#i could not see this shit and just do my job

[dilf-hunter-fantasies]

I was wondering if you'd write anything about Joel and free use?

Love your account babe💗

thank you so much babe, i loved this idea! i hope you enjoy my take on it. i was fantasizing about...

renting a room from joel miller and striking a deal to lower your rent. 

3.5k words 🍒warnings: explicit smut, no outbreak au, age gap (reader in college), female reader, brief mention of f masturbation, free use!!, size kink, pussy pronouns, unprotected piv, use of: sweetheart, darlin' 

click here for more of my writing

So you end up short on options for housing after breaking up with your ex. You know it seems weird to be a young woman willing to rent a room from an older man who is …well in all versions you spin it…a total stranger. But, your aunt swears he’s a good guy. 

She used to live in his neighborhood, knew his daughter, figured he has the extra room and put you in touch. And all things considered, she hasn’t led you astray. I mean, he hasn’t murdered you. 

Okay, it’s not that bad. He doesn’t give off murder vibes either. More like…grumpy single man vibes. But that works out for your arrangement. You’re both pretty quiet and you keep to yourselves. And he’s not too bad to look at. You catch yourself straddling a line between not being the creep yourself and just wanting to get to know him a little bit. 

The real problem has nothing to do with him and everything to do with you. Well with your bank account. You’ve been bleeding your measly savings trying to keep up with life and the job you have isn’t really enough to live off of. It was a dream to find a hybrid schedule and work for a non-profit with a mission that matters to you. But it doesn’t pay for shit. 

It’s not like Joel’s overcharging you or anything either. Nothing is affordable. 

And now you’re on your last legs. If you can’t keep this together you’ll have to pack it up and crawl home to your family? Not an option. It’s not like you haven’t been applying for other jobs either. But you either don’t hear back or the schedule won’t work with your classes. 

So here you are. Pacing back and forth in your sparsely decorated room. Between your bed and your desk, wearing a groove into the carpet, chewing on your fingers and obsessively checking your phone to see if your sage friends have any better advice. 

They don’t. 

Well, they suggested selling feet pics online, but even if that could be lucrative—it doesn’t get you the money to spend by tomorrow. You toss yourself onto your bed, exasperated. Last resort. You’re gonna have to be honest. 

It takes a long time to gather the mental courage. You stare at your ceiling for so long your eyes blur. You can hear Joel in the kitchen and with a deep breath you force yourself up, dragging your feet down the hallway until you see him. 

The kitchen is warm, whatever he’d made for dinner earlier smells good. So good it makes your stomach growl, announcing your presence in the doorway. The sound makes you grimace—for a split second you’re tempted to hide. To run back to your room and pretend like there won’t be any consequences if you just don’t bring it up. Ever. 

Too late. He shuts the dishwasher with a loud click and turns, his sharp brown eyes meeting yours. You immediately regret this idea. Your feel like you’re sinking into the floor. You don’t know how long you’ve been staring at him now. 

“Hey,” he says gruffly, his voice low and even. He turns back away from you, putting leftovers in the fridge, like it’s no big deal you’ve been standing there silently like a weirdo. “You need something?” 

Your throat is suddenly so dry, you can barely unstick your tongue to speak. “Yeah…uh, can I talk to you for a second?” 

Joel pauses mid-motion, before shoving the last container onto the shelf and letting the fridge door shut, trapping you in the silence together. He crosses his arms over his chest and looks toward you. The way his shirt stretches across his shoulders makes you nervous for reasons you don’t want to analyze right now. 

“Sure.” 

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, your hands twisting in front of you like they’re trying to strangle each other. His eyes flick down to the motion, and you force yourself to stop. 

“So, uh…I was wondering—” You swallow hard. You can do it. “I need to talk to you about my rent.” 

His eyebrows lift, and your chest tightens. 

“Let’s hear it then.” 

“It’s just that I’m in kind of a tight spot right now. Work’s been—well, it’s been fine but money’s tight, and I just—” You’re rambling. Words all running together. “I’m not saying you’re charging too much or anything like that, but—” 

“Slow down,” Joel holds up a hand, and the rest of your words fall flat. His voice is calm, but firm. “You sayin’ you can’t afford it?” 

“I can!” you blurt out. “I mean, I can’t by tomorrow, but I can soon. I just thought, maybe we could work something out. Like…if you could give me some more time or if I could do something to work off some of what I owe.” Joel tilts his head slightly, studying you in a way that makes your skin prickle. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or just thinking, and the silence stretches too long for comfort. 

Finally, he exhales through his nose, dropping his arms and leaning his palms on the counter behind him. His voice is lower when he speaks again, quieter, like he’s weighing every word. 

“You wanna do something for me?” 

Your heart skips, and you blink up at him. Maybe that was a dumb suggestion. You don’t even know what you have to offer. The house is always clean, the yard maintained, he seems to enjoy cooking. 

“Uh, yeah?” your face contorts a little as you try and come up with a suggestion. “If you’d consider giving me a discount.” 

His lips twitch, just the barest hint of a smirk, and something about it makes the air in the room shift. 

“Well,” he drawls, “If I’m cuttin’ you a deal,---” 

“You’ll consider it?” You look at him with a smile already starting to break on your face. You can breathe. 

“Maybe you can cut me one, too.” He finishes his sentence. Your mouth hangs open, but nothing comes out. There’s something behind his words you don’t fully understand, but it’s stuck in the air between you. 

“What kind of deal?” you manage to get out, your voice hesitant. 

Joel pushes off the counter, closing the space between you in a way that’s casual, but calculated. He’s close enough you can make out the lines at the corners of his eyes, the salt-and-pepper in his beard. His gaze holds yours, steady and charged with something new. 

“You say yes,” he starts to explain, his voice dropping into a gravelly timbre that makes your pulse quicken. “And I’ll knock your rent down as much as you need. Simple.” 

The room suddenly feels small, too warm, like his gravity is holding you in place. 

“Say yes to what, Mr. Miller?” Your voice is soft, just a whisper rolling off your tongue. You have an idea what he’s proposing. The way his eyes flicker with something dark and knowing when you refer to him as Mr. Miller. The crackle in the air between you. 

“I think you know what I mean.” 

You shake your head, ever so subtly, wrinkling a brow. In what feels like slow motion, Joel tips your chin up, between his thumb and curled forefinger. Your face is on fire. Somehow exposed even though nothing else has changed. 

“Whenever I need you. Wherever I want you.” 

For a second you think he might kiss you. It feels like everything in your body is calling to him. His mouth is so close to yours. The words are still replaying in your mind. 

But he pulls his hand back. “Think about it,” he murmurs and brushes past you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. He glances back at you once on his way out of the room. “Offer’s on the table, sweetheart,” he says over his shoulder. “Up to you.” 

You’re left standing, still as a stone, heat prickling up your spine as his words replay in your head. 

What the fuck just happened?

“Hey!” you call out, starting down the hall after Joel. “Wait.” 

He turns, hovering in the doorway to his room. 

“Uh, are you talking about sex?” 

“Yep.” 

Your breath hitches. The corner of his mouth quirks, smug. You look at him with fresh eyes. He’s an attractive guy. Not exactly pleasant, but not a jerk. You can’t imagine he’d have a hard time picking up a date. 

“I’m not a whore, you know.” “I know, darlin’.” His face softens a little. 

The next couple of days are filled with tension so thick it’s impossible to ignore. Whenever you’re in the same room you can feel his eyes lingering on you. He brushes past you in the kitchen in the morning, his hand grazing your hip when he reaches for his coffee mug. 

You catch him watching you from across the room, leaning against the counter like he has all the time in the world. His eyes roam all over your body, dark and deliberate, and you can feel the promise in his gaze. 

It’s driving you fucking insane. You thought he’d have made a move by now. Hell, you thought he’d have made a move the second you agreed to his deal. But he’d only made sure you each had a few ground rules and that was it. End of conversation. 

“Have a good night now, darlin’. Hope you sleep better without having to worry about your rent.” 

Right. You didn’t have to worry about rent. You just had to spiral in your own room wondering when it would happen. How he’s going to take you.

It’s got you so worked up thinking about him you keep spacing out during your work meetings. Swiveling restlessly on your office chair in your bedroom, trying to remember to look focused and add your two cents in for participation. 

But all you can think about is Joel. You’re on high alert whenever you hear his truck roll into the driveway, the door slamming shut with a thud. His heavy steps coming down the hall. You wonder when he’ll want you. You know he meant it. 

You hope he meant it. 

That night, his footsteps pause outside your door, his presence thick in the air, setting your pulse racing. It makes you squirm, adjusting the skimpy pajamas you’ve taken to wearing as your heart beats faster. You can’t tell if he’s debating coming in or if he’s just fucking with you, but it’s got you breathless. 

The next morning, you’re standing in the bathroom doorway, brushing your teeth when Joel suddenly appears, shirtless and still damp from his shower. He gives you a lazy once-over, stepping close enough that you have to press yourself against the door frame to let him pass. 

His voice is low and teasing as he murmurs, “You’re in the way, sweetheart,” leaving your cheeks flaming. 

The next day, you’re still tense. 

Stretching in your desk chair as your coworkers read through their budget updates and data tracking for the grants you’re funded through. It’s hard to stay focused, Joel has taken over all of your thoughts. 

Jaz finishes her update and another department leads the rest of the meeting. You’re shuffling your notes around mindlessly, barely hearing a word. Every thought in your head is Joel, Joel, Joel.

Last night, you’d nearly combusted when he finally walked away from your door. You’d been seconds from begging him to come in, to just take you already. By the time he left, your thighs were slick, and the ache was unbearable. You had to handle it yourself, coming hard and fast on your fingers, imagining it was his thick, calloused hands instead.

But now, twelve hours later, the tension is already back. Worse than before. Every noise in the house puts you on edge. His truck rumbling into the driveway. The front door shutting. 

The meeting drags on, voices fading into a blur—until a soft knock jolts you back to reality. 

Before you can answer, the door swings open, and Joel steps inside like he owns the place—which, technically, he does. He leans against the frame, arms crossed, looking completely unbothered by the fact that you’re clearly in the middle of something.

Your heart races. Your eyes flick to your camera to make sure it’s off. Muted. Thank God.

Joel doesn’t say anything, just watches you with a smirk that makes your stomach flip. His dark eyes roam over you, slow and deliberate, and it’s like every molecule of air has been sucked out of the room.

He takes his time crossing the space between you, letting the silence stretch. You can feel the heat radiating off him as he crowds you, hands bracing the arms of your chair, caging you in.

“You gonna tell me to stop?” he drawls, his voice low and gravelly.

Your throat is so tight you can’t even speak. You shake your head.

Joel’s smirk deepens. “That’s what I thought.”

His big hands tug you to the edge of your chair, spreading your knees wide. He runs his palms along your thighs, leaving a trail of heat that burns your skin through your soft leggings. 

Your heart jumps to your throat, chest tight. 

The thought of your coworkers just a click away only heightens the thrill. 

Joel doesn’t hold back. Pulling you to stand. Turning you to face your desk and pressing until you lean your elbows on the smooth surface, framing your keyboard. 

You arch your spine eagerly, holding your breath, bracing for his next move. He smooths a palm over the curve of your ass, humming softly to himself, before slipping his hand between your legs. 

You tilt your head, a shaky breath escaping as his fingers press against you, making your thighs tremble. You know he can feel how wet you already are through the thin material. All day you’re wet for him, just waiting and waiting. 

His touch is firm and you grind into it without thinking, making him laugh under his breath. “Shit,” he murmurs. “She needs it worse than I do, huh?” You don’t answer. Just dropping your head between your shoulder blades as he rubs circles against your clothed pussy. 

He retracts his hand, swiftly pulling your leggings down, exposing your puffy, wet folds to the cooler air. 

You stay folded over, forehead resting on your desk, ass arched in presentation. You don’t know what to expect next, your pulse thunders in your ear as you wait. 

His hands frame your cunt, spreading you wider so he can look closer. You’d be self-conscious being studied so closely if you were any less desperate for him to touch you. But all you can do you is silently beg him to do something. 

“Christ,” he murmurs reverently, dropping to his knees behind you. “Just a taste first.” It sounds like he’s talking to himself. You don’t care. 

You gasp sharply the second his tongue dips between your swollen lips. It’s so much better than your fingers and your frustrated, rushed orgasms last night. It’s so much better. 

He uses his whole face, diving deeper, as he groans into your pussy. Your meeting is still in progress, but the voices coming through your speakers could be speaking a foreign language. They mean nothing to you right now. 

The only thing that matters is between your legs. You’re almost embarrassed at how close you already are. You don’t know if you should say anything. If he cares if he makes you cum. Before you can think any harder, he’s back on his feet and you’re whimpering at the loss. 

“I know.” 

The soft clink of his belt followed by the sound of him unzipping his jeans has your knees weak. The thrill that shoots through you is like lightning, ripping through your system and activating every nerve in your body. 

Be good," he growls, dragging his cock through your slick.

“Oh, fuck,” you can’t help the awe and the relief. The heat, the thickness, the pressure. It’s everything you need, but not enough at the same time. He continues for a moment, coating his length in your arousal as you try to swallow down your needy moans. 

He slots his blunt tip at your entrance, adding enough pressure to make you suck in air. Without even seeing it, you know it’s going to be a stretch. Like he can read your mind, or at least your body, he runs his hand soothingly over your spine. 

It shouldn’t melt your nerves so fast, but the gentle touch eases your mind. For reasons you can’t explain—feelings really, you feel safe. 

“We’ll start slow this time, sweetheart. Don’t worry.” 

And then he’s nudging into you, working you open around his wide cockhead. It’s mildly uncomfortable, but you welcome the dull ache. Your throbbing pussy has been begging for it. He pulls back, repeating the slow movement, splitting you open for him a little further each time. 

It makes you needy, you try to push back against him, but he only swats at your ass. “I told ya to be good.” 

Your cheeks feel hot at the scolding. 

“Sorry, Mr. Miller.” It comes out more confident than you expected, your voice smooth and low. 

You can feel the way his dick twitches at your response before he continues, painstakingly slowly, filling you up. You’re still frustrated, but each time he thrusts into you, your knees almost buckle and you know he hasn’t made it all the way in yet. You’re still hungry for that feeling, for his hips to meet your ass, flush. 

You can’t hold back your moans as he drags along your nerves. He already has your eyes rolling back and he’s not even fucking you yet. 

