You’re the only one who calls me that and makes it sound like heaven.” He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her lips. “I love you, too, beautiful.”

[sereia4skz]

twoshot | paws, play, pleasure

pairing: ploy!straykids x fem!reader

genre: smut

warnings: sub!reader, dom!everybody else, pet play, buttplugs, fingering, blowjobs, cockwarming, no protection, food in... interesting scenarios

word count: 2.7k

⋆｡°✩

< request | part 2 > (soon)

The morning sun filters softly through the curtains, casting warm golden light over the apartment. You’re still sleepy, stretching languidly on the bed as the boys move around with quiet energy, the usual mix of teasing banter and gentle care floating through the air.

Today’s different, though.

You’ve all agreed to a special kind of day, a “free use” puppy play day, where you’re theirs to spoil, tease, and play with as their little puppy girl. The thought makes your heart flutter with nerves and excitement.

You hear Changbin’s voice from the other room, firm but kind: “Hey, puppy, time to get up. We’ve got a big day planned.”

You sit up, cheeks already warming, and shuffle toward the bedroom door. Changbin’s there, a bag in his hands. Inside are the pieces you’ll wear today, soft faux fur ears perched on a headband, a snug collar with a little bell, a leather leash, and the tail plug, all laid out carefully.

“Ready?” he asks, catching your eye with that serious, almost commanding look that makes your knees weak.

You nod, barely able to speak, your voice a breathy, “Yes, Bin.”

“Well, well. Look who’s already acting like a good girl,” he says, voice warm, teasing. He pats his thigh like he’s calling a real puppy, and you crawl the rest of the way over to him, your bare knees brushing over the soft rug. “Come on then. Let’s get you ready.”

Your breath hitches when he loops two fingers into your shirt collar, tugging gently until your face is inches from his thighs. He doesn’t buckle it right away, just lets it hang there as he watches you, head tilted.

“You know today’s your special day, right?” he murmurs, thumb brushing the side of your jaw. “Our dumb little puppy doesn’t get to use her hands, doesn’t get to make decisions, doesn’t even get to say no unless it’s red. But she wants that, don’t you?”

“Y-Yes,” you whisper. “I wanna be good.”

His grin sharpens.

“Good girls don’t talk without permission.”

Your breath catches, cheeks heating instantly. Changbin unzips the duffel bag next to him and pulls out your gear, soft fuzzy ears on a headband, the red leather collar with a matching leash, and the silicone tail plug that makes your thighs clench just from the sight of it.

“You’re gonna stay still and let me dress you up, puppy,” he says gently, his tone dropping low with affection and command. “Can you do that for me?”

You nod quickly, lowering yourself onto your haunches, thighs already quivering with anticipation. The subtle pressure of the plug nestled inside you sends a delicious ache deep in your belly, making your breath catch.

Changbin spits into his hand with a low growl, his eyes darkening as he brings his slickened fingers toward you. His touch is slow and deliberate, the pads of his fingers brushing gently between your cheeks first, spreading you open with teasing patience.

He traces lazy circles over the rim of the plug, the wet slickness contrasting with the firmness of the silicone pressing just beneath your tight muscle. Your hips instinctively press back into his hand, aching for more contact.

Without warning, he slips a finger slowly inside, stretching you wider, the subtle pressure causing you to gasp softly. Then a second finger joins, slick and sure, pumping in a slow, steady rhythm that makes your thighs tremble uncontrollably.

“Look at you,” Changbin murmurs, voice rough and commanding. “So tight, so ready.”

His free hand slides between your legs, fingers ghosting over your clit in gentle, teasing strokes that make you shiver. The combination of rim teasing and pussy play sends waves of pleasure building low in your belly, thick and unrelenting.

You bite your lip, trying to stifle the moans threatening to spill as he flicks his thumb faster against your swollen nub.

“Beg for me,” he growls, fingers curling inside you with a little more urgency, pushing against that perfect spot that has you trembling.

You whimper, voice breathy and desperate, “Please, Bin… more…”

His fingers glide deeper, curling and pumping expertly, while his thumb rubs relentless circles, driving you higher and higher.

The weight of the plug inside you and the slick heat of his fingers has your entire body trembling, breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Good girl,” he praises, voice low and dark, “Cum for me.”

You do, shuddering around his fingers, every nerve alight with raw, exquisite pleasure.

He withdraws slowly, with a satisfied smile. “Ready for the next part?”

Changbin hums when you whine. 

“Fuck. Look at that little tail. You look adorable.”

You shiver when he clasps the collar into place around your neck, fingers brushing your pulse as the metal buckle slides home.

“Hands behind your back.”

You obey immediately, arms straightened and wrists crossed just like he taught you. Changbin hums approvingly and puts the headband on, adjusting the fuzzy ears so they stand perked. A warm kiss lands between your brows.

“You look like a real pet now,” he says softly. “And you know what the best part is?”

You tilt your head, eyes wide.

“I get to walk you to the kitchen and show Minho his new chew toy.”

He gives your leash a light tug and grins as you stumble forward, knees hitting the floor again.

“Crawl for me, sweetheart. Let’s go show the others what a good puppy you are.”

Changbin leads you through the apartment with an easy, unhurried pace, leash held short, the weight of the plug shifting with every crawl. Your knees are starting to ache, but the eyes on you distract from the burn.

You pass the living room where Jisung glances up from his game, gives a low whistle, and mouths, damn. Chan doesn’t look up from his laptop, but the corner of his mouth twitches.

“She looks perfect,” he murmurs, and that quiet approval sends a jolt of pride straight to your core.

⋆｡°✩ 

By the time you reach the kitchen, Minho is leaning back against the counter with a mug in hand, eyes sweeping over you. He doesn’t smile. Just watches, slow and deliberate, as you crawl to Changbin’s side and sit obediently on your knees, panting lightly, flushed from the walk.

Minho tilts his head. “She whimpering already?”

“She’s excited,” Changbin replies with a smirk, tugging lightly on the leash until your chin lifts. “Aren’t you, puppy?”

“Yes,” you whisper, lips parted. “Want more.”

Minho chuckles, setting his mug down. “Want what, exactly?”

You blink at him. “Attention. Treats.”

He steps forward slowly, crouching until he’s eye-level. You can smell the coffee on his breath, see the way his eyes drag over your face, down to the leash clipped at your throat, the faint wobble in your thighs. He slips a finger under the collar and pulls, just enough to make you lean toward him, balance tilted.

“You think you’ve earned it yet?” he murmurs. “You’ve done nothing but crawl around and look desperate.”

You whine, actual, high-pitched and needy, and that finally gets a smile out of him.

“Oh, you’re really in character today, huh?” He lets go of the collar and gestures. “Up. On the kitchen mat. Hands on the floor, knees spread.”

You crawl into place without hesitation, ass raised, tail wagging slightly with every movement. Minho steps behind you and gives it a little flick, amused.

“Stay.”

He disappears briefly into the fridge, returns with a small bowl of diced strawberries and whipped cream. You hear the soft clink of it being set in front of you, just within reach, but before you can lower your head to eat, the leash snaps tight.

“Ah-ah,” Minho warns. “Not without permission.”

You freeze, knees trembling now, saliva already pooling in your mouth as you stare down at the berries.

“Look how pathetic she is,” Minho mutters, crouching again beside you. “Mouth dripping, tail twitching, thighs clenching. All for fruit and a little praise. Right, puppy?”

You nod desperately.

Minho slips a finger into the cream, smearing it across your bottom lip. “Go ahead. Lick.”

You do, flicking your tongue out messily, catching the sweet on your mouth and his fingertip. He hums, satisfied.

“You want the rest?”

“Yes, please,” you breathe.

“Beg like a dog.”

You lower your head instantly, tongue out, ass up, and let out the most humiliating, high-pitched series of whines and yips you can manage. Minho watches, stone-faced but thoroughly entertained.

“Fucking ridiculous,” he mutters. “But fine. Eat.”

You plunge your face into the bowl, licking up the cream like you’re starving, not allowed to use your hands, just mouth and tongue, sticky and messy and dripping onto the mat. Minho watches you devour half of it before reaching down to pet your head slowly, scratching behind one ear.

“You’re disgusting,” he murmurs, almost fond. “But you’re ours. So I guess that makes it okay.”

You’re kneeling by the counter, tongue flicking at the food. The kitchen smells warm and comforting, but your mind is elsewhere, every brush of his fingers through your hair sends shivers down your spine.

The leash is wrapped tight around his wrist, tugging gently every so often to remind you who owns you today.

You moan into the bowl, not even from the food but the feeling of his fingers stroking your scalp, the leash wrapped tight around his wrist.

Without warning, Minho’s other hand slides down your body, sliding under your shirt to cup your chest firmly, thumbs brushing your nipples. Your breath catches, and before you realize it, his hand moves lower, fingers tracing teasing circles along your hip.

Then his mouth is on you, kissing your jaw, your throat, trailing wet heat down to the collarbone.

“Such a good puppy,” he murmurs, voice rough and low.

He slides you back onto your knees fully, the leash pulling you closer to his cock beneath his pants. His hand tangles in your hair, guiding you down, and you open wide for him, mouth slick and warm.

Minho groans, the sound vibrating through your chest as you take him deeper, slow and steady at first, then quicker, more urgent.

Your lips and tongue worship him, sliding along the length, swirling around the head, taking him in with every breathy moan you manage to make.

He tugs the leash tighter, anchoring you as you suck, your hands bracing on his thighs for balance.

“Fuck, puppy,” Minho groans, fingers tightening in your hair. “You’re driving me crazy.”

You hum around him, sucking harder, tongue flicking over the sensitive underside, mouth bobbing in time with his thrusts.

His breathing hitches, hips jerking slightly.

“Almost there,” he warns, voice strained.

You take him deeper, hands gripping tighter, loving how he shudders under your touch.

With a low groan, Minho spills into your mouth, hips trembling, and you swallow every drop, eyes locked with his as he pulls you up for a fierce, possessive kiss.

And then you hear that voice, deep and low from the hallway.

“She finished her breakfast already?”

Chan.

Minho smirks. “Licked it clean.”

Chan chuckles as he walks in, bare-chested and towel-draped from the shower, laptop tucked under his arm.

“I’ve got a hard on and a full inbox. Mind if I borrow our pup for a bit?”

“Not at all,” Minho says, standing. “She’s all warmed up.”

Chan crouches in front of you, offering a warm smile and two fingers to suck, you take them eagerly, tongue wrapping around the digits as he watches you melt.

“Ready for your first real job of the day, puppy?” he murmurs.

You nod around his fingers, eyes already hazy.

“Good girl. Let’s go.”

⋆｡°✩ 

Chan’s home office is tucked behind a sliding door off the hallway, a place you’ve come to associate with silence, heat, and submission. It smells like sandalwood and fresh paper, and there’s always some lo-fi beat looping in the background as Chan works.

Today, though, as he leads you in with a hand at the nape of your neck, the room feels even warmer. Anticipatory.

He shuts the door behind you and locks it.

“No interruptions,” he says, voice low, the leader tone slipping in effortlessly. “Come kneel.”

You drop to your knees by his desk and keep your head bowed. You don’t need a gag for this part, Chan’s calm authority wraps around your whole body like a weighted blanket, and it’s easy to fall quiet beneath it.

You feel the collar tug as he circles behind you, kneeling briefly to remove the tail plug with slow, steady care. Your hole clenches at the emptiness, a soft whimper escaping despite yourself.

“Shh,” he soothes, thumb brushing your lower back. “You’ll be full again soon.”

And then: the sound of his zipper.

You don’t look until he says, “Up.”

You climb onto his lap on the desk chair, straddling him with your knees on either side of his thighs. Chan pulls you close, adjusting your weight until his cock rests thick and heavy beneath you, already half-hard.

He doesn’t tease. Doesn’t stroke. Just lines you up with one steady hand and sinks you down in one long, slow slide.

Your mouth opens in a silent gasp.

It’s not about thrusting. It’s not even about pleasure, not for him, anyway. Chan’s too focused for that. You feel him shift beneath you, muscles tense as he opens his laptop and starts clicking through tabs, acting like he doesn’t have his puppy full of cock, trembling quietly in his lap.

“Color, baby,” he says softly, eyes on the screen.

You press your forehead to his shoulder and whisper, “Green.”

“Good girl.”

Your cunt flutters around him instinctively, your thighs starting to ache again from the stillness. Chan reaches up and undoes the leash from your collar so it doesn’t tangle, then strokes his hand gently down your spine.

“I need to finish this mix, and you’re gonna help by staying full and still. Can you do that?”

You nod, biting your lip.

He taps your thigh once in approval, then settles in, the subtle clack of his keyboard starting up.

Minutes pass. Maybe longer. Your body is flush against his, cock buried deep inside you, every twitch of his hips making you squirm just enough to remind you who you belong to. He doesn’t say much, just works, one hand occasionally resting on your thigh or rubbing lazy circles over your back.

Your breathing gets faster. Your clit aches untouched. You feel the pressure building and you don’t even know why, he hasn’t fucked you, hasn’t even moved, but being filled by Chan like this, ignored and used and grounded, has your brain dripping from your ears.

You nuzzle closer into his shoulder.

“Color,” he murmurs again, without looking.

“Green,” you breathe. Barely audible. But he hears.

“Such a good girl,” he says under his breath. “My perfect little puppy.”

You whimper into his shirt.

When he finally pauses, cock still buried deep, his hand drifts down to cup your ass, spreading you open slightly, his thumb pressing just above where he’s buried inside you.

“Been keeping me warm like such a sweet thing,” he murmurs. “You wanna cum like this, just from sitting on my cock?”

You nod frantically. You do. You’ve never felt so full, so owned, so desperate.

“Too bad,” he chuckles, nipping your ear. “Not your turn yet.”

You let out the smallest whine, but he kisses your forehead and strokes your back.

“Shh. It’ll be worth it. Let me finish this file, and then I’ll clean you up myself.”

And you stay there, stuffed full, silenced by pleasure, twitching in his lap as he works through his emails and holds you like a patient, practiced toy.

Eventually, when he finally closes the laptop, he lifts you off with careful hands and lays you on the nearby couch, dripping, breathless, legs limp. He wipes between your thighs with a warm cloth, soothing your folds and whispering soft praise.