Until he stops, held still halfway inside of you. You blink your eyes open, trying not to whine. 

He says your name like he’s been calling it and you’ve been ignoring him. “Hmm?” you respond. 

“Think they’re waiting for your answer.” 

“Oh, shit.” 

Joel still doesn’t move. You unmute your mic, trying to steady your voice. “I’m really sorry, uh, can you repeat the question?” 

“Just confirming your mid-cycle reports are already submitted.” 

“Yes.” 

“Great.” 

You mute the mic again and Joel slams the rest of the way home, making you cry out in surprise. 

He doesn’t hold back now, his rough hand gripping your hip as he takes you, low grunts echoing in your room as he snaps his hips forward. Your ass ripples, bouncing off of him with every thrust and the filthy sounds of skin slapping against skin fill your ears. 

He hits so fucking deep at this angle, you can barely think. His balls slap against you and for some reason that makes you even more crazy for him. You meet his every thrust with the same energy, fucking hard. So hard your desk rattles, but neither of you can be bothered by it’s structural integrity. 

He keeps you on edge, pounding into you as the pressure builds. When you shift slightly, his cock drags over the devastating spot that makes you nearly wail.

“Yeah?” he asks as if you could respond right now. “Right there?” 

“Mmm,” is all you can manage. 

“Good. Let me have it. Rub that pretty clit of yours for me, I wanna feel her trying to milk me dry.” 

Fuck. His filthy words nearly send you over the edge immediately, but when you slip your own hand between your legs, it’s euphoric. Furiously working at your slick, swollen bundle of nerves you drive yourself to the brink. 

“Gonna–ah!--gonna cum,” You get the breathy, gasping words out right as your pussy starts to clench around him. He groans lowly, making you see stars as your climax tears through you. 

The waves are still rolling through your muscles, your core still tensing, when he pulls out. The slick sounds as he pumps his cock rapidly are obscene and you don’t want them to stop. But then you feel his hot cum painting your ass, and you’re moaning in unison. 

Then he’s pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder before slinking out of your room. You grimace. Tuning back in to the speaker still rambling on about god knows what on your computer. Before you can move, Joel is back with a small towel to clean you up. 

You’re stuck in a daze. A blissed-out state, as you straighten up and pull your leggings back up. Joel’s about to slip back out the door as if nothing happened. Before he steps out of the room though, he gives you a knowing smirk, “You did good for me, darlin’.” 

You’re left staring at the closed door, breathless and trembling, the heat of his touch still lingering on your skin. Rent isn’t the problem anymore. Joel Miller is.

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[starrysan]

killin it

masterlist

pairing: biker!wooyoung x baker! fem!reader

warnings/prerequisites: enemies to lovers, swearing, yn almost gets killed by wooyoung's bike??, yeosang, mingi, and jun cameo, not proofread 😓

a/n: this idea came to me after consistently almost getting hit by bikes that don't obey any traffic laws..! title is a p1harmony ref

[2.3k words]

3rd person pov

after a long shift at her horribly paying bakery job, y/n was waiting at the crosswalk for the light to change, a batch of cupcakes in hand. as it changes to the walk signal she starts to walk she had just gotten yelled at by her boss and was already having a bad day when she hears a motorcycle revving up and quickly turns to the side.

before she knew it a bike was about to hit her. "holy shit!" she exclaims as the bike comes to a stop. "watch where you're going" the mystery person says behind his helmet.

"watch where im going?! watch where you're going!" y/n yells back. the cyclist takes his helmet off to reveal the guy she had been arguing with. "if you were paying attention this wouldn't have happened" wooyoung tries passing the blame which of course failed miserably.

"me? can you not see its a red light for you?" y/n practically yells. "pfft who looks at those anyway?" wooyoung chuckles. "you're unbelievable." y/n says angrily crossing the street and continuing on with her day.

she walks into her apartment frustrated on the phone with her best friend yeosang. "he almost fucking hit me then tried to blame me" she groans into the phone. a faint 'that's horrible' from yeosang comes through the phone as she goes to press the elevator button and who was waiting for it as well. "..sangie let me call you back" she says, hanging up the phone before yeosang could say goodbye. "talking about me so soon?" wooyoung says almost cockily.

why does he live here? since when does he live here? y/n thought to herself but wooyoung breaks her out of her thoughts first. "what? you've really never seen me around?" wooyoung rolls his eyes. "no?" y/n scoffs. "why would I want to know that a killer lives in our building?" she replies. "a killer?" wooyoung looks at her dumbfounded. "my bike didn't even touch you"

"yeah because I yelled at you" y/n says exasperated. "yeah well-" wooyoung starts. "can you two argue some place else?" jun, the building's doorman asks a bit annoyed. "sorry jun" the two say in unison. they get into the elevator standing in opposite corners. y/n goes to press her floor, wooyoung going at the same time and their hands graze each other as the two practically jump backwards.

y/n presses the 10th floor as wooyoung presses the eleventh. "great you live right above me" y/n sighs, getting off the elevator. she quickly walks to her apartment not wanting to engage with him anymore.

it was a quarter past midnight and y/n was trying out a new recipe when all she could hear was this loud banging and music from upstairs. she groans throwing her apron on the couch and heading upstairs as she pounds on the door. her upstairs neighbor mingi opens the door.

"mingi can you keep it down? its late and I can hear you through the walls" y/n asks softly. "oh shoot sorry y/n" mingi says genuinely apologetically, the two having known each other for a while just through being floor neighbors.

"thanks" she says, as she's about to walk away, she spots a familiar face in the crowd. "mingi how do you know that guy?" y/n asks right before mingi closed his door. "oh him? he's my new roommate he just moved in last week name's wooyoung." mingi replies before telling someone to lower the music. "ah" was all y/n said before wooyoung spots her and comes to the door.

"oh perfect, y/n this is-" mingi starts. "don't worry mingi.. we've met" y/n sighs. "y/n? nice to put a name to the face" wooyoung says. "yeah I think this is my cue to leave. goodnight mingi" y/n waves heading to the elevator.

"what about me?" wooyoung questions. "why would I say goodbye to a killer?" y/n asks not even turning to face wooyoung. "I didn't-" before wooyoung could say anything y/n enters the elevator closing the door behind her.

"what was that about?" mingi asked, closing his apartment door and heading back inside to the ruckus (as y/n called it) he called a party. "this morning I might've.. almost hit her with my bike?" wooyoung confesses.

"and you apologized right?" mingi questions but asks again from the lack of response from wooyoung. "..right woo..?" he asks. "okay so what if I said no.." in a matter of seconds mingi sent wooyoung down to y/n's door because according to him "it was easier to apologize than have y/n as your enemy"

he knocks quietly on the door hoping she'd be asleep and as he started to walk away the door swings open to reveal a man who was certainly not y/n. "can I help you?" the man asks. "..is y/n home" he asks almost nervously. "y/n!" he calls from inside the apartment. "some guys here to see you" he says stepping a bit to the side. "come in? I guess?"

"who is it sangie.. oh" y/n stops dead in her tracks. "what?" she sighs. she had an apron on with cats all over it, flour on her face and getting in her hair. "uh.. mingi told me to come apologize so-" he gets cut off. "mingi told you to apologize? so you're not actually here to apologize you're just here because your roommate told you to" she raises an eyebrow.

"I mean when you put it that way-" before he knew it he was standing outside as y/n shut the door on his face. "so much for that" he says before walking back upstairs. "how'd it go?" mingi asked, the party over now as he picked up plastic cups from the floor. "she slammed the door in my face" wooyoung sighed.

"yeesh yeah she's tough to get through but once you do she's really sweet." mingi says, getting a bag of garbage together. "are you sure that's not just her nice twin that you talked to or something?" wooyoung sighs. "does she bake? I saw her wearing an apron."

"yeah she works at the bakery down the street" mingi replies finishing up the last of the clean up. "what am I supposed to do?" wooyoung asks. "to get y/n to like you?" to which wooyoung nods. "get lucky?" mingi says honestly. "how'd you get her to like you? you cant be her favorite with these loud parties."

"oh I bribed her." mingi says nonchalantly. "did you see the baby blue kitchen aid mixer in her room? I bought that for her for Christmas. I know my parties are loud and I know she likes baking and that her job dosent pay well so I got her the mixer and now she's chill about the parties." mingi continues. "after that we would say hi to each other in the halls and now we're friends. she comes over to coffee every once and a while and she brings me dessert" mingi nods with a smile. "I see.." wooyoung says finally.

the next day wooyoung was hard at work in the kitchen there were boxes of cake mix on the counter as well as all the mixing bowls they owned. he worked hard trying to make the best cake to win y/n's forgiveness. he finished the cake off by adding pink icing and using the piping bag to write 'sorry' sloppily on the cake.

the next evening he heads to y/n's apartment knocking on her door. y/n on the other end looks through the peephole. "yes?" she says through the door. "i.. bear cake?" wooyoung says, to which y/n bursts out laughing and opens the door. "sorry.. for almost killing you? then being an asshole about it after" wooyoung says holding out the cake.

"I accept your apology.. wanna come in?" y/n offers, opening the door. wooyoung steps inside taking his shoes off and hanging y/n the cake. the two sit at the table and eat the cake. "cake is great your decorating could use some work" y/n hums, a fork in hand.

"I tried my best with what I had" wooyoung sulks. "mingi dosent have a kitchen aid like the one he got you he just has a whisk I whisked this whole thing by hand" he continues with a frown. "then I guess its alright" y/n giggles.

the two talk till it gets to dinner time. "want to stay? yeosang is bringing Chinese food I can ask him to get more. invite mingi too" y/n hums scrolling on her phone. "I don't want to intrude" wooyoung says. "you're not intruding we're neighbors aren't we?" y/n smiles.

yeosang arrives with the food, mingi arriving short after and the four eat together. "so you two made up?" yeosang asks, eating his orange chicken to which y/n nods her mouth full of noodles. "he apologized with a cake" y/n points to the cake left sitting on the table. "I see" yeosang laughs in response.

after a while mingi and wooyoung go back to their room. "so.. are yeosang and y/n dating? what's up with them" wooyoung asks for no reason (lies). "them? not that im aware of they're friends" mingi replies. "why?" mingi asks with a brow raised. "just curious" wooyoung hums. "alright.." mingi says suspiciously.

after a while, wooyoung and y/n had gotten closer. the four would have dinner together when they could, y/n brings over desserts when there was extra at the bakery. "if the bakery pays so bad why do you still work there?" wooyoung asked as the four had sat down to have their monthly movie night.

"it pays shit but it pays" y/n replies grabbing the bag of popcorn from the microwave and pouring it into a bowl. "then what do you want to do?" wooyoung questions. y/n thinks for a bit. "I want to open my own bakery" she says finally. "y/n's sweets? that's probably what I'd call it" she nods. "why don't you?" wooyoung asks "with what money? my $12 an hour?" wooyoung hums and looks like he's thinking as yeosang starts the movie.

wooyoung, y/n, and yeosang were hanging out in y/n and yeosang's place while mingi was at work when y/n excused herself to the bathroom. "you like her don't you?" yeosang asks as the bathroom door clicks shut. "what're you talking about" wooyoung says not at all convincing. "we all know" yeosang hums snacking on the cupcakes y/n had made.

"maybe I do.. but I doubt she likes me bac-" yeosang interrupts him. "you two are so dense. its like we all know but you two. she talks about you all the time I was starting to get sick of it if im being honest" yeosang sighs. "really?" wooyoung asks in disbelief. "even the first day you guys met she was talking about how hot you were." yeosang says thinking about the phone call they had.

flashback to a month ago: "he's so hot its a shame he almost fucking hit me then tried to blame me" y/n groans into the phone. a faint 'that's horrible' from yeosang comes through the phone.

"she said that?" wooyoung says in almost shock. "yes" yeosang says exasperated as the bathroom door swings open and the two immediately shut up. "why're you two acting suspicious?" y/n says. "no we're not" the two say in sync y/n decides to let it go.

wooyoung and y/n were alone now, yeosang "having some fashion emergency and leaving the apartment". "so what were you two talking about?" y/n asks slightly cuddling into wooyoung's arm. "nothi-" y/n sighs loudly. "I know it wasn't nothing" y/n argues. "if I tell you, you have to promise not to make fun of me" wooyoung says. "why would I-"

"I like you y/n" wooyoung blurts out. "you.. wait really?" she says in surprise. "yeosang was just telling me that he knows and mingi knows" as he finishes his sentence y/n leans over to him pressing her lips onto wooyoungs as he gasps. "shit sorry" y/n says pulling back quickly, but before she could get too far, wooyoung pulls her back into another kiss. "thank god" y/n mutters into the kiss. "for what?" wooyoung hums. "that you also like me back duh" y/n sasses which gets a laugh out of wooyoung.

some time later wooyoung was leading y/n to.. somewhere. y/n didn't know she had a blindfold on. "woo are we there yet?" y/n says impatiently. "almosttt" wooyoung smiles. "okay ready?" wooyoung says taking y/n's blindfold off. "open your eyes!" as y/n blinks her eyes open she witnesses what wooyoung had been tirelessly working on for the past couple months. it was a building decorated with the prettiest things. the sign read 'y/n's sweets' y/n gasps.

"you didn't.." she says in disbelief. "I did" wooyoung smiles. "you're unbelievable how'd you pull this off?" y/n says still in awe at the building infront of her. "I think I might die of shock" y/n says. "don't die who will I kiss if you do?" y/n rolls her eyes, pecking him on the lips as he hands her the keys. "shall we head inside?" wooyoung asks to which y/n nods.

"help me bake?" y/n asks as she starts up the ovens. "am I getting promoted to baker" wooyoung grins. "as long as you learn how to ice cake properly then yes" y/n giggles. wooyoung starts icing the cake. "how am I doing.."

"you're killin it" y/n replies kissing his cheek.

tysm for reading! if you have any requests pls send them my way!!

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permanent written fics taglist: @yvnhoos @linearities @kattarrynnka @dalsuwaha @coffeewwithdrawlheadaches @wonderz-real @xh01bri @sparda1234 @crownj1min @spenceatiny18

[leovenuslatina]

ETERNAL DESIRE⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°

!!THIS READING IS 18+ MDNI!!

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

what makes your FS feel desired?