“You did so well, baby. So quiet. So helpful.”

You drift, barely aware of the blanket he tucks around you or the soft peck to your temple.

Just as you start to doze off, you feel the couch dip on either side, two warm bodies crawling in.

“Mm, Chan-hyung said we could borrow her,” Jisung murmurs.

Felix curls up against your back, stroking your waist. “She’s so warm already…”

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here @m-325 @0sunshinecryptid0 @beal-o @hug4helios @oksullen @rileylovescats @dreamyfelixx @yxna-bliss @turtledove824 @enhacolor @skzz0213 @hannahlue @purplelady85 @velvetmoonlght @inishij @bangchanspineapple @straykids4lifeee @peskybirdysya @gnabsss

taglist pt2: @zayn-210 @wolfhallows4 @katsukis1wife @sammhisphere

[formulafanfics13]

Stay Quiet, He's Next Door - Arthur Leclerc 🔥

Masterlist

She knocked on his hotel room door at 11:58PM. Not midnight. Not after. Just early enough to make it clear she wasn't drunk and hadn't wandered there by mistake.

Arthur opened the door in sweatpants and a Ferrari Academy team tee, barefoot, sleepy-eyed. But the second he saw it was her, Charles' best friend, wearing nothing but an oversized hoodie and legs bare to the fucking thigh, his pulse spiked so hard it made him dizzy.

She raised a brow, smirking. "Can I come in?"

He stepped aside before his brain caught up. She'd been around all week. Monaco was her city too. She grew up on the cliffs, just like the brothers did. Always around. Always in the paddock. Always his brother's best friend.

But tonight, she wasn't dressed like Charles' anything. She was dressed like a problem. She dropped onto the bed the second the door closed, sprawling onto her stomach, bare thighs bending up behind her, swinging her feet like this was a sleepover and not something far more dangerous.

"I couldn't sleep," she said casually. "Thought maybe you couldn't either."

Arthur licked his lips. Slowly. "What makes you think I couldn't?"

"Because I saw the way you looked at me earlier," she said, chin propped on her palm, eyes glinting. "And you don't look at me like that unless something's already keeping you up."

He felt heat rise up his neck. She saw it. She smiled. God, she was dangerous. Confident. Playful. But he'd seen her crack once last month, in Imola, after too much wine and an offhand comment from Charles about her dating history. She'd gone quiet in the back of the car. Not sad. Just distant. Retreating. He never wanted to see her like that again.

So when she teased now, when she bared her legs and gave him that look, he saw it for what it was. Not just confidence. Not just flirting.

Trust. And he wasn't going to fucking waste it. "Come here," he said, voice low.

She tilted her head. "Why?"

"Because I want to touch you. And I think you want to let me."

Her smirk faltered for a second. Not in fear, in need. She slid off the bed and stood in front of him, hoodie falling low on her thighs, arms folded. Her chin lifted, defiant but playful.

"You sure this is a good idea?" she asked. "Your brother's literally next door."

"I don't care."

"What if he finds out?"

"I'll lock the door."

"What if I'm loud?"

Arthur stepped closer. Just a breath between them now. "Then I'll keep you quiet."

Her eyes darkened. She exhaled slowly. "Okay."

He kissed her like he'd been holding back for months, slow, sweet, but not shy. His hand came up to cradle her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek. Her lips parted easily, letting him in, and she moaned quietly into his mouth like it was instinct.

He pulled back, barely. "Tell me if you want to stop."

"I don't."

"Tell me if you need more."

"I will."

"And if you say sorry," he said, kissing her again between words, "I'm going to put you over my knee and make you repeat exactly what you're apologising for."

She laughed into his mouth. "That sounds like a threat."

"It is," he murmured, hand slipping under her hoodie, brushing the soft skin of her waist. "Take this off."

She did, slow, teasing, bare underneath, and he cursed under his breath when he saw she wasn't wearing a bra.

"Jesus."

"What?" she teased.

"You came here like this?"

"I told you I couldn't sleep," she said innocently.

He ran both hands up her sides, then cupped her tits softly, thumbs brushing over her nipples. "Fuck."

Her breath caught. Her thighs pressed together. He moved her to the bed slowly, laying her back, climbing over her. His hands stayed gentle, patient, but undeniably in charge. He kissed her neck. Her collarbone. Her chest. Sucked one nipple into his mouth and made her squirm. Then the other. Her hands tangled in his curls and she whimpered, grinding against his thigh where it pressed between her legs.

"Getting needy already," he whispered.

"Shut up." She arched her hips again. He laughed softly against her skin, then trailed kisses down her stomach. 

"Say please."

She groaned. "Arthur-"

He pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. "Say it."

"...Please."

He smirked. "Good girl."

And then he buried his mouth between her legs. She gasped, hand flying to the headboard as his tongue slid through her folds, slow and deliberate. She was wet already, soaked, and he moaned at the taste like he'd been starving for it.

"Oh-fuck-"

His hands slid under her thighs, holding her open, thumbs pressing into the crease of her hips. He flicked his tongue slowly over her clit, then circled it, lazy and deliberate. When she started to shake, he pulled back slightly.

"No," she whimpered.

He looked up at her. "Already close?"

She nodded, cheeks flushed. "You're really fucking good at that."

He smiled, kissed her inner thigh. "I know."

"Asshole."

He grinned, then leaned in again, faster now. Less teasing. Her body arched up against his mouth, and when she came, she grabbed his hair and gasped so loud she clapped her own hand over her mouth.

"Arthur- oh fuck-"

He stayed with her through it, mouth still working her gently, making sure every last wave hit before he pulled back. Then he kissed back up her body. "Still think this was a bad idea?"

She blinked at him, dazed. "If I say yes, will you punish me?"

Arthur laughed. "Maybe later."

He undressed slowly, shirt first, then sweatpants, then boxers. She watched every second with flushed cheeks and parted lips.

"You're bigger than I expected," she said.

Arthur flushed. "That's a weird compliment."

"It's not a complaint."

He crawled back over her, kissing her hard. She could taste herself on his mouth. Her thighs parted automatically, and he guided himself to her entrance with one hand, gaze locked on hers. "Okay?" he asked.

She nodded. He pushed in slowly. She gasped, stretched open, full, the slide of him hot and overwhelming. He groaned low in his throat, forehead pressing to hers as he bottomed out.

"Shit. You feel-fuck-you feel incredible."

He started to move, slow, deep thrusts. Grinding against her like he wanted to stay connected in every possible way. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.

"Faster," she whispered.

He kissed her neck. "Not yet."

"Please."

He smiled. "There's that word again."

Then he sped up. Still controlled. Still gentle. But harder. Each thrust made the headboard knock lightly against the wall. She cried out softly, mouth falling open, hand pressing to his chest like she couldn't hold herself together.

"You okay?"

"Yeah-fuck-I'm perfect-"

"You look perfect," he said. "So fucking perfect underneath me."

She moaned. Loud. Arthur stopped. "Charles," he warned softly. "Next door."

She slapped a hand over her own mouth.

Arthur smirked. "Good girl."

Then he pinned her wrists above her head and fucked her harder. The bed creaked. Her legs trembled. Her second orgasm hit like a wave, full-body, overwhelming, breathless.

She came with a muffled scream, eyes rolling back. Arthur followed a minute later, chest heaving, moaning her name against her skin as he came inside her, hips stuttering.

They collapsed together. Sweaty. Shaking. Feral. After a few minutes, she whispered, "You know he's going to kill you, right?"

Arthur laughed. "Yeah. Probably."

She rolled onto her side, smiling. "Worth it?"

He kissed her shoulder. "Every fucking second."

[etclouie]

ffrom the 300 prompst list can i have ²⁷⁶⁾ “please, she could scare the balls off a brass monkey with a single look.” and ¹⁾ “it’s too early for this.” with poly 141? if not its cool

title; too early (poly!141 x fem!reader)

prompts; 276) “please, she could scare the balls off a brass monkey with a single look” and 1) “it’s too early for this” — from three hundred assorted dialogue prompts 

warnings; established relationship, poly relationship, kyle and soap are arguing baso, simon lowk being the voice of reason?? but that’s it (571 words)

one year masterlist | main masterlist

— come celebrate my one year!!

you’d woken to the sound of Soap and Kyle bickering, something they often did before making up just as quickly. 

todays argument, you weren’t too sure of what started it, but when they noticed they woke you? it only added fuel to the flame. 

“look you’ve woke her”

Kyle told Johnny, left hand pointing your way in a ‘look what you’ve done’ type of way while Johnny scoffed, glancing over to you and taking note of the glare you were shooting their way. 

“mate it was your fault”

you sighed, listening to their back and forth, watching them point fingers at each other before the occasional point in your direction. 

even as you tried to break apart their argument, they continued on. 

it had gotten to the point it had gained John’s attention from the living room, while Simon remained tucked away in the shower. 

“what’s the matter with you two?”

he interrupted them, eyes stern at the two of them while softly hooking a finger under your chin, voice softening. 

“you okay love?”

you nodded, the glare in your eyes momentarily leaving as you nestled into his touch. 

his thumb stroked across your cheek, his eyes moving back to Kyle and Johnny. 

“couldn’t leave her be, could yous?”

it was obvious that they’d annoyed John for waking you. 

“couldn’t leave her in peace, what’d she ever do to you two?”

they shared a look, before meeting Johns eyes again, disbelief painted across both of their faces. 

“oh please, you didn’t see the look she just gave us for waking her”

Johnny told, hands poised on his hips in utter disbelief. 

“please, she could scare the balls off a brass monkey with a single look”

Kyle commented, hand pointed in your direction again while you huffed this time. 

you crossed your arms over your chest, frustration blooming in your chest as you shot Kyle another glare. 

“see she’s proving my point”

Johnny all but laughed, clearly glad your frustration wasn’t as pointed at him anymore. 

“sure mate, but she’s no gonny forgive you that easy for sooking up tae her”

Kyle started the bickering again, even giving Johnny a shove, making you sigh as you continued to watch the sight. 

John however, only shook his head at the sight, letting them bicker it out instead of intervening. 

but it was relentless. 

that was until Simon emerged from the bathroom, towel drawn tight around his waist. 

the sight drew your attention towards him, a smile tugging at your lips as Simon fished out clean clothes from the dresser. 

John had nipped into the shower, avoiding Johnny and Kyle’s continued bickering as Simon tried focusing his attention in on you. 

“stop being a dafty”

Johnny shoved at Kyle, a sigh falling from your lips and making Simon’s eyes pull away from you, frustration painting his maskless face. 

he cast a glance towards Johnny and Kyle, their bickering continuing and making Simon stop in his tracks. 

you on the other hand, were still sat in bed, eyes flicking between the three men while Simon ran a hand down his face in frustration. 

“oi!”

Simon’s voice boomed through the bedroom, stopping Johnny and Kyle’s bickering. 

“it’s too early for this”

they shared a look again, before simmering down, lips drawn in thin lines as Simon spoke once more. 

“cut it out or go fight it out”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

[jazzingout]

A Red Wedding

Tags: Yandere Agares, fem reader, blood and murder but not that explicit, delulu Agares, not beta read or edited, also mini collab with @dream-effect!! <3

You stared at the man across from you, hands shaking and tears rolling down your cheeks. Your hands were in his and your veil had fallen to the ground next to your feet. You didn’t care that it had fallen to the ground, what was more important was the man in front of you. Your gaze fell to the ground, lips trembling as you tried to choke out your vows. His hands squeezed yours gently and thumb rubbed against the back of your hand.

He lifted his hand to your chin and raised it so he may kiss you, his touch gentle and sweet, but made your skin crawl. His hand left blood upon your cheek, gaze so sickeningly in love that made your stomach churn. Agares stood in front of you with bloodstained clothing, your dearest laying on the ground at the altar at your feet, blood pooling around his lifeless body. He smiled at you softly as he murmured sweet things to you, kissing your cheek as you tried to stare anywhere but at your former lover.

Words meant for another he made you say, a celebration meant to be filled with joy was covered in red. The guests with their throats slit by him and Vassago, who stood behind the altar as he read out the rites of husband and wife, binding you to this man for the rest of eternity.

“Are you alright?” A soft voice called out to Agares. His breath quickened as he turned around and trembled as he pressed himself against the wall. In front of him was a noble’s daughter for sure, the well made clothing that had not a speck of dirt on her skirt. Eyes bright and innocent, not knowing the true horrors of the world.

She extended a delicate hand to him, expression worried as she looked at him. Agares pressed back, not trusting the hand that looked oh so soft. He looked up at her with a glare, trying to scare her off. He didn’t want another poisoned orange incident, nor the rocks and trash being thrown at him. He bared his teeth at her, trying to seem like the type you don’t mess with.

But her expression just turned sad, crouching down next to him and shuffling around her pockets before producing a large golden ring. She looked worried before she shuffled closer and grabbed his hand and held strong as he struggled to get her to him go before placing the ring in his palm.

“If you sell this, you could make some money,” she said, voice soft and looking around nervously. “You’ll be able to buy some more food too.” She shuffled around more before pulling out of her pocket a wrapped bundle, which she shoved into his arms. “I have to go,” she said, standing up and looking around more. “But I’ll be back! Stay safe and don’t let the city guards get you!”

She ran off in another direction and left Agares alone. Agares cautiously opened up the bundle and saw some pieces of dried oranges. He felt his lip trembling, hands shaking as he looked down at the pieces of dried fruit. He brought one to his lip and bit it, the familiar flavour of oranges flooded his mouth and he had to hold back from crying.

It was sweet.

It was bitter.

It was tangy.

It was good.

Agares clenched his fist around the ring in his hand as he pressed it against his mouth. It weighed heavy in his hand, it was something he couldn’t ever get rid of. He feels it deep down, he can’t ever get rid of this ring.

Agares waited for you at the usual place, hiding his face in his fan. The crimson haori you brought him he wore everyday. You had said it suited him, the red bringing out his other features. It was soft, and it kept him warm during the winter, where you snuck out to bring him wood for a fire and many thin blankets to layer on. It wasn’t like the futon he had been used to in the palace, but it kept him warm and secure.