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

₊˚⊹ ᰔ౨ৎ₊this is just a reminder that tarot isn’t permanent or set in stone YOU decide how your life goes no one or nothing else now take a deep breath and choose the pile that calls to you ₊˚⊹ ᰔ౨ৎ₊˚⊹

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

PILE 1 -

King of Pentacles & The Magician

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Your FS like to feel confident pile 1. he likes when stroke his ego make him feel good and you build him up i mean of course everyone does but he mainly likes it when you do it. it means the most to him when you do it especially when you two are making love and you whisper all things he’s doing makes you feel good he’s obsessed with that. Outside of the bedroom your FS likes knowing that you depend upon him that anytime you need him or anything that you come to him. he likes when you make him feel like a “real man” you know chopping wood lifting heavy shit and stuff like that. your FS is OBSESSED with making you feel safe protected and comfortable. whether it’s when some creep is hitting on you and making you feel uncomfortable or his just hold you in his arms. he likes knowing that you trust him completely with everything: soul and mind but especially body. Your FS does put a lot of his identity in what he does and his job so he maybe like really important where he works or in his field. he has a lot of respect which indirectly helps his confidence especially with you he likes to buy you nice things and taking you on trips and luxurious experiences. Lastly your FS LOVES ! communication and hearing words of affirmation from you it does wayyyyy more than you think it does.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

PILE 2 -

Two of Wands & Six of Pentacles

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Immediately pile 2 your FS means business! they love to get shit done they have a long list of goals and they intend to achieve everything on that list and they don’t let anything or anyone stop them. that makes them feel really desired and important and impressive. they like when you challenge them i’m getting that the chase is like a good motivation for them. in the weirdest way what makes them feel wanted is when you act like you don’t want them 🤭. when you tease them and act like a brat for lack of a better word. your FS def wants what they can’t have and when you tell them not right now or no he LOVES IT ! (side note lol): i was having a conversation with my man the other day and i asked him why he kept pursuing me even when i acted like i didn’t want him he said because he was so used to girls throwing themselves at him that when i didn’t he was intrigued and when he got me he felt accomplished. Your FS is the SAME way he’s probably like handsome or really charismatic and when you don’t immediately want him he’s obviously obsessed with you !honestly just being in a relationship with you makes him feel the most desirable. because he views you as the highest prize he could ever win. he sees you as a goal he wants to achieve (not in a bad way!!) he just knows he has to work his hardest to get you and make you happy and keep you happy and that makes him feel really good about himself. he feels like he won at life just because he’s with you 🥰. because they are very goal oriented they LOVE when you give them tasks to do for you like helping you move or helping you with some car troubles. they are a HUGE acts of service kinda guy and he’s the type to do stuff for you before you even asking like filling up your water bottle or washing your car for you or just anything to make your life easier. it’s the same thing in the bedroom. he likes when you tell him what you like and what to do and when he does that and makes you pleased he’s extremely happy with himself.

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

PILE 3 -

Knight of Pentacles & Six of Cups

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Your FS prides himself on being who you lean on. He’s ambitious and he’s a GOOD man savanna!!! he’s loyal and faithful if you care about that stuff he is a religious man (only of that applies). What makes your FS feel desirable is knowing that you see him and that you know all he does. he’s the type of guy that doesn’t brag he’s not boastful about all he does. he’s very humble. he’s not in it for any type of praise or recognition. but you truly see him and you’re thankful and appreciative of everything he does for you and that makes him happy literally he’s a simple kinda man it really doesn’t take much to make him happy or feel. your FS is an extremely patient and supportive man he’ll do anything for you even if you have trauma or past experiences that cause you anxiety he’ll be right by your side. this FS is the perfect person for someone who needs a lot of patience and attention and love. he’s very caring and soft and loving. and the look on your face when he hold you or when he sees you happy that is the ultimate compliment to him. like all he wants to do is be a good MAN for you !

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

[chrislikesgorillaz]

This makes me so so sad and there's tears welling up in my eyes rn and I'm so scared for my future and I call myself progressive and a punk but I could easily end up that was myself I have mobility issues and use canes and shit and am disabled and going off the way I'm treated by my family and their unwillingness to even help me with something like homework let alone how to be a functional adult and bc of my mental health I'm so scared I won't be able to hold or even get a well paying job and I've lived in poverty for so long my family only got out of that by joining the military and I'm so terrified to end up on the streets with nothing and no one and that's all my mom told me as a kid that I'm too stupid and stubborn to do anything to take care of myself so I'll end up some raggedy man on the street no one will even pay attention to and I'm so scared for every one living like this going theuough this and it's so sad and terrible and I just don't understand why it has to be this way and why no one cares for these people and why no one's helping and I'm just so frustrated and angry and sad and scared and I hope that person is okay

Ugggh isk I've had a horrible week idk who's even gonna see this lol but whatever I just needed ot get my feelings out somewhere

self proclaimed schizoposter nervously typing '911' into their phone and hovering their thumb above the 'call' key as they hawkishly watch a disheveled guy at a bus stop make repetitive movements and ramble to himself

[heartlessvirgo]

Ojitos Lindos

Summary:

A fresh-faced DEA agent, new to Colombia, has zero time for Javier Peña after he leaves her hanging once.

Paring: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+MDNI, Swearing, Kissing, heavy petting, protected sex, oral, butt stuff kinda? Drug use, Mention of weapons and kidnap.

Word Count: 10.4K

A/N: Jesus Christ, this one really got out of hand. I always do this, I need to learn how to stop yapping and make my stories shorter lol. I apologize in advance for this one guys. Anyways, I hope you like this one.

You were an idiot. Plain and simple. You’d done dumb, even dangerous shit in college, but this? This was next level. Pathetic. And you knew it. Still, you couldn’t stop the flush in your cheeks every time the restaurant door swung open.

You were smart—everyone had told you your whole life. Top of your class, with a dual degree in Criminology and International Relations. So, how could you fall for something like this? Life just had to knock you on your ass at least once, and apparently, this was the time.

Stirring the cherry in your rum and coke, you noticed your lipstick had smudged from the copious times you'd licked your lips raw. It was hopeless. When you slammed the pesos on the table and stormed out, there was only one thing you were certain of.

Fuck Javier Peña.

Right after the New Year, you transferred to the DEA’s Colombia office—a move you had meticulously planned for years. This was the culmination of countless late nights spent buried in textbooks while your peers were out living their carefree college days. Now, in your mid-twenties, you have the credentials and the career to validate your sacrifices.

The initial weeks felt like stepping into a dream. The sunlit days, the vibrant culture, and the sense of purpose invigorated you. You had bought a new wardrobe to handle Colombia’s sweltering heat, eager to embrace the change in climate and your life. This was your moment—a chance to shed the reserved persona and finally unlock the vibrant, confident woman you had always felt trapped beneath layers of responsibility and caution.

That's why, after your first week, when Agent Peña noticed you, it felt like everything was falling into place. He was unbelievably handsome, undeniably skilled at his job, and you couldn't help but notice had a tight ass in even tighter jeans. It was a heady combination—one that made you think, just for a moment, that maybe things would go your way. 

He asked you out in that casual, sly way—one that should've been a red flag. Right by the copy machine, just as you bent down to grab a manila folder. But you didn’t see it then. You were new, and no one had warned you—not that you would have listened. So, you got ready hours in advance, took a taxi to the restaurant, and waited.

He never showed. Not a word afterward either, no acknowledgment that you’d waited over two hours at the place he told you to meet him. From that moment on, you swore you’d give him a hard time whenever you could. Javier, with his stupid smug grin, annoyingly handsome face, and the infuriating way he slipped under your skin like he had a map to all your weak spots.

You turn the corner just as you hear footsteps behind you. Glancing over your shoulder, the familiar rush of irritation bubbles to the surface. The hair on the back of your neck stands as if pointing you toward danger. 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear…

Strolling down the hallway with that damned confident swagger. Agent Peña makes long strides as he matches your speed and walks beside you. He cocks his head to the side, lips twitching up into a smirk. 

“Cariño, you look better and better each day.” his voice is sultry and smooth like a chocolate bar left out in the sun all day. 

“Agent Peña,” your voice is professional, cold, distant—eyes narrowing to a tunnel vision before you. 

“You wound me with your integrity. I think as friends, we are on a first-name basis now,” he replies, hand on his chest in false hurt. 

You bite back a sharp retort, feeling a knot of frustration curl in your stomach. "We are not friends; we are coworkers, if that," you respond, your voice as chilly as a sheet of ice. Your steps quicken as you wish the hallway would end, your mind swirling with one question—how did he even find you down here, in the quiet, shadowy corners of the DEA?

He keeps pace, his presence unwavering. “Ah, come on now,” he says, the edge of amusement in his voice. “You can’t tell me we haven’t already crossed that line.” His tone is a smirk, lingering in the air like perfume, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

“There is no line,” you retort.

"I see your professionalism hasn't dulled your beauty," Peña murmurs, his voice dripping with that same sultry warmth. 

He walks a little closer, his head turned towards you, not hiding the subtle delight in his eyes. "Come on, you can’t be that cold, cariño. You and I know what happens when ice melts…” he bumps your shoulder and you stop midstride. He walks a little further before stopping, half turning back. He’s wearing one of his formal suits, a blue button up underneath a cream suit jacket. 

“What do you want?” You can tell he’s not here for pleasantries. He’s got that look in his eyes—like he’s got something in mind, and it sure as hell isn’t sweet small talk. He turns back to face you, observing you slowly, taking in how your hair falls differently today and how your heels click a bit louder on the floor.

He smirks, shifts his jaw, then parts his lips. “What makes you think I want something?”

You can almost hear the defensiveness in his voice, but you’re not fooled. You tilt your head, unimpressed. “I think we both know ‘bullshit’ is your middle name.”

He chuckles low, a sound that’s almost a warning in itself. “Such a blunt little thing. Colombia’s rubbed off on you, huh?”

You don’t flinch, meeting his gaze with a steady stare. “Am I wrong?”

He smirks, his eyes never leaving yours. He takes a slow, deliberate step closer, closing the distance between you just enough to make things feel... interesting. His lips curl up at the corners as if savoring the tension.

“Bullshit, huh?” he murmurs, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to that smooth, almost too confident tone. “Guess I’ve been called worse.”

You cross your arms, standing your ground. “Cut the shit. You need access to a file, right? Which one?” 

His smile falters briefly, but he regains his cool almost immediately. “I was hoping you could help me with that.” 

You raise an eyebrow, looking at the files in your arms, the top stamped ‘confidential.’ “Do you have authorization? Papers, forms...?”

He shifts his weight, the slightest trace of impatience flickering behind his casual demeanor. “I don’t have time for red tape.”

You don’t back down, your gaze unwavering. “Did you fill out the proper forms? Because without them, I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

His smirk is still there, but there’s a glint in his eyes now—amusement mixed with a hint of challenge. “Well, I’ll just have to talk you into it.”

You shake your head, not giving in. “Not without the right paperwork. You know the rules.”

He takes another step forward, just enough to make the air between you thicken. “I’m starting to think you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

You feel your lips twitch into a smirk. “Maybe. But I’m also the one with the file you want.”

He smirks right back, intrigued but not ready to let it go. “Do me this favor, Please, Solo esta vez.” He says it so sweetly, reaching over to brush his fingertips against your arm, brown eyes so tender. 

You feel the pull of his gaze but keep your composure. “No hay favores sin autorización, Peña.” You make sure your words are clear—no favors without authorization.

It feels exhilarating to stand in his way, to deny him what he expects—or, in this case, what he asks so damn nicely. There’s a quiet power in it as he fixes his gaze on you, his eyes flicking down to the file on top of the stack. You can almost feel the weight of the unspoken history behind his gaze—he's probably never heard "no" before, not as a child, and certainly not now. And in this moment, it feels sweeter than it should to be the one who says it.

“Huh,” he scoffs after a moment. "Maybe Colombia’s been good for you after all." 

You walk away, pointedly ignoring him, praying he isn’t watching your ass with every sway of your hips. You focus instead on your route, heading back to drop off the files. A small, satisfied smile tugs at your lips as you make your way to your office, the image of his disappointed expression lingering in your mind.

As you finish packing up for the day, Camila appears at the foot of your office, her purse casually slung over her shoulder.

“We’re heading out for drinks. You in?” Camila asks, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as you collect your keys.

A fleeting thought crosses your mind—refusing due to the bottle of chardonnay waiting for you at home. But something holds you back. It’s Friday. You’ve been telling yourself you’d break out of your shell this year, that being a homebody wasn’t part of the plan.

“Yeah,” you say, the words slipping out before you can second-guess yourself. “Sounds fun.”

While finishing your makeup, you sip a glass of wine, the soft hum of anticipation building as you call for a taxi. The click of your heels echoes in the stairwell, a near stumble reminding you of their height as you descend from your apartment. When you arrive at the bar, your eyes sweep the room, spotting your coworkers. The black, form-fitting dress you chose hugs your curves, drawing more than a few glances as you enter.

“There you are!” Camila calls out over the pulsating music as you approach the bar. She flashes a grin and motions toward a lively group in the corner, some engrossed in darts, others deep in conversation. “We’ve got a table over there.”

Your gaze sweeps over the group, a soft smile tugging at your lips as Camila adds your drink to her tab.

“Is she new?” you murmur, subtly nodding toward the striking blonde in the blazing red dress. The fabric clings to her tall frame, accentuating her height—she even towers over you in your heels.

Camila squints, following your gaze, her eyes widening in recognition when they land on the woman.

“Fresh out of college, filling the front desk position,” she leans in, her voice low in your ear. You purse your lips, remembering what it felt like to be the new blood in a den of lions.

“How’s she doing?” you ask.

Camila shrugs. “Can’t type for shit, but she’s picking it up. We all start somewhere.”

You nod, taking a sip from your drink, letting the conversation settle with a quiet understanding.

You settle in with your coworkers, the laughter and music blending into a comforting backdrop. The evening feels light and carefree until a quiet ripple of attention shifts the mood at your table. Curious, you glance over your shoulder to see what’s caught their focus.

There he is—Agent Peña, standing impossibly close to the new hire. She’s leaning casually against the bar top, her elbows resting on the worn wood, while he hovers beside her, his arm resting just behind her back. His light-wash jeans fit snugly, the red button-up tucked in just enough to emphasize his lean waist.

A flicker of something stirs in your chest—a memory, a pang of annoyance. You almost scoff but catch yourself, the sight all too familiar. Not long ago, you were the naive girl standing in her place, drawn into his web of effortless charm.

“What a man-whore,” you mutter to the women beside you. They nod, silent yet captivated, unable to deny the allure of watching him work. His moves are calculated yet smooth, like how he leans in to light the cigarette resting between her lips, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I heard he sleeps with women to get information about the guerrillas," Camila says, the rumor so absurd it almost makes you laugh. But then again, you have no idea what happens beyond the office walls. Your world is confined to the stale scent of cigarettes and the endless rustle of paper.

"Why would they risk their lives for sex...with him?" you say, the disbelief apparent in your voice, tinged with laughter. The alcohol is loosening your tongue, making you bolder than usual.

Camila leans in, her tone more serious as she says your name, drawing the attention of the women at the table, who suddenly avert their eyes. "There’s got to be a reason he sleeps around, right? Maybe he’s just... really good at it?" she suggests, and you scoff, shaking your head. You don’t believe that; no one could be that good at sex.

Isabel nods, and a few other women follow suit. You swallow hard, the realization settling heavily in your chest: he’d slept with all of them, used them. The looks of quiet resignation on their faces send a sharp pang through you as they watch him, a silent understanding shared between them.

A heavy silence lingers at the table, the weight of old wounds too much to bear. You can’t stand it anymore. Standing up, you excuse yourself without a word, heading to the bar to order one last drink before closing out for the night.

“Let me get this one,” you hear and feel someone slip in beside you. It's Agent Murphy, and he offers you a warm smile. Of the two, you always preferred Murphy. He was respectful—always saying "please" and "thank you," never once flirting with you. You’d even shared dinners with his wife at his home several times. If the DEA building were on fire, you’d choose to save Steve over Peña without a second thought. Did that make you a bad person?

“How are you getting home?” he asks, his tone casual as he slides a few pesos onto the bar before turning to face the crowd, his back to the counter.

“Probably a taxi. I didn’t bring my car,” you reply, nursing your drink as the two of you watch the ebb and flow of people around you.

“Let me give ya a ride home,” he says, and you feel the familiar burn of alcohol easing in your chest. 

“I’ll be fine, really. It’s out of your way,” you wave him off, trying to sound casual. You’ve never had an issue with taxis before, and the pepper spray in your purse gives you some comfort. Not to mention, you’re no stranger to self-defense.

“Don’t argue with me,” he replies, lifting his beer to his lips. “Connie’d kill me if she found out I let you take a damn taxi in this country.”

You exhale a sigh, nodding at his insistence. His chivalry is almost endearing in its persistence. You glance at Peña, a fleeting thought passing through your mind: Why couldn’t he be more like Murphy? Your gaze then diverts to the table, where the women still observe Peña and the new hire. They’re tangled together now, their mouths colliding, the kiss hungry and unrestrained, leaving little to the imagination.

You look away, trying to hold it together and avoid vomiting on the bar floor.

“Javier still asking for favors?” Murphy asks, pulling your focus back to him.

“He knows the answer’s always no. Whatever he wants, it’s not coming from me. I’ve got to stick to the rules, even if the rest of them are crooked,” you say, setting your empty glass down on the bar.

“I told ‘em to stop asking, especially with the promotion and all,” he mutters. But there’s no stopping Peña—not even Murphy. You haven’t forgotten about the promotion you’ve been working your ass off for. Every move you make, every time you tell Peña to fuck off, is a gamble. One wrong step, and you’ll be screwed, even for eyes like those. 

“I can handle him,” you say softly, turning to look at the two again, but it’s just the blonde. 

You can feel the shift in the air as you stand there before seeing him. Peña approaches—slow and deliberate like he’s got all the time in the world. He stops short of invading your personal space, his presence almost suffocating.

“You two look cozy,” His voice is low, and despite himself, there's that smirk—cocky, lewd, and dangerously familiar. The red neon lights create shadows across his features. He looks devilish, like any second, and he’ll grow horns to match his attitude. 

You don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction, but you can feel your pulse quicken. Even when he’s being a jerk, there’s something magnetic about him, like a tension waiting to snap. It must be the alcohol. You had never seen him while you were drinking and avoided seeing him outside of work at all costs. 

"I didn’t realize you moonlighted as a comedian, Peña," you mutter, trying to inject a bit of bite into your words, hoping it'll deter him. But he doesn’t flinch. Instead, he tilts his head and slowly swigs his beer. You watch the movement in his throat as it dips, the faint trace of lipstick marking his jaw and neck.

“Ay, cariño, you always know how to keep things interesting,” he says, his tone smooth, not missing a beat.

"Who are you trying to impress here, Peña? It's exhausting." you feel your cheeks flush with anger but attempt to suppress it. But it’s hard, so hard, when all he does is use people. And the alcohol makes it so easy to rip him a new one, bite his head off, or ruin his night. All you knew was he twisted something inside you, and you didn’t know how to uncoil that. 

"Impress? Not trying to impress anyone," Peña says with a slight smirk, looking at Murphy like he’ll have his back, his voice low and relaxed. "I just do what I do. If it bothers you, that's on you." He shifts his weight and juts a hip out. His eyes study you, your body, and your face like he's trying to figure something out. Then he shrugs, "But you sure seem like you’re trying to impress me, though."

Your cheeks flush bright red at his false accusation. No, you did not dress to impress anyone, let alone Javier fucking Pena. No way. 

“I would never try to impress you, never.” you spit, glancing at Murphy. He gives you an amused smirk as he watches you two square up. Like he knows something you don’t. Ugh, not him too. You hoped Pena wasn’t rubbing off on him. 

"Sure thing, cariño," he says, flashing a grin as he drags his tongue across his pink bottom lip—the one that juts out whenever he's upset, lost in thought, or buried in paperwork. Damn.

You stomp away, shaking your head, trying to shake off the frustration. You round the table, offering a quick goodbye to the women before grabbing your purse. As you head for the door, you pass the blonde woman, the compact in her hand as she reapplies her lipstick. You feel a pang of sympathy for her, but you're not about to come off as a bitch. So, instead, you do the only thing you know how to do—take another shot at Peña.

"Hey, you’re new here, right?" you ask, your tone soft and genuine. It's not the kind of conversation you typically start with, but something about her makes you feel bad. She snaps her compact closed with a quick flick, and her smile catches you off guard momentarily. It’s an innocent, almost naïve expression, and for reasons you can’t fully explain, it makes your chest tighten. She looks over at Peña briefly before meeting your eyes again, her expression shifting, maybe uncertain but hopeful. 

"Yeah—" she begins, but you don’t let her finish.

"Whatever you do, don’t sleep with Agent Peña," you say, your voice low but pointed, trying and failing to suppress the hint of amusement tugging at your lips. "He’s got a bad case of crabs. Like antibiotic resistant, gave it to the whole second floor."

You almost smile at how her face shifts between disgust and disbelief, but you keep your composure as Peña steps into the conversation. He glances between the two of you, a smirk on his lips.

"Good evening, ladies," he says, his voice smooth and effortless.

"Buenas noches," you reply smugly. You turn and walk away, not sparing them another glance, leaving the air between them thick with confusion. Behind you, you can hear her reaction—sharp, disgusted, and Peña, as usual, too slow to understand what just happened.

“I don’t even wanna know,” Murphy laughs, shaking his head as you both step out of the bar.

The next day, the Mercado is lively in the early morning, bustling with vendors shouting over one another to draw in customers. The air smells of ripe fruit and freshly baked bread, the sharp tang of herbs mixing with the earthy scent of soil. Stalls line the narrow paths, overflowing with vibrant produce. The morning sun casts long shadows on the ground, but the heat is already rising, making the place hum.

You’re wearing shorts, a tank top, and a flowy white blouse as the breeze flows past you. You wander slowly, letting the vibrant colors and sounds wash over you. You don’t quite know what you’re looking for, but moving through the crowd feels like something small you can control in a still unknown place. 

Bending down to get a better look at the fruit before you, the market’s chaos continues—loud, alive, but somehow distant.

Then, a sudden shift. As if the air seems to tighten, the market buzz fading as you hear a purposeful, smooth clearing of a throat behind you. And it's like the space around you narrows because that subtle sound is something you could recognize in a crowded room. Or a busy market. Without even turning around, you know it’s him.

“Well, well, I thought you’d be nursing a hangover,” Peña says, his voice a little too easy, like he had been waiting for this moment. Waiting around every corner, like he’d orchestrated it. 

"Are you following me?" The words slip out, half accusation, half curiosity. You don't need to look over your shoulder to know he’s standing there, one hip out.  His presence becomes more like a shadow at your back—unavoidable, unsettling.

Peña’s chuckle rumbles behind you, low and unbothered, as if the question amuses him more than it irritates. The tension in the air seems to pull tighter, and for a moment, you wonder if you could even breathe properly. His proximity, that unmistakable energy he carries, presses into your space, making you feel more aware of him than the people around you.

The moment hangs there for a beat before Peña speaks again, his words now threaded with a sense of casual authority. “Maybe. Or maybe I just know where you like to shop.” There’s no mistaking the teasing in his voice now, the hint of a smile lurking behind his words.

You take a step forward, the weight of his gaze on you like a constant pull. But you refuse to let it show—refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s successfully annoyed you. Instead, you keep walking steadily to create distance, though the space seems to shrink with every step.

He doesn’t follow immediately. For a moment, the market feels normal again. The chatter of vendors, the shuffling of shoes. Everything around you is mundane and ordinary. But you know, without turning, that he’s still there. That he’s watching, sunglasses low on his arched nose, casting a cool shadow over the sharp lines of his face. His presence isn’t loud but it sure is undeniable, and you can feel the hair on your neck rise. 

The deli vendor shifts his gaze between you and Peña, clearly caught in the tension. Peña leans forward just slightly, his voice a soft, almost bored command. “Get the filet; it’s more tender, and for godsakes, get the cut from the back, por favor.”

You barely register the vendor’s nod as you drag your attention away from Peña’s words. You fix your gaze on the glass display of meats, a silent war playing out in your head. You adjust the weight of the produce bag slung over your shoulder. It’s heavier than you remember, or maybe your anger is getting the best of you.

“Why are you still here?” You snap the question more out of habit than genuine curiosity, keeping your eyes trained on the man wrapping the meat in front of you, unwilling to look at him for fear of seeing the grin you know is there.

His shadow shifts and there is a faint laugh in his voice as he responds. You feel the warmth of his body just beside yours. Like one wrong move, and you’d brush against his side. 

“Got a tip about this place, I didn’t follow you here, princesa.” His tone is low, too smooth, like something that shouldn’t feel dangerous but does anyway.

You don't know what it is about him, why his proximity twists your insides into knots. Maybe it’s how he speaks, knowingly, like he’s been around long enough to make every word feel like an unspoken challenge. Perhaps it’s the way he stands, always just a bit too close, constantly too aware of where you are. Or what he wears, jeans and a white shirt, so casual. It makes you…It makes you angry. 

You finally turn to face him, and there it is. The slight arch of his brow, the small smirk that tugs at his lips. His mustache, perfect in its precision, only adds to the irritation that surges up your spine. How can someone look so deliberately smug and idiotic at the same time?

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” you snap, the tips of your ears burning.

Peña’s gaze flicks to you, sharp momentarily, before his usual cool indifference settles back in. He shifts his weight against the counter, one elbow resting lazily on the edge, the picture of someone who doesn’t have a care in the world. “Probably,” he says, his mouth curling into a faint smirk. “But this is more fun.”

You both stand there, an invisible line drawn in the air between you, a standoff. Peña won’t leave, and part of you knows that now. 

The vendor clears his throat, and you pay him, thanking him quickly. You can feel Peña’s eyes on you as you pivot and begin to walk away.

You trudge through the hectic Mercado, your grocery bag digging into your arm as you weave between people. The crowd swirls around you, but you feel him, steady and unwavering, hot on your heels. The crowd parts for Peña, fluid and instinctual, like the Red Sea before Moses. It’s not the kind of attention anyone asks for, but it’s the kind he commands without effort.

Finally, you spill out of the Mercado and onto the street, the bustling noise fading into the background. Your arm aches under the bag's weight, but you keep walking, your sneakers tapping against the cracked pavement. You can still hear the soft patter of his boots behind you, the sound just a touch too close.

“Peña, I don’t need a bodyguard,” you mutter, furrowing your brows. You stop, but he doesn’t. He keeps walking, though something in his posture changes. Different from any other time, a hushed gravity suspends in the air. He glances over his shoulder, eyes scanning the space behind him. One hand rests on his hip, and you catch the flash of metal beneath his shirt—the weight of a holstered gun.

You glance down the street. It’s eerily silent, with no stray cars and no pedestrians. The street feels barren like it’s holding its breath. The midday sun beats down on the asphalt, but a strange chill pricks the back of your neck. The air feels thin, too still, like something is off—like the world has paused, waiting.

You don’t know how he noticed, but he did. It’s almost imperceptible, yet instinctively, you realize that this is what he does best— always been one step ahead. You’ve never seen him in action before, not like this. There’s a certain precision in how his gaze scans the surroundings, so calculating, his movements so fluid they seem choreographed. It’s almost… beautiful in its deadly grace. It's terrifying.

His eyes flick to you, locking onto yours with a look that needs no words. You don’t question it. You simply follow him, your voice lost, swallowed by the heavy air between you. The grocery bag you were so annoyed about carrying moments ago feels like a distant memory, the weight forgotten as your heart hammers in your chest.

He moves with purpose, his strides long and steady, leading you away from the busy street into an alley that smells faintly of wet concrete and diesel. It’s quieter here, the sounds of the city muffled by the walls that close in around you. The heat of the midday sun lingers in the narrow space, but there's a chill in the air as you see the shadow of a few men lurking just out of sight.

He stops abruptly in front of a metal gate and taps in a pin with the precision of someone who’s done it a thousand times before. The gate creaks open, and he gestures for you to slip inside. You do so without a second thought, too caught up in the moment's urgency to ask questions. 

The door shuts behind you with a low thud, the echo sharp in the quiet. Javier’s gun is out before you realize it, his movements swift. You’re in a long hallway, and he leads you to another door, which he unlocks with a key. 

He locks the deadbolt behind him, his eyes never leaving the peephole. Only then do you notice where you are.

You linger in the living room, the remnants of adrenaline humming beneath your skin as your eyes sweep over the space. This isn’t what you imagined. You thought he’d live in a place that screamed Javier Peña—something flashy, brash, maybe a little careless, with leather couches, a stocked bar, and ashtrays scattered like afterthoughts. A bachelor pad built for indulgence, not permanence. But this?