It was now spring, two seasons since you two had met. Agares sat underneath the cherry blossom tree, the flowers not yet in bloom but when they were, he’s sure it would be even more beautiful with you. He smiled softly as he blushed behind his fan, softly fanning his face. The ring you had given him he hid under his kimono, hanging on scrap cloth he twisted into a makeshift chain. It rested right over his heart, the cold metal against his beating heart.

Agares could never understand how you were so sweet, so kind, so loving to someone like him. You always extended a gentle hand, helping him find a hiding place to protect himself from, bringing him food and water to help him regain some strength. You let him into your arms and kept him warm, a gentle hand running through his hair as you hummed him a gentle lullaby.

Agares closed his eyes as he leaned back against the tree, smiling softly as he tried to hold back his excitement for when he would see you.

The rock hitting him caught Agares by surprise, falling to the side and looking up to see a noble man. Agares quickly closed his eye, doing as you said to hide the mark in his eyes if anyone showed up. Behind the noble man stood two guards and a carriage, and he could hear you. Agares’s breath caught in his throat as he heard your cries, your sobbing and watching as a woman in noble clothes held you back. You were sobbing, crying out and he looked up at the man in front of him.

“So this is the trash that you were spending your time around,” the noble man growled. Agares heard you scream at the man, ears ringing as he watched the man yell at him, cursing him and kicking him before walking back to the carriage. Agares could only watch as you left crying, hand reaching out to him which was shoved down by the man.

His friend.

His dearest one.

She’s gone.

… Gone?

No no no, she’s not gone. She didn’t want to leave. They’re just keeping her away, but a part of her is still with him. It will always be with him, just like she will always be with him.

Agares wrapped his fist around the ring, sitting up despite the pain in his body. You gave it to him, you cared about him, it was like a promise with you. He is yours and you are his, you’ll be together forever, right?

Agares didn’t hear the footsteps coming up behind him, nor the gaze of a man who would help him reclaim his throne and return you to him.

You sighed as you looked at yourself in the mirror, feeling a little nervous as the clock ticked. The time of your wedding was coming up, and you were nervous to how your beloved would think of your dress. He hadn’t been allowed to see you before the wedding, as it was considered bad luck, and you were so nervous! What if he didn’t like the style? What if he wanted you to be in a different one? What if-

You shook your head as you cleared your thoughts. Your beloved wouldn’t think that about you, he was a kind and gentle man, he didn’t care about things like looks. He had said he just wanted to marry you, to live the rest of your lives together. He was doing this ceremony because your parents wanted a big wedding to show off their wealth, and you didn’t want to rock the boat so you let them go wild.

You smiled softly at your maid as she placed the veil upon your head, gently holding her hand as she led you out of your dressing room. You felt so giddy, a little skip in your step as you talked with your maid, heart fluttering at the thought of your beloved.

What came next was something out of a nightmare.

You had began to walk down the aisle, bouquet in hand when you heard the screams. You couldn’t see what was going on, the veil blocking your view so you could only look around in panic, before you felt yourself step into something sticky. You could smell the metallic scent in the air and didn’t need to look down to know it was blood.

You wanted to scream, but your voice was caught in your throat. Your hands trembled as you froze in place, listening to the screams of everyone around you and your heart raced in fear as you stood there, unable to do anything. You heard someone coming closer and your breath froze as you felt someone touch your cheek. You felt the veil being lifted to reveal your face and the sight that came forth was a nightmare.

The guests were killed and butchered like animals, your parents were beyond recognition, and the worst was your beloved.

Killed at the altar, his throat was slit, his fingers were cut off from his hands. His face, oh his beautiful face looked like the person had skinned his flesh oh so slowly. The worst though was seeing his ribcage torn open, bones bent in ways that they shouldn’t be. His chest was also empty, devoid of a heart and lung, which laid around him.

“Apologies for the delay,” a voice said, snapping you out of staring at the gruesome sight. A familiar face made your heart sink, light pink eyes gazing into yours. While things had changed, a scar on his left eye and his face more mature, you could never forget him. He smiled at you so softly, cupping your cheek and pulling you closer.

“The groom has arrived so now the ceremony can begin,” he said to you, voice so sickeningly in love, like he was your lover. He talked to you like he didn’t have blood all over his clothes, like the bodies around you weren’t anything out of the ordinary.

“Ah~, I see you are moved to tears, how cute,” he said, rubbing his thumb against your cheek to a tear you didn’t realize started to fall. Your lips trembled as he pulled you close and pressed right against him. He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek as he began to drag you towards the altar.

It’s time for your wedding after all, and he kept you waiting for so long~.

Don’t worry, he won’t leave you ever again.

[seueuq]

So pretty, My doll

1 2

Prince! Phainon x reader

Warning! There’ll be a non-consensual scene coming!

Soft.

The only word that came to her mind. As something—or someone—was gently caressing her cheek.

Her eyelashes fluttered open. Strands of white hair, the first thing she saw as she opened her eyes. Then a face too beautiful to be comforting.

The prince.

Her body jolted awake, instinctively propelling her upright until she was at the very edge of the bed, fear of falling and getting too close. Tension curled in her spine, but she didn’t scream. She didn’t move. Her expression remained still—neutral—but behind those inoccent eyes of her gaze, confusion and dread swirled.

The man before her only tilted his head.

“Pretty,” he said simply— voice barely above a whispered, but enough to be heard.

It didn’t surprised her. She had heard that word before, countless time—echoed like empty praise in her father’s court, whispered behind curtains and broken door. Beauty had never protect her. Beauty had only watched. Worst—beauty harmed.

To her the word beauty is a curse word—like a small child. A word that shouldn’t be said nor mentioned, but mentioned in so many moments of their life.

But the way he said it wasn’t admiration. It was assessment.

His gaze didn’t undressed her in a way predator devoured their prey. It dissected—slow and steady. From cheekbone to chin, wrist to fingertip—he studied her like a craftsman, like a collector. As if every inch of her bing were measured for a glass casing.

Then he moved forward again—slow, with eerie grace—and touched her cheek once more. She didn’t flinch. Not because she trusted him, but because she caught—entranced by the strange stillness of the moment. By how gentle he was.

Even the most prominent man in her city had a rough touched.

“Call me Phainon,” he murmured, his thumb brushing her skin as if memorizing every inch of the warmth beneath her bare cheeks.

—Phainon’s View

So soft.

Her skin was like freshly made buttercream. Her lips—plump, untouched. Her lashes thick and low like shadows falling over dew-wet petals.

She looked like something out of a dream.

No—better.

He couldn’t stop touching her. Wouldn’t. She was real now. Here. Breathing. Blinking. Every detail of her face made his chest tighten with something between awe and possession.

Even if it was a new book with hundreds or thousand of pages, she would’ve been his favorite page only he could read.

—POV’s end

“This bed is your new sanctuary.. or home as common folk say it,” Phainon whispered, voice like moonlight—low, cold, but laced with tenderness. “Soft. Endless. Inescapable.” As she felt the silk sheet curled around her like a trap disguised as a lullaby.

She said nothing. She didn’t scream or resist she simply exist.

The following day comes and she realizes some things about her savior. Kidnapper

He love physical touch and having somebody dependent on him—she guessed, but didn’t say out loud.

She was not free, but she was clean. Fed. Dressed—better than the rags she used to wear.

Each day, he laid out her garments like offerings. Gown woven from mist and moonlight, so thin they seemed to dissolve between his fingers. His finger hovered just above the gown before he took it up with an unsettling gentleness, as if handling a fragile relic. “Let me,” he murmured, voice soft but edge with command.

Usually she’s wore that dress herself as he watched with lingering eyes.

Her body stilled. Not when he pulled the tie at the back of her neck, letting used garment slide form her body like waterfall. Not when she was left bare, pale under the golden morning light.

“Pretty,” he whispered, standing before her like a priest before an altar. He would always give out praises whenever her wardrobe changes—admiring her body like it was build by Zeus himself.

He dressed her himself, slipping the gown over her shoulders. The lace kissed her skin with a breath of cold air. His fingers, cold and exacting, traced her collarbones, his arms—possessive without pressure.

The fabric clung like a second skin, so thin it felt like nothing—like a veil expecting to cover a bride face. Every tremor of her body visible, yet his eyes never dropped below her face. He didn’t need to look lower. He already owned it all.

“Mine,” he breathed.

And then came the embrace—routine now. Daily. Ritual.

He would press himself against her, wrapping around her like a shadow beneath her coming to grasp her. His heartbeat slow but heavy against her ear. His head resting in the hollow of her neck, where her scent lived. And yet she would stay still.

To anyone else, it would’ve looked strange. Twisted. Wrong.

But to her.. it was familiar. Not frightening. Maybe it was due to her father lingering touched—only this was softer. Gentler.

More…loving.

If that word even still meant anything.

In her shallow dull world.

@nicki-09

[andy-15-07]

You should do a Danny fic based on Miss Posessive By Tate 🤭

Miss Possessive & Mr. Devoted

PAIRING: Danny Ramirez x Reader 💋

WORD COUNT: 1151✍️

REQUESTS: Open! 💌 (send yours my way ,I love writing them all!)

🌟 Danny Ramirez Masterlist 🌟

The penthouse party pulsed around you,VIPs trading gossip, jazz music weaving through the chandelier light, and cameras flashing in every corner. You’d never been comfortable in crowds, but tonight you owned it. Tonight, you had Danny all to yourself.

You spotted him across the room, effortlessly charming as he laughed with a film director. Suit jacket draped off one shoulder, crisp white shirt open at the collar,he was magnetic. You felt that familiar heat in your chest, the one that turned your protective instincts up to eleven.

You crossed the room with purpose, hips swaying, heels clicking on marble. Danny’s eyes found you before you reached him, brow lifting in amused question. You slowed, letting the moment stretch.

“Hey, you,” he whispered when you slid behind him, pressing your body against his back.

“Hey yourself,” you murmured, fingertips trailing up his chest until you cupped the side of his neck. He shivered, leaning back into your touch.

The director excused himself, and Danny turned to face you. “What’s with the look?”

You brushed a thumb over his bottom lip. “This look.” You leaned in close, voice husky. “It says you’re about to lose your freedom for the night.”

His grin went slow and knowing. “Oh? And why would I want that?”

You tipped his chin up, meeting his eyes. “Because you know I’m Miss Possessive.”

He laughed softly, but it was a breathless sound. “That’s your new nickname?”

You shook your head, pressing your forehead to his. “It’s my assertion of rights.” You drew back just enough to brush your lips across his. “You’re mine tonight.”

Later, on the private terrace overlooking the city lights, you sank into an armchair. Danny joined you, dropping down beside you and draping an arm around your shoulders. The air was cooler here,just enough to make him lean into you.

He traced idle patterns on your bare arm. “So, Miss Possessive, what’s on your agenda?”

You glanced up at him, brows arching. “First: remind you you belong here,with me.” You nudged his thigh. “Second: remind you that if anyone tries to take you, they’ll answer to me.”

He tipped his head back, laughter dancing in his eyes. “I love how commanding you get.”

You tapped his chest. “Good. Because I need you right where I can see you. No wandering off to flirt with anyone else.”

His tone turned playful-solemn. “Wouldn’t dream of it. But you’re stressing me out a little,”

“Because you don’t trust me?” you challenged, crossing your legs and leaning away slightly so he’d look up at you.

He shook his head, reaching for your hand. “Because I don’t trust anyone else with you.”

Your breath caught. That single line carried so much weight. You let him squeeze your hand, then threaded your fingers through his. “Promise me you won’t look at anyone else tonight.”

He pulled you closer. “Only you exist.”

You pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Good answer.”

Back inside, a drunk socialite tried sidling up to Danny with a too-wide smile. You spotted her angle from across the room and intercepted immediately.

“Danny,” you called, voice light but firm. He turned,just in time for you to wrap an arm around his waist and pull him toward you.

“Y/N,” he murmured, eyes amused but protective. “Everything okay?”

You glanced over your shoulder at the woman, who blinked and took a step back. “Everything’s perfect,” you said, voice low. Then you turned back to Danny, lips close to his ear. “But I’m paying a lot for this bar tab. I need my money’s worth.”

He chuckled, wrapping both arms around you now. “She’s not worth your drink.”

You tilted your head up, brushing your lips across his. “No one is.”

The socialite melted away into the crowd, and Danny pressed a kiss to your temple. “I love how fiercely you protect our bubble.”

You shrugged, shrugging off any real modesty. “I’m just doing my job.”

His smile was soft and wide. “Best bodyguard ever.”

You slipped away to the balcony again when the party heated up. Danny trailed you, slipping his hands to your waist. “I’ve got a private limo outside,” he murmured. “Shall we?”

You rested your head against his chest, closing your eyes. “Yes. Let’s get out of here.”

He bent to kiss your temple. “I have another plan, too.”

You peeked up. “Oh yeah?”

He pulled out his phone. “Booked us a suite with champagne and breakfast delivered at sunrise.”

You smiled. “You spoil me.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead. “I want to.”

In the back of the quiet limo, you curled into the corner seat, and Danny closed the door behind him, then sat beside you. He draped his jacket over your legs and drew you close.

You leaned into him. “You’re still mine, right?”

He tilted his head, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Always.”

You pressed a hand against his cheek. “Say it.”

He kissed you,slow, deliberate. When he pulled back, he murmured, “You’re mine. Every second.”

Your heart soared. “And you’re mine?”

He laughed, crooked and tender. “Completely.”

You pressed another kiss to his lips. “Good.”

The suite door clicked behind you, and Danny flicked on just a single lamp. Soft light spilled across the bed and chaise lounge.

He guided you to the bed, settling you on the edge. He stood, tugged off his tie, then sat between your knees. His fingers splayed on your thighs as he leaned in.

“What now?” you whispered.

He lifted your chin. “Now I claim you properly.”

He kissed a path from your lips down your throat. You tilted your head back, breath hitching. His hand slid up under your dress, warm fingers tracing your skin. You gasped and tangled your arms around his neck.

He paused, looking up to meet your eyes. “Do you want this?”

Your answer was immediate,nod, breathless and eager. “Yes.”

He lowered his mouth again, worshiping each inch he touched. You moaned softly, fingers threading through his hair. His free hand slid to your hip, anchoring you as he deepened his ministrations.