This is a home—the kind of place that feels oddly welcoming as if the walls themselves had been warmed by the life lived inside them. Sunlight spills in through half-drawn curtains, casting soft patterns on worn furniture. The couch—slightly lumpy with cushions that have clearly seen better days—faces a modest coffee table scarred with the faintest traces of water rings and cigarette burns. A stack of records leans precariously against a battered turntable in the corner, their spines worn smooth with use.

The air smells faintly of tobacco, wood polish, and something you can’t quite place—maybe the ghost of cologne clinging to his leather jacket. The infamous jacket you’d seen him shrug into as he and Murphy made their way out of the office.

Not that you’d habitually thought about his house or the things he’d keep in it. Or him. Definitely not him.

“Someone’s been following you. Who knows for how long,” he mutters, his tone sharp, clipped, and brimming with restrained anger.

He moves to the window, parting the blinds with two fingers just enough to peer outside. The barrel of his weapon stays low, the gleam of the steel catching a sliver of sunlight.

His eyes sweep the street, and the hardened look on his face is nothing like you’ve ever seen before. 

“Me? I’m nobody. Why the hell would anyone follow me?” you ask, your voice cracking under the pressure of trying to sound unaffected.

He doesn’t look at you, his eyes scanning the street beyond the glass, every muscle in his body so taut you can see the ripple beneath his shirt.

“Doesn’t matter who you are,” he mutters, his voice low and cutting through the street noise like a blade. “They find out you’re with the DEA, and you’ve got a target on your back.”

Your pulse quickens and the sound of blood rushing in your ears drowns out the quiet of the room. The space suddenly feels smaller, every shadow sharper, and the calm you’d clung to is now a distant memory.

Your mind races, but all the thoughts are tangled up in a knot—half of you wants to dismiss it, to say he’s just trying to scare you, to brush it off as just another part of the job. But the other half knows this is real. 

“So what, I’m just gonna have men wanting to kidnap me?” you say, upset, your grocery bag thumping on his couch as you sigh. This was a big deal, a huge deal, but right now, in your career, it felt more like an inconvenience. 

“You don’t get it,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly, the weight of his words carrying a tone of finality. His voice is low and firm, like a man who’s seen too much and no longer has time for explanations. 

“They wouldn’t just kidnap you…” He trails off, but you don’t need him to finish the sentence. The image plays out in your mind—a quiet warning etched with the brutality only someone like Peña could understand.

You swallow, and for the first time, reality's sharp, biting edge sinks in. The world outside this room or your office walls wasn’t just something you could read about in reports or watch on the news. It’s here. It’s now. 

Peña moves from the window, holstering his gun but keeping his hand close to his hip. You stare at him, his dark eyes unreadable. His silence makes the room feel smaller like he’s drawing you in despite the distance between you.

You cross your arms, trying to force some semblance of control, though your breath is coming faster now. “I’ve dealt with danger before, Peña. This... This isn’t a fucking movie.”

He looks at you for a beat too long, like he’s trying to read you, see through the layers of bravado you’re wearing. “This isn’t the same thing,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s speaking more to himself than to you. “You’re not in control here.”

The words hit harder than you expect, striking a nerve you didn’t know you had. A flicker of something—fear, maybe—passes over you, but you force it down. You don’t need him to see that.

“And you think you can protect me?” you ask, the question escaping before you can stop it. There’s a sharpness in your tone, a mixture of challenge and... curiosity.

“Protect you?” he repeats, his tone dry but not unkind. “Cariño, I don’t think they’re handing out medals for saving you from yourself.” He smirks faintly, his eyes flicking to how you stand out in the room like it’s absurd. “But if you’re hell-bent on getting snatched, by all means, call a taxi. I could use the night off.”

Finally, you let out a shaky breath, reaching for the bag of groceries that still rests on the couch. “I’m not some damsel in distress, Peña,” you mutter, though your voice lacks the conviction it had a few minutes ago.

“Good,” he replies, brows furrowing as you attempt to walk past him. “Then don’t make me waste my time playing knight in shining armor. You’re safe here—now let me figure out what we’re gonna do.” He reaches for you, grabbing your upper arm with a strength you know is half the power. 

You pause mid-stride, the weight of his grip burning through the sleeve of your thin shirt. So thin you can basically feel his fingerprints burning into your flesh. It’s not painful, not even close—but how he holds you feels like a tether to something you’re not sure you want to name. You glance down at his large hand before trickling up towards his gaze, the dark pools of his eyes crackling with frustration.

“I don’t need you to rescue me,” you snap, trying to inject more steel into your words than you actually feel. “I’m not—”

“Yeah, I know,” he interrupts, his voice low and sharp enough to cut. “You’re not a damsel. You think you can handle this yourself,” he recites like it’s a joke like you’re a joke. 

The heat in your chest flares, half from his words and half from how he’s still holding on, as though letting go isn’t an option. Like you’re a kid, naive. “Let go of me, Peña,” you say, warning in your eyes, quieter this time. But this feels different than other times, more at stake, your close proximity, the walls around you. You feel inebriated as if your thoughts won’t flow in a cohesive line no matter how hard you try. 

He was drawing you in, the shift in his gaze disarming. Those brown eyes—soft, searching, almost wounded—held a weight that made breathing hard. They begged for something you weren’t sure you could give. Or maybe he just wanted you to believe they did.

And damn it, it was working.

You could feel yourself slipping, the sharp edges of your anger dulling against the pull of his presence. Every rational thought screamed at you to hold your ground, to remember who he was and what he’d done. This was his play, wasn’t it? The practiced vulnerability, the carefully crafted sincerity meant to turn you into putty in his hands.

And yet, the worst part was how you wanted to let it happen. To let those stupid, heartbreakingly tender eyes convince you that he wasn’t all bad. That you weren’t just another stop along the way to wherever he’d inevitably disappear to next.

It made you want to scream. Or maybe slap him. Or yourself—whoever deserved it more in this moment.

His hand eases its grip on your arm, but his fingers linger, curved just enough to stay connected. Not holding, not quite, just there—as if to remind himself you’re real. “Quédate aquí,” he says, his voice low, a shade too soft. Almost pleading. Almost breaking. That sound—it crawls under your skin and wraps itself around your ribs. You hate how it settles, molten and insistent, dragging heat low in your belly.

“Por favor.” His tone shifts, like a secret he can’t entirely swallow. “Do me this favor, just once.”

“Fine. Just once…” Your eyes betray you, flickering to his mouth. It’s unfair how there’s no smirk to hide behind this time. No shield from that damn cupid’s bow, sharp and pouty. Your gaze trails upward—his nose, the slope of it, the way it catches the light—until you meet his eyes. He’s watching you, his focus as unyielding as a snare, as though cataloging every place you’ve been looking, every thought you’re trying not to have.

“Give me that,” His fingers find the strap of your bag, curling around it effortlessly as if it belongs to him. He slowly lifts it off your shoulder, and you don’t stop him. You don’t move. You just let him, even when it should annoy you, even when his hand brushing yours feels like a sizzling brand.

“You’re a pain in my ass,” He doesn’t say a word as he sets your bag down on the couch. His movements are all too intentional, too measured. You barely register the sound of the fabric hitting the cushion before he turns back to you.

Your breath catches somewhere in your throat. He's too close again, close enough that the room feels like it's folding in on itself, bending around the space between you as if it’s trying to force you together.

“So I’ve been told,” He replies, not even a hint of surprise in his eyes.

You stand there, frozen, almost daring the air to crack, even though every instinct in your body is screaming for you to step back and put more distance between you. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Distance doesn't change how it feels. The weight of him, the pull of him—it's suffocating, magnetic. You're trembling, though you can’t decide if it's from the desire to step closer or the fear of what giving in might mean.

Your neck burns with heat, crawling up, spreading like wildfire, and you hate that it's happening. Hate that he’s the reason your pulse is racing, your skin buzzing with sensitivity. You can’t give in. You’ve seen it. The way women fall over themselves for him, like moths to a flame. No, he wasn’t going to make you another notch in his belt. 

You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding louder than any words you might say. You want to speak, to break the silence before it consumes you, but all that comes out is a shaky breath—louder than the thoughts tearing at your insides.

No words make it past the lump in your throat. You want to tell him to step away, to fuck off, to stop looking at you like that. But you know that would mean walking away from this. From him. And the thought alone makes you want to crumble into yourself.

You were an idiot once again, shaking, wanting him—wanting everything you’d sworn you wouldn’t. You swore you were stronger than this and that you didn’t want to be the woman waiting for him to finally choose you.

But the heat pulses like it’s alive, and you can’t stop the furrow in your brows, physically pained by the scorch. You don’t even know if he realizes how badly you’re fighting to hold yourself together. His eyes are black, unreadable. But they’re too soft. Too focused on you.

The pressure in the room inflates until every breath you take feels labored.

So close, the warmth of Peña’s body radiates off him, yet it’s his gaze that pins you in place. His eyes drop to your face, and the space between you seems to shrink even more until you can feel his breath grazing your skin, every inhale a whisper against you.

Then, without a word, without any sign of warning, his hand reaches up. You hold your breath, bracing for something, anything, but the touch is different—gentle, almost tentative. His fingers brush the stray strands of hair away from your face, sweeping them behind your ear. It’s a delicate movement, but its weight hangs in the air like he’s touching something fragile, something delicate. His hand stays there for a moment, just lingering at the side of your face, the softness of his touch almost mocking the storm of heat inside you. You want to flinch, to pull away, but you stop short. Not when he’s so close, not when the very air is thick with this... this electricity that’s become impossible to ignore.

He doesn’t let go, though. His fingers curve around the back of your neck, pulling you slightly closer, his thumb brushing over your jaw in a way that’s almost too intimate, too tender. His gaze flicks between your eyes, searching for something, and you can’t look away. You can’t look anywhere else.

“Stop me,” His lips barely skim yours at first—just a whisper of contact that sends shockwaves through your body. It’s almost too much to bear, but you don’t pull away. 

A soft, breathy moan slips out of you before your lips even touch fully, a sound that feels so raw, so unguarded. His hand tightens on your jaw, pulling you into him, and in the next instant, his mouth is on yours, desperate, fervent, as if he can’t stand the space between you for even a second longer.

It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s a kiss born from restraint, from months of wanting something he didn’t think he could have. His lips part yours with an almost brutal force, the intensity of it taking you by surprise. His tongue slides against yours, hot, wet, seeking—hungry. There’s no finesse to it, no lingering moment of sweetness. It’s primal like he’s finally allowing himself to take what’s been torturing him for too long.

The kiss escalates, and for a heartbeat, everything else falls away. It’s just him and you and this electricity, the raw need surging between you. He pulls you closer, his body pressing against yours as if he can’t get close enough, as if the torture has taken over every rational thought he had.

Your breath is stolen, and so are your thoughts. So consumed by the fire in your veins, the taste of his tongue, the firmness of his shoulders beneath your hands. He pulls away so quick it feels like he’s taken the breath from you.

"If you don’t stop me," he murmurs, his voice cracking under the weight of his own need. His thumb strokes the edge of your jaw, the touch so light it sends a shiver down your spine. "Cariño, please—" He swallows hard, his lips hovering just close enough to tempt you. "—tell me to stop. Or I won’t."

The words are pained as if saying them costs him everything. His breath is warm against your mouth, his forehead nearly pressing to yours, and the vulnerability in his voice cuts through the haze, grounding you even as your body betrays you with how badly you want to close the distance again.

“Then don’t,” you reply, swallowing the regret you know is rising in your thoughts. What would be the use of regretting now when the line has already been crossed? 

A low, guttural growl rumbles from Javier’s throat as he kisses you again, the kind of kiss that swallows your breath and sets fire to every fiber of your being.  His chest heaves against yours, his frustration bleeding into every press of his lips, every flick of his tongue. It’s as if he’s punishing you for every bratty retort, every dismissive glance, and for the endless nights you’d unwittingly occupied his mind.

“You’ve been driving me fucking crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and rough, each word dripping with heat and accusation. His teeth graze your bottom lip before he bites down, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make you gasp. “You know that, don’t you? Torturing me every damn day.”

His hands drop from your neck, sliding down to your hips with a bruising grip, his fingers digging into your flesh as though trying to leave his mark. The pain mingles with pleasure, leaving you wanting more.

You rise on your toes, desperate to meet him, to feel him. The contrast between his towering frame and your smaller form only intensifies the ache pooling low in your belly. He doesn’t make you wait—he never would—his strong hands gripping your thighs as he hoists you up with effortless ease.

Your legs wrap around his waist, and your arms circle his neck, fingers threading through the hair at the nape.

He doesn’t bother with asking permission. His movements are rough, almost frantic, as he blindly carries you through the dimly lit apartment. When he reaches his room, he kicks the door shut with a force that rattles the frame. The darkness swallows you both, but you don’t care. Your only focus is the hard lines of his body pressed against yours, the feeling of his arousal straining against you, and the way he growls when you grind down on him.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” he mutters, his voice hoarse, as if you’ve unraveled him in ways he’s not used to. His words are a contradiction—gruff and demanding but with an edge of vulnerability that makes your heart stutter.

Your back hits the mattress, and he leans over you, his body caging you in. His hands roam your sides, calloused and sure, and you arch into him, a moan spilling from your lips as you chase his touch. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes burning with something that feels almost possessive.

“How ‘bout you show me then?” you fire, the familiar counter making you feel like you’ve found some semblance of control.

Javier's eyes darken, his lips parting slightly as if your challenge caught him off guard. But the corner of his mouth twitches, betraying the ghost of a cocky smile. “As long as you’re sure,” he replies, a dangerous mix of plea and provocation. It’s like he’s daring you to falter, daring you to back out—while silently begging you not to.

You scoff, leaning up, your lips brushing against his but never quite touching. The tease of it burns more than any kiss could. “Don’t get soft with me,” you whisper, your voice low. “I don’t like soft. I like to get fucked. Think you can give me that, Javier?”

His name, spoken like that—soft, intimate, a prayer all at once—makes something deep in him snap. He isn’t used to this, to you. To someone who doesn’t shy away, who doesn’t melt the moment he touches them, who doesn’t give him that instant satisfaction of control.

You’re not yielding, not letting him fall into his usual rhythm. No, you’re setting the pace, and he’s following—fumbling, even—like some love-drunk fool. 