Every kiss, every touch was a claim staked in fire and devotion. You arched into him, voice trembling. “Danny…”

He lifted his head, eyes dark with desire. “You’re mine,in every sense.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. “And you’re mine.”

He captured your lips in a fierce kiss, as if to seal the promise. Then, easing you back onto the sheets, he lay beside you, pulling you into his arms.

You fitted perfectly against his chest, heartbeats entwined. You stroked his shoulder, smile curving your lips.

“Miss Possessive,” he murmured sleepily.

You snuggled closer. “And Mr. Devoted.”

He kissed your hair. “Exactly.”

And in the hush after the storm of the party, wrapped in each other’s arms, you both knew this was only the beginning of a love neither would ever let go.

[moldychefboyardeecan]

The Price of Attention

masterlist | more one-shots and drabbles

a/n: i blame my friends for telling me about this plot- i have nothing better to do ! :D i think this might be the filthiest and smuttiest piece on my roster. someone stop me- because they're going to get freakier from here as i try to finish up my drabble wips. like..maybe 5 more smut drabbles left in my wips after this one :D reqs are still on pause, but i will be working on them throughout next week. luv yall x

NSFW- voyeurism, dom/sub dynamics/ power imbalance, verbal & physical humiliation, licking/cunnilingus, double penetration, semi-public sex, revenge, blow jobs, fingering, oral (both m and f receiving), cum swallowing, hair-pulling, throatfucking,nipple/breast play, overstimulation, use of pet names, praise

summary: You wanted to make strides to get your new lover’s attention. Instead; he made you serve yourself during a business dinner, and let some of his colleagues get a taste and a show. 

wc: 3.51k

tag list: @hannahbarberra162, @mewnewew (if you wish to be added to this tag list, please- do NOT be shy , and ask please!)

Doflamingo x fem!reader x Sir Crocodile & Mihawk

MDNI, read at your own risk!

You knew what would happen when you wore that dress. Sure, he wanted to bring his new, shiny lover to the warlords' meeting to keep himself busy and entertained; but you had your own plans. That white silk dress with a slit too high up for anyone else to see you like that, the low dip of the neckline, and straps–rather the lack thereof. 

You were a problem that needed solving, and by all means of his logic: he was the solution.

But no..

You decided to grab his attention and refused to reciprocate. 

Sitting between MIhawk & Sir Crocodile, offering your attention to them.

The ghost touches you left around Crocodile, leaving him hungry and amused.

The way you leaned into Mihawk, your neckline dipping, the curves of your breasts showing, teasing him for more.

The act went on, and the room shifted: from silk to skin. 

The scarred man on your left, entranced by your features, left his own comments and opinions in the air:

“Donquixote, your woman is..enticing.”

Doflamingo’s view tunneled to just you–his woman, and the other man who claimed she was ‘enticing’–in his own words! 

Though the world around the two warlords, the rest had turned to the scarred man and to you. On your right, Mihawk, said nothing but took a sip of his glass of wine. 

Jinbei’s brow furrowed. 

The fishman glared, annoyed at Crocodile: “Have some restraint. This is a professional setting.”

The other woman at the table, the Empress bit onto the fishmans words,dipped into her pride, beauty and venom,leaning back against her chair–

“There's no need to warn him for such pathetic, attention seeking behavior”

A pause, with the table looking at you, the empress’ face smeared with a knowing look, trying to shame you for your...approaches towards the two men besides you.

–SLAM!

The table rattled, some glasses clinking, some falling. Utensils shook against their perfect porcelain plates.

Doflamingo was on his feet, chair kicked back behind him. His grin stretched wide—unnatural, sharp, and stretched far too thin. Smug. He walked over to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, moving his face to your ear, feeling his hot breath against it:

“Mi reina, ¿quieres attention?”

His voice, deep and smooth, growled as tighten his grip, his free arm tracing your body, “Lo pediste… con ese vestido..” His arm turning you towards him, his hand lifting your chin, trailing his thumb over your lips,  “Con esa sonrisa”, and finally..to meet your eyes. “Con tus ojos de zorra.”

You gulp down your reply, and he stares back to the table. Slowly, Doflamingo turned your head with the same hand that cupped your jaw—directing your face toward the table, toward them.

The warlords.

Still watching.

Mihawk, unmoving, swirling his wine. Crocodile, eyes hooded and amused. Boa’s lips were curled into something sharp and satisfied. Jinbei, already tense, gripping the edge of the table.

“Entonces, mi amor..”

Doflamingo grabs your thigh, slowly moving one arm beneath them, the other around your back, and lifted you like nothing. Your dress fluttered like paper as he turned with you in his arms.

And that's when-

–THUD.

-your back hit the table, laying you out on display.

…”ya lo tienes aquí, fufufu.” He finished, gliding his hand over your body.

Before you could even process your body being laid out, in such a vulnerable state, in front of all these powerful people; Jinbei rose half from his seat.

“This is a meeting, not—!”

“Cállate.” Doflamingo’s voice sliced though. He was tired of this–he was done playing civil. First that—that scarred bastard running his mouth, letting what wasn’t his brush too close, sit too near, laugh too freely. 

You were his. Not for Crocodile’s wandering eyes. Not for Mihawk’s idle observations. Not for Boa’s acidic judgment.

And now–Another warlord meddling in what was his? 

“I warned you, fishman. You still have your chance to leave.”

Jinbei stood fully now, wide-shouldered and fuming, but the tension in the room was unbearable—so thick even Boa turned, rising from her seat with a disgusted scoff.

Kuma was already gone. Silent as ever.

“Now... where were we, mi reina?”

He stared Jinbei down, unbothered, as his hand found your chest again, two fingers began their cruel little game—circling your nipple through the fabric, slow and smug. Like he had all the time in the world. Like no one else in the room mattered.

The pressure was maddening—lazy little spirals that made the peak harden beneath your dress, tightening and perking up traitorously against the silk. A soft hitch escaped your lips before you could swallow it down.

Doflamingo smiled wider.

“Ah… there she is..and without a bra.”

At your sight, Jinbei’s voice rose louder in protest, disgusted at Doflamingo’s…overwhelming personality. Your back arching at his touch, melting at the warlord’s will. “This is vile.” Jinbei barked, watching your body’s reactions. “You’re exploiting the poor girl.”

Doflamingo slid his second hand over to your chest, pinching both your nipples over your clothes, eliciting a moan out of you. “mm.tch. I think she’s enjoying this. She hasn’t refused anything.” He leans over your body, towering you, chest to chest, his mouth so close you can feel his breath against your earlobe, and the rumble of his voice travels through you like electricity. “Have you, mi amor?”

Your body slowly melting to his touch, your core pooling at the tease, pleasure and situation around you. You know damn well if you open your mouth, you’re going to plead for more. So instead you shake your head no. 

“That’s what I thought.” He starts going further, and massages your breasts, whimpers and whines coming out of your mouth you're struggling to keep shut. Your knees nearly buckled. 

Jinbei shouted again, but it was hopeless now. You could hear it in his voice—he was arguing with the wall.

He turned with a growl and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

You turn your head and see there's still two more people sitting down:

Sir Crocodile grinning, rolling a cigar in his thick, calloused, ringed hands. Smoke curled from his lips like a snake’s tongue—coiling toward you.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His eyes said everything:

He was enjoying the show. Thoroughly.

Then–Mihawk, stoic, swirling his wine,once, twice. 

Silently observing.

Neither of them looked away.

It was at this point Doflamingo notices, and straightens himself back up, and starts shifting his hands away from your breasts, and under your dress, his bare palm touching the skin of your stomach.

 “You guys don't mind if I..?” He trails off, his hand tracing to your chest, slid up beneath the silk, and the dress clung—bunching around his forearm, rising in soft, greedy folds. It gathered like it wanted to see, too. To bare you. 

The other two men simply glance at the new sight to behold–your panties, your bare stomach, and soon; your naked chest that Doflamingo’s greedy hands were holding. Crocodile’s grin stretched as far as his scar, his cigar rolled between his fingers, like a hungry predator eyeing his prey.  “Not at all, Donquixote.”

At the feeling of your bare skin against the tablecloth beneath you- the only fabric left other than your soaked, thin panties, the cool air struck above you, leaving your back arching at the sensations. 

With a final breath, Doflamingo lifted the dress off your shoulders, unwrapping your body like a present.

Holding your shoulders, his lips crash into yours, one hand massaging your bare breasts, swallowing your whimpers and moans. While he pins you to the table, he places the other hand over your panties, feeling your excitement.

 “Fucking slut, look at you. Enjoying this.” he broke the kiss, teasing your clit against your soaked panties, taking in your squirms and whimpers.

Crocodile cuts in, clearly, enjoying the show before it starts: “Look at her,she's twitching. I bet the pretty little pussy wants some attention, huh?”

Doflamingo turned to him, and turned back to you, his face wicked. You meet the gaze of his glasses, your face reflecting back in them, and your throat bobbed, your core tense. He only snickered at your reaction. “Mírala… she’s clenching. Fucking clenching for me.” His voice drips with pride, mocking and adoring all at once. His thumb presses just enough against you to make you gasp.  “Reina… quieres que les enseñe—just how good my girl can be?”

 His smile widens. “Mm? You want them to see that pretty pussy work?”

You whimper out a pathetic yes. “I-I..” “Hm?” He adds more pressure against your clothed clit, circling it.“I can’t hear you right, reina. Good girls ask clearly.”

You don't hold back the mutters and whimpers at his tease, making you even more soaked. 

“I-I..want them to ..see.”

Doflamingo’s chest rumbled deep. “Que perra.” He moved his teasing hand up to your waistband, stretching it and letting it snap against your skin, enjoying your reactions. Your hips jerked up at the sudden pain, mouthing out wordless pleads and whimpers. “So..responsive.” Mihawk commented at your twitching, moaning and pleading state. He’s impressed how Doflamingo made you such a slobbering mess, just by teasing you. ‘You’re such a good pet,’ he thought. The feathered warlord dug his fingers, and hooked them at the waistband. This time, slowly and deliberately, he slowly dragged your panties off, watching how the strings of slick clung against the measly, soaked, now transparent fabric.

“Look at that wet, dripping cunt.” Crocodile chimed, watching your slick, wet folds in their full beauty, leaving nothing to the imagination. 

You were bare. That's how he likes you. Bare pussy open to his face. That’s exactly what was on Doflamingo’s craves and menu tonight. “Mami, you don’t mind if I have my dinner, no?” he purred. He fucking knew you couldn’t- wouldn’t say no. You nod once more, watching his body move between the two men, and his head between your thighs.  “Mierda… all this for them?” he murmurs, and his fingers spread you wider, the cool air hitting before his mouth replaces it—hot, wet, insistent.

Crocodile hums in approval at your reaction to Doflamingo’s tongue on your folds, watching your back arch and legs opening wider to invite this in. “So eager for this, aren’t you? So happy to be ruined.” His eyes gaze over your body like a lazy touch. “What a good little slut.” 

Doflamingo doesn’t stop.

His mouth moves in obscene circles over your clit—flicking, sucking, tonguing like a man possessed. And when your legs twitch, hips bucking, spine arching—he just moans into you, like your body’s reactions are his favorite feedback loop.

He dives his tongue into your cunt, letting you grind against his face. Fuck, you were phenomenal. You’re perfect. 

So fucking wet. So fucking needy.

Your thighs threaten to close around his head, but he just grips them harder, forcing you open like he owns your body.

Because he does. Doflamingo wouldn’t show them his beautiful girl for no reason.. 

“Look at her,” Crocodile says, low and dry. “Riding his face like she was born for it.”

Mihawk hums, cool and unreadable, but the tension in his jaw gives him away. That wine’s been forgotten.

Doflamingo moans again, tongue pushing deep, then flattening out to lap you up like a starving dog, nose pressing flush against your clit, sending another tremble through your spine. Your moans are high, frantic, desperate little cries that melt into wet sobs of pleasure.

"Fucking. Divine." he rasps against you. “Your pussy’s singing for me, reina.”

His hand snakes under your ass, lifting your hips higher, adjusting the angle—like a chef plating his favorite dish. “Grind. That’s it—fuck my face, you bitch.”

It was too good–feeling his face, the pleasure rounding up in your core. The eyes on you, the words for you. The tension in your lower body winding up, it was too much.

“Dof- Sir..! Im..c-guh- close..!”

You moan out, your voice ragged and out of breath.

And Doflamingo? He doesn’t fucking stop.

“Then cum for me, perra.” His voice is muffled by your cunt, but the growl is there—low and hungry. “Let them all see how pretty you look when you fall apart.”

Whimper and pants are all you can let out, your body so damn hot and feeling so damn good. The feeling of his wet, warm tongue deep into your inner walls, his nose brushing your clit, your thighs pressing onto his head.

It was too much. You were a live wire, waiting to blow.

Your body snaps—spine bowing, legs kicking, mouth falling open in a silent scream before the sob breaks through. Your vision whites out. You're shaking, twitching, fucking drenched.

“Look at you. Sloppy little slut, isn’t she?” Sir Crocodile laughs, watching your wet, slick soaked pussy twitch and ache while you ride those blissful 10 seconds of orgasm.

“..Mmm, That she is. Look at her, she hasn’t even reached her limit. Isn’t that right, puta?”

You were still catching your breath, unable to respond.

“I said..” He pulls you to his face by your hair, whispering into your ear; “Isn’t that right, puta mierda?”

You gulp and nod your head.

He shifted, slowly rubbing his clothed knee against your sensitive slit, teasing you. He didn’t care about those pairs of capris anyway. 

A soft silent whimper left your now agape mouth.

“..yes.” He adds more pressure against your clit, leaving his knee there.

“Que dijiste, reina? I couldn’t hear you.”

You stifle a moan, the feeling overwhelming you, so much so, your face twists, tightens, and contorts, a single teardrop betraying you.

He catches it.

Not gently.

Setting his foot onto the table, he sets you on his thigh, hair still in his grip. Moving chest to chest, he notices more tears running, as well as your mascara slowly starting to join in with your tears.

His thigh bounces, and your whole body jolts. A broken gasp leaves your lips—half-moan, half-sob.

“Que bella, crying for more attention hm.?”

He stops bouncing his thigh, leaving you in a whimpering mess, trying to get more.

“You still haven’t answered my question, mami. Do you still have more in you?”

He holds your back with one hand, the other twisting your nipple

“GAH-! fuck..yes..yes,s-do-sir, I do.”

Tears are streaming down your face more and more now, black streaks painting your face. Doflamingo, after all, was kind to his lovers, so he cleaned up your face–with his tongue, the salty taste invading his tongue. “That’s my girl.”

He leans in, tongue dragging slowly across your cheek—lapping up the tears and the makeup like it’s a dessert course after devouring your pussy. The taste makes him groan low in his chest, his grip on your waist tightening like he might lose his fucking mind.

“Mm… giving me a palette cleanse after tasting such a pretty pussy, reina?” He chuckles, licking up a fresh streak without hesitation. “Such a good, good girl.”

He watches you for a moment, admiring the tear-slicked mess of you perched on his thigh—your body trembling, eyes glassy, lips parted in ruined obedience. Then, with no ceremony, he shifts.

Doflamingo rises to full height, cock flushed and glistening, and guides you down onto your hands and knees atop the table—bare, vulnerable, shaking beneath the heat of the room and the eyes that never left you.

You barely register your forced pose change, on all fours, your mouth in front of his stuffed pants. All you know is him. The sound of his zipper, the gleam of precum painting the flushed tip of his thick, long, veiny cock, and the low, rumbling growl in his throat.

“Mouth open, reina. Show me how pretty you look with your throat full.”

Your lips part automatically, mascara-streaked cheeks hollowing on instinct. He grips the base of his cock and guides it in—slow, thick, unforgiving. The stretch fills your mouth in seconds, and when he hits the back of your throat, he doesn’t stop.

You gag, he moans.

“That’s it. That’s it, mami,” he purrs, stroking your hair. “Let me fuck that mouth.”

Choking on his cock , he rocks forward again—deeper this time. Your lips stretch wide, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth, chin slick, tears rolling harder now.

“Respira por la nariz, puta.”

Your moans are muffled by the sheer size of him, throat aching and fluttering around the intrusion, but still—you take it. You want to take it.

“Look at you,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “So desperate for it. Such a fucking cocksleeve.”

The table shakes with every thrust. His hips snap forward, his hand fisting in your hair, the sound of your wet, gagging mouth in the silence.

You're dizzy with it—head heavy, cunt pulsing—but when he twitches in your mouth, you instinctively press your tongue to the underside of his cock.

That’s all it took.

“Que bien, you take-ngh- me so well..”

He groans—loud, low, unrestrained. His hips jolt, and he spills into your mouth with a growl that echoes off the walls.

Mihawk, ever the silent observer, tilts his glass slightly, not even looking at you.

“You’re both going to break her.”

The room shifted, a pause between the three men, as they turned to the swordsman.

“Be sure to keep her breathing. She still has use left.”

Doflamingo cuckold, his breath evening out. “Escuchastes, perra pal carajo? Even el pajarito thinks you’re so good. Go on, thank him.”

You sit on your legs–like a fucking animal, and nod to the hawk-eyed man.

“.t-..thank you..s-sir.”

Rolling his cigars, Crocodile let out a low, deep, rumble for laughter.

“The hawk is right, Donquixote. Be careful with her.”

Doflamingo raised an eyebrow at the scarred man, and curled his face into a dark smirk. “Don’t underestimate her. She’s a precious little whore.”

The warlord simply chuckled back, exhaling his cigar smoke on your face. Watching him stand up, you noticed the aching bulge in his silk pants.

“Trust me, I want to see what this pretty little woman of yours can do.” The flat of his hook petting and stroking your back, your eyes fluttering at the feeling. His hands however, found their way towards your asscheeks, and two fingers suddenly plunged into your cunt, curling into that sweet gummy spot in your walls, earning a stifled and held back whimper from you. Fuck, it felt so good.

“Still so fucking tight, and wet.”

He slid his fingers out, small strings of slick stuck before falling and clinging to his fingers. Crocodile laughed, and he shoved those two fingers into your mouth, gliding it on your tongue, until you started sucking on them.

“Such a good little slut, you like tasting yourself, huh?” His hood is still petting your back, adding to the sensations around you. Unable to say a word with his fingers in your mouth, you nod.

“Fucking nasty,nasty girl. Letting your lover play with your pussy in front of such bad, evil men.” He lifted you head and moved it to show both your lover, Doflamingo, and MIhawk watching you. “Turn around, babydoll. Let me see that pussy right in front of me.”

You turn, your pretty pink bubble gum cunt facing him now.

“Let’s see how well that Donquixote trained you.”

There it was- his thick cock plunging into your cunt, the stretch inviting you into a moan.

Crocodile smirks—grabs your hips harder, thrusts deeper. The sound of your slick heat meeting his cock filling the room, alongside gasps and whimpers.

“Fucking mess,” he growls. “You’re soaked, babydoll. What, this turns you on? Getting used?”

He leans forward, breath brushing your ear.

“You’re not even resisting, whore.”

You can’t. You won’t.

You’re drooling now, eyes rolling, skin flushed, while your pussy pulses and grips him like he belongs there.

Doflamingo makes a small stride forward, right behind you now, thick hands landing on your waist. 

“Still got room, reina?” he purrs. “Don’t worry… I’ll make it fit.”

You try to answer. But then—he presses in.

The stretch is too much. Too wide. Too full. You cry out, a choked wail of pleasure and pain, body trembling under the pressure of two cocks moving into you.

One thrusts in as the other pulls out, a rhythm building.

“So fucking tight,” Crocodile groans. “She’s pulsing,” Doflamingo gasps. “Taking us so well…”

Your tears smear across the wood. Your fingers claw at the edge of the table. You babble praise, gasps, broken pleads—“thank you, thank you, thank you—!”

You’re gone.

“Look at her,” Mihawk says from behind his glass, voice flat. “She’s singing.”

They fuck you faster. Harder. Perfectly timed. Your body shakes, spasms—legs kicking beneath you, brain white-hot with pleasure.

You shatter—screaming, sobbing, convulsing, slick pouring down your thighs as they keep moving inside you, fucking you through your climax,

“That’s it, baby,” Crocodile growls. “Give it to us.”

“Such a good girl,” Doflamingo moans, cock twitching deep in your ass. “Put on a beautiful show.”

Turns out, you came back for multiple meetings.

[sugarskies]

exposed

summary: john worships admires bob's waist. and also teases him while hiding under a blanket from yelena. because he can. word count: 944 notes: i saw this post earlier and then i sat down to write and this came out of me. sometimes i need to write something silly idk. anyway this is kinda steamy but not explicit so maybe 16+ please

Bob put the backs of his hands over his eyes when he yawned, not realizing his shirt had ridden up until John’s hands were on his hips.

His fingers pushed into Bob’s skin, his thumbs resting on his protruding pelvic bone. John’s breath was hot when he lightly bit his earlobe, burning when he pressed an extended kiss to his neck.

“We’re alone,” John started, and Bob nodded because he figured. John wouldn’t have touched him where the others could see; wasn’t comfortable enough in his sexuality to tell anyone about their unlabeled relationship.

“And?” asked Bob.

John kissed his skin two more times as his fingers sneaked around to the front of Bob’s stomach, wrapped fully around him. He glanced at Bob’s face for permission and Bob nodded before John less-than-gracefully threw him over his shoulder.

He carried Bob the short distance from the window to the couch. Bob inhaled sharply as the back of his head hit its arm—John would get it right eventually, he insisted—and shimmied down to get more comfortable as John crawled on top of him.

Bob didn’t fully understand what it was that drew John to his waist, but he wasn’t that familiar with that part of his body in general. It was different after the serum. Stronger, healthier. He closed his eyes and let out a low exhale as John pushed his shirt up to his pecs.

His hands squeezed Bob’s hips as he positioned himself between his legs. Bob dropped his left leg on the floor, his right knee bent against the back of the couch. John placed one kiss under Bob’s belly button before he moved down.

“Fuck.”

John’s fingers curled into Bob’s waistband as his tongue grazed his happy trail. Weird as it was, that always made Bob feel good—a reminder that John still loved the most masculine parts of him even when he wouldn’t say the words, “I’m bisexual.”

He turned his head on an angle, kissed around Bob’s pelvic bone, and gently pulled on his skin. Bob let out a soft moan when John sucked on him where no one would see, where it could stay their secret forever.

Slowly, John made his way down. He tugged at the fabric around Bob’s waist, kissing him in a line until his beard tickled the top of Bob’s hair. Then, just as he pushed one hand fully down the side of Bob’s leg, ready for the kill, the elevator dinged.

Panicked, Bob grabbed the blanket on the back of the couch and threw it over both him and John. He quickly tucked his left leg back on the couch and kicked John lightly until he made himself as flat as he could against the furniture.

“Hey, Bob.” Yelena fiddled with the speaker in her ear, her gaze on her phone as she hopped up the stairs to the bar. John’s hand slid out of Bob’s pants as steadily as possible. “Sorry to interrupt, I’m just getting a seltzer.”

“No, you’re fine,” said Bob, who was definitely not reading the book he’d thrown into his hands. He swallowed his gasp when John’s hand shifted again, made the evil move of cupping him when he was trying to talk. “I’m just reading.”

“Anything good?”

If anything was an option, then something good was how John’s breath felt against his waist, how he bounced just the tiniest bit as he kissed Bob’s belly button and failed to fully contain his amusement.

“Yeah, it’s just, uh—” What fucking book was he holding? “—it’s about aliens. Although it feels dated now that we’ve been invaded by aliens… how many times?”

“I stopped counting.” Yelena dropped a handful of ice into her glass. John’s devilish little tongue snaked out of his mouth, licked the same spot his lips had kissed. “Have you ever seen one?”

He couldn’t think with John’s tongue on his skin, his fingers dug into his hips. “One what?”

“Aliens.”

“Oh. No.” Bob bonked John in the head with his knee while Yelena’s back was turned and he finally stilled, his fingers tight around Bob’s waist. “I wasn’t near where any of them happened, and I was high when they were in the news.”

Yelena nodded as she poured her seltzer—AKA sparkling grapefruit water—into her glass. She tapped on her phone as she walked back to the elevator.

“Let me know if you’re curious about any of them. My sister told me about them all.” She pressed the button for the elevator and waited for it to open. “But, and feel free to correct me, I’m pretty sure there are no aliens in Jurassic Park.”

“Oh.”

He glanced down at the book he was holding and, once again, John vibrated against Bob’s stomach as his amusement escaped him. Then he froze when the elevator chimed and Yelena added,

“And Walker, if you want to suck off Bob, please do it in your room.”

The doors closed before Bob could fully process what happened. When he did, he put a hand on his face as his shoulders shook from suppressed laughter. He tossed the blanket back over the side of the couch and stopped when he realized John’s expression was still.

“Hey.” Bob placed his first two knuckles under John’s chin and nudged him upward. “You okay?”

John didn’t answer. Because of course, he had to keep everything buried inside him. He said nothing as Bob slid his hands through his hair, nothing as Bob leaned their foreheads together. But the passion he shared when their lips met spoke volumes for what he wanted versus what he believed he should have.

[hyunjuisfinal]

Silk Ribbons

dom!Hyunju x sub!fem!Reader (wlw)

TW: Consensual D/s, mild bondage (wrist restraints), possessive behavior, praise kink, mild marking, sensual NSFW themes, implied wlw, soft power dynamics, and affectionate aftercare.

Your phone vibrates once on the bedside table.

One new message from Hyunju.

Be ready. 8 PM. Don’t wear anything under the dress.

Your breath hitches — you’re lying on your stomach, half-reading a book you’ve already forgotten the plot of. It’s always like this with Hyunju: she writes so little, but somehow you feel every word slide under your skin.

You check the time. 7:12 PM. Not enough time, but too much all at once.

You tug open your closet. She likes you in black — you pick the soft slip dress she once tugged down your shoulders without ever unzipping it.

By the time you’ve brushed your hair smooth and dabbed your favorite perfume behind your ears, your hands are trembling just a little. You feel ridiculous standing in your tiny room, wearing this much nothing, but you know that’s exactly how she wants you: soft, waiting, hers.

When the doorbell rings at 7:59, you’re already standing by the door. She likes that, too.

⸻

Hyunju stands in the hallway like she owns it. A simple black coat drapes over her shoulders, hair pulled back into a neat ponytail, red lipstick so perfect it looks painted on just for you.

She doesn’t say hi. She doesn’t have to.

“Turn around.” Her voice is smooth as silk, threaded through with that quiet command that always leaves you pliant.

You do as you’re told. She steps inside, closes the door behind you, and you feel the brush of her coat sleeve as she passes.

Her hands are at your shoulders, fingers grazing your collarbone. She hums — pleased.

“No straps,” she says, and you can hear her smile against your ear. “Good girl.”

The praise blooms in your chest.

⸻

You don’t remember how you got to the bedroom — just her touch at the small of your back, the soft click of her heels on your floorboards, the faint scent of her perfume mixing with yours.

She sits you at the edge of your bed, lifts your chin with a single finger. You look up at her and you can’t help it — your knees press together, your palms clutch the sheets.

Hyunju laughs — a quiet, low sound that makes your stomach twist with anticipation.

“Hands,” she says.

You offer them without question. She pulls silk ribbons from her coat pocket — black, matching your dress. She binds your wrists together, knotting them so gently it almost feels like affection instead of restraint.

“You trust me?” she asks. Her eyes meet yours — dark, warm, patient.

You nod, breathless. “Yes.”

“That’s my good girl.”

⸻

Time dissolves after that — her hands tugging the hem of your dress higher, the ghost of her lips brushing your throat, the delicate drag of her teeth over your pulse. She doesn’t rush — Hyunju never rushes. She wants you to feel every moment, every inch of her claim.

She pushes you back against the pillows, climbs over you with a grace that makes you ache. Her knee nudges your thighs apart, and you shiver at the sudden cool air against your skin.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” she murmurs, fingers trailing the silk binding your wrists. “Soft. Waiting for me.”

You whisper her name — a soft plea, a question.