Javier leans down into your neck, the scent of your skin filling his lungs, intoxicating him. “Careful, cariño,” he warns, though the words lack their usual sharpness. They make him shake, his cock strain in his jeans. “You might just get exactly what you’re asking for.” 

You push at his shoulders, your hands urging him back. He doesn't hesitate, scooting off the bed with swift, practiced movements. Like he’d done this a million times, and the thought of that angered you. It made something flare in your eyes as you watched him, his fingers working the buttons and zippers. 

When he’s finally bare, the hard, defined lines of his body seem almost too much to take in all at once. His chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, his cock already thick and leaking. He looks at you, eyes shadowed and hungry, as he kneels on the bed.

His fingers curl around the waistband of your shorts, dragging them off your hips along with your panties, the fabric scraping over your skin as he exposes you to him. Before you can process the shift, his fingers catch the hem of your tank top, yanking it down with such force that the seam strains. 

The path of his gaze burns into your skin, trailing across the valley of your breasts and down to where you close your thighs. He places his hands on your knees and spreads you wide open.

“Hiding such a pretty pussy from me, look at you.” Javier’s cock twitches at the sight of you on your back, head against his pillows. You were in his bed, and the glisten of your pussy as she dripped onto his sheets was because of him. And that made his chest rise and his cock weep.

You weren’t hiding anything—but the way he said it made something inside you flare, a fierce urge to prove him wrong surging through you. “Javier,” you say, dragging your hand down your stomach and to your lips, spreading yourself open for him with your fingers. You could feel the mess, the slickness that coated your fingers just from finally giving in. It felt so freeing. 

You sit up, breathless, just as Javier leans down. You raise your fingers to his mouth, and he doesn’t hesitate—his lips parting just enough for your fingers to slip past them.

His tongue flicks out, velvet-soft, running along the length of your fingers in a slow, hot caress. He sucks them in, drawing them deeper, his eyes never leaving yours, a silent challenge in his gaze. Each pull of his mouth sends a jolt of heat spiraling through you.

“Fucking heaven,” he breathes out like he’s just had a taste of something long denied.

“Ass up,” he demands, his words a dark growl that sends shivers down your spine. “Let me see you like that, baby.”

You give it to him—your body obeying before your mind can catch up. You twist, moving slowly and carefully, your muscles aching as you position yourself. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pushing your head into the sheets, muffling your breath.

“Do you have a condom?” you ask, your voice strained and muffled against the sheets.

Javier doesn’t answer. 

Instead, you feel him shift behind you, a growl rumbling in his chest before you feel the unmistakable warmth of his mouth on your pussy. His tongue flicks against you, tasting you like he’s been starving for this moment. You gasp, a sharp, involuntary sound slipping past your lips as he delves deeper, his tongue greedy and frantic as it drags along your slit, teasing and claiming in one motion.

His hands grip your thighs, pulling them wider, giving him better access as he feasts on you, wholly absorbed in the act. Your knees sink into the mattress, your hands clutching the sheets as you feel his tongue slipping up to your other hole, circling it with the tip of his tongue. You cry out, the feeling so foreign yet so delicious.

You feel him lick into your folds, his tongue swirling your clit, circling, and dipping lower as if to explore every inch of you. His breath is hot, his lips pressing against you as he eats you from behind like a man possessed, relentless, driven by need. He doesn’t care about anything but the taste of you, the feeling of you writhing beneath his touch.

Your hips buck involuntarily, pressing back into him, wanting more, needing more. It feels like he’s owning you, taking what he wants without hesitation, and the power of it makes your head spin.

He’s pulling an orgasm from you like he’s been trained to—like he knows every inch of your body, every reaction, every breath you take. Like he’s studied you and your body, found its rhythm, its tempo, and now he's using it against you, claiming you in ways you didn’t think you could be claimed.

“Javier, please,” You gasp, your breath coming in short, jagged bursts as you surrender to the rush of blood, the intense pull of your orgasm crashing over you, leaving you trembling. He doesn’t stop, not even when you shake, when your body gives in ultimately, and you attempt to pull away.

Only when he deems it right does he pull away, wiping where you coat his chin, and he reaches into his bedside table without a word. Spent; you hear him rip open a condom in silence as he rolls it on his cock. You feel his hands on your hips not a moment later, the tip of his cock swipes along your pussy before inching in.

Javier can feel the aftershocks of your first orgasm, the way you clenched around the tip of his cock before he can get another inch in. And it made him gasp, how tightly you clamped on to him; it felt like you were suffocating him. His self-restraint was hanging on by a thread, but you pushed back against him, sinking him further into your soaked pussy until he was buried balls deep. You were hot and soft inside, and Javier tensed as he watched you fuck yourself onto his cock. 

“Damn, cariño, wish you could see this.” You hear him say over your shoulder, and you twist your neck to watch him. Large hands on the globes of your ass, watching himself disappear into you as you feel him hit something deep inside you each time. 

You feel the subtle flex of his muscles as he shifts, pressing deeper into you. The rhythm intensifies, and the familiar stir of heat coils tight in your stomach. He moves steadily, his hand sliding down to your tit, squeezing and pulling at your nipple. 

Then, with a deliberate pull, his hand wraps around your throat, the pressure possessive. He guides you upward, forcing you to rise on your knees, and the shift brings a new angle, deeper, harder. He grips your jaw to keep you there, his breath fanning against your hair as if he's inhaling the very essence of you, a soft exhale against your neck. 

Each thrust is deeper than the last, a steady rhythm that threatens to shatter the fragile control you still cling to. He’s unrelenting, his grip firm as he pulls you closer, his teeth grazing the tender curve of your neck. He bites into your flesh so hard it stings, so hard you’ll be branded for life. 

You gasp, the burn of his teeth searing into your skin, and he presses harder, pinning you against him. “Say my name,” he growls as he licks against the bite, “who makes you feel this way?”

You can barely catch your breath before his hand is at your head, forcing you down into the sheets again. The pressure of his palm is suffocating, but something is intoxicating about it, the way he has you utterly in his grasp. You can’t hold back the soft, desperate mewl that slips from your lips as you push back against him, needing more, wanting to feel the tension build once again.

“Javier… you…fuck me so good. So perfect,” you whisper, the words slipping out almost without control, as if your body is speaking for you. Javier watches as you snake your hand between your thighs, a whimper leaving your throat as you rub at your swollen and slick clit. 

“Makin’ me lose my mind, cariño,” Javier growls, his voice rough with the effort to keep his composure. The pulse of your pussy around him drives him crazy, and he presses forward, each movement bringing him closer to the edge. “Give me another, please. I know you can.”

The way he says it, how he begs for it, like a man on his knees for you. 

You hold onto the memory—this moment when Javier Peña begs for you, so desperate, so…pathetic.

“That’s it,” Javier's grip tightens on you as he moves deeper, a low groan escaping his chest. You feel every inch of his thick cock, the way his rhythm matches the frantic pace of your fingers, your body bracing for the inevitable release.

“Got you cariño, make me feel so good…your perfect pussy,” A litany of words spill from his mouth, his string of thoughts caught in the air. A sob catches in your throat, the pressure mounting before it finally breaks, coursing through you like a storm. Your nails dig into your palms as your body trembles for the second time, the world around you blurring with tears. The sensation of him inside you, his rhythm pushing you to the edge and beyond.

Javier’s breath is harsh and heavy as he spills into the condom. You feel the pulse of him deep inside you, and the sensation lingers long after he’s finished.

"Shit," he mutters, his voice strained as he swallows thickly. There is a moment of silence, of pure peace, before you startle when you feel the soft brush of his lips on your shoulder—gentle, almost too tender. It’s a sharp contrast to the bite he left there, his teeth still tenderly marking your skin. His kiss lingers for a heartbeat, a soft, almost intimate gesture before he pulls away completely. After a moment, he withdraws his softening cock, and the pressure inside you eases.

He pulls himself away from the bed, and the sudden movement makes your head spin. You push yourself up, too, feeling the rush of blood hit your temples, the pressure building in your skull. Your eyes follow him as he tosses the used condom into the trash, his hands trembling. With a sigh, he reaches for the pack of cigarettes on the bedside table, lights one with a shaky flick of his thumb, and exhales slowly. The smoke curls in the dim light, hanging in the air like a silent afterthought.

“I can give you a ride home, but I don’t think your groceries are going to make it,” he says, his voice light with that same casual humor. He takes a drag from his cigarette, then holds it out toward you, offering it like it’s some sort of peace offering.

You don’t move toward it, and the sight of him—already dressed, already dismissing the moment with that effortless charm—sends a jolt of bitterness through you. This is how he does it, isn’t it? Fucks them, smokes, gets dressed, then sends them on their way. You dress quickly, and finish pulling on your shoes, the awkwardness of the moment hitting you all at once. Without a word, you turn and head for the door.

“Hey!” His voice stops you in your tracks. “You can’t just leave. Who knows if it’s safe? Don’t be reckless. Cariño, ven acá.”

You roll your eyes, the sarcasm practically dripping from your words. “Call it post-nut clarity, Javier.” You reply with the same sarcasm in your tone. 

You yank the door open, ready to leave, but then stop dead in your tracks. Murphy stands in the doorway, his hand suspended in the air as if he’d been about to knock. His blue eyes widen in surprise when they meet yours. His lips part slightly, and he lifts an eyebrow as his gaze flicks past you, settling on Javier—shirtless, jeans unbuttoned, cigarette dangling between his fingers.

Heat floods your already flushed cheeks, making your skin feel tight, and in that instant, everything becomes too vivid. Too exposed. You stand there, caught in a moment of sheer embarrassment. The awkwardness is suffocating, yet strangely, you don’t know whether you want to run or stay and unravel the feeling that has suddenly settled in your chest. 

You do the only thing that feels right in the moment—you run. You brush past Murphy, the heat of his presence lingering just behind you as he follows. It’s perfect, really. He’ll drive you home, and you’ll avoid the awkward confrontation with Javier. You won’t have to face him telling you, in the most painfully polite way, that he isn’t interested, that he never was. You don’t need that kind of false pity. Not from him. Not when he got the whole thing twisted. 

You wanted this—just this. A fuck, nothing more. And you didn’t want him to think you wanted more. 

But then, you make the mistake of glancing back. And when you do, you catch it—Javier’s gaze, sad brown eyes darkened with something you can’t quite place. His brows furrow slightly, and for the briefest moment, his expression cracks open in a way you didn’t expect. Hurt?

No. You’re reading it wrong. It’s not hurt. It’s...relief.

Javier Peña only ever cared about one person—himself. You’d known that from the moment you first crossed paths.

The truth hit hard, but it was the only thing that made sense: leaving first was a favor. And for once, you didn’t feel bad about walking away.

[trying-harder-then-u]

Russian roulette

The gun hit the table with a loud "clank," catching Damien by surprise. He had been enjoying the sound of the wind rustling through the well-maintained trees, but now that a weapon was being chucked around, he reckoned he should probably pay attention. Turning around, he saw Jacob smugly looking down at him, his blonde hair dropping over his deep brown eyes, a spotless white shirt and a pair of tan pants loosely fitting his thin, lightly muscled frame, a gold chain the only jewelry he had. Damien sighed to himself; he should have known that his rich, bratty friend was up to something, but when you get invited to a rural manor for a weekend by the son of the richest oil tycoon this side of the Atlantic, you don't tend to make a habit of saying no. The gun was black with gold and white lines swirling around the barrel and handle; like everything in the house, it looked expensive, and like everything, if Damien broke it, his family would most likely be paying it off for generations.

"What are you doing, Jacob?" he asked, his tone dripping with the exhaustion that comes from dealing with a spoiled brat's shenanigans. "Setting up for the game," Jacobs's shit-eating grin told Damien everything he needed to know: something dangerous was about to go down, and if he didn't stop it, then there was going to be a news story about this in the next 24 hours. In his mind's eye he could see the text flash across the screen: "Heir to oil empire murdered in cold blood by a jealous, impoverished schoolmate." Carefully getting up, Damien weighed his options before deciding to go on with Jacob till he could convince him that whatever he had planned was a bad idea. "What are we going to play then?" "Oh, nothing too complicated, my dear friend." Damien watched unnerved as Jacob opened the chamber of the pistol and put a small pellet in it. "Just some good old Russian roulette."

…

"Are you fucking insane? You do know how Russian roulette ends, right? I thought you were just a dick, but this is fully psychotic." "Oh, calm down, Damien, you worry too much; of course no one's going to die." Jacob pointed the gun at Damien and pulled the trigger, causing Damien to duck for cover as a click sound revealed that it was one of the five empty slots, much to Damien's relief. "How unfortunate; anyways, it's not a real bullet; it's a powerful drug that one of my dad's friends made." "And that's better how?" "It's this whole atomic structural thing. I'm not sure how it works exactly, but anyone hit with it can have their genetic makeup altered simply by the thoughts of the closest person, that isn't themselves, of course." Jacob proceeded to point the gun to his skull before shooting again, another harmless click. "See, I'm playing fair." "Jacob, that is not the point; I don't want to play at all." Damien was confused how Jacob was so nonchalant about this whole thing. Even if this whole atomic restructuring nonsense was real, what did he have to gain from that? "You're so unfun sometimes, but fine, I'll sweeten the deal for you: we play one game, and if I lose, then I'll make sure your parents get a nice cushy job where they will never have to go hungry again." The offer made Damien double back; it was one thing to give into Jacob's flights of fancy, a whole other when he could get his parents out of the rut they were currently in. "Fine, one game." "Great, let's sit down and continue."

Damien held the gun in shaking hands; he knew now that the bullet wasn't able to harm him, but his whole body being at the whims of Jacob was still terryfying even if it was temporary. Click, safe. Jacob, turn now and click. There are only two bullets left, and so a 50/50 chance; no turning back now. Damien's finger moved the trigger and-. Damien felt strange; he couldn't hear anything; the wind in the trees was gone; he didn't hear the gun go off, but this weird state he was in seemed to say he had been drugged; color swirled around him until finally something formed in front of him. Jacob.

"Hey there, dear friend," Jacob's smile seemed more malicious than usual. "Seems like you lose, so I'm going to enjoy the show now." Jacob leaned back; Damien's skin felt like it was crawling; he felt like spiders were crawling all over him, but as he looked to see what was causing it, he almost jumped back in surprise. His skin was changing; it was growing darker. He watched as the melanin in his skin increased until he went from the olive skin tone he inherited from his mother's Italian genes to something much darker; he looked almost African. Not only that, but the calouses from working after school to help his family vanished along with all his blemishes and pimples till his skin was as clear as day, but how was that possible? Damien remembered now the drug; the closest person controlled his atomic structure, but what was Jacob doing to him? He looked up to try and address Jacob, but a punching sensation in his gut drew him to look down, seeing his clothes dissolve away and abs form; the rest of his frame was not neglected either; he continued to bulk up and even felt a couple inches added to his height till he was a goliath of a man; his feet and hands grew much larger, his face grew more chiseled, and his hair shrank back into his head.

He tried to yell at Jacob, but before he could, their faces collided as Jacob passionately kissed Damien. Only moans, slowly deepening in pitch, escaped his mouth. "God, I've been waiting so long for this. You think I'd ever be friends with your poor ass? God, no, you're my plaything now, and don't worry, it's permanent." Damien whimpered as Jacob's hand reached down, grabbing onto Damien's cock, and began to stroke slowly and methodically. Each time Damien felt more confused: where was he, why was he worried about his parents, who was he? His mind slowed as he gave into Jacob, the pleasure overwhelming his mind. His dick grew larger than it had ever been before, 4 inches, now 5, 6, till a 7-inch-long monster was left in its place. Damien's moans grew louder as he neared the end; he just wanted to cum; he didn't know who this strange man beating him off was, but he just wanted him to continue. Jacob continued to go faster and faster, until long streams of hot cum splashed across both of them. up his hand to for Damien to lick clean, which he gladly did, enjoying every taste.

2 months later

He was sitting at home, waiting for his rich boyfriend to get back. He had spent the last 2 months spending every hour he could with Jacob, but with Jacob's school, he had large amounts of time to reflect and learn how to be a good boyfriend, how to cook, clean, and do everything for Jacob. Awhile ago, two older people came around looking for their sun that shared his name, but he told them he had no clue where he had gone. His life was good, but the best part was no doubt every night when Jacob would take control; he would sometimes be pleased and sometimes give pleasure, but regardless, he knew that life would be good when he just went with what his boyfriend said, and man was life good.

[insomniadreamzz]

I love the color blue

Jinx x Fem!Reader modern AU

Reader being a tattoo artist, no smut just mentions of nudity

The sound of the tattoo pistol buzzing was the only thing that filled up your tattoo studio, you being focused on your work. You wanted to make it perfect, especially because the woman you tattooed wasn’t just a normal customer.

You and Jinx have known each other for a while, you could say you became friends but she didn’t know you had a crush on her. Jinx always talked about the blue clouds she wants to get tattooed and today you finally gave in and made her wish get true.

She looked at you working on her arm and every now and then she looked at your face, seeing you being highly focused. One of the things she loved about you being focused was definitely the way your tongue got a little bit out, thinking you look so cute like that.

„Are you okay? Or do you need a pause?“ You asked her, Jinx shaking her head in response. „No don’t worry I am fine you can continue.“ She responded, making you keep doing your work. You knew she wasn’t the one to feel a lot of pain. Jinx past made her numb, she had to go through a lot of shit but every time she was with you, she showed at least a bit of true emotions even though she hid them very well behind her quirky behavior which seemed manic to others. It wasn’t a secret for you, you knew about her mental problems but you never thought they are a real problem for your relationship.

You couldn’t help but blush when you reached for her exposed chest. She wanted the tattoos to go along her boob and then down her ribs until they reached her tummy on the side. Of course you didn’t say no to her wish even though you needed to collect yourself once you saw her upper body naked. You could ignore it while you worked on her arm but now you are directly facing her chest, even tattooing on it. Your blush wasn’t unnoticed by her, making Jinx smirk as she looked at you still focused but this time with a blush on your cheeks. „Enjoy what you see?“ Jinx teased you but you didn’t pay much attention to it. „Yea I think these clouds came out pretty well.“ You mentioned, of course knowing what she meant but you had no time for flirting now, not wanting to mess up.

Once you finished, you took a last look at your work on Jinx, smiling as you felt satisfied with the result. „Good, I am done, go look at it yourself and tell me how you like it.“ You told her and Jinx hopped off the chair and walk towards the huge mirror in your studio, smiling as she admired your work on her. „You did a very good job toots! Thanks for that. Now I have you on me forever.“ She said as she turned to look at you, a little spark in her eyes. „M-Me? How’s that? It’s my job and I gave you the tattoos you always wanted.“ You simply reply, looking at her, noticing the tension building up between the both of you in that tiny room of your studio.

„Yes that’s the point dummy. YOU made it.“ She chuckled before walking closer to you, wanting to hug you. The feeling of her exposed chest in you making you blush. You hesitated for a moment before wrapping your arms around her waist, looking back into her beautiful eyes. „So? How many more hints do you need to understand my feelings?“

Your eyes widen a little bit at her statement. It was true, you did avoid all of her hints and attempts to get closer to you just because you didn’t want to ruin your friendship or just misinterpret something but the way she kept staring into your eyes made you realise it more. „So? You’re not just being your usual playful self?“ You said with a smirk, wanting to hear it from her but instead of using her words, Jinx decided to close the gap between you both, pulling you into a kiss.

You felt butterflies in your stomach when you kissed, tilting your head a little bit to deepen the kiss as you got lost for a moment, only wanting to enjoy the moment. When you pulled back, you both blushed, staring at each other for a a few seconds, the silence being interrupted by Jinx’s giggle. „Heh…I love you toots.“ You smile brightly at her words, not being able to hold back and ignore what just happened between you two, pecking her lips once again. „I love you too.“ You admitted, feeling the weight of your shoulders fall and you felt much lighter. „We still need to finish you up tho, the tattoos need to be protected.“ You mentioned, knowing you were still not done with your work.

„Yea sure but after you wrap them up…do you still have any customers coming today?“ Jinx asked with that special look on her face, knowing what she wanted. „You’re the only one today love. You want me to lock the doors?“ You asked mostly in a joking way but Jinx’s smile became darker, showing a little hint of lust.

„Yes…it’s time for me to take care of you after you did such a good job my love.“ She answered and you were eager to finish this up so you can focus on each other more and finally getting closer to each other like you always dreamed of.

[theartisticcrow]

I spent a few minutes just using a reverse image search and I think I found the origin. And oh hey would you look at that, it's ai. Because of course it fuckin' is.

I'm genuinely horrified by how precise this fuckin' ai bullshit has gotten. I miss the days of weird fucked up horses that you could tell was obviously ai. Like it's not just a silly, harmless thing.

It takes a lot if energy and resources to make this slop work. It slurps up the entire power grid to make an fake image with no soul, no creativity, and no talent.

Capitalism. Just capitalism in general. Need I explain any further? I'm not exaggerating when I say this shit is leaving people unemployed. It's been happening for a while now. Because big corporations see this stuff and they decide to replace their talented artists with ai so that they don't have to keep paying people money to do their job.

It just sucks the joy and creativity out of everything. It's bland and lifeless. I am an artist. I write and I draw. Believe me when I tell you it's not about the end product. It never was. It's about having fun, being creative, thinking about each intricate detail and colouring in a blank page. The process is the fun part.

I want ai to do my dishes and laundry so that I have time to write and draw. Not the other way round. If you put the time and effort into actually creating your own thing, I think you'll appreciate it a lot more than if it was some piece of ai sludge.

It's theft. It scraps the internet and steals from other works of art all to create a dumpster fire of an image.

Ai is just a waste of resources. It's garbage, it's disgusting slop. How lazy must you be to decide you need a machine to do your hobbies for you? You can learn to draw. I encourage people to learn how to draw. Your age doesn't matter. Just pick up a pencil and don't stop. It's fun. Creating is fun. Even the mistakes are what gives it life. And if you don't want to draw, go find a friend or commission an artist online. It's not that hard. Ai doesn't help anyone, it's just a scourge on humanity.

The Veldt by Ray Bradbury should be required reading at this point for a number of reasons and this is one of them.

"A cadaverousness of complexion; an eye large, liquid and very luminous...finely molded chin, speaking, in its want of prominence, of a want of moral energy." -Edgar Allan Poe, "The Fall of the House of Usher"

(Not my art nor do I know if it's "AI" I just don't give a fuck thanks have a great fucking day!)

[channelbomb]

okay NOW i can say this because more stuff came out. i posted something like this last night and then deleted it because i felt bad for the shit i said but honestly idgaf and this person deserves it.

sturniololuv08, FUCK YOU. you’re a HORRIBLE person. 28 willingly talking and flirting with minors is INSANE. that’s not even the worst thing you’ve done, somehow, because that’s genuinely repulsive and you should keep your relationship with minors strictly platonic. BUT YOU ALSO WRITE RAPE FICS!??? YOUR FICS MAKE ME WANT TO THROW UP. they’re disgusting, abhorrent, egregious, gross, horrendous, nauseating, repellent, foul, and distasteful. i can’t put into words how much you utterly disgust me. i haven’t been here that long to get to read the fics when they first came out, but the fact you have gone this long getting away with that shit is beyond comprehension. and you think you can just take a hiatus or whatever IS STUPID!!! you’re a threat to others around you, and you honestly make me so mad i just had to go outside.

i’m typing this from my back porch, motherfucker. maybe you should try it to! i know people with full time jobs, kids, and normal lives who are younger than you. BITCH, SEXUAL ASSAULT IS NOT A KINK, ITS A FUCKING CRIME, CUNT.

imagine you went through something so traumatic one time, and now you’re on tumblr because you like some youtubers, and THEN YOU SEE SOMEONE WRITING ABOUT THAT SAME EXPERIENCE YOU HAD.

consent is sexy! consent is the best thing you could do during that, and sex should be something intimate in anything and NOT INITIATED BY NO CONSENT LIKE IN YOUR FICS.

this is fucking disgusting and i never thought i would have to type out these fucking words, but seriously you make me so mad. the way you had those ideas makes my blood absolutely boil. and then thinking playing the victim will make everything better??? BITCH, FUCK YOU!!! we are fans of three guys who fight and laugh in a car every friday, but yet you had these sick and twisted thoughts to write smut about them, WHO ARE YOUNGER THAN YOU and DEFINITELY would not be okay with this either.

i hope you get toothpicks under your toenails and then you have to punt a boulder, i hope you wash your hair tonight (that is, if you even fucking take showers) and and your shampoo is ACTUALLY NAIR, i hope both of the sides of your pillows are burning hot, i hope you get banned off of every social media, i hope you never get a job because your digital footprint is so bad, and i hope you learn from your mistakes.

writing about rape is NOT OKAY. in any way, shape, or form. it’s a heartbreaking thing that happens to women and men worldwide and daily. it takes away their pride, confidence, and sometimes even their ability to get intimate with anyone after. and writing about it is truly revolting. i can’t even put into words how truly furious i am that you think that is okay to write about. i don’t hold back when it comes to shit like this. this is horrendous.

to my mutuals, followers, or even just other fans of the triplets who have been directly affected by this specimen, just know that i love you, i care for you, and you’re so brave for speaking out about it or even just go through it. i’m so proud of you. and you should never have to go through that.

[dyrewrites]

There are so many 'I'm querying' posts about in writing spaces and I feel for every single one of you. I could not do what you are doing. It sounds like hell.

Specifically, I'm confused by 'comp titles'.

Not to say I don't understand what they are, or even why they exist (easier to market a thing by comparing it to other popular thing), but I am confused by them nonetheless.

I don't see a reason for making the author figure this shit out. Are we supposed to be writing with other things in mind? Writing to genre is one thing, but you want me thinking of other specific titles in my genre while writing or editing?

Because no.

No.

You do the comp titles. Read the damn book and say what it reminds you of. There's no reason the author should be doing this. We're not marketing to ourselves here. We know what's in the book. We know what we were trying to say (to some extent).

If you want to sell it, as is your job, then you do the comp titles instead of asking new authors trying to pitch to you, to query to you, to beg on hands and knees for your help selling their book to do the work for you.

Read the synopsis you insisted be sent. Does it appeal? Does it remind of anything already out it could maybe be compared to?

The use those things as comp titles, represent the author and help them sell the fucking book.

I just...why. Why are authors expected to do everything? What does an agent even do, or a publisher? Aside from helping you get a cover, setting up a distributor for ebook and print and getting brick and mortar stores to maybe carry your book.

Do they still offer an advance? Do they market the book? Do they set up meet and greets or signings? Do they set up a website for you? Help you grow a fanbase that might want to buy future books?

Or are you expected to keep your bills paid and self fed on your own, holding a second job that pays actual money while building a social media presence so you can market your writing yourself and include the publisher and agent name as often as possible?

What do they do?

I'm genuinely curious.

If you are with a traditional publisher, or have an agent, could you let me know? I've never even tried, as the 'pros' in certain writing forums said my work was 'unmarketable' and no one would touch me.

But from all the troubles I see from others, I have to assume it's worth it, so...how, how is it worth it?

[cybershock24601]

A woman who openly dislikes you also being basically the only person who speaks up from you is absolutely brain breaking. Especially bc with Illario it's like, it would be easy to fit in his worldview if she was a conquest or in some way attracted to him or something but she is very much not. Everything about their relationship suggests that the best behavior he can expect from her towards him is bare minimum civility and that is shown in most aspects of their interactions so what's it mean that "bare minimum civility" is treating him better than most of the people in his life.

Rook and Illario's relationship is insane to me because as I've said before my Rook was the one who advised Lucanis to lock Illario up for what at the end of the day were political reasons and absolutely gives him shit when he deserves it but is also the only person in Villa Dellamorte to really have Illario's back in a lot of ways.

Lucanis and Illario's relationship is so defined by Caterina's treatment and abuse of them that Lucanis is never going to be able to speak up for Illario when he can't even speak up for himself and I can see a young child who sees the safety in being the favorite not really wanting to risk losing that favor by stepping out of line and also starts to subconsciously rationalize and internalize Illario's harsh treatment from Caterina as Illario just not being as good as Lucanis. So much of Lucanis and Illario's dynamic was solidified as children and as neither one of them really had anyone close to them aside from each other there was never anything to really shake up their dynamic or cause them to really question it because that's just the way things are.

Enter Rook, especially a Rook who is not a Crow, who through their relationship with Lucanis is drawn into the family and gets to have a real good look at what the fuck is wrong with House Dellamorte. Rook's probably really quick to pick up on how Illario is treated in the family and sure Rook is pissed at him for what he's done to Lucanis and thinks he's an absolute idiot for working with the Venatori like he did, they still extend Illario empathy and some basic human decency which is so much more then Illario is used to.