“I know,” she soothes, thumb brushing your lower lip. “I know exactly what you want.”

⸻

She kisses you — slow at first, savoring. Her tongue sweeps your mouth like she’s tasting something expensive she plans to hoard for herself. You gasp when she pulls back just enough to bite your lower lip.

“Stay still,” she warns. You nod — you’d agree to anything.

Her hands slide down your sides, fingertips brushing the soft dip of your waist, your hips. You can’t help but shift beneath her — she hushes you with a quiet tsk.

“Good girls stay still,” she reminds you.

Your bound hands clench. She notices — of course she does. She always does.

⸻

Her touch is everywhere — trailing heat down your stomach, pressing tiny, possessive marks into your inner thigh. She doesn’t need to say a word — her fingers speak for her.

You arch when she leans in, mouth ghosting over your chest. The way she drags her lips, then teeth, then tongue — each pass a promise that leaves you trembling.

She looks up at you once, eyes dark, lips parted just enough to show a flash of teeth.

“You’re doing so well,” she whispers. “Taking what I give you. Letting me make you mine.”

A soft noise escapes your throat — part whimper, part thank you.

⸻

You lose track of how long she keeps you there — pinned under her mouth and hands, floating in the warmth of her praise and the sharp edge of her control.

When your legs tremble too much, she eases back, trailing kisses up your stomach, your collarbone, your jaw. She presses her forehead to yours, breathing you in like she can’t get enough.

“Such a good girl,” she says again, and your whole body shivers at the warmth in her voice.

She kisses you softer this time — slow, deep, sweet. Like she’s winding you back down from the edge she held you on so long.

⸻

When she unties your wrists, her fingers brush your skin with the same care she uses for silk ribbons and lace lingerie she peels off you only when she’s ready.

She rubs your wrists gently, kisses each one.

“You did so well for me tonight,” she murmurs, thumb stroking the faint marks left by the silk. “Did you like being my good girl?”

You nod, dazed and warm in her arms. “Always.”

Hyunju smiles — the real smile, the one she saves for moments like this, when it’s just you and her and the world outside could disappear for all she cares.

She pulls you close, lets you tuck your head into the crook of her neck. You feel her fingers in your hair, soothing, grounding.

⸻

Later, when she tucks the blanket over your bare shoulders and you drift off against her, you feel the silk ribbon still tied in your hair — a quiet reminder that even when you’re soft, even when you’re sleeping, you’re still hers.

And you wouldn’t want it any other way.

⸻

End.

[formulafanfics13]

On Your Knees, Pretty Boy - CL16 🔥

Masterlist

He looked too pretty to be this desperate. Hair damp from the post-race shower, cheeks pink from champagne and adrenaline, still wearing the tight black Ferrari team tee that clung to every lean muscle of his torso. His fingers were twitching on his thighs like he didn't know what to do with them. Like he was trying not to reach for her unless she gave him permission.

She sat across from him on the couch, legs crossed, cool glass of wine in her hand. Watching him. Toying with him. Letting the silence stretch. "So," she said finally, taking a slow sip. "You going to admit you liked it?"

Charles licked his lips. His voice was hoarse. "Liked what?"

She tilted her head. "When I told you to stop talking during the race debrief."

His eyes dropped. He flushed. Fucking squirmed.

"You liked it," she said, slowly uncrossing her legs. "Didn't you?"

He nodded, eyes still fixed on the carpet.

"Use your words."

"...Yes."

She smirked. "Yes what?"

"Yes... I liked it."

She stood, moving toward him with slow, deliberate steps. He looked up as she reached him, lips parted like he might beg. "Good," she said, setting her wine glass down. "Then you won't mind this."

She hooked her fingers under his jaw. Tilted his chin up. His eyes fluttered closed, chest rising like he couldn't breathe without her touch. "On your knees."

He moved instantly. Dropped off the couch and onto the floor in front of her, kneeling between her thighs, looking up like she hung the fucking moon.

Her fingers tangled in his curls. "Look at you," she murmured. "Good little driver. All that control on the track and you hand it over so easily when we're alone."

Charles flushed darker. His hands hovered on his thighs.

"Touch me," she said, "only if I tell you to."

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good boy." She stepped back, just enough to give him space to watch. Then slowly pulled off her shirt. No bra. His breath caught. She didn't speak. Just watched his pupils blow wide, jaw clench, fingers twitch against his own thighs.

"Tell me what you want."

His voice was wrecked. "I want to taste you."

"Yeah?" She stepped forward again, tilting his chin with her fingers. "You think you've earned it?"

He swallowed hard. "I'll be good."

"You'll be better than good, Charles," she said, pressing her thumb to his lips. "You'll do exactly what I say. No more, no less. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Open your mouth."

He did. She leaned down, pressed her lips to his for one brief, hungry second, then sat back on the edge of the couch. Pulled off her jeans. Left her panties on just long enough to tease him, then slid them down her thighs and spread her legs slowly.

Charles groaned.

She smiled. "You can touch now. Only with your mouth."

He didn't hesitate. He leaned in, hands still clasped behind his back, mouth finding her with a quiet moan. His tongue licked a long, slow stripe through her folds, and she gasped softly, hand tangling in his hair.

"Fuck, yes. Just like that."

He was always good with his mouth, talented, patient, eager to please. But now? Now, on his knees, forbidden from using his hands, face buried between her thighs, he was divine. He flicked and sucked and circled her clit with desperate precision, like her pleasure was his only fucking purpose.

She tugged his hair, guiding him. "Slower."

He obeyed instantly, pace changing. Gentle, teasing swirls with his tongue. She moaned softly, thighs shaking, hips rolling into his face.

"You love this, don't you?" she breathed. "You love being used like this."

He moaned in response, the sound vibrating against her, and she gasped again, thighs tightening around his head. "Good boy. Keep going."

He did. He kept going until her breath hitched and her nails scratched his scalp and she came on his mouth with a cry, hips bucking, hand tightening in his hair. He didn't stop until she said so. When she finally pushed him back, he was flushed, panting, lips shiny, eyes glassy with need.

"Did I do good?" he asked, voice cracking.

She smirked. "You did perfect."

He looked up at her, pupils blown. "Can I- can I fuck you now?"

She shook her head. "Not yet."

He whimpered. She stood again, pulled him up by his curls, kissed him rough and messy. Then walked him backward to the bed and pushed him down onto it. "Hands behind your head."

He obeyed.

She climbed on top of him, straddling his thighs, dragging her nails slowly down his chest. His breath came in short, sharp bursts. "You don't touch me until I say," she reminded him.

"Yes, ma'am."

She reached between them, stroked him once, slow and firm. He gasped. She did it again. Watched him twitch. "Someone's very eager."

"I've been hard since the moment you told me to shut up," he muttered, teeth gritted.

She laughed. "You're so fucked."

He nodded. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please ride me."

She sank down on him without another word.

His back arched off the mattress. "F-fuck-"

Her nails dug into his chest. "Be quiet."

He bit his lip so hard it might bruise. She rolled her hips slowly, grinding down. His arms strained with the effort of keeping them above his head. He looked completely wrecked. Red cheeks, hair messy, breath ragged. Every thrust of her hips made him moan helplessly, like it was being torn from his throat. She fucked him slow. Deep. With full control. Watching him fall apart.

"You look so pretty like this," she whispered, dragging her nails down his abs. "All fucked out and obedient."

"Please let me touch you," he begged.

She leaned down, brushing her lips over his. "No."

He whimpered. "You're gonna kill me."

She kissed him hard, then pulled back again. "Not yet."

When he finally came, deep inside her, hips bucking, legs trembling — it was with her name gasped like a prayer and a strangled moan into the pillow behind his head. She fucked him through it, slow and gentle, then collapsed onto his chest, heart racing.

He wrapped his arms around her, breath shallow. "You're evil," he whispered.

She smiled. "You love it."

"...Yeah," he murmured. "I really, really do."

[pascalispunkczechia]

Love in the Dark

Summary: It’s not a love story. It’s about two DEA agents (Javier Peña & Steve Murphy) stuck in the same hellhole, crossing lines they swore they wouldn’t. Touches they never talk about. Silences that get louder. And when it all comes crashing down, it’s not sweet. It’s ugly. Bitter. Raw. Because sometimes, the person you need most is the one fucking you up the worst. And you still keep going back.

Warnings: 🔞, emotional manipulation, internalized homophobia, toxic relationship, explicit language, unresolved sexual tension, physical & emotional violence, toxic dynamic, mutual manipulation, rough scenes (non-sexual violence), gay / bi themes, messy men with messy feelings, angst (like… a lot), soft moments (that hurt more because they’re rare), no happy ending, little bit smut (?), angst-heavy, two timelines (past/present)

Note: Okay so… before you dive in, give this one a sec. This fic has basically all my firsts packed into it: I’ve never written a gay fic before. Never done dual timelines. And never written something entirely from a male POV. So yeah - it might be a little messy, it might creak here and there, but I really tried. I put my whole heart into this 🥹 Be gentle with it.

Word count: ~ 6,3k

“She left,” Steve says the second he opens the door.

“What? Connie actually left?” I ask, even though I already fucking heard him. His face is all tense, but the whole place stinks of booze. There’s like twelve empty beer bottles lined up on the table, some still half full. He’s pacing the room in just socks, hair a mess, shirt barely hanging on.

I drop onto the couch. He hands me a freshly opened bottle. I hold it, don’t drink. I didn’t come to get drunk. I came to tell him Messina’s fucking furious. She wants him out. I tried talking her down. Doesn’t matter though, Steve’s barely even here. He sinks into the armchair like it’s dragging him under.

“So we got a new boss, huh? Messina…” he slurs, leaning back heavy. “Javi, I can’t fucking leave now. We’re close. We can take that bastard Escobar down. Any day now.”

I just sit there and watch him. I’ve never seen him like this. But even now, even like this, something warm hits me low in my gut. Every time I look at him. And fuck, I hate it. I don’t wanna feel like this. But I do. He means more to me than I’m ready to admit. And I fucking need him.

Neither of us says anything for a while. His head starts to dip, bottle slips from his hand and hits the floor. He lets out this low snore and his head falls back.

I’m not waking him up. Let him sleep it off. Even if it’s in that damn chair. I get up, grab the blanket off the couch, cross over to him and lay it over him. I hesitate. Then I let my knuckles graze along his cheek. Rough stubble. Three days maybe. My thumb brushes his bottom lip. And fuck me… it hits me low. Just that small touch. Just him.

He wasn’t asleep. Not back then.

We were in the DEA office, in that shitty little kitchen corner. Just a coffee machine and a fridge. Like anyone ever fucking sits down to eat here. Steve was chewing the last bite of yesterday’s sandwich. We were talking tactics - how to tap Escobar’s guys without tipping shit off. Then a piece of salami dropped onto his jacket.

I reached out, just to brush it off. Nothing big. But right then, he bent down, probably going for a mug or some shit, I don’t know… and instead of touching his jacket, my fingers landed on his fucking face. I pulled back. He did too. But for that one second - fuck - I felt it. That punch-in-the-gut kind of jolt.

And he looked just as thrown as I was. What the fuck just happened?

“Ahh… fuck, sorry, man,” I stammered. “I just… the salami, it… fell on your jacket and we’ve got that thing with CIA and the ambassador and– yeah. Fuck. Sorry.”

“Salami?” he repeated, still totally out of it. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s nothing. We should go,” he said, and fucking bolted down the hall like the room was on fire.

I walked after him, slow as hell. My head was a goddamn mess.

Steve shifts and opens his eyes. I yank my finger away from his lips like I touched a live wire. Panic hits fast. But he’s still halfway drunk, so maybe he didn’t notice.

“Hey man, you should… you should go lie down. In bed. Sleep this shit off, yeah?” I tell him.

He doesn’t say anything, just drags himself up with the blanket still half over him. For a second, he pauses like he’s trying to figure out if he pulled it over himself or not. It’s only been a few minutes since he passed out, but drunk brains don’t work right. Maybe that’s a good thing. He tries to get past me toward the bedroom but stumbles.

I catch him before he cracks his head open on the goddamn table, dumbass. That familiar wave hits me again… the one I never fucking name. The one I only feel when I’m this close to him.

“Hey, hey, easy,” I help steady him, guiding him toward the bedroom. One hand trying to pull the sheets back, the other holding him up so he doesn’t fall like the wreck he is. Fucking gringo. Can’t even handle his beer.

After a minute, I get him down on the bed, easy. He sinks into the pillow, eyes already shut again. I pull the blanket over him and start to leave.

“Peña?” he mumbles, already halfway out again. “You don’t wanna… stay? Just… don’t wanna be in this fucking apartment alone…” And he’s gone. Out cold.

Wouldn’t even know if I walked out right now. But I don’t. I stand there for a bit longer. Just watching him. He’s breathing steady now.

“Okay,” I whisper, mostly to myself. I start toward the door, but stop. Turn back. I fucking hate this apartment. I hate how much of his life exists in these walls without me in it. Even with Connie gone, he hasn’t lost her. Not really. She didn’t leave for good. I can still feel her here. Everywhere. I don’t even wanna sit in the living room, let alone lie down in this fucking bed.

And still… I kick off my shoes and lie down on the other side. Don’t cover myself. I stay all the way on the edge, as far from him as I can. At least this way, I can keep an eye on him if anything happens. I stare up at the ceiling. Thinking about everything that’s led to this.

It’s been a few weeks since the salami incident - since my fingers accidentally landed on his fucking face. But things… changed for me after that. A lot more than I wanted them to.

I started seeing Steve differently. Deep down, I’d always kinda known (since I was a kid) that I wasn’t exactly wired one way when it came to who I was into. Yeah, women turned me on. All the shit I did with them. But the truth?

The truth is I’d been trying to bury the other part. The one that didn’t just want women. The part that wanted more. Something else.

And now? Now it’s wide the fuck awake and it’s burning me alive. Because Steve… Steve is married. That’s the first thing.

Second? He’s straight. Or he sure as hell always seemed like it and we’ve known each other for months now.

And third? This is the DEA, late ’80s heading into the ’90s. This isn’t exactly the kind of place where being bi is some open, accepted fucking identity. In other words - it didn’t stand a chance.