Sure Illario can be an idiot sometimes but that doesn't make the way Illario is treated by his family right. I also think Rook - or that very least my Rook who has some similar issues of acting like a fool to keep people's expectations low so as to not to disappoint them when she can't live up to said expectations - starts to see through the mask of the carefree philanderer Illario wears and how much of his behavior stems from just playing into the low expectations everyone has of him. Rook, who is generally a pretty kind and empathetic person, would take it upon themselves to start calling out Caterina and Lucanis when they're being overly dismissive of Illario both as a person and an assassin because their behavior towards him can be really uncalled for a lot of the time and that just isn't right and Rook is definitely starting to get why things played out the way they did between Illario and Lucanis. Not that Rook is giving Illario a pass at all but Rook can acknowledge that Illario's actions did not come out of nowhere.

Illario who has grown up never expecting anyone to have his back is floored. Yes, Illario could trust that Lucanis would always back him up on a job but Lucanis would never really intercede on his behalf with Caterina, or at least if Lucanis ever did that was an impulse that was killed long ago probably due to Caterina's cane. So the fact that Rook who clearly isn't a fan of him is speaking up to her is mind blowing and Illario cannot make heads or tails of why Rook would do that. Not just talk back to Caterina because Rook has likely been speaking up for Lucanis' sake already which is an insane thing to do in the first place, but the fact that Rook is willing to do so for Illario just doesn't make any sense no matter how Illario looks at it because Rook just being a kind person is not a motive Illario is capable of considering. Illario spends a lot of late nights puzzling over what 5D chess game Rook is playing and what she must want to be doing all this.

Rook calling out Lucanis is also something that would stump Illario because it is clear Rook is head over heels for Lucanis so why would she potentially cause friction in her own relationship just for Illario's sake. Even stranger is that after several late night conversations behind closed doors between Rook and Lucanis, Lucanis' behavior towards Illario starts to change. It really freaks Illario out because why the fuck is Lucanis being so nice to him, is he dying??? Illario would wonder if he was possessed but he knows Lucanis is and the demon hates Illario's guts so what is going on?? It would probably take Lucanis and Illario some time to find a good equilibrium in their relationship as they start reconciling and unpacking the hurts in their past that lead to everything that happened because what Illario did was wrong and he knows that by now but it's nice to have Lucanis acknowledge just how much constantly being sidelined and considered second best hurt.

I think the real turning point in their relationship would be that the first time Lucanis stands up to Caterina is for Illario's sake. Illario had thought that if anything would get Lucanis to talk back to Caterina it would be Rook so the fact that the first person Lucanis really took an actual stand against Caterina for was Illario is inconceivable to him considering how the entirety of their lives have played out. It also brings up some lingering bitterness with no real target that Lucanis couldn't have done this before everything that happened between them and told Caterina that he didn't want to be First Talon. Things are still complicated between those boys and they always will be but they are getting better and it's pretty clear that Rook was the instigator for a lot of it.

[neuroticboyfriend]

parents just talked to me and told me they dont want me to move out and gaslight the fuck out of me so. this is gonna be a long post. TW for gaslighting, transphobia, and abuse.

gonna talk to my therapist about this but for now im getting stoned. if i don't make this post ima forget this happened and i dont want to forget.

and my dad did most of the talking. he said that i need to let go of the past and my mom agreed with him (the past being when he absolutely terrorized me) focus on losing weight. get a job. that he doesn't want me to settle for less, that i don't need someone telling me what to do (in reference to a home care manager). he said he believes in me, in that he thinks i can work and rent my own apartment (not through housing program). he said he's "taking care of" me right now and he wants to make up for the financial difficulties we had in the past.

i stayed quiet mostly during that part but. i asked them if i don't move out if they could just call me Julian he/him etc. my parents both declined and basically hold the "you can do whatever you want, other people can call you whatever they want, but you'll always be my daughter. it shouldn't hurt you for us to call you that/deadname/etc. your mother picked out your name for you. you'll never be male. if you want to be trans you can though" etc etc etc. mom said we don't see you any differently and i said thats the problem,dad joked about how if i want to be seen as his son i have to do outdoor chores (im disabled).

he started saying im lucky my parents love me and that at least we're not kicking you to the curb. asked me if he ever tried to stop me from doing what i wanted. i pointed out how once, when i wore a flannel to thanksgiving, he started yelling at me, called me a "fucking monkey," and said if i tried to wear it again to christmas (grandparents house) he'd leave me home alone.

he told me that didn't happen, he doesn't remember it, maybe i dreamed it. my mom started saying it might have been my uncle who said something, and then i pointed out i remember when my uncle did start shit talking me and i remember these as 2 different events.

oh also they told me all this after showing me they got a "family gift" of a nintendo switch (mom earned survey points from work). they've known i've wanted my own switch for ages, and i've been borrowing my sister. i thought the switch was for me and i was so excited. my mom even said it was a "surprise for [me]" but then i was told it was a family gift.

did i just get lovebombed. =/ trying to stop myself from believing this is acceptable behavior and i should just live with them and get a job and blah blah. i wanna be loved =/

[juice-plums]

My Darling

Derek Goffard x !Hitwoman, busty! woman reader

Warnings: Killing, ruthless hitwoman, rough, hard sex spanking, hair pulling, Dirty talk, angst talk, You always get the job done, Seducing attempt

Do you think you’ll kill for me one day?

Yes, of course I will, my darling

He was infatuated with you, A busy hitwoman who brought home dough, he could respect it but there was a slight problem, you were good at hiding your emotions no matter how big or small your job was you always had a stone cold face through everything, you were trained by your father who was a former hitman and he taught you everything you needed to know and do, Derek couldn’t know what you were thinking, while even he was fucking his at the time girlfriend your target who had gotten away had busted in his room, interrupted the moment, of course he was embarrassed and then tensed up seeing you, in black lingerie that fitted your body, he remembered saying a soft ‘Damn’ and that only meant one thing

You were seducing your target only to kill them while in the process, this target however had gotten away, Derek’s then girlfriend screaming in horror as she saw and clung to Derek, You had tackled your target down hard, attempting to choke him out, shattering a vase, your target had grabbed a glass shard and swung on your face, slicing your cheek, making you grunt loudly and get off of him, your target scampered away and you were after blood now, grabbing Derek’s pocket knife off his dresser and chased after your target coldly

Derek stares at you, you were sitting on a bench in a wealthy church where all the shadiest and wealthiest people were, perfect and prim how you were, you didn’t know it yet but you were going to be all his, he was going to make sure of it, he got up and went to you, whispering in your ear, your stare never faltered like you were unfazed or uninterested, he asked you to meet at this place, you knew the place, where all the elite and wealthy would have all these orgy parties with each other, you felt yourself cringe, God, he was so disgusting, but he swore he had a task for you when you'd get there, Derek was so fucking rich he could basically buy the organization you worked for,....so you reluctantly went

You went to said Party, orgies happening all around you, you wore some black lingerie to blend in and you did, you went to the door Derek said to meet him for the job and surprise, you hear a woman moaning in bliss, you rolled your eyes, of course you were fucking set up, what'd you expect from a fucking Goffard, you creek the door open some seeing the woman riding Derek's cock, Derek thrusting his thick, uncut, 9inch cock up into he pussy, making her go wild with lust, he sucks her nipple, as she clung to him, riding his cock without shame, he saw you peaking, he intimately looks at you in the eye, continuing to thrust into the woman

Oh god, this bitch is a fucking FREAK, too freaky for you, he gave you that look, a look that was full of coaxing and persuasion, silently telling you to come to him, you immediately backed up and almost jolted out that bitch, screaming, note that you almost did that.

You avoided Derek by all means after that and walked a bit quicker out of church, clearly that was not going to win you over and that got Derek to think, you were not an idiot, but he could pay for someone to stalk you and he did and now he broke in and sat on your sofa waiting just for you

You walked through your door and screamed in shock, seeing him, you couldn’t call the police cause you were a hitwoman and he could easily persuade the police with money, he smug grin upon seeing you, his leg crossed over his other all confident

“Hi honey, welcome home”

He greeted in a sickly,sweet voice, making you shiver in cringe, you scoffed, you just got back from another hitwoman gig, you definitely did not need him stirring up any shit right now, you placed your duffle bag down and glared at him, closing the door

“What you think you’re doing here?”

You ask, glaring at him, Derek snicker mischievously, enjoying how fast he pissed you off already, he stood up, prowling to you in short steps, face to face with you, You were clearly over this

“you know you have this wall built around you and I’m trying to be something more with you”

He bluntly says, his teal, blue eyes narrowed at you,he is really trying to, he wants you, yea he always got what he wanted and now he wanted you, just you, the cold, hitwoman you, You bit you lips

“You ever think I’m trying to protect you?”

You blatantly say, he scoffed and laugh mockingly at that, your eyes narrowing at him cause he wasn’t taking you serious

“You sure have a funny way of protection, ignoring my advances and pushing me away, yea you’re the real protector”

He mockingly says, you could not believe your ears is he really that dumb?, guess all that money went to his head, you got a little closer to him

“what if I drop dead tomorrow?, what if someone plants a hit on me?, I don’t want you missing me, I don’t want you getting close, I’m dangerous for you”

You explain, his eyes softens up, his mind finally connecting the pieces, you were rejecting him cause you didn’t want him to miss you when you are gone, yeah you were dangerous but that’s his choice, he is here cause he wants you

“You don’t get to make that decision for me, I’m here cause I want to be, no one else is making me be here, I want you, you, you!”

He says, he sounded like a child throwing a tantrum, this bitch was crazy but he was crazy for you, your cold eyes softened up for him, you took his hands, kissing his palms

“You don’t know what you are saying, you don’t know what you want”

You say, he drops his hands from yours and grabbed you face, his eyes still narrow, you were still deciding for him and he hated that, absolutely hated it, he’s tired of everyone choosing and making decisions for him

“I want you, you’re not fucking changing my mind”

He finally says, his hard eyes never leaving yours, You sigh, the searing his lips passionately for a kiss, his eyes widen then he softly shuts them, he held your waist and gave your booty a few rubs, this was a win in his books, you tilt your head, deepening the kiss your tongues swirled around each other, he lifted you up and went to your room

You both were stripped out of your clothes, and you were on all fours on your bed, softly shaking your bare bum to coax and tease him, he growled, his 9 inch, uncut, cock twitching and drooling from the slit on his tip, he gave your plump ass a spank, making you giggle softly, then without going slow he fully unsheathed his cock into your pussy, making you yelp and grab you sheets, his hands gripped and held onto your ass as he began to thrust into you pussy from the back

“ooooh shhhiit”

You blissfully cussed, he shoved your face into a pillow as he fucked you from the back, your muffled moans in the pillow, his cock invading your velvet walls that were clenching onto him like a vice, pleasure sparks through you spine, he spanked your big rump making you moan and yelp, feeling the hot stinging pain on your ass made you delirious and babble incoherently into your pillow, being fucked dumb into your pillow, his head rolls back along with his eyes, stretching out your perfect pussy

“this pretty pussy in mine, all fucking mine”

He seductively growled, spanking your ass with every word, your eyes lifted from the pillow and hot, blissful tears fell from your eyes, from the mind blowing sparks of pleasure flowing through your body, he gripped your hair, forcing your neck back to reveal the beautiful column of your throat and forcefully tongue kiss you, his cock still meanly churning your insides, you were in absolute heaven with your brains being all fucked out, god, it must be what those girls felt like

he then turned you onto your back, your moans now audible and your fucked out face made him hover over you and meanly fuck your pussy good with slow tantalizing strokes, your eyes rolling back in ecstasy as he savored the exquisite strokes as hits all your sweets spots with more care, your mouth drooled from the pleasure shooting up your spine, your calves twitching in bliss

“Look at me, ruining your pretty pussy, such a good fucking girl for me, gonna stuff you nice and full of my cum, believe that”

he growled, your mind too fucked out of your mind only whines and and whimpers, he grabbed your chin, making you look at him, he thrusted balls deep and shot his scalding, burning cum into your womb, making you squirt from the over pleasure, you caught your breath, eyes half lidded with lust as his cock softens inside and of you, you both held each other, the room smelling of sex and cheap perfume and cologne mixed together.

You were Derek’s and Derek was yours, you two over possessive with each other, you’d do absolutely anything for him and he would do anything for you, you’d basically were doing tasks for him, no one was going to put your pookie in danger, you took his jobs without hesitation, of course he was stunned but you did for love, it was all for him and he’d bail you out of jail no hesitation if you were caught on suspicion of arranging and attempted assassination, all for love.

[lulue-xie]

Im annoyed

When someone annoying me or say something i dont like, i take a breath and take a step back because i really want to slap their face 😔

I try to say nothing because i know, i fucking know if i run my bad mouth here i will regret it later because im someone that can bark and bite

But that fucking hard when the person tell to not like something you used to say on a daily basic

It's childish to be annoyed for that but i just feel attacked right now, especially when it something i used to say to reassure someone and i just feel bad about it now

[two-entire-bits]

I have a confession. I do not care for the soc boys. I'm sure they have very interesting character traits and lore the actors and fandom have come up with and that is so fun and great and I know none of it and I am perfectly content with that. Shout out to all my mutuals who love the soc boys I hope you are having fun with your Ken dolls but I will not be joining you. keep slaying.

[dykedvonte]

Honestly I see Jimmy's refusal to put Curly out of his misery less about his weird feelings of envy or his delusions but the fact Curly is all but stated to be a shield to Jimmy from his actions and people seeing the worst in him.

The only characters that Jimmy really interacts with one on one before the crash are Curly and Anya, two individuals he has wildly different relationships with. It's likely that Curly really did most of the talking between them as the pilots and the rest of the crew as staff. They didn't know of Jimmy's more reprehensible behaviors cause they never really had the chance to and Jimmy is subconsciously aware. If they had disliked him more than Anya would have told Swansea earlier or even Daisuke when things got really bad.

It's why he takes the immediate opportunity to blame Curly; He's the shield. He's saved Jimmy's ass more times than he can count and more times than Jimmy would ever admit. Even when he can't really do it anymore, he mentally shields himself from his own faults by putting Curly between them. Letting Curly die puts too much on him because he doesn't know how to function without a safety net.

In the end Curly only lives because Jimmy needs the idea that Curly will inevitably make things better to stay alive, meaning Curly has to live, no matter how much it pains him to do so.