So yeah, almost every night I made sure I had someone. Hookers, mostly. Some regulars. Some I never saw again. I needed to fuck the feeling out of myself.

Didn’t work.Steve’s blue eyes stuck with me, even when he wasn’t around.

But the worst part? I started noticing things in him, too.

When we were out on missions and he was covering me from behind, he stood a little closer than usual. When he clapped me on the shoulder (just casual shit) his hand stayed there a second too long. Sometimes I’d catch him looking at me - like, really looking - totally spaced out.

And every time I caught him, he’d snap his eyes away like he’d been struck by lightning.

When we were passing files or folders back and forth, he’d brush my fingers on purpose. I know he did. It was electric. Confusing as hell.

Why the fuck was he doing that? Or… was I just seeing shit that wasn’t there?

There’s pressure on my chest. I snap my eyes open, fuck. I must’ve fallen asleep. I look down and see Steve’s arm draped across me. He’s so fucking close. Why the hell is he this close?

When I got into this bed, he was all the way on the other side and now… He’s probably still so drunk out of his mind that in that boozy little brain of his, he thinks he’s holding Connie.

At first, I try to gently slip out from under his arm and get the fuck out of the bed. But then Steve’s hand moves. I freeze. Watching him.

His eyes are closed. Is he asleep? Not asleep? Totally gone? Or… awake?

His arm tightens around me, pulls me closer. Panic flares up in my head. His body is warm, pressed right against mine. My stomach fucking flips.

“Mhmhp,” he mumbles. “Peña… stay.”

I look over at him. His eyes are open now. Half-lidded. He’s aware. He knows this isn’t Connie. He knows it’s me.

“I should go… I shouldn’t be here,” I whisper. But my head is screaming the opposite - this is exactly where I want to be.

Steve doesn’t say anything. Instead, his hand starts moving across my chest. He’s tracing slow circles near my throat, and then… he puts his hand on my face. And looks right at me.

And I know what’s coming. I fucking know. It’s the same intensity as last time.

But no. This can’t happen again. Right?!

Or maybe I just want it to. Maybe that’s the fucking problem.

The first time it happened was right after I made one of those fuckups I still beat myself up for. At the time, it felt like the right move - I wanted Escobar, no matter the cost. So I sold Steve out to the Cali fuckers. Didn’t feel great about it, but I told myself it was for the greater good.

But then… Connie. Of course she lost her shit. Can’t blame her. And even I started doubting whether what happened to Steve was part of the op I triggered or just Escobar’s people getting in the way.

Then Steve showed up. Pissed. He figured it out. We got into it in the hallway at the office - small fight, loud words. He shoved me up against the wall, demanding I admit it. My heart was fucking pounding. Not sure if it was the situation, or the fact that he was that close. Something hit between us, hard.

I bullshitted. Like always. But it ate at me all day, and that night I got drunk at the bar.

I stumbled home, buzzed but still walking straight. Barely. I knew Steve was home. Went straight to her, obviously. Connie.

I was headed to my own place, but at the last second I changed direction. Stood in front of their door for a full minute before knocking. It was 2 in the morning. Didn’t know if they were asleep. Or worse… if they were fucking. Before I could overthink it, the door creaked open and there was Steve.

“What do you want, Javi? It’s 2 am” Still, he let me in. Just past the doorway. I didn’t see Connie. She was probably asleep. We stood close, right by the door. He didn’t invite me in. Didn’t tell me to sit. Still looked pissed.

“I just… I came to…” I mumbled like a fucking idiot.

“No, Javi,” he snapped, cutting me off. His breath reeked of booze. Didn’t seem totally drunk, but he’d definitely been drinking. Eyes were glassy. “I thought we were partners. And you? You fucking hand me over so they can blackmail me?” He hissed it, low, probably so he wouldn’t wake her.

“Steve, listen–” I tried, but I could already see it in his face. That anger. The kind that takes over when he lets it.

“No, you listen, Peña,” he growled, grabbing me by the front of my jacket and slamming me into the wall. Again. Just like earlier that day at the base. “You show up here at two in the fucking morning. And you didn’t say a single word about this all day - not one fucking word. And now what? You think we crack open a beer and it’s all good?!” He glared at me. His face right fucking there, inches from mine.

We stared each other down. And then something changed in his eyes. Something that hadn’t been there before.

From all the tension - the anger, the fists in my jacket, the weight of him holding me against the wall… he suddenly leaned in and… kissed me.

Not rough. Not deep.

Just a kiss.

Quick.

Like he’d lose his nerve if he waited half a second longer.

I froze. Thought he’d lost his fucking mind. Thought he’d pull away, say it was nothing. Blame the alcohol. But he didn’t stop. The kiss kept going, deeper this time. Like he realized I hadn’t pushed him away. Like he’d finally let something out that’d been clawing to escape. He pressed into me harder, and that’s when I finally kissed him back. For real.

It’s happening. It really fucking is. Steve leans in. I can smell the beer and cigarettes on his breath. At first, he just looks at me. His hand’s still on my face. “Fuck,” he whispers, barely audible. “Fuck, Javi, why the hell do you make everything so fucking complicated? You just show up here and…” He doesn’t finish.

He starts kissing me. And this time it’s not hesitant like it was the first time. This time, there’s fire. Real fucking fire. I groan into his mouth, rough, and my tongue meets his without a second thought.

The worst part? We’re in a bed. Not a fucking DEA storage room. Not in a car. A fucking bed. Private. Intimate. Dangerous.

He crawls over me, drunk and clumsy, but determined. He presses me down into the mattress, holds me there with his weight. I slide my hands down his back while we kiss - messy, deep, hungry.

His coordination comes back fast. Still smells like booze, but his hands are sure now. He knows what he’s doing. He fumbles with my belt, gets it undone, and then pulls away just enough to look me in the eye. He’s searching for something… probably permission.

And fuck, he finds it. I don’t say a word, but it’s there. He sees it. And that’s all he needs.

He goes for the button of my jeans, then the zipper - fast, rough, like he’s been dying to do this. Like he’s starved. A fucking maniac. I don’t stop him.

He’s still looking at me. Staring like he’s trying to memorize everything. His hand’s on my cock. No warning. No more question.

And after that… there’s no going back. Not for either of us.

We were kissing. I don’t know how long. Not that long. Then all of a fucking sudden Steve pulled away from me like he’d touched a live wire. “Fuck…” he breathed, stumbling back a step. Then another. He ran his hand over his mouth, like he could wipe it all off. “This… this didn’t happen. I– I don’t know what the fuck that was, but no. That’s not us.” He was looking at me, but not really. Like he couldn’t even see me. “Jesus, Javi, what the fuck are you doing?”

And I just stood there. Because it was him. He kissed me. He’s the one who leaned in. He’s the one who kept brushing against me these past few weeks, giving me those looks. Like he was waiting for something. Hoping I’d do something.

Yeah, maybe it started with me - that stupid moment in the DEA kitchen room. But fuck that, something like this doesn’t start from one misplaced touch. It was already there. From day one, maybe. From the first damn handshake. Just buried. I didn’t say a fucking word. Everything inside me was screaming, but I couldn’t open my mouth.

He kept pacing around the apartment. “You’re out of your goddamn mind… we both are. What the fuck just happened?” He turned away. Then spun back like he didn’t know whether to run or punch something. “I’ve got a wife, Javi. Connie’s asleep in the next fucking room. I can’t– I can’t do this. No.” And then he looked at me. Straight through me. “Why the fuck didn’t you just leave me alone?”

And that… That was the one that hurt. Because this wasn’t a game. I wasn’t playing him. It was that feeling. That fucking feeling that came out wrong and hot and real. And clearly, I wasn’t the only one feeling it.

I couldn’t say shit. He turned away like he was done, and my head was fucking pounding. “I should go,” I muttered. I turned my back, hand already on the door.

“Wait, wait.” He grabbed me from behind, fast. I could feel his breath right up against my neck. “Wait. We can’t fuck this up, you hear me? I don’t know what the hell just happened but… Javi…” He didn’t finish. He wrapped his arms around my waist and held on. Pressed his face into my neck like he needed to anchor himself to something.

My heart was going wild. Like it was about to punch its way outta my chest. We just stood there for a second. Him clinging to me. Forehead pressed against my skin. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered, voice all broken and low. “Fuck.” But he didn’t let go. He kept holding me like he couldn’t make himself stop.

“Then why are you still doing it?” I breathed. I was burning up. Everywhere.

He didn’t answer. Just pulled back a little, just barely. “I… I’ve never… Javi, I’m not–”

“I’m not putting a fucking label on you, Steve.”

There was a pause. You could’ve cut the air between us.

And then, like he couldn’t help it - like something snapped - he leaned in again and pressed a small kiss to the side of my neck.

I wanted to stay. God, I wanted to fucking stay. But I knew this wasn’t gonna end well. Not now. Not like this. So I stepped back, reached for the handle, walked to the door. I looked back once.

He was standing there, looking wrecked. Like something had come loose inside him.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly. And I closed the door behind me.

It fucking happened. We did it.

We’re lying there, side by side. Steve’s out again. Passed out on my chest like nothing ever happened, looking soft as hell. Not at all like the same guy who was just fucking me like he meant it an hour ago. Doing shit to me I didn’t think he ever would.

This… this never happened before. Not like this.

I’ve never had him this close. Never smelled that half-faded cheap-ass cologne of his straight from his skin. Never had his hands on me like that. Never touched him like that either. We’d touched before, yeah. Over clothes. Through denim. Never skin. Never like this.

I’d never had his cock in my mouth before. He’d never fucked me before. Not until tonight. And fuck, I can still feel all of it.

I wrap my arm around him, pull him in tighter. Like I’m scared he’s gonna vanish if I let go. Even though I know damn well… he’s not mine. And he never fucking will be.

My eyes start to sting. I shut them. Try to fall asleep. But all I get are more goddamn memories.

Since that night - since that first fucking kiss - everything went to shit. We didn’t talk. We didn’t explain. We just… didn’t say a word.

But everything changed anyway. Every time he ignored me, it hurt more than a goddamn bullet. Every time he looked at me differently than before, I was fucked for the whole day.

Once, he pulled me into the room with the classified DEA files. Nobody went there but us. I thought he needed help finding something. Turned out he didn’t. He locked the door behind us and turned the lights off. I couldn’t see shit, but I felt everything. Every one of his touches on my face. Every kiss. His body pressed up against mine. The way he shoved me up against a filing shelf like he couldn’t get close enough. We knocked over a bunch of files. We didn’t give a shit.

Another night, we were the last two left at the base. We started yelling in our office. He threw a fucking bottle at me, barely missed. It smashed against the wall. One tiny piece of glass landed right under my eye. It stung, but not as much as what he said next. Didn’t even flinch. Didn’t give a shit.

“Peña, I can’t fucking do this anymore. You gotta stop looking at me like you’re some fucking hooker I picked up at a bar,” he spat.

I didn’t look at him. Didn’t move.

He was always the one who came to me. Always the one who started shit. Did I want it? Of course. But I never made the first move.

Sometimes he got so close to me I thought my heart would stop. Other times, I walked past him and he stepped back like I had fucking leprosy. Still, even on those days, he touched me. Subtle. But intense. Our desks faced each other.

One day he slipped off his shoe under the table and started touching me with his foot. Slid it up my calf, over my thigh, nearly reached my crotch. I pushed my chair back. Even though I didn’t want to. Didn’t need to be walking around with a fucking boner at work. That’s how much power he had over me.

Every day was different. He kept pulling me into that fucking room with the files. Nothing more than making out ever happened there. Then the next day, he’d pretend I didn’t exist.

Once, he invited me over for dinner. I showed up, barely. Spent the whole night watching him sweet-talk Connie. Things weren’t even good between them at the time (she was pissed off at everything to do with narcos) but he still kept touching her, still looked at her like she mattered. Made me fucking sick. I left before I finished my plate.

That night I went to a whorehouse. Picked some girl with blonde hair and blue eyes - rare as hell in Colombia, trust me. Fucked her hard. From behind. Wasn’t her I was seeing. Didn’t want to look at her face.

Then there was that other night. He slid closer than he needed to. We were in the car. Didn’t say shit. Just lit a cigarette, handed me one, and then fucking held it to my lips himself. Didn’t look at me. But his hand stayed on my thigh. He started rubbing it. Slow. Like he had time. And then… fuck. He grabbed me. Right there. Over my pants.

Full palm. Squeezed.

I think he got scared of what might come next. Didn’t go any further.

And then it was back to that silence. Cold. Distant. Like I didn’t fucking exist. He’d walk by me like I wasn’t even there. Like I was some problem he needed to avoid or he’d fall apart.

That’s always how it went - whenever something new happened. Whenever we crossed a new fucked-up line.

The kissing? That was ‘normal’ now. Touching too.

But his hand on my dick, even through fabric? That was new. And so I paid for it. Two days of being nothing. Of pretending like nothing happened. Of him pretending like I didn’t fucking happen.

And I was losing it. I never knew what version of him I’d get. The one who touched me like I was the only thing keeping him breathing? Or the one who looked at me like I was a fucking mistake?

And all I wanted… was something real. Not scraps. Not moments. Not silence and shame and these fucked-up highs followed by even worse crashes.

But I was already hooked. Already too far gone.

And he knew it. He fucking knew it. And still… he’d take, and then run. And I kept letting him.

It’d been three fucking days since he grabbed my cock through my jeans in that goddamn car. He hadn’t said a word to me since. Two full days of silence. I tried talking to him, tried keeping it about work, but he didn’t react to anything that wasn’t job-related.

This morning I told myself I was done. Fuck it. Let him be. Did it hurt like hell? Yeah. But what the fuck was I supposed to do.

And then Steve shows up acting like a whole new fucking person. I felt it the moment I walked into our office. That shift. He said hi. Looked at me like… like I mattered again. I felt his eyes on me the whole goddamn morning. But I wasn’t gonna let him treat me like some whore he could use when it suits him. I wasn’t gonna make it easy this time.

The day dragged into evening. Everyone else was heading out. Steve was off somewhere - God knows where - and I figured I’d go grab some coffee. Still had shit to finish. I was almost at the door when he showed up out of nowhere. Stepped right in my way.

“Hey man, I need caffeine,” I muttered, trying to push past him.

His hand caught my shoulder. Tight. “Why the fuck are you ignoring me all day, Javi? What the hell’s that about?”

“Role reversal?” I snapped. “You’re such a fucking asshole.” I crossed my arms, didn’t move an inch. Stared him down.

He didn’t look away either. Just clenched his jaw. Then stepped closer. Close enough that I could feel his breath on my lips. “You fucked with my head,” he said quietly. Not angry. Just tired. “And then you shut me out. What did you think that would do?”

“The same shit it did to me every single time you did it,” I bit back.

His hand came up, slow as fuck, like he wasn’t even thinking about it. Ran it across my chest, down to my stomach. Fingers curled into my shirt. Then lower. So fucking slow.

“Steve…” I warned, but it came out weak as shit.

“You know what I missed?” he whispered. His eyes locked on mine.

I didn’t look away.

“This,” he breathed. And placed his hand right between my legs. Over my jeans. Just like three days ago.

“Fuck,” slipped out of me.

He started rubbing me through the denim. Slow. His thumb slid over the zipper while he stared at me like I was something he wanted but knew he shouldn’t have. Didn’t stop him though. Other hand gripped my ass and pulled me in harder. Then tighter. I wasn’t thinking anymore. Wasn’t trying to make sense of it. First time I fucking lunged at him. Kissed him like I was starving. Shoved my tongue in his mouth… wasn’t new to him.

He gave it right back. And all the while, his hand stayed on my dick, kept pressing like he wasn’t letting go until I broke.

I let my hand drop. Just for a second, I hesitated. Then I did it. Pressed back, cupped him through his jeans. Steve let out this low grunt. I could feel how fucking hard he was.

That’s how it went the next few days. Steve stopped holding back. Like something in him flipped. And me? I started hoping. Stupid fucking me. Because I’m a goddamn naive piece of shit.

Everything went to shit today. And I didn’t even know yet just how fucking bad it was gonna get.

I was heading out, just trying to make it to embassy on time. Walked past Steve and Connie’s place and yeah, I fucking heard it. Didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I’m not that kind of asshole, but they were loud. Connie was losing it. Begging him to go back to Miami. Said this case turned him into someone else, said she didn’t feel safe here anymore. I didn’t catch what he said back, my radio went off and reminded me I was already late. Some new boss from New York, Messina or whatever, was flying in today.

And Steve? He should’ve been on his way too, but I wasn’t gonna stick around and play marriage counselor. I got in the fucking car and took off. Embassy was waiting.

And now… couple hours later… here I am. In Steve’s fucking bed.

Embassy meeting was a mess.

First: it got pushed back. Afternoon instead of morning.

Second: Steve never fucking showed. Turns out Connie really left. Got on the damn plane. And that idiot? Got drunk at the airport and made a goddamn scene. I had to talk Messina down. Had to beg her not to drop his ass on day one.

Then I came here. To this fucking booze-stinking cave he’s been rotting in.

And now he’s lying on my chest. Like he didn’t spend the last couple weeks fucking with my head. Like he didn’t ice me out, drag me in, push me away, pull me back in again, over and over like some fucked-up game.

And the worst part? I’m the one holding him. I’m the one who pulled him in. Even after all of it. After he used me like some goddamn experiment to figure out if his straight-boy dick gets hard when he grabs another guy. And instead of walking the fuck away like I should’ve… I slept with him.

I still call him straight in my head. ’Cause he can’t fucking stand labels. Like I ever tried to pin him down. Like I ever said anything. But it eats him alive. He can’t face it. Can’t face himself.

Only time we talk about it is when he’s pissed, if he’s not ignoring me. That’s when he spits out shit, screams, throws slurs, acts like he hates me. But then he always pulls me in again. That same night. Or the next day. And I’m fucked all over again.

I know he needs me. Not the way I need him - not even close. But he needs me. Somehow. Problem is… how long the fuck can I keep doing this?

I don’t even get a fucking second to think. Steve wakes up. Takes him like five seconds before he pulls the fuck away from me. Props himself up on his elbow, just staring at me. And fuck… he looks kinda sober. That part of him that always comes back too soon. And when it does? Shit always gets worse.

“What the fuck… what the fuck did we do?!” he chokes out, like I just told him I killed his dog. Like I’m supposed to say nah, don’t worry, man, we didn’t fuck. You didn’t suck me off. I didn’t let you inside me.

“Don’t act like you don’t remember,” I mutter, dead tired.

He sits up real fast, rubs his face like he’s trying to wipe last hours off his skin, grabs the bridge of his nose. Then it fucking hits him - he’s naked. “Fuck… fuck, this was a mistake. This was a fucking mistake,” he says, all dramatic, hands in his hair, pacing. Gets out of bed. I can see his ass. Whatever.

Grabs his boxers from the floor - ones he yanked off two hours ago like he couldn’t wait to get inside me. Pulls them on. Turns around like I disgust him. “This… this isn’t right. You were supposed to be my partner. That’s it. None of this is fucking right.”

That’s it. I snap. I get up too. I’m still naked, and I don’t fucking care. He looks. Of course he fucking looks. “Oh yeah, Steve? First thing you look at is my dick? That why you’ve been grabbing it for weeks? In the office, in the car, whenever the fuck you felt like it? Why you asked me to stay? Why you fucking cuddled up to me in this fucked up bed?” I’m yelling now. Didn’t wanna. But fuck, my chest’s been full of this for too long.

“Put some fucking clothes on,” he mutters.

“Why? That hard to look at the same cock you were choking on earlier? Jerking like it was all you fucking wanted?” I pause. My voice breaks. “You used me. Every time Connie was pissed. Every time you got bored. Every time you wanted to play ‘let’s see if my dick works with my partner.’ You used me, man. Every fucking time it was convenient.” I crouch down, grab my boxers, pull them on. I can feel his fucking eyes on me. “You know what? You still can’t stop staring, Steve. So just fucking admit–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, JAVI!” he roars, storms around the bed and slams me into the wall so hard it knocks the breath outta me. He pins me there, chest to chest, and I’ve got nowhere to fucking move. “What do you think this is? You think I’m some faggot or what?!”

“Jesus, Steve… you really think there’s only one or the other? You really believe there’s no in-between?”

“I’m warning you…” He’s shaking with rage.

I swallow whatever the fuck I was gonna say. My voice comes out flat. “Fine. Fine… no fucking labels then. Let’s drop that. But just tell me one thing: was I really just some sick fucking experiment for you?”

He pulls back like I just slapped him. Like I fucking disgust him. That one hurts. Fuck, that one stings like hell. “I love my wife,” he snaps. “And all I know is - you fucked everything up, Javi. You. Connie probably picked up on something, how I was acting… this is on you.”

“Me?” I stare at him like he just stabbed me. “You were the one who came to me, Steve. You were the one grabbing my dick in the car. In the office. Kissing me. Touching me. You fucked me 2 hours ago, not the other way around. And Connie didn’t leave because she caught you shoving your tongue down my throat… she left because Escobar’s swallowing you whole and she wants to feel fucking safe–”

He slaps me. Full fucking force.

My head rings. My cheek’s burning. I don’t say a word. I just hold my face, breathing hard.

“Shut the fuck up, Javi. Don’t bring Connie into this. Don’t pin your shit on anyone else. Just shut the fuck up.”

I nod a little. That’s it. I’m done.

He’s never hit me before. Not like this. Not with that kind of fury behind it.

“Okay,” I mutter, bending down for my pants and shirt. I pull them on in silence, mind spinning out of control. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.

He’s pacing now like he’s working up another speech, and then it hits. “You in love with me or something?! That it?!”

I turn back toward him, dead in the eyes. I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t wanna feel anymore. “Take care, Murphy. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” I mumble, and I grab the doorknob.

But of course - of fucking course - he jumps forward and slams the door shut. Grabs me by the collar and yanks me back, shoving me against the wall again. “Peña… answer me, motherfucker,” he snarls in my face.

“I’m not in love with you, Steve.” My voice is so goddamn tired. I don’t even fucking know what I feel for him, to be honest. Those long-ass weeks full of chaos didn’t leave me much time to fucking think. “Did I care about you? Yeah. Just maybe not the way you think.”

He doesn’t hear me. Doesn’t want to. His face gets even closer. His breath’s all over me. “I would never leave Connie. Never leave my life for this shit. You’re a fucking idiot if you thought that. Yeah… maybe I like your dick. So what? Doesn’t mean I’m not still who I’ve always been.” He talked the whole time with me staring at the floor.

Now I look up. And there it is. That crack in the rage. That part of him that starts needing me again. Not me… my body. My mouth. Whatever the fuck I’ve let him use.

But I can’t do this again. Not now. “Murphy, let me go. I need to get the fuck out.”

He lets go. Just like that. Collar slips from his hand.

I turn my back, hand on the doorknob again. This time he doesn’t stop me. I look back one last time. “I never wanted to label you. I never cared what the fuck you were. I just wanted you to stop lying to yourself.” Then I leave.

I don’t know how long I walked. Or where I even went. Just that I finally got out. I’m breathing, but it’s not hitting my lungs right. My cheek’s still burning from where he slapped me.

Fucking Bogotá.

Fucking Steve Murphy.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe when you give someone everything, they eventually stop hurting you.

Wrong. Fucking wrong.

I knew what I was getting into. I knew what he was like. I knew what he hated about himself. And I still let him pull me under… for those few seconds when he looked me in the eye and I could swear he knew. Knew what he was doing. Knew he was holding me too close. Knew he wanted to.

But it’s over now, I guess.

Not the kind of ending where you slam a door and move on. No… this is the other kind. The one where every word he said stays stuck in your fucking skull. Where the worst part isn’t what he didn’t say, it’s what he did.

I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it. Don’t know if I’ll let him drag me down again.

And if I do - how many insults, how many slaps, how much fucking shame can I take?

And if I don’t, if I finally mean it this time, if he finally gets it and stops trying… I don’t even know if we can fix this professionally. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him and not want to fucking scream.

But tomorrow I’ll have to. Tomorrow we’re DEA agents again.

Just two normal guys on the job.

Only we’re not. Not fucking even close.

💔 THANK YOU FOR READING 💔

This wasn’t easy to write.

Javi & Steve are like my little DEA babies and watching them break each other (okay let’s be honest, it was mostly Steve breaking Javi) hurt more than I expected 🥺

And the worst part? I could’ve stopped it. I could’ve made it softer. I could’ve given them hope.

But maybe I just needed to write this kind of story. Raw. Heavy. Sad.

I don’t know how it’ll land for everyone, but for me… it hit hard.

• this is a standalone one-shot, there won’t be a continuation. But I’d love to have you around for my other fics, and the ones still waiting to be written 💜

FOR OTHER/MORE FICS -> MASTERLIST

[jellyfishyy]

God Doesn’t Watch the Backroads

Pairing: DILF!ART DONALDSON X PREACHER'S DAUGHTER! READER (mxf)

genre: fluff! slow burn

warnings: smoking(cigarette use), age gap, mild suggestive themes(not explicit)

The preacher’s daughter didn’t mean to end up there, barefoot on gravel, moonlight painting her like a ghost and an angel at the same time, soft and ethereal but unreachable, but then again, sin never sends a calendar invite. 

Art had that look in his eyes again. The one that said he was bored with books and half-truths and wanted to taste something that felt more alive, like her; the soft, well-spoken preacher’s daughter that always attended all of her father’s services and all the church events, whether they were dinners, picnics, charity events, summer camp hosted gatherings, it didnt matter, she was there.; the girl that always dressed in white or pastel coloured dresses, ballerinas and mary janes, but not the high heeled kind, no, the simple low kind, god forbid her father everlet her wear high heels, to him they gave the wrong impression. 

She was far too good for him, far too sweet, but oh, he was intrigued with her so much that he started attending almost all Sunday services at the local church just to take even the smallest glance at her, to see what she was wearing that day or how she had her hair that time, the smallest details even.

She should’ve walked away when he smirked at her across the church picnic table after the usual Sunday morning service her father held, licking cherry juice from his thumb like a communion joke. But she didn’t. Now they’re behind an abandoned gas station on the edge of a county her father never mentions, and Art’s pressing a cigarette to her lips like it’s a secret only they get to keep.

“Scared?” he asks, voice quiet, Southern-damp as he looks down at her in that pretty white dress with lace at the hem and a small white bow on the neckline

“Not of you,” she says, even though she kind of is.

Not in a dangerous way. In the way you fear a spark right before you decide to touch it.

“cmon try it,” he indulges her as he rests the cigarette against her lips, the kind of temptation and bad influence her father always warned her about, now incarnated in a man, a much older man than her, but oh so handsome

“Just inhale, I’ll hold it for you” he said as her gaze shifted from his face to the cigarette he had pressed against her lips. After a moment of hesitation, she took a small puff; she started coughing not long after. Art just chuckled, taking the cigarette from her lips 

“Easy there, that was way too much” he said before bringing the cigarette back to his lips and killing it out.

Art leans closer, smelling like heat, ash, cologne, and second chances. His hands are too clean for someone so chaotic, and when he pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, she thinks he must have practiced that kind of tenderness. She doesn’t dare to ask him; instead, she just pushes the thought to the back of her mind, along with so many other thoughts she avoided like the plague

“You believe in hell?” he asks, smirking like he already knows she does.

“I believe in mercy,” she says, but her voice falters. Because this? Whatever this is, Art's fingers brushing the hem of her dress, her leaning in instead of pulling back? It doesn’t feel like mercy. It feels like hunger. like a confession with no absolution.

He kisses her like he’s trying to unlearn something, slow at first, then desperate. And she kisses back because she’s tired of being holy. Tired of holding her breath every time she walks past temptation and pretends not to notice just to please her father, who has tried so hard to shield her from sin since she remembered 

In the distance, crickets sing a hymn no church would recognize, a distant melody.

When it’s over, he rests his forehead to hers and whispers, “You’re nothing like I thought.”

And she doesn’t say it, but she thinks it: Neither are you.

Maybe God doesn’t watch the backroads. But she hopes He doesn’t. Not tonight.

dividers: @uzmacchiato

ask box in bio!!♡